Give it to me goooood, baby!

Having someone watch you workout is like having sex with them. Sweating, grunting, exerting yourself, and damn, all of the faces you make while lifting weights. All this while my instructor is sweating, grunting and yelling "Come on just a little more." "Come on, come on, give me a little more!"
Yeah, so I gave it all to him today. All that I could and I walked out of that class hot, sore and feeling satisfied. hee
I'm surprised at how much I'm really enjoying working out. I never realized to could be as mentally and emotionally exhausting as it is physically. My last experience with lifting weights scarred me for a few years. I would go to the gym with my boyfriend who is now my husband and I loved the intimacy of working out with him. Unfortunately, the gym we went to was across the street from a strip joint, so there were lots of body builders and dancers (read - really hot and slutty) shaking there ass all over the place. Well not really shaking because not one part of their body jiggled. Didn't really do much for my confidence or hygiene. yuck. Anyways, I soon discovered that there was another benefit to lifting weights, aside from the obvious. Grown men with shorts way to tight and short were walking around with full blown erections!!! Yes you read that right, boners, woody, full salute, hard on, chubby, stiffy, pitching a tent, morning glory.... whatever you call it, I found myself staring at it the whole hour I was there. It really freaked me out and at seventeen I just couldn't work out next to all that.... excitement.
So now I work out with women my age and older and I'm very thankful for the lack of enthusiasm!

I think I'll save us all from a picture with this post.

I like for my house to be clean. I do, but this is getting out of control. I'm cleaning things daily and hourly that B.C. I would only clean once a month!! My list just for TODAY!

• The walls! Yes the freakin' walls!!


• Under the sofa. Maybe I should stuff crap under the sofas myself so that it's intentional and part of my decor.


• A's play kitchen. I know it's more fun to "cook" with real food, but Dear Lord child, I already have one kitchen to clean.


• Oh, IN the sofa. We don't need no stinkin' trash can, mom! We've got five little garbage shoots right here in the sofa!


• Butts, faces and hands. Maybe if I can convince them that they are supposed to be dirty, then they'll keep them clean???

Oldie but Goodie

In honor of Mother's Day, here a little something I wrote about my momma many years ago.

Sunday smells like forgiven souls, ancient recipes, and mama's homemade
tortillas. My mama's perfectly manicured cabernet red nails sink into the
belly of the still warm masa. Forcing every element to sacrifice its
original state, to become a creation at her hands, masa.
Dough.
The stick of wood, smoothed out over years, molds the fat, raw, ball into a
paper-thin tortilla. Mama beats the dough with the stick as if it would
refuse to be rolled out, as if she had to beat some sense into it. Over
and over again she rolls one way and then the other, until the rhythm is in sync
with her favorite mariachi band. The sound of the old brass trumpet and
the forgotten stories of the guitar are pressed in with every stroke of her
stick.

After every fat little ball is molded into a perfect circle, as if cut from a pattern,
she lifts the tortilla, careful not to puncture any holes. The searing waves of heat escape from the cast iron comal. Yet with the same hands which are like an angels breath on my face, she gently places the tortilla on the comal. And while attending to the cauldron of beans, pan of steaming rice, and three children revolving around her, she manages to keep an attentive eye on her doughy white tortillas. As she sees the little bubbles pop up on their still raw surface, she instinctively flips it over to expose its now golden brown skin. Then with in a few seconds she is balancing a homemade
tortilla, on her now flour crusted nails and promptly stuffs it in-between the
folds of a kitchen towel to keep it as warm as a seven-year-olds face on a
summer day.

Today is Sunday; today we have tortillas.

I love you Mom!

Cut the Curls

So my baby looks like a big boy now. We cut him off from babyhood, by taking his curls. sniff sniff. Goodness these milestones come so fast. Wasn't it just yesterday that he was snuggled up in a little ball on my chest??? After he was separated from all of his baby cuteness, I held him tight and thought, he's going to be a teenager one day and then a man and then a father.... I know it's a little dramatic, but it's given me a little perspective. For the most part, I carry on each day with our daily, in the moment activities, but I'm not as aware of what the future holds for my babies. I recently saw the Jonas Brother's mom say that they raised their sons to be men. Simple, but hard. Necessary. I look into my little guy's eyes and know that one day he'll face the world armed only with the skills and knowledge his father and I have given him. Talk about pressure. I've always been the type A person. I love to be in charge and take on the responsibility, but this thought really knocked me over. I'm responsible (well my husband too, but you know, for dramatic purposes), I'll be the one at fault, I'm the main artery, the person who will provide the inner voice, and moral compass for them. Good Lord, no wonder my mom always looked like she was under a lot of pressure. I never knew.

Imperfect is Beautiful

I've been thinking about my post all day and I forgot an important one.

Imperfect IS beautiful. I have a big nose and long sideburns. I can remember people making comments about these things, but I also remember my Mom telling me my sideburns were beautiful, because they were part of my heritage. My Dad loves my nose, because it's his. All of the "imperfections" of my body are unique to me and make me special. Now that I'm a mother, my body wears the marks of motherhood and I'm proud of them. No, saggy boobs, stretch marks and a jiggly stomach aren't the physical attributes women desire, but I love how my body reflects my life and is home to all the people and memories I cherish.

How I was taught so see beautiful

Outer beauty that is...

Of course, I was taught that who you are on the inside and how you treat people is way more important than looks, but I was also trained my whole life to love every aspect of myself and I was taught to appreciate the beauty of others. I've tried a few times in the last week to write about how this happened, but the words just aren't doing it justice. So I've decided to make a list. I hope that when you read this you take away more than just a checklist, but maybe the meaning behind all of the activities together. This lesson, this insight, that my parents gave me is probably what I'm most thankful for. Food, a roof, an education... they are all greatly appreciated too, but THIS gift, the ability to see beauty in all its forms has molded how I see life, how I see myself and most importantly how I LIVE my life. Thanks Mom and Dad! I only hope that by raising my children the same way, I can show you how blessed I am to have such thoughtful and beautiful parents.

Sincerity. When my parents looked us in the eyes and told us we were beautiful they meant it. Not cute, or pretty or handsome...Beautiful!

Beauty of the mind. My Dad read the paper every day of my childhood. When I was old enough he would clip articles and bring them home in his lunchbox. I would read them and then we'd talk about them over dinner. I loved hearing my family talk about world issues, civil rights, and our community. I loved the way my parents looked at me when I made a good point in a debate.

Age of beauty. My mother always wanted to work with the more experienced generation and I think she taught us to see the beauty of their life experiences through her eyes. We had neighbors, Ken and Carol, who were older than my grandparents and would invite me over for tea and cheese crackers. I LOVED it. I remember the look on my Grandmother's face when my Mom and Aunt fixed her hair and makeup. I can still hear my Dad telling my Grandma how beautiful she looked and the sound of her giggling.

Beauty of love. Watching my Dad kiss my Mom's neck when he thought no one was looking. Seeing my parents laying on the sofa with my Dad's hand on my Mom's tummy, the womb that housed me and my twin brothers. My Mom freshening up for my Dad every day, even after 30+ years of marriage.

Confidence. My parents showed me how to be confident by living their lives that way. My Dad has never been thin in my lifetime, but that never stopped him from living his life with us. He didn't stop to think about what others thought at the pool or beach. He didn't hold back in sports because he wasn't as fit as the other dads. My Dad walked proud because he was.

Reality. Growing up, my brothers and I were taught that beauty comes in many forms: intelligence, kindness, wisdom, love, confidence, and physical beauty. I think that if my parents wouldn't have taught us that the world judges people on their appearance. it would have been a huge injustice. People are judged on physical appearance. Not fair, but true. When I was old enough to recognize this injustice, I confronted my parent with it.

"Crisa, it's important to present yourself in a way that opens the door for people to see your inner beauty."

To me this meant that I should groom myself and dedicate some time to my physical appearance. NOT all of my time, but by allotting some time to my physical self I was telling others that I was confident, and I did consider myself worthy of the time.

Beauty is something that is in the eye of the beholder, but that also means that YOU are able to mold your idea of beauty when you look in the mirror. I think it's important to love who you are... all of you.

You CAN do it!!

So yeah, where were my "You can do it!" cheerleaders? It seems like everyone one around us is contracting out the smallest DIY projects in their homes nowadays. Now I know my husband and I aren't the handiest homeowners on the block, but come on people!! How about a little encouragement? We're not afraid to get too dirty and we ARE fairly intelligent people, so why can't we blow our own insulation???? ** Ok now that we've actually done this, I'm laughing at myself!***Well, bogged down with encouraging words Hubby and I somehow managed to get out the door and mingle with the handiest of the handy at Home Depot.

After five years of enjoying a 2000 sq. ft. sauna in the summer, Martin and I decided that this year, we would like to enjoy the 100+ temps OUTSIDE only. So we emerged ourselves in the wonderful world of insulation. Mucho dinero later we were off with our bundles of eco-friendly insulation and a machine that looked like that weird little robot from Teletubbies. Nunu??? yeah that show freaks me out too and so did the insulation blower.

So five hours later and LOTS of lessons learned, our house is insulated. And by house I mean the WHOLE HOUSE!!! The sofas, tables, floors, bedrooms, and yes even the kitchen sink. grrr. Well, mess aside, I really enjoyed our project last weekend. I love, LOVE seeing my husband do sweaty, manly things and I love the feeling of doing something difficult with my own hands.