To the Fans of Music

Have you ever met anyone who hates music? Yeah, me either. In a world full of differences, being a fan of music is a commonality. It’s kind of amazing, isn’t it?

With the recent deaths of Chris Cornell and Chester Bennington looming over the world of music, I love seeing people come together, sharing songs, videos, quotes, interviews, lyrics or moments that resonated with them.

And then, of course, there are people who choose negativity. I’m sure you all have at least one of these people in your lives. You know, the ones who post things like, “Soundgarden sucked” or “Chester Bennington didn’t have a great voice” or “What selfish pricks they both are for committing suicide” or “Here come all of the (insert band name here) “fans” who only purchased one album”.

This last one is the one I want to talk about because it confuses me the most, as I’m not sure of the intended goal of the statement. What benefit could a post like that have to anyone, including the person who posted it? Was it to make fans who only bought Superunknown or Meteora feel like lesser fans because they only purchased the “popular” albums? Maybe this negative poster feels that if you don’t own every album, or if you don’t only wear the band’s t-shirts, or if you don’t have posters lining your bedroom walls, then you aren’t worthy enough to be a fan? Is the thought that if you only ever downloaded one song by the artist, then how dare you publicly say something nice about how his music helped you through a difficult time or made you smile?

Seriously…I don’t get it, mainly because I consider myself a musician. And if you are bold enough to make that claim, then you probably understand and respect fans, regardless of how much of your merch they purchase.

Now, I’m not going to pretend that I’m this crazy good musician, as most of my performances have included seedy bars or restaurants, with people dropping utensils while they eat their dinners, all while I sing my heart out. But my point is that I have performed in public, and on rare occasions, I have shared songs that I have written. And yes, it’s an amazing feeling when a “fan” requests one of your songs, or asks you the meaning of a certain lyric, or hums three bars of your chorus. As a musician, I think connecting with people is the goal, even if that connection is only one song, one lyric, one chorus or one moment.

Now if I were to multiply that feeling by millions, that is the number of fans we are dealing with in terms of Cornell and Bennington. Some fans are die hards and some aren’t. But if you claim to be a fan, all that really means is that somewhere along the way, a piece of someone else’s creation made you feel something. It really is that simple.

So, to the Cornell fans who maybe don’t know ALL of the words to Black Hole Sun, but love the music anyway, or to the Linkin Park fans who only purchased Hybrid Theory and no other albums after that, this is for you. Don’t ever let someone else tell you that you can’t mourn the death of a person who created a piece of art that was powerful enough to speak to your soul.

Music has the power to bring you back to your first date, your first kiss, your graduation, your wedding, your divorce, a failure, a success, a birth, a death, a new beginning, or a sad ending.

Just always remember that it’s this power of music, not the purchase of the album, that connects us all.

And over the last few months, I’ve learned that anyone who tries to downplay that connection, simply doesn’t get it.

Stuck in Paradise

My Sunday morning routine always starts with coffee on my back patio. Because of the consistency of Florida weather, this is a ritual I enjoy year round. However, this past Sunday, as I stared into the abyss of palm trees obstructing my view of the sky, I started thinking about the relativity of beauty.

Being a New Jersey native, my version of beauty may be somewhat skewed. Growing up fifteen minutes away from one of the most influential cities in the world was definitely a perk. As a teenager, the epitome of freedom was cutting class to hang out in “the village” with only five dollars of lunch money in my pocket, hoping desperately that I didn’t get too swept away by what New York City had to offer, and wondering if I would be able to make it back home by the time school let out. By my early twenties, I embraced my obvious crush on the Big Apple by spending as much time there as humanly possible.

And then I got married…and had children.

My love for the city was instantly overshadowed, and eventually became a liability. While I knew how much the tri-state area had to offer my children in the future, my concern came from what I witnessed in other children while living there, which was that city kids simply grow up too fast. Above everything else, I didn’t want to cut my kids’ childhoods short. So, here I am, years later, living in Florida, where my twelve-year-old daughter is still interested in toys rather than make-up and thinks boys have the cooties, and my nine-year-old daughter still believes in Santa, the Easter bunny and fairies. Moving here accomplished everything I wanted…for them. But for me? I’m stuck in paradise.

Most people come to Florida to get away from it all. The lure of swaying palm trees, sunshine and Mickey Mouse offers peace, warmth and fun. When the Orlando airport doors swing open, vacationers eagerly welcome the staggering humidity that slaps them in the face as they draw their first breaths. They find beauty here, even if it’s just for a week.

And I get it. But let’s not forget that beauty is relative, and for me, it doesn’t include palm trees and beaches. That kind of beauty, that is so apparent to everyone else, is completely wasted on me. Sure, I’ve vacationed in some “island-y” places, but lying on a beach in the sweltering sun, trying to keep my sunglasses from sliding down my sweaty face, trusting my sunblock to not make my already-dark-skin darker, was never a treat for me. None of those island vacations screamed beauty to me. If anything, they left me bored and slightly agitated.

My agitation continued upon moving here, when I learned that the running joke was, "Florida is where you come to vacation, retire or die.” Although it got a chuckle from me the first few times I heard it, this particular joke had a bit too much truth to it. It made my inner child whine, “I want to go home!” And by home, I am, of course, referring to New York City.

For me, beauty is the music coming from the guitar of a man sitting on the mucky subway floor, hoping that his song will encourage me to drop my dollar bill into his beat up guitar case; it’s ducking into my favorite pizza place on Broadway to “grab a slice”; it’s hearing a man’s whistle, while watching his arm extend outward, expecting a cab to stop immediately to rush him off to his next appointment; it’s the hustle and bustle of Times Square mixed with the peace and tranquility of Central Park; it’s witnessing how much life is crammed into these overcrowded spaces. This is the version of beauty I understand. Despite the clichéd smog, dirt and grime associated with the city, it is the only place where I can breathe. You see, for me, beauty is not necessarily beautiful.

But trading skyscrapers for palm trees has shown me that if I truly wanted to find my personal definition of beauty, I had to start by looking deeper than the picturesque views of seagulls on the beach, or the memory of Manhattan’s magnificent skyline. Living in both places has taught me that beauty is not what I see, but rather, what I feel. Beauty is whatever makes my heart beat faster.

Beauty is what makes a person feel alive.

And although my current zip code is missing the palpable energy of New York, each time I walk through the door and see my daughters and my husband, the flutter of excitement I feel on the inside is a constant reminder that, no matter where I am, my heart will always find the beauty that will lead me home.

Being a Mommy

Not all of us are lucky enough to have someone in our lives who makes the transition from mother to mommy. Regardless of how many hours of labor you went through, or whether or not you chose natural childbirth over the epidural, becoming a mother by giving birth to a child is the easy part. Becoming a mommy is much harder. 

I'm not sure which traits qualify us as good versus bad moms, but I think I associate the "mommy" title with how engaged a mom is with her kids. I frequently ask myself if I’m good enough for my girls, and my husband always tells me that the fact that I even ask myself that question makes me a good mom. He also is always quick to point out that, at nine and twelve years old, both of my girls are always singing, and he correlates singing with happiness, and happiness with how I parent them. So, in an If-You-Give-a-Mouse-a-Cookie-way, I am doing a decent job. But while going through the daily effort of trying to be a mommy, rather than just a mother, I can't help but reflect on my own mom, and the example that she set for me. 

My mom has always been a worrier. Being that I was an only child, diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes at the age of four, I can't really blame her. Having kids is hard enough, but having one who needs constant medical intervention? I can't imagine it. As a kid, teen and pre-adult, I had a really hard time with her constant concern for my wellbeing. But now that I am an adult with my own kids, I totally get it. While my worrying style isn't as pronounced as hers, I understand how pure love for your children can make a mommy's heart worry. 

When it comes to my mom’s heart, love incessantly pours out of her four-foot ten frame, touching everyone around her. Whether it’s love, time, loyalty, food, money, or even clothes, she is always emptying her pockets with an expectation of nothing in return. She rarely does anything for herself, and if she does, she figures out a way to give some of it to others. She gives one hundred percent of herself, sharing everything she physically and emotionally has with anyone who has the pleasure of knowing her. She is staunchly supportive and makes it abundantly clear that she is always on my side, and she extends that support to my husband, my kids, and even to my friends. She is the greatest cheerleader you can ever dream of having. But my favorite quality of hers is that she makes me feel loved.

Someone once told me that love is a verb, but being a mom has shown me a different definition. Sure, we all do whatever it takes to make our children happy. But for me, love doesn’t mean that you always have to be doing, acting, proving. Love, from a mommy’s perspective, is an invisible quiet feeling that is constantly coursing through your veins. And if you are successful at being a mommy, in the way that my mom is, you simply just make your children feel loved, without saying it, doing it, or proving it.

No matter how crazy your mom makes you, no matter how many mistakes she may have made, in the end, if you feel her love, then she gave you the gift of doing it right. She was your mommy, and always will be.

Happy Mother’s Day to my mommy, and to all of the other wonderful mommies out there who, regardless of time or distance, make their children feel that they are always loved.

The Messes We Make

Families can be messy.

With a quick swipe of a paper towel, some messes can be cleaned up easily. While other messes saturate the fabric of our lives, leaving a gruesome blemish on an otherwise gorgeous canvas.

I have been privy to both types of messes. Neither is ideal, but if I had to choose, I would go the paper towel route every time. Unfortunately, that route is not always the best option.

Choosing to cut ties with a relative verses sticking it out can be a struggle. In every situation, both options have their pros and cons. For me, these types of decisions have always been based on what my heart tells me. So, if someone is meant to be in my life, my heart will naturally fight for that person. However, in opposition to that, when I’m done, I’m done. So, if I give up on someone, it generally means that there is no chance of ever coming back from that. Not because I’m a grudge holder, but rather, I am someone who moves on quickly from toxicity.

With that said, cutting ties isn’t really my thing, mainly because I’ve always been surrounded by people who are capable of having tough conversations without losing their shit. But once I became a mother, the people around me were put under a microscope. All but one survived.

The main reason for the sole casualty came down to family loyalty. This particular relative (on my father’s side) was at a party thrown by an aunt (on my mother’s side). I was videotaping my daughter, walking into a room where this relative was sitting at the kitchen table, boisterously talking smack about my parents to my grandmother, aunt and cousin. Due to an alcohol problem, this relative probably thought her story about how my parents were assholes would entertain everyone around her. But that was not the case.  It was at that moment I decided that this person was not someone who belonged in my life. Seeing someone drunkenly turn on her own brother was a sight and an action that I didn’t ever want my children to endure. (Not to mention, her loud mouth and terrible words completely tarnished what could have been a cute video of my daughter. Though, because the video still exists, it is a reminder of why me, my parents, and everyone who had to deal with her that day, no longer consider her a part of our family.)

Being that Hallmark doesn’t make a “my-relative-is-a-disloyal-prick” card, there was no official goodbye. But that moment made me realize that sometimes, the healthiest thing to do is walk away…even from family. So I did, and I have no regrets.

More recently, I have been witness to an unfortunate familial situation where a mom of someone I love decided to passive aggressively criticize my loved one. It seemed to be over an issue that had been resolved for about a year, but I’m guessing she did not approve of the resolution, and chose to act out. The two parties involved haven’t spoken about the transgression, but one thing I do know is that because of that act, the relationship has ended.

Similarly, a few years ago, I wrote a blog post, openly pointing out actions that I witnessed regarding a specific father/daughter relationship. Rather than being used as a conversation starter for an issue that had not been addressed for two years, the blog post was instead used as a catalyst to cut ties with the father in question. The real underlying problem was never dealt with, yet everyone involved has humbly moved on.

If you notice, none of these stories have the happiest of endings. No one, in any of these scenarios, chose to stick it out. The messes made in these instances turned into stains that permeated through all of the relationships. And in most cases, it was for the best. But I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t curious to see if simply using a paper towel to wipe up the spills would have changed some lives for the better.

I guess that’s the thing about cutting ties-it is a bold, powerful and healing act that can alleviate specific unwanted tension for the rest of your life. But if cutting ties is done irrationally or without a thorough thought process of its long term effects, the cutter will most certainly be left alone to clean up the internal mess. And unfortunately, there are no paper towels that can wipe up the spills of a broken heart.

Am I Really Done With Children?

Being new to the forties club, I’m still unsure about what is supposed to happen at this age.  I thought it might have something to do with boldly owning everything about yourself in an “I-am-woman-hear-me-roar” sort of way. But now that I am here, a feeling of unease is quietly nagging at me.

Because I’m not used to being unsure about anything, trying to get down to the bottom of my angst was difficult. Was it career related? Was it relationship related? Was it related to my environment?

No. Nope. Nyet.

And that’s when I realized that rather than being in a state of flux, my life is uncharacteristically static now. I have two amazing daughters, a loving husband, a stable career, and multiple hobbies. I am happy with my well laid-out life. So why the sudden haze?

Well…the truth behind my uncertainty unfolded when a friend recently announced her pregnancy. It was the silent question I had been asking myself every time I saw an infant at the grocery store.

Am I really done with children?

My fortieth year of life has been pretty great…until this question started running amok in my brain.

I don’t mean to be all "my biological clock is ticking" here, but if my answer to the question is no, then time is not on my side. This statement is even more true for my husband, who is fourteen years my senior.

Yet, having a baby is something we have been seriously considering for quite a while.

Though age is something to ponder, it is so far down the list of risk factors for us that, when weighed against everything else, it will never come close to being the reason why we do not have a baby.

Despite the long, hard road we may face, it is always easier to focus on the positives of why having a baby could be the best decision we ever make. Hell, we’ve even picked out baby names already (Oliver Thomas for a boy and Joelle Leslie for a girl)!

But we also have some fears that are slowing our decision down.

1. My health- Being a forty-year-old with Type 1 Diabetes automatically puts me at a higher risk. Even though I take really great care of myself, and I’ve already had two healthy regular sized babies, this is my husband’s only concern. And I get it. Being a widowed dad with an infant is not on his wish list.
2. Hurdles for him- The hubs may be 14 years older than me, but he is more fit than I could ever dream of being. So, I’m not worried about him keeping up with a child. However, in order for us to become preggers, he’d have to go through an “unsnipping” surgery, which comes with the added bonus of discomfort, pain, a two week healing process, and statistics that give us only about a sixty percent chance of conceiving.
3. Growing up-Over the years, my girls and I have given each other purpose. Though I firmly believe that my job as a parent is to let go of the self-sufficient children that I’ve raised, the reality is that in six short years, I will release my first born into the real world, followed by her sister two years later. It’s not as if I don’t have any other plans for my life when my girls go off to begin theirs, but for the first time in nine years, being a “mommy” (insert baby voice here), rather than just a “mom” (insert pre-teen voice here) is quite appealing.
4. Paths –Choosing one of two completely different life paths with my husband confuses me. The path the hubs and I are on now leaves us without children between us, but a lifetime with each other. Once my girls are in college, and some of the restrictions that come along with having children in the house are lifted, we will have time to spend alone as a couple. It’s a life I would be thrilled to explore with him by my side. But on the baby path, we would spend the rest of our lives raising a child, with not much time left for much else. While this may seem like a gloomy existence and not nearly as freeing as the first path, I know having a child together would take us down a road I would be equally happy to travel with him.

So-here I am, a forty-year-old haunted by the uncertainties that I thought were reserved for my twenties. I worry that no matter what decision is made, it will be the wrong one. And I know that not making a choice is still making a choice. But I also know that an older version of myself would laugh, knowing that regardless of the decision, my journey will turn out to be just as it should.

*I know there will be those who will be concerned, and those who will be unsupportive of a decision in favor of a pregnancy. Which is why I would like to thank a few people who have been in my shoes and were honest enough to tell me like it is. To my two friends Gina S. and Missy N., thank you for giving me tangible advice that included the good, the bad and the ugly with regard to having children at a later age. And for my friend Allie, thank you for having that breakfast with me last summer. Though it was long ago, that encouraging conversation stayed with me and opened my mind to the idea of “just one more”. Thank you for showing me that even through inconceivable hurdles that may have to be faced, the heart wants what it wants, and it’s okay to go after it, regardless of the outcome.

Why Sweeping It Under the Rug Will Never Be My Thing

Conflict amongst family and friends is never fun. Sadness, anger and hurt are just some of the emotions that appear during hard times. And who wants to deal with that, right?

Well…I do.

When there is an elephant in the room, rather than pretending it doesn’t exist, I always opt to stab it with a pitch fork. It's not that I am a confrontational person. It's just that I love the people in my life…hard. And the one thing I cannot tolerate is seeing someone I love hurting while the ones who are supposed to be there for support idly stand by and watch.

Living in the south, I’m finding that, unlike my Jersey brethren, many people would rather sweep the aforementioned elephant under the rug. Protruding large lumps?  No problem (sweep…sweep…sweep)! Pointy ivory tusks? I don’t see any (sweep…sweep…sweep)! Long swaying trunk? I never noticed (sweep…sweep…sweep)!

While ignoring a potentially problematic situation may seem like the easier or more polite choice, eventually, tripping over that elegant Persian rug that you’ve spent so much time perfecting is almost inevitable. And I can’t help but wonder if ignoring the elephant in the room ever leads to a desirable outcome.

As I’ve mentioned, I am a get-things-out-in-the-open type of person (it’s probably why blogging has become one of my enjoyments). Admittedly, I don’t quite understand the act of taking a backseat or staying uninvolved when someone you love is in pain (especially if you are the one who caused it). In addition, of all of the chores I do on a daily basis, sweeping is my least favorite. So, you’ll have to excuse my lack of competency when it comes to the “sweeping-things-under-the-rug” concept.

For all of you rug sweepers, here are some questions that, if answered, may alleviate my confusion.

1. Just how thick is this rug of yours? Give it to me in inches…or feet.
2. How much are you willing to sweep under it? Like…is it only for large issues? Or can I also find small issues hidden under it, such as not liking the paint color that your husband picked out for the bedroom?  
3. If you ever decide to look under your mountainous rug, will you find things under there from the 1970s?  I mean, how far back does the dust go?
4. How many awkward situations has this rug caused? Like…if you are sitting across the room from someone, can you have a normal conversation without shouting over the pile? Can you even see each other?
5. How do you lay comfortably on your couch?  Is it askew because of the carpet lumps?
6. And as a follow-up to question five, have you ever acknowledged that rugs aren’t supposed to be lumpy?
7. How many relationships have been stained with dormant untruths because of the infinite pile of crap lying underneath?
8. If someone trips on it, are you covered by your homeowners insurance?

As you can see by my line of questioning, I am in desperate need of answers. However, because rug sweepers tend to avoid responding to questions that may lead to direct resolutions, I won’t hold my breath. But no need to bless my heart. This Jersey girl will carry on living her life the only way she knows how - loudly.

A note for my loved ones (you know who you are):

I will always have your back. I will always defend you, even if that means inserting myself into a situation that may only partially belong to me. I will do this because I love you. And you deserve better. You deserve someone in your life who will say the unpopular thing. You deserve someone in your life who will call people out for treating you poorly. You deserve to be assured that there is at least one person in your life who cares enough about you to always be on your side. And I promise, I am that person for you. 

My loves, I will always choose you.

Our dog, Zoey

Dogs. Who would have thought that I could love a dog? Like really love a dog. On any given day of my life, if you asked if I was a dog person, I wouldn’t hesitate to say yes. But I have never been one of those over the top, “my-dog-is-my-life” kind of people. Once I had kids, my view of dogs changed drastically. The dog I had at that time became a dog. And my kids got first priority.

And then, after years of saying I would never get another dog, I met Zoey. Taking my girls to the Humane Society was a weekly ritual that we had been doing for about a year. And I was never tempted. The dogs were cute and it was sad to see them, but I was never compelled to take one home. But the minute I saw Zoey, my heart raced and she made me smile…on the inside. I had to have her. And of course, my kids were thrilled.

Zoey was roughly 9 or 10 when we adopted her. So, going in, we knew that her time with us may not be all that long. We pressed on anyway.

Over the last three and a half years, Zoey made it clear what her role was. She was not here to do the cooking, but she would have no problem eating our dinner before I got the chance to serve it. She was never going to clean the carpets, because then she would have a hard time remembering where her pee spot was. And she would definitely not be participating in a game of fetch if my intention was to throw her favorite toy more than three times.

Her role was simple. It was to love. And in a world full of so much hatred, she is a beautiful reminder that living with love in your heart is a much better way to go through life. Zoey frequently demonstrated her version of love by slapping her paw on my leg, slobbering all over my pants, breathing her horrid dog breath in my face in hopes of getting a lick, or dragging me down the street faster than my legs could carry me. It may not have been the way I would choose to be loved, but it was love all the same. 

And I didn’t realize it until today that without giving all that much (in the ways humans deem necessary of other humans), she gave our family everything. She was our constant. And in a few hours, when we say our final goodbyes at the vet’s office, this family’s world is going to change. Maybe not enough for anyone to notice, because to them, she’s just a dog. But to us, she is family.

And though I may not even come close to being the “doggiest” dog person alive, I am and always will be a Zoey person. And as she rests beside me now as I write this, my heart is heavy, but thankful that she showed me how the simplicity of a dog’s love could change my heart forever.

Post Like Nobody's Watching

I have a confession. I may fall into the “oversharer” category when it comes to Facebook. Mostly, I shamelessly share and re-share my blog posts, but I also display funny memes, pictures of my kids, and I do check-ins like I’m getting paid for it. And now that I’ve got my news feed perfectly filtered with only the people I actually care about, I truly love seeing what my friends deem worthy of sharing with me.

However, recently, there was a popular meme shared by a few people in my Facebook circle, which said something like, “if you feed the homeless and put it on Facebook, you are feeding your ego.” I actually spit out a bit of my coffee when I read it. No disrespect to my homies who posted it, but I found the meme both hypocritical and quite humorous, simply because Facebook is the very basis for egocentricity.

Posting anything on social media is an attempt to show what you are proud of. And pride…well…that is your ego. So, throwing shade at someone else by promoting the idea that one type of post feeds your ego more than any other is absurd.

Personally, I would much rather see more pictures of people doing good for this world than to see random day-to-day pictures that are cute, but less inspiring. For instance, I have a friend who regularly posts pictures of herself doing charity work. To me, it isn’t self-serving. It is motivational. She made me want to seek out local opportunities that I can participate in with my family. And when I found one, you bet I posted about it! Not to show how awesome I was. Not to “feed my ego”, but rather, in hopes that maybe I would inspire someone to do the same, just like my friend inspired me. It only takes one chain of events to make someone’s life better. And suggesting that we should keep these moments to ourselves is silly.

I mean, can you imagine waking up to your Facebook feed, and instead of seeing animal pictures, or pictures of someone’s scrumptious dinner from last night, or SNL videos of Alec Baldwin impersonating Donald Trump, there was a barrage of pictures revealing how your friends were helping their communities or participating in events that actually make a difference? Wouldn’t it make you want to do the same?

But I digress.

I completely understand and agree that there are certain instances that would benefit from privacy, rather than being blasted on Facebook. And for whatever reason (a love of drama, a need for attention), some of these “should-be-private” life events somehow make it to the public realm for all to see.

But for the most part, Facebook shows us what people are proud of, what makes them laugh out loud, what makes them happy to wake up in the morning, what makes them passionate, and most importantly, what makes them who they are. Is posting details about our daily lives egocentric? Yes, for all of us, even for those with the best intentions. But it is okay.

It is okay to share the moments in your life that fulfill you. It is not “fake” to post only about the things that make you smile. And on the same note, it is not misleading if you choose to keep your bad days private.
What you choose to share is up to you. It’s your life.

So, don’t let anyone tell you that you have an ego problem if you decide to post that picture of your daughter at a charity event, or winning an award, or doing well in school. Don’t shy away from posting a selfie in a public bathroom because you look slammin’ in that dress. Don’t feel shameful about posting your 5K training stats.

Don’t let anyone make you feel bad about posting your moments.

Let the haters hate. Post like nobody’s watching. And keep enjoying your Facebook life…your way.

What Will I Tell My Children?

The morning after. No less than twenty-three posts on social media all asking the same question. 

What will I tell my children?

My mind raced with thoughts of inadequacy. Oh no! Did I miss something? Was I supposed to prepare a speech for my kids about the results of the election?

Once I had my coffee and the fog lifted from my brain, I realized that I don’t have to “tell” them anything. Because, when it comes to politics, I choose not to force my beliefs onto my girls.

Don’t get me wrong. Watching my friends post pictures of their children at the polls, wearing Hillary or Trump paraphernalia was adorable! I started thinking that maybe the elections are becoming similar to team sports. If you were raised a Yankees fan, you’re always a Yankees fan. It doesn’t matter if you don’t really understand why you’re a Yankees fan. But if your parents think the Yankees are the way to go, then that’s the way it should be, right? This line of thinking had me wondering if I had parenting all wrong.

But then I came back to this - there is a difference between giving your children your opinion and giving your children a pathway to obtain information so that they can form their own. And as difficult as it is sometimes, I always try to go with the latter.

Did my girls want to know who I was going to vote for throughout the entire campaign season? Absolutely! And maybe I was in a unique position because I truly had no idea. So, when I told them I was unsure, it was the truth.

But my “I don’t know” answer led to further discussions about how to make a decision, which led to discussions about researching all candidates, and selecting someone who holds beliefs that are close to our own.

Researching candidates didn’t come willingly for my eleven and nine year old daughters. But with a quick Google search, we were able to find a political topic that my kids actually could relate to- Common Core. Now, as a parent, I think Common Core is a disaster. But when talking to my girls about it, they were both indifferent. It’s just something they are learning in school and neither of them had any complaints. So, while I may not understand Common Core, just like my mom probably didn’t understand calculus, I learned that my girls have a different outlook than I do on one of the issues being discussed on the campaign trail this year. So, based solely on this issue, my girls and I would have voted for two completely different candidates.

This simple conversation with my girls opened my mind in an important way. Not to point out the obvious here, but kids are impressionable. I do realize that as parents, we have no choice but to make certain decisions for our children. But we also have the job of empowering our kids to be confident enough to have an opinion that is different from ours, or anyone else’s, for that matter.

We should have a nation of children who are interested in finding out for themselves why they support something, rather than a nation of children who support something just because mommy and daddy feel a certain way. As parents, it’s time we acknowledge that our children have their own thoughts and may not always be on our side of the fence. It’s time we give our kids the tools to be independent thinkers.

So, if you’re still wondering what to tell your children about the election results, I completely understand your desire to tell them of your disappointment about the winner. I completely get it if you accidentally frighten them with your very real concerns about America’s future. But try to remember that, unless your child did their own research, picked their own candidate, and truly understand what happened this morning, your feelings of disappointment do not belong to them.

Instead, tell them that no matter what happens in life, no matter what setbacks they may face, their opinions, no matter how different, are valid. Tell your children that their voices matter…now, more than ever.

When An Ex Can't Get Over the Hatred

When exes physically insert themselves into your life, it is most commonly known as stalking. However, in many cases, exes indirectly connect themselves to you, ensuring that they are still in your life, while eliminating a legal stalking charge. With the power of social media, pursuing someone who is unaware of your interest in them is extremely simple and is usually harmless. However, this is not the kind of activity I'm referring to. I am talking about instances where a person's commitment to crazy is alarmingly impressive.

Unfortunately, I have had some dealings with people in this arena. And why they do what they do will forever be a mystery to me. Below are some personal examples that have contributed to my permanent state of "ex" bewilderment. Here's hoping you cannot relate.

Example #1: My family and friends have nursed me through a few breakups in my lifetime. And because they are my tribe, they are naturally inclined to have my back. But when dealing with an ex who acts like a lunatic, expect everyone on your support team to get a frantic phone call from said nutjob, detailing all of the ways that you are an asshole. This person desperately wants to feel validated by the people in your camp, most likely because the people in this loon's camp already know to keep their distance. I mean, what's that old saying? You are known by the company you keep? Yeah...well...no one wants to be labeled as "the cuckoo bird's friend", so here's hoping that your tribe lets the impending phone call go directly to voicemail.

Example #2: If you've read my blog before, you know that I've written quite a bit about how I'm incapable of hanging onto the past. But when it comes to a hate-filled ex, moving on is not a possibility...like...ever. I've actually been in a situation where someone, let's call her Sally Screwball, harassed repetitively contacted me a YEAR after the relationship with her ex ended. Not a month or two later...a YEAR later. In my experience, three to six months after a relationship has ended is typically the point where people start moving forward. But not Sally Screwball. She chose anger (over therapy), and found herself at the receiving end of a restraining order.

Example #3: When it comes to my Puerto Rican familia, if there is a breakup, the non-bloodline gets the axe.

And if the non-blood line is a nutter, my family is smart enough to see through the shenanigans. I can count on the loyalty of my Puerto Rican posse. But not all families are like mine. Some are easier to destroy. Similar to Example #1, psychos tend to enjoy penetrating your personal relationships in an attempt to ruin your life. Even though this fruitcake admitted to hating your family when you were together, your family suddenly blossoms into an avenue of hope, where revenge can be bestowed upon you by the act of manipulation. If this insane person manages to pry your impressionable family members away by offering them "stuff" while telling them awful stories of your assholery, then the hater wins (and maybe you do too, because you are probably better off without family members who choose to befriend someone who hates you).

Example #4: Wait. The crackpot didn't win yet?  There's more? Yes. Yes, there is. Sometimes, all of the above just isn't enough. Sometimes (and this is a true story), the fruit loop conjures up old documentation that can potentially create a frivolous lawsuit! Although I'm sure it's every judge's dream to spend hours of his time hovering over an angry bird trying to do an ex-partner in, I have to admit that this one confuses me most. In a relationship that ended YEARS ago, where there are no children, no shared assets, nothing at all left, walking away should be the only logical step. But apparently, some people are so vindictive, self-serving, antagonistic or plain obsessive in ensuring their ex's misery, that instead of moving on, they dedicate years of their own lives...in court...seeking revenge.

Here's the bottom line. The above behaviors belong to a very sad person (or at least to a person who may need psychiatric attention). Finding ways to make someone else's life miserable is no way to live.

To the exes who can't get over the hatred, I leave you with this. Your constant presence is like that of a gnat - annoying, but easily swatted away.

Waking up every morning obsessing over someone who fills your heart with hate is not healthy. Thinking that you have devised a plan to reach the core of your ex's being is not realistic. Any type of potential harm you think you may be causing is really only a stress trigger...for you. Because the inevitable truth is that your ex has moved past you. Your ex is waking up loving life and the people in it. And maybe it's time for you to do the same.

If it isn't, and you insist on remaining in your ex's life due to your hatred, please understand that your efforts are noted. But don't let it anger you further if a smile remains on your ex's face. Because what you seem to be missing, my dear, is that your ex has already succeeded in releasing the one thing in life that caused the most misery of all - and that, I'm afraid, is you.

Random Thoughts on Recent World Events

I normally keep quiet about world events. But I’m starting to reach my boiling point. With every news story, we become more divided. Whether it’s black lives matter, blue lives matter, an alligator attack at Disney, a kid falling into a gorilla pit at a zoo, or the Orlando shooting, we choose a side and fight with strangers on the internet because they don’t agree with us. And my plea is…stop wasting your time. Don’t stop having opinions. But please don’t let your opinions keep dividing us as people. The next time an awful story in the news occurs, shut down your device and do something. Like get up off your ass..and DO SOMETHING. Replace your internet battles with real conversations, phone calls or letters. Contact organizations that you wouldn’t normally call and find out what you can do to help bring people together. Stop relying on your opinions, because fighting with people on Facebook, posting a meme to show everyone your stance, or changing the background of your profile picture doesn’t actually help the cause. It only shows what side of the story you’re on. And this is what needs to stop. We need to actually come together. And to come together, we need to better understand the needs of the people in our communities. We need to take action. So, I urge everyone who has an opinion to do something other than sharing your opinion. DO SOMETHING that will contribute to the changes you want to see in the world…whatever they may be.

My Invisible Crutch

As an only child, I always had a flair for independence.  Even so, accepting help as a kid seemed natural and uncomplicated. Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, my comfort level in allowing others to lighten my load has drastically changed. As an adult, accomplishment and the joy that follows is important to me.  So when it comes to asking someone for help, I always think to myself, “If I have a problem that I am capable of fixing, then why would I involve anyone else?”

This question is my downfall, and the reason why I rarely take advantage of the support that surrounds me. 

If there were a Best Family in the World award, my family would win, hands down.  And I am not the only one who notices my tribe’s loveliness. At my wedding, one of my guests said, “When I get married, can I rent your family?”  After celebrating Christmas Eve with my family, a friend commented, “You guys are like the Puerto Rican Brady Bunch.”  

Although I formed a close bond with my cousins, aunts and uncles as a child, I didn’t truly value them until I was old enough to experience the families of friends, boyfriends and husbands.  I can now appreciate the friendship, loyalty and support that we have always selflessly offered to each other.  My family is like an internal whisper pulsating through my mind, confirming that our blood is our bond, and regardless of the circumstances in any given situation, we will be there for each other. 

I now live thousands of miles away from the bulk of my family.  The modernized support we offer has taken form via social media.  If I need advice, they are all a Facebook message away.  Being that writing is my preferred method of communication, this works out well for me…most of the time.

But when life gets harder than what the contents of a Facebook message could possibly provide, this is where I struggle.  Being a contemplative introvert, thinking and overthinking can feel like a full-time job sometimes.  I usually take to my laptop, write a blog, or I go “old-school” and write my thoughts down on paper.  If this method of internalization doesn’t settle me, that is usually when the uncomfortable, “oh-no-I’m-going-to-have-to-ask-someone-for-help” doom sets in.

Although I have a strong support system in my husband and my parents, I still find it hard to use what is available to me.  While expressing my opinion has never been difficult, vocalizing the need for anything that, in my mind, should only belong to me, has always been a challenge, regardless of the amount of support waiting in the wings.  My husband gets upset sometimes because I don’t allow him to do simple tasks like taking my girls to school if I don’t feel well or changing a light bulb.  So, you can probably guess that when there is something more serious sprinting through my mind, asking for any kind of assistance from him is a rarity.

Some people have used the word “strong” to describe me.  I’m not sure this is accurate, as there are times when I need more than what I can offer myself, yet I fear asking for it.  In times like these, I do not seek refuge in the amazing family structure I just described.  I, instead, choose to find support in a place where it is not readily offered, but there nonetheless. 

I find support in the gifts that are my daughters. Because they are eight and eleven, I don’t approach them and lay out my problems, hoping they will dissect them with me or give me their shoulders to cry on.  I don’t expect answers.

I find encouragement when my girls let me hug them a little longer, when they help me without my having to ask, when they randomly tell me they love me without me saying it first, when they sense something is off and include me in a game or a story or whatever it is they are doing, when they look at me and offer a simple, yet beautiful smile.  Although it may not fix everything that needs fixing, this is the type of support that I can readily accept.  Their unconditional love for me lets me focus on what is important, leaving whatever is left over easier to tackle. Whether they know it or not, they are the support system I treasure most.

Through my girls, I’ve learned that support doesn’t just come in the form of actions like helping with a task or lending someone money or giving a friend advice.  It doesn’t only come from people who are willing to give it.  For me, the support I’ve found most useful has come from the invisible crutch that my daughters unknowingly, yet lovingly provide.

The Five People You Meet At Disney World

Last week, my daughter’s third grade class went to Disney’s Animal Kingdom, and I was lucky enough to tag along. The childlike excitement fluttering in my heart upon walking into the park, even as an adult who has been to Disney numerous times, is still magical for me.

But alas, there are some occurrences that even Disney cannot control. You see, once inside those beautiful gates, some of the magic may be zapped out of your experience by incidents that have nothing to do with Disney, and everything to do with the people who are joining you on your park adventure.

So, without further ado, I give you the five people you will meet in Disney.

1. The “stop-walking-in-the-midst-of-a-crowd” people (SWMCP): Unfortunately, SWMCPs are an abundant population in Disney who unknowingly cause twenty people pile ups when they abruptly stop walking to do something mundane like look at a map or tie their shoes. There is no avoiding them, so if you don’t have quick reflexes, you can either opt to get angry or just keep swimming.  *If you happen to be one of these people, and you just have to stop to have a discussion with your toddler, find something in your purse, or take your nineteenth selfie of the day, don’t be surprised if I nudge you over to the side where you belong.  
2. The “incessant-picture-taker” people (IPTP): In addition to constant selfies in popular parts of the park, IPTPs take it one step further.  You know that long ass line for the women’s restroom?  Well, it just got longer because the IPTPs want to document their trip by snapping pics of themselves making duck faces into the mirrors in the Disney bathrooms. You know that table you’ve been waiting an hour for at the Rainforest Café in Disney Springs?  Well, you’ll need to wait ten minutes more because the IPTPs have asked the waiter to take a picture of their group…for the fifth time.  Just like the SWMCPs, there is no avoiding them.  *If you are one of these people, we get it.  You went to Disney.  But next time, could you try putting your camera away when my daughter is doing the pee-pee dance behind you? 
3. The “taking-way-too-long-to-take-pictures” people (TWTLP):  Taking pictures is naturally something that will happen nonstop in a Disney park.  However, the TWTLPs not only take an absurd amount of photos, but they also take their sweet time when actually taking the picture.  With TWTLPs, you can try your best to skirt around them or if you’re really patient, you can wait it out. *Just a note of caution to the TWTLPs that may come across my family at a Disney park- if you can’t get your shit together and take the damn picture before the sun goes down, expect my big fat head in the upper corner of your shot.  My daughters and I have become photobomb masters. You have been warned.
4. The “take-up-the-entire-pathway” people (TEPP): Somehow, in Disney, it is possible for a family of four to block an entire roadway. We understand that everyone is in awe of the artistry that goes into these parks, and it is sometimes hard to keep a family together.  But unless Mickey is personally giving you and your family a piggyback ride straight past the TEPPs, it is no easy task to maneuver in or around their family structure. This especially goes for families traveling with multiple strollers.  Now, I know what it’s like to travel with a stroller, and those Disney strollers are enormous and hard to operate.  But for the love of God, share the road, people!
5. “Non-smiley” people (NSP): One would think that there would be an abundance of joy emanating from the faces of those in attendance at the happiest place on Earth.  This is oddly not the case.  Other than Disney employees, smiles are hard to come by in Disney parks.  A friend of mine once challenged me to a game of “count-how-many-people-are-smiling” while we strolled around the parks.  Instead of smiles, we came across toddlers shrieking, moms yelling, older kids completely frustrated or distracted by their phones, and Dads probably wishing they knew the score of whatever game they were missing in order to give their families a spectacular Disney vacation. Regardless, don’t let the NSPs drag you down!  Be unique and trust that a simple smile is all that it takes to refocus your energy on the fun that lies ahead.

By now, we’ve learned how astonishing it is to witness just how quickly people lose all consideration for every other human being the moment they walk into a park.  But the moral of the story is to try not to blame Disney for the momentary lapses in judgement that the people in their parks frequently exhibit.  Disney is amazingly beautiful in every way possible.  And maybe that beauty causes people, who otherwise would be able to think clearly, to replace their normal thought process with the same helium that fills those adorable Mickey ear balloons that line Main Street, USA.

Despite my encounters with all five of the people everyone meets in Disney, I’ve found that focusing on my family, on our smiles, and on the marvels that each park has to offer always helps me remember why I chose to visit Disney in the first place. 

Real Women Have Vaginas

When the “real women” campaign started a few years ago, it filled me with hope that my little girls would have a chance at developing a positive body image. More recently, the campaign grew legs and sprinted its way to Negative Town, replacing its original uplifting message with yet another way to tear women down.

Do a quick google search for “real woman quotes” and you will find a plethora of images telling you what real women should or should not do. Apparently, if you don’t have curves, drive a stick shift, watch football, avoid drama, have a job, pay your own bills, or drink regular beer, you are not a real woman.

Forgive me if I seem a bit misguided, but I was under the impression that if you have a vagina, you are, in fact, a real woman. The ugly retorts that have since stemmed from the campaign seem to debate whether or not your actions qualify you as a real woman. And to that, I call bullshit. The most disturbing part of this is that the accusatory attitude toward these artificial beings formerly known as women are mostly coming from-yep, you guessed it-other women!

Reading articles using the “real woman” catchphrase with an added dose of snotty “I’ve-just-entered-my-teenage-years” rhetoric have become commonplace. In recent years, I’ve also been privy to disappointing conversations that begin with, “A real woman wouldn’t _______ (fill in the blank with whatever you think someone born with female genitalia wouldn’t dream of doing).”  When I see and hear statements like this, I am reminded of a child’s logic while throwing a tantrum, “Well, you didn’t give me that firetruck, so you must be a poo-poo head.” 

With that in mind, you’ll have to understand that if childlike behavior is in your wheelhouse, then I invoke the right to use the common toddler parental phrase “use your words” to garner a more valid response from you. For instance, if you feel the need to call me out for not being a “real woman”, please specify why you have the urge to verbally remove my vagina. Or better yet, just be direct and tell me what you actually think lies between my thighs.  I am enthralled to know…really.

Ladies, the bottom line is that we all don’t have to get along. But don’t defeminize a woman because she doesn’t like the same things you like, or because she hasn’t accomplished everything you have accomplished. Just because she may have acted inappropriately as compared to your holier than thou standards doesn’t mean that she needs her vagina lopped off. It just means that she does things differently than you. And that’s okay.

We all work, play, eat, diet, stress, meditate, sweat, relax, laugh, cry, judge, love. Some of us fall and get back up. Some of us have strong opinions or passions. Some of us are thin, but unhealthy. Some of us are overweight and have never felt better. Although we may all have flaws, we also each have something great to offer. Mind you, our offerings may not be intended for everyone, but just because you haven’t seen that side of a woman doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. 

So to those women residing in Negative Town, the next time you admonish a female for not being real, please remember that she may have real feelings, real insecurities, a real personality, real struggles, real opinions, real thoughts and real dreams. She may not be your cup of tea, but she sure as hell is a “real woman”. 

*Disclaimer: This in no way reflects my opinion of those who lack a vagina, but identify as female. This was not written as an attempt to disrespect those women, as they will always have my full support.