july 29

it’s a humid, gorgeous morning at battery park today. the vendors are just setting up and i’m already making life altering parenting decisions, or at least thinking about them. i strike a conversation with a girl from the staff; in 20 seconds we both find out we have sons. when you have kids, it's pretty much the first thing that ever pops out your mouth. i’m instantly comfortable now and feel that new york is not going to swallow me alive. we both bore children right? motherhood, the great equalizer.

30 min ago I dropped off tween at camp. i was supposed to hang out with him for 20 minutes until he left for the art colony, and he flat out dissed me, unabashedly dismissed me, and displayed a self confidence that wasn’t there before. he coolly said “bye mom,” gave me that squint of the eye underneath all that hair that means “you’re embarrassing me, scat,” and turned to his new friends.

he was so poised too. now that I think of it, he’s been so poised, so cool and neutral. new yorkers treat children like adults, and nik has been apt at playing the part. i’ve been wrestling with the idea that he doesn’t need me, and that dad fills my void. there’s nothing to wrestle with now. he’s just not that into me. the truth is, he’s self sufficient, exactly like how i’ve brought him up to be. never allowed to hide under my skirt, always made to self stimulate and his is a new world order, and times are a changing my friends. like on husband, new york looks damn good on him. my boy, or shall I say tween. yes i’ve been required to stop using the word boy and instead replace it with tween, preteen is acceptable too.

motherhood is full of hard choices, and being here alone i face my demons. There’s no one but myself to judge my thoughts. In a split second, I saw how comfortable in his skin he is here. his ADHD subdued, his ticks normalized, because the city has more ADD than nik could ever have. He wants to belong here, and i’m contemplating the idea that i should allow him to start fresh and make his own decision. i’ve raised an independent thinker, a mature little boy, so why is it so hard at this juncture to let him go?

the answer is as simple as it is complicated. i adore him, and want what’s best for him. that doesnt necesarily make it best for me. it appears to my untrained eye, that being here in this pulsating, indescribable place makes him happy, and more importantly self-confident. his self-torture has given way to passion, and passion usually lead to happiness. what would have become of me if I had been allowed to follow my dreams as a kid? i guess i’ll never know, but what i do know is that i won't limit my son, clip his wings. after all, why the hell did i teach him how to fly ?

price of perfection

yesterday they, were suspicions, maybe paranoia. today my worst fears have been confirmed. it happened during a stroll in park slope. i’m obsolete. the men don’t need me anymore. they can clean, cook, wash, entertain themselves, etc. unreal. i've been with them 3 days and it seems that in a month they have jumped out of reality and into their own private utopia.

my mothering them is over; it's both unnecessary and rejected. in my hand i hold my carcass, deflated. these feelings and the city keep me constantly aroused, introspective. i want to enjoy it but i cant. i want to, but every hidden corner begs me to think, to self-indulge. it’s a way to take care of myself, if not in body, although I am walking a lot, but at least in spirit.

straight out of a telenovela, i feel betrayal. i have poured myself into these beings, both father and son, only to be alienated from them. i'm insecure, cracking under pressure, my person shattered, scattered, even tattered onto the debris of the city. there it goes, so passive aggressive, swept by the department of sanitation, by the wonderful transsexual who sweeps her corner of the park incessantly in black patent leather heels and white faux silk stalking. i’ve seen her every day. she’s undeterred, sweeping and sweeping but the dirt never stops. tourist pass by and throw trash right at her feet, she’s never rude she just smiles and sweeps in onto her ladle thingy. it’s her job. just ike being a mom is my job. and it's as endless and thankless as sweeping the city.

july 28

this small little thing is ruining my relaxation. i’m finding it impossible to penetrate the new bonded formed between nik and his dad. they have both grown up and away from me this past month and formed their own little culture. can’t tell where one begins and one ends. nik. my mommy charms are not working on him like they do for the baby. i can’t just make him laugh out of thin air anymore.

this month, I’ve let down my guard. i am no longer cool. i knew he would be different after his trip, i just didn’t know it would be so hard. at least the house is divided into two camps, for now. in ten years i’m gonna be the minority again. in my experience, mommying boys is amazing and intense and then it tapers off. i knew when i planned it, suggested it, and executed it that sending my son away was going to have an impact, consequences, and that quite possibly they could wound me. but it’s good pain. the first step in a long staircase of letting go.

innocent moments like the first day of pre-k, or that first lost tooth are gone. nik has transitioned to the hormone years, leaving baby and me in shit up to our elbows. i'll still be useful; we'll still be close, but he's ridin’ that wave i've been talking about, prepared to make his little mind think on his own, explore his creativity, ideas. after all, that's what i wanted, right?

so many things about being a mom end up biting you in the ass, in a good way. no matter how much you prepare, it always takes you by surprise. and now, I find myself, launching one and letting go of the other.

ready set go

i'm sitting at the pbi terminal on my way to meet my son again. in kid time, a month can be a life altering eternity, especially if said kid has been commuting between sayrville (fastfact: home of bon jovi), brooklyn and manhattan. i cant imagine fair nik's reaction upon returning to florida; i heard he's adjusted to inner city pressure quite well. he just told told me he's walking around williamsburg "williamsburger is my favorite restaurant mom,"taking in the grittiness gentrified, while i wait to get on a plane surrounded by the accents that will stay with me for the next ten days.

for this poorly planned trip i only have one objective. i want to go to bed and wake up everyday next to one P to tha D. oh that hubby of mine; being geographically apart has made us better partners, better parents and better friends.

the annoying girl next to me is singing high school musical (fastfact:overproduced disney bs); she's animated, annoying, and a little to old to be behaving like this. she looks 18. "oooh my gawd, take a pichure wit my iphone! at the airport! in palm beach!" which incidentally is the most vanilla airport i've ever come across. it could be worse; i could be sitting in miami.

shit! we are boarding and there is an unusual number of kids on the flight. every single one of them travelling with a nintendo and loaded with sugary snacks. what are their parents thinking?! what happened to fucking books!?aren't these kids the ones suppossed to save print?

but back to nik, the one who started it all, the crazy journey. if someone would have told me that i would scratch the surface, find myself, through motherhood, i would have spit.

blerg! bitch still singing! if i strangle her, will i be arrested or will i be a hero? maybe they would insist i ride on the pilots' lap. maybe he looks like don draper!

again, momsville, focus. i was nikless for weeks and have hardly missed him. i was able to love on baby A like never before, without the jealous eyes of the older child peering through doorways, watching my moves, counting my kisses, comparing. i've been able to whisper secrets, sing original songs, take early walks on the beach and float away in the wave-less ocean. all of this in the company of my current number one fan. soon enough he'll be doubting me like nik, second guessing, hanging on to dad's every word and i will become second best.

they just called me. i'm ready to meet the sprite, to kiss the freckle on the tip of his nose and run my hands through his greasy hair. and for the next couple of days we'll enjoy life as it was, the three of us, nostalgic, silently wishing that the bambino were among us.

lil' andes benedict had his first taste of discipline last night. he was not amused, and neither was i. like any scorpio baby he was up and around waaaaay past the time most 8-month olds go nite-nite. and i allow it, to some extent. it's great that he learns to socialize with my friends. nik did, and he's ok, so far.

we were at his tia's house; he loves her. he also loves merrymaking, puppy bashing, party-time. while we say "viva la revolucion," he shouts "viva la fiesta." so thrashing around the living room he broke a flower pot. mortified i picked him up and said very sternly ENOUGH! NO MAS!A DORMIR! time to go to bed. and he yelped and cried and like that he went to sleep. oh cholito social creature, what we will i do with you? and you with us? don't you know you've been born into a family of tortured, introverted outsiders? i swear i sent the memo!

i'm very relaxed with the children. until i'm not. the yin and the yang of parenting. i'm not a hypocrite. i practice what i preach. it's simple. breaking flowerpots, not good, so baby is not allowed to get away with it. we cant correct the child if we carry on in the same way. we are their real, live examples, forever teaching, forever setting patterns.

on that same token, if i eat in bed, then lets have a picnic, if i leave a trail of shoes all over the house, well...its shoefest09. so i try try try from the moment i wake up to be exemplary. little eyes are watching my every move, hanging on to every word. it's a lot of pressure. i'm medicated, i mean dedicated.

i'm very big into prevention, after all, family patterns are hard to break. i spent my life doing this. i grew up with a strange, if not disconnected crew that made us, well, very unfamiliar with our parents. they were loving dictators, but dictators nonetheless. the children were one thing and the parents another. we were the ecuadorian von traps, los vontrapos.

my experience has shaped my approach family culture; for us we've chosen a democracy, with a dash of totalitarianism. we is a big word in our house. so is share. even though mom is the voice, issues get discussed and voted on. we are raising each other, growing and learning together. we don't talk down to the children. after all, they'll be the ones choosing our nursing homes.

in this environment personal growth is encouraged; independent thinking is key. sharing those thoughts is supported, applauded, but on the the inside we will forever look after each other, to each other we belong, unless one of the boys starts to pay my mortgage, or gets married then i'm toast.

go (mother) figure

as far as learning how to be a mom, i was mostly self taught as well as self aware. my natural curiosity and inquisitiveness, plus sheer stupidity and blind will, can be credited for my ever growing maternal philosophy. i'm learning everyday, mistakes and all.

although my mother is a good person, she was quite lacking in many ways. i used to be very critical of the duchess' parental skills, but no more. it's not fair.

growing up, i was lucky to have strong women around who became unintentional pillars for who i am. my aunts, grandma, family friends, my best friends' mothers, coworkers, etc. are all alive and well inside me, all united with one common thread: independence. those unintentional fairy godmothers gifted me with idiosyncrasies that i keep in the cavernous compartments of my personality, and in turn pass on to my brood.

my love of literature, for example, i got from S, who i still remember in all her glory. she was the first person who treated me like an adult. now a shadow of what she once was, this literature teacher, a scholar if i may, would lend me her precious childhood books by the boxload. i was flattered that she would trust me something so precious. the 12 year old inside me stills shrieks with delight.

my mother was oblivious to these bonds while my dad watched from his altar in his office, relieved. mom wasn't very interested in the thoughts, soul or intellectual life of any of her children, much less her eldest teenage daughter. i myself would have at least been jealous(!)
S took over where my mother lacked. she recognized in me what the duchess overlooked. why? i don't know. i do know she really loved my family, and she enjoyed connecting with me on a scholastic level.

during the years that she was my confidant and friend, her paramount attribute was her willingness to blatantly educate me, or at least encourage my innate interest in literature. only my father had attempted this inconceivable deed before. imagine! a parent actually teaching their child!

another powerful influence was my maternal grandma MN. she was great. a pioneer, there are really no words, as she deserves a post, a blog or book even dedicated to her. a lifetime educator, she graced me with her attention. I still ask myself what would she do in a situation or even say things like "if MN was alive..."

my paternal aunts were so loving, physically embracing me every time i saw them. my mother was distant, so they satisfied that role with syrupy sweetness. sunday afternoons were a latino love fest of unpopular spanish ballads, yogur y pan de yuca, and driving 'round the malecon in a fiat uno. shotgun forever! my secret lullabies for the boys i stole from them.

from all the rest i learned organization, elegance, certain values. i payed attention to their faults even more than to their attributes and to this day remember them when i catch glimpses of those in me. i am every mother i ever met, every woman.

i'm so deep into this motherhood thing, and all it does is make me more self analytical. i obsess over the children for hours on end. my evenings are spent thinking about nik and how he's doing, how he's growing, and what influence i have in his life. with my kids i'm all about building relationships, but more than anything teaching; i'm helping them become independent thinkers, and work on being a refuge for when they inevitably become outsiders. i want them to ride the wave instead of dipping their foot in the puddle, and i will do this inspired by all the amazing mothers i've met along the way.

no more feelgoodery, bring in the clowns

i've been a mother for so long, that i find it hard to solve problems any other way. let me explain. if someone has an issue and or problem, i mother them, i take care of her/him/them and i call it a day. i've even been known to wipe people's faces off with spit and a t-shirt, even if they complain of a headache.


i love to cook for others, cuddle with family and close friends, and am always the one that gets called in for emergencies, especially those involving shit. "you're a mom, you know what to do." because being a mommy magically makes me able to deal with a variety of issues concerning feces, right?

its strange how my relationship with motherhood, other mothers, and yes that mother of all mothers, the duchess herself, has shaped my personality over the years. my life as been full of very unconventional relationships with unconventional women, most importantly my grandmother who i lived with for two years. she was an incredible woman with as many faults as she had virtues, yet she was respected and adored by many. in guayaquil she marked a generation and left her pawprint on what american society means to people in ecuador.

it was her that probably inspired me to "adopt" my sisters one by one. i know she would have. after my parents divorce the only way i thought to repair the situation was to be a mother. they needed me and wanted them to need me. i wanted to build a new and improved family with my girls. i was obviously delusional. we fight, we love, we disrespect, but above all we share our lives. without each other we would be nothing, but together we are a family.