11 years of… LIFE!!

Tomorrow, my husband and I celebrate 11 years together.  A milestone that frankly I never thought I would see.  I grew up in a household of domestic hell and as soon as I learned what a divorce was I wished that my parents would divorce everyday.  I know I voiced my opinion to my mother aloud more than once.  From watching my parents, there was nothing about marriage that made me want to participate in that type of hell.  

My plan? To be single forever!!  I had no plants, no pets, I was always on the move, I traveled, I worked every hour of the day.  There was no one that I wanted to be with and no one that was going to change my mind.  

Then… I thought I fell in love.  It wasn’t. It was a joke, and I was the butt of that joke.  After guarding myself for so long, I had my heart broken, but as I believe, and I have been shown again and again, life prepares us for the next phase, and when I was literally swept of my feet (really, it’s hokey I know, but it did happen) I was ready.

Life, love, marriage is what you make of it. There are ups and downs. As much as I love my husband, sometimes I cannot stand him.  And I’m sure that he has moments where he feels the same way.  We have enjoyed traveling together, have fought, have cried, have laughed our asses off, have two kids and some days just want to say “fuck it!”, but at the end of the day, we have shared 11 years together. The good, the bad and the ugly.  We sit comfortably together in silence, we share frustrations, aspirations and tequila.  

Is it perfect?  HELL NO!  But then again nothing in nature is. So I accept and love him as he is.  Passionate, good -hearted, an idealist, an excellent father, a beautiful soul, my pain in the butt, a person that challenges me, that loves me, that drives me crazy and with whom I share my life and soul.

So, 11 years later, we joke about the fact that it feels like a lifetime. We shudder in amazement that we haven’t killed each other, and I thank God for him every day.

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Expectations

I was recently speaking to a lovely, smart, high raking executive, who’s also a latina, mom, and an immigrant.  She was telling me that due to her particular circumstances her family’s expectations of her were for her to be an unwed, teenage mom.  

For some reason that really struck home.  It was something that I’ve never thought of, that I’ve never reflected back on and yet, WOW…  

Let’s start off with the fact that my parents really have no idea what it is that I do professionally.  My mom knows that I’m smart and wonderful and all of those fabulous adjectives created to be generally supportive.  My dad is happy that I married a good man and that I have a good life and whether or not I actually “do” anything is neither here nor there.  My best guess is that this blissful ignorance is cultural.  

Growing up, I had my own views on things, and one of them was image.  I often told my mom “who cares what I look like now?!  I’m in school, I’m a teen, now is the time to take advantage of my freedom” and I did.  

Then I found myself on a wonderful journey of life, and learning that had nothing to do with a traditional education, but again to my family my path has always been misunderstood.  To the point that I wonder if I’m crazy, or if they’re not listening.  What’s even more hilarious, frustrating, ironic is that they gave me the foundation for my career.  When I was born my father already owned his own business, so I was typing and taking messages at a VERY early age to the point of being able to run an office by 14.  Yet at one point in my life my father suggested that I was a secretary, which left me a little stunned as I looked at him and said, “Papi, I HAVE a secretary”.  

I gave up on trying to explain to my parents what it is that I do eons ago.  They see that I’m happy (and in my dad’s case he sees that I’m married and happy) and this makes them happy, y ya.  Until I told them about going to the White House with the LATISM Top Bloguera retreat.  

Yes, they were excited, but what struck me was the phone call I received from my mom after sharing pictures with her, “mija, es que para mi ir a la Casa Blanca y a l a luna es lo mismo“, in other words, going to the White House is as attainable as a trip to the moon.  Which I appreciate.  It is a pretty big deal, depending on what circle you’re in.  For me it was an honor, one for which I am very grateful for, and  but it’s a little overshadowed by my wondering, is it that my parents had no expectations from me or that the world is so amazing that they did not want to achicar las posibilidades (limit my possibilities)?

Either way, I tell you what… it’s given me the desire to aim for the moon!! #SiSePuede #YesYouCan

Y padres (parents) let’s give our little ones something to aim for.  Perhaps giving them concrete ideas (astronaut, doctor, inventor, teacher, mother, race car driver, all of the above) and positive role models (within the community, not just on TV).  Let’s have our little ones shoot for the moon!  Even if they miss they will land among the stars. 

There’s no hospitality in hospitals

I don’t get headaches. I’m 42 years old and thankfully I’ve never suffered of headaches. Yes, I’ve gotten a couple of sinus headaches, but otherwise nothing, nada, zilch. Usually I don’t blog about health topics, but the reality is that gratefully, I have nothing to talk about. Until now… *queue suspenseful music*

The other day I was running around, as usual, and I started getting a headache. Which on its own stands out because I don’t get headaches. An hour passed. A couple of hours. I took a couple of ibuprofen’s and nothing. More time passed and his headache just got worse. It felt like there was a piano sitting on my head. It was horrible. Nothing I did helped, it just got worse. Now it’s midnight. I’m dead tired. Its been hours and I’m feeling nauseous. I can’t sleep. I can’t work. All I can do is sit in pain and hope my head did not explode.

So, I sought out help. I went to the emergency room as most doctors will tell you is proper protocol when you have “the worst headache of your life” which I did.  Even with the ridiculously high threshold for pain that I have, the pain was so severe I was nauseous.  I’ll skip to the part where yes, it was a migraine, my first one and it was fierce!!  This evil thing wanted its presence to be known and was not going to be ignored… I on the other hand was.

I sauntered in with my PPO to an empty emergency room and thought great! I will be seen quickly! I was triaged within moments and promptly placed in a room and in a lovely hospital gown.  The nurse asked me a couple of questions and told me that the doctor would be in momentarily.  Meanwhile I continued to work because distraction was the only thing keeping me sane, and I was keeping my husband updated via text.  And I sat there in my gown, relived that I was going to receive help.

Ah, but what I didn’t know was that Northwest Community Hospital did not read from the same protocol book that I, and many doctors did.  Apparently the course of action for someone that comes into this hospital with the worst headache of their life is to stick them in a room, and leave them there to rot indefinitely.

After sitting in the room for an hour and fifteen minutes and literally NO ONE coming in to see me, check on me, see if I was breathing, had passed out from an aneurysm or to even tell me that they were too busy laughing and gossiping to tend to me, I got dressed and walked out.  Thankfully my headache had subsided.  As this was my first experience with a migraine I don’t know if it’s because it was time for my headache to subside, or if it was the OUTRAGE of being put in a room and ignored.  I mean really.  IT’S THE WORST HEADACHE OF MY LIFE!

As I was leaving I told registration and the triage nurse that I was leaving because no one would see me, but I wanted to be sure that neither my insurance nor I would be charged, and that I wanted something in writing.  They offered me a “Refusal of Service” form, which I explained was not the case.  I was not refusing service, they were not offering me any service so I was leaving.  AT NO TIME did anyone ask me how I was, if my headache had corrected, if I wanted to see someone right away, nor did they even offer to rty to fin someone to see me.  Even now, as I’m typing this I am furious by the irresponsibility of this hospital.

What if I had died?  Or had a stroke?  What then?  And this was not because I am uninsured, I have a PPO!!! So why did I spend an hour in the room without any medical attention?  Apparntly I will never know.  After speaking to the Director of the Emergency Room the following day, I was told “all the right things”. every phrase you would want to hear after an experience like that, “so sorry”, “I can’t imagine what happened”, “I will investigate”, blah, blah, blah.  Meanwhile the patient advocate wasn’t really advocating for me at all.  Apparently she wasn’t interested in my being a patient there either, or I don’t know the meaning of advocate, because she was rude and couldn’t care less about my complaint.  I also called the state to file a complaint, but they didn’t care either.  It’s a wait time and they don’t get involved with that.  But here’s my question… if I (American, speak perfect English, well insured) was ignored and essentially denied service at an emergency room – albeit through omission – what happens to someone that is uninsured? Or that doesn’t speak English?  Who’s to say that if I have a real emergency they wouldn’t just let me die?

Scary.

That’s why it’s called “practice”

George Carlin said it best, “Isn’t it a bit unnerving that doctors call what they do “practice”?“

I’m not here to bash the medical industry, or to point out what a study found several years ago, that pharmaceutical companies spend more money on marketing than on research and from my many contacts and friends in the medical field.  Nor will I point out that as soon as we saw the commercials for the magic pills that cure everything from being too inactive to being too active many people started shopping doctors, looking for the ones with the loosest scripts.

What I would like to talk about is finding the healthcare that’s right for you, whether it’s just you, your parents or your kids.  You need to have a level of comfort with your doctor.  It’s your body (still right?  that didn’t change overnight did it?), you know how much time/effort you or whomever the patient is able/willing to invest, and there are options.

This is what I mean. Prior to becoming pregnant, I did my annual physical, y ya!  Thankfully there wasn’t more to it, so practically anyone could handle that.  And I hated doctors.  Actually feared them a bit.  Then… I became pregnant and was forced to find a doctor with whom I was going to have a relationship with.  For those of you who haven’t had a baybe, it’s an intimate process.  Plus, for your first pregnancy you have a lot of questions and occasionally those questions, feelings or concerns could sound a little… crazy, so you need an OBGYN that will answer your crazy questions without letting on that he or she is secretly laughing a bit and thinking, “oh those silly 1st timers”.  In my case, I wanted my OBGYN to deliver my babies, versus going to a practice where you are shuffled around from doctor to doctor.  Apparently this is hard to come by, but I persevered. I asked other moms, my regular doctor, other doctors until I found “the one”.  Really, he’s great.  Delivered both babies and even noticed my pedi during delivery

Same with pediatricians.  While still pregnant I started interviewing other parents and my OBGYN for suggestions.  Then I made an appointment with the pediatrician’s office.  Many pediatrician’s offices are accustomed to this, and you really should meet them because when you baby is born or sick, is not the right time to find out you picked a quack – and believe me, they’re out there.  Here are some questions I asked which you may want to consider:

• Is the pediatrician you’re going to see covered by your insurance? Sometimes the practice is, but not certain all doctors in the practice.  I know, odd, but true.
• Do they have before/after work appointment times? What about weekends?
• Is there a charge to page the doctor on call? First time parents, this means that at 1am, when your baby is doing something unfamiliar and you’re not sure whether or not you should freak out you can get in touch with your pediatrician or someone from there to give you advice before you haul yourself to the ER for no reason.
• Make sure the pediatrician’s beliefs are something that you are comfortable with on topics like antibiotics and vaccines.  Yes, there are standard practices, but trust me, some doctors are waaay more liberal with medicines than others and there are some doctors that agree with spacing out vaccines more than others.
• What about sick visits? You wake up on Monday morning and your child is sick, can you get a same day appointment?

You want to be sure that you have chosen doctors whose decision you are comfortable with. And no matter what don’t ever hesitate to get a 2nd opinion. Be it for yourself, your children.  It’s your right and well-being we’re talking about here.  Get informed, ask questions and if something doesn’t sound right, get a second opinion!  Doctor’s can be a great ally, but remember, they are people too.  They are not infallible and as one doctor put it, once your out of medical school, it’s hard to stay updated on everything.  And many doctors still don’t prescribe to holistic treatments or CAM‘s, so shop around, the right doctor is out there for you!

XOXO

A cocinar!

Ayer a la hora de comida le dije a mi niña que íbamos a comer arroz, “is the rice fresquecito, acabado de hacer?” me pregunta mi niña, a lo cual le respondo que no. Al preguntarme porque, pienso que es porque no tengo tiempo para hacer arroz, porque se me ha atrasado el día, porque todavía tengo una pila de cosas que hacer, porque no me gusta desperdiciar la comida y que calientar al arroz de anoche no tiene nada de malo, pero para hacérselo corto, le digo, “Puedes hacer arroz fresco, o te comes el arroz que ya esta hecho”.

Mi niña es un poquito complicada, me imagino como son muchos niños, y adultos.  Algunas veces me cuesta mucho trabajo para que haga lo mínimo y otras veces se bota y haces cosas que me dejan con la boca abierta.  Anoche fue una de esas ocasiones.  En cambio de alegar, agarro una olla y se puso a hacer arroz!  Claro que la di unos “tips” antes de empezar y le medí la sal, y estábamos juntas, pero ella hizo el arroz y estaba tan orgullosa de su trabajo!!  Esta mama paso su tiempo con su hija admirándola con orgullo, y les sugiero que le den oportunidades a sus niños que hagan más cosas solitos.

Dejen que pasen un poquito de trabajo para que aprenden a agradecer las cosas y para que aprendan a trabajar para alcanzar sus metas.  No todo en la vida es fácil, y prefiero que aprendan estas lecciones conmigo jovencitos de una forma sencilla que cuando estén grandes, en la calle, o en la universidad y se sientan solitos, miedosos y los errores le traigan problemas grandes.  Así que si a los 6 años mi niña cocina el arroz, more power to her!  Es causa para celebrar lo que hizo en cambio de pensar que so una mama mala.  Y si, mi niño cocina también. Todavía no lo hace solito, pero en mi hogar si comes, cocinas.

XOXO

Frack’s “Big Giant Chicken” – a recipe

Yes, I can cook.  I can’t bake, but I can cook.  I actually love to cook, and if I had a prep chef and someone to do the dishes for me, I would love it even more!  I also love food.  Really good food.  Some would say I’m a foodie.  And because I love my kids, I’ve shared my love of food with them.  It infuriates me to go to a restaurant and have the waiter immediately tell me about chicken nuggets and hamburgers for my children.  I sincerely believe that feeding kids that processed crap is a form of gastronomic child abuse, wait… do I see a soapbox to stand on?!  Another post for another day…

So here’s the deal.  I have a vegetarian child, and a carnivore child, and my carnivore child Frack looooves him some chickun!  OK, so we all love chickun (except for Frick, she’s a vegetarian remember?).   And like so many other moms who have soooo damn much on our plates, it’s a challenge to cook, let alone something healthy, fast and delicious.

Well… I did it!  I found the perfect recipe!  When I cook steaks, I make it simple. A little rock salt, extra virgin olive oil and voila!  Delish.  So I thought, instead of all of the marinating, and rubbing and putting garlic under the skin, let’s make a simple roasted chicken and see if it flies, and it did!  It rocked!  The only downfall is that it smells delicious, which means that the entire time it’s cooking, Frack is asking me continuously if his “big, giant chicken” is ready.  Remember, to a 4-year-old, a whole chicken is big and giant!

So here’s how you too can make a big, giant (and delicious) chicken:

Ingredients:

• A whole chicken (pick a size that’s good for your family, I cook a small one and always have leftovers)
• Half a head of garlic
• A small onion
• Oregano
• Rock salt
• Powdered garlic
• Extra virgin olive oil (optional)
• Pre-heat oven to 325

1. Take a roasting pan, line it with aluminum foil (for an easier clean-up) and spray it with Pam or another non-stick spray.
2. Remove the chicken from the wrapping, remove all the “stuff” from the cavity and rinse the bird.
3. You now have two options, if you want a darker skin, dry off the chicken and rub olive oil on it.  If you want a lighter skin don’t dry it off.
4. Take half of the head of garlic, peel and cut (or crush) put it to the side.
5. Take the onion and cut it in half.  Use approximately half of the onion and cut it into quarters.  Put it to the side.
6. Stuff the cavity of the chicken with the garlic and onion pieces.
7. Sprinkle the top of the chicken (the breast side) with rock salt, garlic and oregano and voila!!  You’re done!  The oven will do the rest!

Put your soon-to-be delicious chicken in the pan, put the pan in your pre-heated oven and wait.  It will take approximately 3 – 4 hours depending on the size of your bird. Some have pop-up thermostats, or you can calculate approximately 20 minutes per pound. Serve with the sides of your choice (in my house rice, corn or broccoli and depending on my mood, a salad) and enjoy!!

There are calories in the air!

Ok, let me just say it. I have body image issues.

You know how kids have lanky bodies where their legs and arms have almost the same circumference? Well that wasn’t me. My mother says I started that way, but the child I remember was too tall, too brown and too fat. Yes, fat. And it wasn’t fun. It was clothes from the husky section at Sears and elastic waistbands. It was “what are you?” because I was neither black or white. It was not the best. Then around 6th grade I grew into my weight and although I still wasn’t thin, I wasn’t an obvious oval anymore. By the time I reached high school the need not to feed was strong.  I lost the weight, and entered the fashion world where smokes and soup were all one needed to sustain themselves.

I was not anorexic, I was not bulimic, but I was aware of every forkful that entered my body. Painfully aware. Keep a running tab aware. Apps for entrees aware.  My family called me Olive Oil and some wondered if I was ill (we’re Latinos remember? being thin is a sin). I looked fabulous.

Into my 30′s I was 5’9″, size 6. I worked out at least three times a week and ate a high protein diet.  I felt great, I looked great.

Fast forward to  now.  I’m 42, overweight, with no time, or willpower to workout. A penchant for chocolate and a deep… disgust towards my body.  People often tell me, “you look great for someone who has two kids” and I sincerely appreciate the compliment, but this is what I call a compliment with an asterisk., like… “you breathe really well for someone with a nose” .  So my goal this year?  To get rid of the asterisk.

Where to start? What to do?  For first time on my life, I started to count calories and oh my God, there are calories in the air!  Ok, not really, but practically. Two things became painfully clear:

1. No wonder I’m  overweight!

2. It’s a miracle I’m not heavier!

It’s really been an eye opener. A wake up call. A really hard look at what I’m eating and what I should be eating instead.  Every bite I take while cooking, every bocadito from my kids’ plates…it has all added up over the years, and now, it’s time for it to go.  Instead of cafe con leche, I’m drinking cafe cubano.  This saves me approximately 145 calories, which on its own isn’t a lot, but if you drink several of these everyday… imagine… 3 cafe con leches in a week’s time is… 3,045 calories!!  Viste? Did you see how easily that adds up?!  So the counting (not fun) begins.

Will I ever get back into that size 6?  Quien sabe.  The important thing is that I remain healthy, which means that I lose some weight, through conscious food choices and that I start exercising.  So as I sometimes tweet it’s time to get #FitOrBustCarajo !!

 

That’s me and my Dad.  Don’t let his uniform fool you!  He stopped doing business at a bank once because he was judged by his uniform.  That’s my father.