Mama didn't say

Mama didn't say

... there'd be days like this. Where your baby is screaming and you don't know what is wrong.

Where you have been up all night with a total of 2 hours sleep, and your hair is bigger than texas because you have been sitting in a steam bath to help your baby breathe better.

That your husband's week off vacation to celebrate your 31st birthday, would be filled with a baby that has a spiking fever and won't eat because it hurts him.

That you would be running to the pediatrician's office, with sick baby in tow and big nasty matted hair and bags that look like luggage under your eyes, in a practical walking coma, hoping PRAYING that your baby will maybe sleep tonight.

My baby is sick. And when my babies are sick, I feel ten times worse than they do. Because I wish I had a magical potion to make them smiley and shiney again.

Off to the Ped. Hopefully they can diagnose Ryan, so he and I can both get sleep. Before I turn 31 tomorrow and find grey hairs on my head.

St. Shaggy of Scooby

St. Shaggy of Scooby

My children have a bad habit of peeling paint.
It's something that irritates me beyond belief.

While cleaning the other day, I realized that they had peeled the paint off of the area on my bedroom door, that once was a small little nick.
As I stared at it, it looked familiar.
What was that?
Better yet, WHO was that?

I saw this...


And my God, it was the image of Shaggy from Scooby Doo.
St. Shaggy of Scooby I call him.

I even made up a prayer I say to him at night, after laying flowers in front of him and blessed Santo candles:

Oh, St. Shaggy of Scooby
Bring to me the holiest of mysteries.
Help me to understand your hair on
your chin.
And bring the lord baby Jesus, within.
Amen.

Should I let people come and see the St. Shag? Should I call the local networks and tell them I have the holiest of mysteries on my bedroom door? Should I remove the door and put it on Ebay?

I'm going to hell, ain't I?

Uh huh.

Uh huh

WHO: Bird flu is imminent.

And we all thought I was in need of stronger mental drugs.

Start building those crystal bubbles people.

::Mariposa runs off screaming::

More interesting entry to come later. When I have time, and when I can gather me thoughts together in me head.

No mushy

No mushy

I met my husband eight years ago today.

During a blind date I almost didn't go to. But my hair was acting good that night. So, I went.

Lots of love, blah blah blah. Good sex, blah blah blah. I love you, blah blah blah. Will you marry me? Blah blah blah, pretty baby girl, blah blah blah. Gorgeous baby boy, blah blah blah. Sad stuff, blah blah blah. Gorgeous second baby boy again blah blah blah. Eight years later.

The rest is history.

I was going to write a big assed mushy post, worthy of mush awards. But I had a bad night. Filled with children chaos, hair, baby chaos, baby poop, hair, and a fried chicken gut that is bloated. And more random hair. I attempted to give The Girl's hair some layers. It looks good now, but I dunno what will happen by morning. Or better yet, when it grows out.

I don't feel good. I ate too much chicken.

And also, my brother called to tell me my mother has taken a turn for the worst. She's not dying, but I keep thinking she is. She has had the flu since friday and now is vomiting madly. So, now my brother who never freaks about anything, because he is cooooool- is freaking. Now, I am freaking. And wondering if she has something worse. She is also working while being sick, because she just started a job so she can't call off kinda thing- and so she comes home heaving and hysterical. And a few minutes ago, I heard half of a newscast that said something about a possible epidemic of the bird flu, so now of course, I think my mother has the bird flu. And also my kids are going back into crystal bubbles. Because the newscast said something about plague like proportions possible and a 72% mortality rate, and that my county has had plans since 9-11 to set up vaccination areas in schools and to vaccinate 20,000 people at a time. And then the last shot they showed on the newscast was a snowy cemetary with violins and organs playing. So, now, I got terrorists in our backyards in my mind that planted the bird flu and we are all gonna die. And also, since we all ate chicken for dinner, we are gonna be one of the firsts. Why don't they give out the vaccinations before it gets to epidemic proportions? And then I start to freak, and my husband reminds me that I only saw half of the newscast and that, in particular, that station likes to run news stories as if they are soap operas.

How is that for a bad run on sentence/paragraph/freak out?

So, yea. That's why I don't feel romantic tonight.

Paris has yo numbah

Paris has yo numbah

Did you hear about Paris Hilton's cell getting hacked into over this weekend?

Not that you would care, neither did I. But, my husband was reading one of his Sports boards and they had a link to the site that had the numbers and email addresses. Interesting. I was giggling.

Eminem? Giggle! Vin Diesle? Giggle snort! Ashlee and Jessica Simpson? Giggle snort guffaw!!

Many more actors and actresses, Benny Medina, Mr. Iovene. Some interesting people. I wish I coulda jotted those down. Because today when I came back on they were gone. DAMNIT! DAAAAYAAAM!

Not that I would call Eminem. What would I say to him? You are washed up? I heard your peter was small from some chick in the Enquirer? Or what about Jessica Simpson? "YOU SUCK ASS HAIR!"? What would you say to these people? And then there is the fact that you are invading someone's privacy.

I mean, they are people, too. That must have sucked. I heard they all got about 300 to 400 calls in one day. Eminem and Vin changed their numbers. And one unamed actress screamed "Why would she put my phone number in her cell phone!?? I mean come ON!??" I dunno, unnamed actress. All I know is, if anyone meets Paris "spoiled brat" Hilton, don't give her your phone number. Or email address. She is careless.

I wonder... in there, there was a code name for someone. Who the fuck is Eggplant Dike? I guess we will never know.

Sister Sledge

Sister Sledge

Hi everyone.

I don't know if I ever told you about my very talented, and very wonderful friend Sis. I know I have mentioned her in our "adventures in beer and wings". But I don't ever think I told you about her amazing talent.

She is doing some art that is going to be featured in an art exhibition during mother's day. I can't tell you how friggin proud I am of her!

She is not only by best and only friend, but she is a real inspiration to me. She has really come out of her little shell and decided that it's time to show the world how much talent and creativity she has.

It's not easy for us mom's to come out and show the world what we are made of. We spend so much time and dedication into creating little pieces of wonder that we call our children. But, when it comes to showing our own talent we sort of clam up, and feel like children ourselves and can't really let it all out.

Well, Sis is BUSTING OUT!

Please check her artwork out.

Love you Sis Trini!

La Sucias

La Sucias

I have to tell you about what happened to me.

Last week, I wrote a fan letter of sorts, to Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez. She is an author that I have recently discovered.

I truly love her writing. So, I decided to write her a letter.

I did not, expect her to write back. I didn't even expect her to read it.

She did both. And then some.

She wrote me back a letter, that I now put in my current book, (a book written by her of course) as a bookmark. And also, because I could not believe that she was so nice, and so encouraging.

She then invited me to meet other women in an online group. A group that includes incredibly talented, artistic, creative and inspiring women of all backgrounds.

I feel so freaking lucky I can't explain.

I am surrounded by all these awe-inspiring women. And here is little ol' me with my blog.

And they are READING MY WORDS. My silly little, yet insanely loud self. My bad wording, grammar, and my freaking (I said freaking!)dirty mouthed words.

I made a promise to myself, just the day before I wrote Alisa. And that was to be honest to myself and to just show people what I am made of. To let them see the good and the bad, and just, to be myself.

And so you see, when I did just that, and I wrote her that letter, I opened up a whole new world of new places and people that I had yet to see. Not only because I was inspired by her, but because she saw something in me to invite me to get to know her and them.

I know I am just a mom. That sits here daily and writes about the goings on in my little family.

But an author, who writes novels, and is on the New York Times Bestseller list, said nice things about my writing. And linked people to my writing. Even if it does just talk about diapers and baby food, and my silly little life.

It must be something about the way I write, that makes people read me. And that is enough to give me that push and give myself credit, and maybe do something I always wanted to do.

Thank You.

The Myth

If you are a mother... whether working mother, stay at home mother, work at home mother. Read this article. I found it very interesting.

Sometimes we feel so alone. Until others come out and confess, or as this articles author, has realized.

We can't do it all. No matter how much we want to. And sometimes we need someone to write something in order for us to get into our thick skulls.

I'm Blessed

I'm Blessed

This is why I am smiling today:









How could I not be?

Demon Seeds

Demon Seeds

Remember Potty McPothead my neighbor?

They live above us? Yea, them.

Last night, I was having a good night. The boy went to sleep on the dot at 8 p.m. The girl was being good, so I let her watch Aladdin on Disney in her bed and she went to sleep on the dot after it was done. She turned off her T.V on her own, gave me kisses and went to sleep.

By 9:30 I was reading my book, relaxing with the hubs. Babies asleep. All was good.

Then there's Potty McPothead and his woman Alchoholic Bitch Whore's kids. Their son threatens Potty supposedly by saying "When I grow up I am going to blow your head off." At least that's what Potty tells me and the hubby when we happen to run into him in the basement doing laundry. I always make it quick when I run into Potty. He gives me more TMI than I can handle.

Anyhow, lately, he and his wife/woman/baby mama or whatever you wanna call her, are not getting along. Lemme rephrase that, not getting along for 2 weeks UNTIL the night before Valentine's, when I heard them humping.

So, we have Potty and ABW and their kids. They have a little girl who is 3 and she has a room above my boy's room. She used to go to bed on time, until they started fighting at night. Now she wont sleep.

She was running. And making dinosaur noises. Until midnight. She woke up both of my boys. THREE TIMES.

She is demon.

I am patient. I like to think I am a nice neighbor. I let the drunken fight nights they have, go- by not calling the police.

I even let ABW use my dryer once or twice when hers was broken. She and I also trade clothes for the kids. I give her The Girl's older stuff for her demon seed, and she gives me her boy demon seeds clothes for my boy. I even got a bargain of shit from her before the Baby was born at her baby yard sale.

But this shit has to stop. I feel like I got NO SLEEP WHATSOEVER.

I like my sleep.

I hope they like theirs. Because today I am being extra loud.

Them heathen assed vampires. If this doesn't give me a kick in my ass to buy a house in the country I don't know what will.

Do heathen assed vampires live in the country?

He [hearts] me

He [hearts] me

My husband hearts me.

I have to show you and tell you what he got me, because it was so sweet the way he did it. So funny, so him.

I was going to get him an Xbox last week. I was going to be sneaky about it. But decided one day to tell him to go buy it. Which he did. Now I wished I could have surprised him the way he did me.

He comes into the kitchen yesterday after a long trip to the grocery store. Hands me only a CVS bag and goes " Everywhere you go, Valentine's Day this and Valentine's Day that... blahh blahhhh blahhhh...." with a scowl on his face.

Yea, I was like, "what's crawled up his bum?".

I opened the CVS bag to get whatever is in it. I was expecting donuts from the grocery store bakery, damnit. Why didn't he go to the bakery? And where are the groceries?

In the CVS bag, along with cough drops and other toiletries... is a jewelry box.

"What's this?" I go.

"Huh? Open it. I dunno..." he says with that shit eating grin of his that is famous.

My daughter went with him and is standing there with her tongue on the side of her mouth. "Open it MOOOOOM!!!!"

I open it and there is the most gorgeous diamond heart pendant ever. With a necklace. "IS THIS REAL? ARE THESE DIAMONDS? OH MY GOD!" I started to cry. I hugged him so tight. "It's not from CVS baby!" he laughs. And my daughter is standing there giggling and clapping her hands.

I keep crying. I can't see. My eyes are flooded.

You see, we never really get to do things for each other. We never have extra money to get things when holidays come. And they usually go with the children being spoiled rotten and us sitting there being happy we could provide them with their dreams. But lately, we have been blessed. Blessed enough to buy each other things, and you forget how special it feels when you can buy someone you love something.

"I wanted to do something nice for you. I wanted to show you how much I love you. I love you, Mari." Said the handsome man.

He doesn't have to show me anything. He has done that by being by my side for 8 years as of the 22nd of this month. For helping me bring three beautiful babies into this world. And for working so hard to provide us with things.

I love him. I love him more than ever. And not because he bought me diamonds. Because he gave me a heart. He gave me his heart 8 years ago, in another shape other than baguette shaped.

I love you Keith.

And yea, be bought me donuts, too.







LOOK HOW IT GLITTERS, SO! Ok... I animated it...

Ambush Makeover

Ambush Makeover

My husband bought the kids gifts to help them feel better.

He got our son some legos and a makeup kit for our daughter.

She and her brother ambushed me.

They made me. Made me over.

Then they made themselves over.


Don't I look bootylicious?


Giving orders and looking serious.


No bigger cheese, than the cheese he bares.

Viral Bouquet

Viral Bouquet

I got a bouquet for Valentine's Day.

A nice viral bouquet.

What's a viral bouquet, you say?

Here is what you need to make a viral bouquet:

1 baby with a cough and head full of mucous.

1 six year old girl with a stomach virus.

1 three year old boy with a fever of unknown causes.

2 parents with sore throats and mucous filled noses.

Directions
Put together the parents. Make sure they feel horrible.
The six year old girl must poop in her bed and run to the bathroom while vomiting. Then you take the parents and make them clean up the poop and the vomit.
Add the baby with a cough and boogies and make him real cranky.
Throw in the three year old with a strange fever, that goes on and off for about three days. The fever must be of unknown causes, because he doesn't have any other symptoms.

And there you have a viral bouquet for Valentine's Day!

I don't know where on God's green earth we caught all this shit, but it's quite lovely. The smells are just gorgeous.

Actually, I have my ideas on where everyone got sick. All I have to say is:

"IF YOU ARE SICK, AND PEOPLE SAY THEY ARE COMING OVER WITH THREE KIDS TO VISIT YOU, PLEASE TELL THEM IF YOU HAVE THE PLAGUE GOING ON IN YOUR HOUSE!"

How hard is that???? Ugh. Why did we have to go visiting people last week??

I want to hide my children in a bubble for the rest of the winter.

A nice sanitized crystal bubble.

Mariposa's broken wings...

Mariposa's broken wings...

How come when I wrote that title, that old corny song from the 80's popped into my head?

Know what's scarier? If it were the 80's, I would probably relate to that song and play it over and over again, crying.

Funny thought, huh? Me, big poufy hair, covered in White Rain hairspray, with drips of mascara running down my face. " ... learn to fly again, learn to live soooo freeeeeeeeee!"

What is not funny is what I experienced about two weeks ago. I had the meltdown of all meltdowns. The PPD (Post Partum Depression) had come back with a vengence, and it took me at a weakened point.

It scared me so much, I sought help. In fact, it scared everyone around me so much, they wanted me to get help. Making a call to my doctor and the nurse at the hospital was kind of hard for me. I felt weak. But, I knew if I didn't do something, that I would never feel well.

That's how scary it was. I felt like if I didn't do something, I would never feel well.

I called, and soon was put back onto meds. I felt kind of defeated at first. Thinking "you are weak, you were supposed to fight the monster, you let the monster consume you..." I soon realized, that I was not defeated, but was actually beating that monster the best way I could ever beat that monster. And that is by getting help.

I come from a long line of denial queens. My grandmother, as we all know, is cracked in her own special way. My mother had dealt with depression herself, but never sought help. Women before the women of today, were taught to act like their souls were made of iron, and were not welcome to sob and show their true emotions.

So, from that alone, I wasn't batting a thousand in the upstairs department. Mama and Abuelita sometimes would sit in their dark rooms and suffer silently.

I didn't learn about this until after I had children.

Still, though, I can't stop joking about it. I try to find humor to help myself accept it. That's what I do. I put on my jester hat.

I couldn't find joy in anything. Not even in my writing. And that is why I put Mr. Napoleon Dynamite on the front page and took a little hiatus.

I feel better. Not 100%, but on the road back to wellness.

Soon, this Mariposa's wings will learn to fly again, and learn to live so free. Without poufy bangs and White Rain hairspray, and without mascara running down her cheeks.

Thanks Napoleon....

Thanks Napoleon....

... I will take it from here.

EHEM. Hi. Remember me? Uh huh. If you are still checking in on me and haven't decided "WTF? Whatever, she wasn't any good to read anyways, always bitching about her life, herself, blah blah blah..." I want to thank you for having the patience.

I suffered a little setback.

I am back though. I can't get into details right at this second.

Why? How come? WTF?

Well, because one night of two hours and playing with graphics, and setting up my page has me tired out. What can I say? I mean, come on now. I have three kids and a husband to take care of. Not to mention myself.

So... the details will come tomorrow. If I can. Or days to follow.

Man... I forgot how to write. This looks like shit. SEE! SEE WHAT HAPPENS????

Goodnight sweet peas. And thanks for caring.

~ M.