The Other Side

It's funny that

this post comes immediately after

I publicly professed my love,

but sometimes life is just

like that.

I feel like I come here often

when things are good.

When I'm on the sunnier side,

after the storm has passed.

I guess I'm just more inspired

when I feel that hope

springs eternal.

That fuck yeah!

life's tough

but look at us,

we get through it.

All holding hands and

skipping into the sunset.

But it's not always like that,

sometimes 

it's really shitty 

around here.

Sometimes

I feel like

I'm drowning.

Sometimes

like this morning,

I look at my relationship

and think,

Great. 

One more thing I'm terrible at.

One more thing to fail at.

And everyone else's marriage/relationship

looks so perfect and happy

and some days mine is SOFUCKINGHARD

and I just feel really sad.

Even though

intellectually I know

I'm watching you

through an Instagram filter,

that you are not me

and your partner is not mine,

and your life is not ours,

and if you never fight

and get along splendidly

every second of your life

then I'm jealous

but no,

I can't relate.

I've never been in a serious,

monogomous relationship

as long as I've been in this one.

I've never lived with anyone

so I'm in total 

unchartered territory

here.

I feel like I'm starting to understand

why marriages fail.

It's not always the big stuff;

not always infidelity

or financial dishonesty.

Sometimes

it's day in and day out

of the little, nagging shit.

I swear what will do us in

is the godforsaken dishes.

Or the clutter.

Or that he's a major night owl

and sometimes I'd just like to go to bed

with my boyfriend.

Or that I hate my job

and sometimes

I'm pretty unpleasant

when I come home.

It's like how

a slow, constant

drip of water

can crack a boulder.

It'll be the selling of

my happy, fun, sunshiney soul

for the sexless, nagging troll

I feel like I'm fastly becoming.

It'll be too many days

where I don't like who I am.

We slept on opposite sides

of the bed last night.

6 inches of mattress between us

that might has well have been

a cavernous trench full of alligators

the way we stayed on our respective sides.

Oh we'll never go to bed angry

I used to think.

How naive.

The more I stared at his back

the more I wanted to stab him.

And it's been like this

every few weeks

for the last few months.

Perfectly wonderful

days, nights, afternoons

will come to a screeching halt

and there's a bull in our china shop

and I can't tell who the bull is,

but it goes without saying

that there's a clean up in aisle 9.

We keep treading water,

keep apologizing,

and then some other bowling ball of life

tears me down.

We are opposites in a lot of ways

and while that can be an asset,

it can also be a liability,

and the reality of that

is pretty tough to swallow.

Maybe that's why

we're not married.

It's still too scary

to close off that escape route.

I always say no one is going anywhere

that we live on a broad highway,

but I'd be a liar

if I didn't say sometimes I feel

and he looks

like going out for groceries

and never coming back

sounds like a good plan.

I'm pretty sure if Tibetan monestaries

had good wifi

Paul would disappear forever.

I have knots in my stomach

right now.

Not so much because I'm angry

which I still am

but mostly because I don't like

fighting with my best friend.

Relationships are hard.

Relationships with kids are hard.

Relationships with kids and bills

and opposite schedules

and different personalities

are what nightmares

and sitcoms are made of.

Steady Love

Last night we were working

on a homework project,

Lucas and I at the kitchen table,

James singing to himself in the living room,

Paul gone to work,

when Lucas blurted out,

"Mom, my dad is so sweet to you.

You have no idea how much he loves you."

And I knew in my heart

that he was right.

Like a love letter from the universe,

true words from the mouth of a babe.

***

Fourteen years ago

Paul was my very 1st real Valentine.

We were seniors in high school

and had been on a few dates.

He had only just kissed me

a few days before.

A painfully delayed occurance

that had me telling my parents

that maybe he didn't like me.

He had paged me

yeah kids we didn't always have cell phones

"Happy Valentine's Day"

early that morning

but said nothing more.

I remember driving home from school

jealously eyeing

the balloons and roses

that seemed to be riding shotgun

in every other girl's car.

That boy ended up

surprising me hours later,

coming to my house

bearing gifts of flowers

and clothes his sister

had helped him pick out,

a cd he'd burned

 and a card.

He drove me to Powder Puff practice

and I never made it out of the car.

Make Out Party '00!

I rushed onto the field at the end

and pretended I'd been there the entire time

while my dad (the coach)

looked at me sideways.

There is nothing

like your first sweet love.

***

This morning I walked into my office

and came upon a simple bouquet of flowers

and a card.

Paul had stopped by

on his way home from work

and arranged them on my desk.

I really, truly was not expecting

anything like that.

And you know what,

that's just like him.

He of the

quiet, simple, gentle love.

What's the word?

Lucky?

Blessed?

Charmed?

What do you call

the girl who loved the boy,

lived a lifetime

and then became

the woman who loves the man?

He nuzzled my neck at Prom

and now we sit next to one another

in our living room,

coffee table littered

with the children's books and toys,

watching "True Detective".

There are a million stories and lessons

between then and now,

but I so adore being here

in this chapter,

with this guy by my side.

Paul,

What a silly thing

to write you a love note for all to see,

but I must. 

Thank you for being here with me now,

in this life,

with these kids,

and these bills,

and this house,

and these jobs.

Thank you for being a great dad,

for being a great step-dad,

for being both in such a way

that the boy's can't tell the difference.

Thank you for loving me so incredibly,

that I can feel safe,

that I can feel sane,

that I can feel heard.

Thank you for being a better cook than me,

for downloading "I Love Lucy" for me,

for being my co-hort,

my favorite lead adventurer,

the supporter of all my schemes and ideas,

the texter of all things hilarious and/or kitten related.

Happy Valentine's Day

my love.

Thank you for choosing me.

He and I

When words run dry,

he does not try,

nor do I.

We are on par.

He just is,

I just am.

and we just are.

Lang Leav

I've never known

such peace.

Christina 

My Indomitable Grandma

Last Tuesday 

I could tell by the look on my mom's face

that something was wrong.

"Grandma's in the ER.

She was there last night

and they released her,

but she had to go back.

I'm driving up tomorrow."

She had felt like she couldn't breathe

and had called her brother for help.

By the time he'd arrived at her house

the paramedics were loading her

into the ambulance.

The 15 minutes it took him

to get to her house had seemed too long,

so she'd called 911.

I was sitting on the couch

when my phone buzzed.

"They're intubating Grandma.

I'm leaving now."

Paul works nights in the ER

and there are days when I have to be at work

by 6am,

so a few times a week we spend the night

at Nana's house.

Luckily it was one of those nights

and I was able to jump in the car with my mom.

******

We had done this drive 10 years ago

almost to the day.

My uncle had called with the same news.

She had had trouble breathing and called the ambulance.

They had her in the ER but everything was going to be ok.

By the time we got there

it was bad.

Really, 

really,

really 

bad.

Congestive heart failure

and fluid in her lungs.

I was 5 months pregnant with Lucas

when they told me that she was probably

going to die.

Her heart and lungs were failing

and they were doing everything they could

but she had a 10% chance of surviving.

We slept on the floor of the ICU,

watched her vitals dip and rise,

and searched the eyes and words

of the doctors and nurses for help and hope.

Machines were breathing for her,

medications were keeping her heart

from stopping.

On the 2nd day they told us to call for  a priest

if we were so inclined.

We went to her home and tore apart

closets and desks

for any guidance she may have had in place

for a situation like this,

there wasn't any.

We met the priest at the hospital

with the rest of the family in tow.

We stood around her bed,

holding her hand,

tears streaming down our faces,

but as he began to read,

my grandmother,

with paralytics and painkillers

coursing through her body,

began to shake her head 

as if to say "No!"

to the holy water being sprinkled on her.

And we began to cry harder

and to laugh.

No one was giving her

her last rites 

if she had anything

to say about it.

She began to improve after that.

It was a long road,

but she eventually got out of the ICU,

the hospital,

the rehab.

Her cardiologist told my mom,

"Your mother is the kind of woman

you can't even kill with a rusty nail."

Back home she went

to her life,

to her homes and car,

to her plants and dog.

Forever 4'11" 

(although she'll say 5')

of vim and vigor.

My great-aunt's 90th birthday

My grandmother

is one of 3 girls

in a family of 9.

She is not the oldest,

but my great-aunt had polio

as a child

and so my Grandma

became the leader.

She came to the States

in her 20s.

Worked as a nanny 

and housekeeper,

then a seamstress.

She would make bathing suits

and sell them out of the back

of her car.

She taught herself how to

speak English,

invest in the stock market,

navigate a city and a world

that is not always friendly

to young, immigrant women.

Some of my first memories are of being

at my Grandma's house.

Of her fruit trees.

Of novelas

(Mexican soap operas).

Of my Popeye record player.

Of her picking me up from school

in her blue station wagon.

Of standing on a foot stool

at her kitchen island

baking Christmas cookies.

Of watching her make chile rellenos

for my Grandpa Dwight

and delivering them to his office.

She did that even

after they were divorced

because they were his favorite,

and that is where I learned

that sometimes when words fail,

food and kind actions

will suffice.

She is the one

who taught me to bake,

to garden,

to sew.

I am the oldest grandchild

and those early years

of just the two of us 

are so precious to me.

Twenty years later

I called to tell my Grandma

that I was pregnant again.

I apologized

for being unmarried 

and I told her I felt ashamed,

that I knew I had not been

raised this way.

And then she told me her story.

Of her mistakes,

her heartbreaks,

the night she sobbed 

on the floor

over a betrayal.

This woman I had always loved

told me about her humaness

and in turn gifted me

with the secrets to her

strength and grace.

"Mijita (my little girl)

you are beautiful

and strong

and there is nothing you can't do.

You bring me nothing but pride

every single day,

even in your mistakes.

We all must fall,

but it is in the getting up

that we see what someone is really made of.

I love you.

And I'll always love you.

No matter what."

That phone conversation

changed my life.

And where I knew I couldn't love

my grandmother any more than I already did,

I fell in love with the woman.

******

When we arrived at the hospital

she was still in the ER.

There were no beds available in the ICU,

so we pulled up 2 chairs

and spent the night next to her.

At one point she regained consciousness

and panicked momentarily.

I stood up and put my face

next to her wide open eyes.

I stroked her hand

and kept telling her in Spanish,

"Grandma you're ok.

We're here.

You're in the hospital

but you're going to be ok.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you."

And then

she squeezed our hands

and smiled.

She began showing improvement

the next day,

and the nurses were telling us

how even intubated,

she would try and help them

as they adjusted her position.

Because if there were ever a time

to just lay back and let someone help you,

it would be when you're in the ICU.

Unless of course,

you are my grandmother.

And to that I say,

I never stood a chance

to not be the way I am.

Self-sufficiency runs deep in my veins.

She was released from the ICU

this past week

and will be home Monday

in time for Christmas.

She'll be staying with my mom

I hope forever,

but probably just a few weeks.

Because she's stubborn

and feisty

and that's why she's lived 10 years

passed a 10% chance of survival.

My Grandma,

my Queen,

she is a force

whose wake I will

gratefully stand in 

for as long as I can.

Mother's Day 2013

5

10 and a half years ago I tried to kill myself.

I had a number of chemicals

coursing through my body

and I was

 sad and scared

and I meant it.

The details of that night are some

of the scariest skeletons

in my closet.

My most shameful.

Because I am a mother now

and I still haven't forgiven myself

for what I did

to mine

that night.

I spent three days

in a mental hospital

after that.

I know what it is like

to have your shoelaces taken away.

All plastic mirrors

and group therapy.

What it is to feel

utterly shell-shocked,

confused,

wholly regretful,

defiant,

angry,

and vulnerable.

Those days

were some of the darkest of my life.

And they were also the beginning.

The beginning of my journey

with a bunch of strangers

who knew exactly who I was

and what I needed.

I left the hospital and landed in

coffee-filled rooms

and smoke-filled hallways,

listened to

speakers of a language I didn't know

but fully understood.

Men and women

from completely

different walks of life

that have led me

and followed me.

Have watched

as I continually fell to pieces

and never tired of

collecting the jagged shards of me

or glueing them back together.

They saved my life.

And then they helped me grow up.

I am not ashamed of my past,

who I was and what I did,

because we all have a story

and this one is mine.

That girl still lives within me

but her demons are quiet now.

10 and a half years ago

I put my head down and

put one foot in front of the other

and it has not been perfect

and I have made so many mistakes,

but today marks 5 years.

5 years

of a totally present

and sober mind.

5 years

of ups and downs

and lessons and life

and I didn't have to check out

not even for 1 second.

The disease of alcoholism and drug addiction

runs rampant through my family.

It affects people from all walks of life and

it tore through mine

when I was just 19 years old.

10 and a half years later,

5 years under my belt,

2 beautiful boys,

a man I adore,

parents that are proud of me,

the best of friends,

a career

and a home

and most importantly

a quiet head

and a joyful heart.

Dear 19 year old Christina

sitting in the mental ward
crying into her pillow,

It's gonna be so good one day sweetheart.

It's gonna be so good you won't even believe it.

Be gentle with yourself.

Love,

30 year old Christina

Real Life

A few weeks ago

Paul and I packed up the boys

and hit the highway

for a family road trip

through Arizona.

1,500 miles.

6 days.

Magical.

Dreamy.

We floated through days;

laughing, hiking, catching fish.

The boys swam in a creek,

played in a summer storm

and fed their great-grandfather's horses.

We sat on a country backporch

and watched lightening fill the night sky.

We saw miles and miles

of desert and forest,

red rock and sunsets,

with a Grand Canyon

exclamation point.

Total sighheartburstmagicpeacejoyfest.

I fell in love with my children

and Paul

all over again

and floated home

on a game of ABC Band Names

(I still hold strong to the belief that

Ziggy Stardust counts for Z).

That was Monday.

The high lasted

about 2 days

and then like a plane

whose engines suddenly seized;

I plummeted to earth.

By Thursday I found myself irritated

by laundry and dishes

and work
and just the god damn

drudgery.

I know living with me

can be a nightmare.

I'm a neat freak

and

I'm controlling

and

I'm pretty sure

if everyone cooperated,

our home would possibly

look like a museum,

but instead it looks

like people actually live there

and sometimes that makes me crazy.

When James was a baby

I'd have to literally pep talk myself

into leaving the dinner dishes in the sink

until after the boys were in bed.

I still struggle with this.

Busy, busy, busy...always doing

nonstop...go, go, go.

And since I am like this

I unintentionally expect my partner

to be the same,

and because he is not,

bing! Bang! BOOM!

HELP ME!!!!!!

So that's a point of contention for us.

Which please don't even think

for a moment that I am alone

in the managment of our home.

This is the guy who goes grocery shopping

every week,

makes marinara and hummus from scratch

because he knows I love it,

cooks dinner half of the time,

schleps our boys around,

works overtime hours

and then spends his days off

designing furniture for our home

that he then builds.

Great man?

Yeah I'd say so.

Perfect?
No.

Me neither.

In addition to my neurosis

in all things housework,

I also battle my head.

30 plus years of rolling stages

of depression, anxiety.

A life lived sober now

but not in the past

and the work

that goes with that.

The struggle that still exists

behind that.

Sometimes things are very...

intense.

Angry.

Sad.

Difficult.

It's been shocking to me

how much work is involved

in the care and maintenance

and survival of a partnership.

With kids and a home to spare.

I spoke with one of my best friends

Sunday morning as I cried into my coffee.

I was super angry with my beloved

and

"I know relationships are full of highs and lows 

but the lows suck."

sobsobsniffsniff

And she let me cry

and she heard me out

and then she delivered

some hard earned gems of marriage advice:

"It's just one day.
It'll get better.
It always does."

and 

"Yes the lows suck,
but they'll make you

into a better, healthier person
if you stick it out."

And it wasn't better right away.

But it's better now.

And we spent last night watching

a documentary with Lucas

and then snuggled on the couch

eating blueberry pie.

And every day I learn more

about what it is to love someone

and keep a relationship alive.

To decide every day,

yes I want to be here

with you,

doing this.

Because I don't know

what everyone else's partnership is like

but I can tell you mine is 

full of love
and joy
and laughter
and WORK.

It takes work.

Wayyyyy more work

than I had ever imagined.

Work that is worth it to me

because these boys

and this man

are my greatest loves.

Push and Pull

The weather's been so weird

lately.

Blazing hot

turned to

gloom

turned to

rain

turned to

mug.

The air feels

still and heavy.

Paul's been working a lot

and so have I.

And we kind of just pass one another

in the halls of our home

and the halls of our life

and we're working to pay bills

from the past

and build dreams

for the future;
working to keep the train moving,
all housekeeping
and play dates,
basketball schedules
and school applications.

And everything is safe

and calm

and very sane.

It's all

same.

I meant sane.

I meant same.

I'm not used to either.

What do you do

when you've

spent your whole life

telling yourself

you're a seeker

and a wild child

and everything you've sought

is here in your hand

and all the wild

is anchored,

tethered,

to dreams

that have actually come true?

That question

flaps its wings inside of me

and

I don't know the answer.

Probably because

the neurosis in me
can't comprehend

the simplicity of

enjoy it.

My friends are all having babies.

Instagram feeds

a mile long

filled to the brim

with wrinkly newborn skin

and soft downy hair.

My babies are 9 and 5.

I don't have babies,

I have boys.

I can't remember
the weight of them in my arms,

and I so long to.

Presently I exist

with an ever lingering
sentimental craving

for another baby.

This desire to remember,

and be,

to plan and make

to soak it all in

because I didn't do that with

my other pregnancies.

I was propelled through the experience;

holding onto my sanity as best I could,

pretending to not be afraid,

just trying to survive man

and now they sleep through the night

and they smell like sweat

and they dress themselves

and

I want back into Babyland.

Ticket please.

I had a meltdown yesterday.

There was traffic

and

I was hot

and 

I was tired

and

James had basketball in an hour

and

I couldn't find Lucas' basketball shorts

and

my job is exhausting and unfulfilling

and

we struggle to make ends meet

and

I kept thinking about all of this

and

then Paul found me in the boys' room

wrestling with the hamper

and

the dam burst.

Because I'm still

just trying to survive man.

But also trying to hang onto

every morsel of this life

because it's flying by.

Days and weeks and months

and grades

and please don't let go of my hand

and please let me be here

without being concerned with there

and tomorrow

and shopping lists

and laundry

and food menus.

This is my mom's life.

I have my mom's life.

And I feel like an imposter sometimes.

And then I feel trapped.

And then I feel guilty for feeling trapped

because this is all I ever wanted.

"And you want another one",

Paul will say

as he holds my tear-streaked face

and keeps kissing my nose while I sob.

And I do not undervalue

the man who loves me in such a way

that I can fall apart like that,

he who keeps a straight face

while I cry over my perceived ineptitude.

Holds me silently

as I stand in the middle of the chaos

that is every day living

for a family of four,

because this is some real shit you guys,

no Instagram filter here.

I've fallen from Neverland.

I used to be a Lost Boy

but now I am a pirate.

Plus side:

I get to ride the coattails

of my two Pans.

Marry Who You Love

James' expression =

how I feel about the Supreme Court today

Four and half years ago

Prop. 8 passed

and I was

angry

and

sad

and

disappointed.

How could this happen?

Why don't people understand?

I knew we had

to head to

West Hollywood.

Onward to the safe house,

to Santa Monica Blvd.,

to light candles

and

hold hands

and make noise

because that's all

you can really do

when you feel

like you're not being listened to.

I stood there 

lit candles in hand

with my baby brother.

The 18 year old young man

who had come out officially

just months before.

The one who broke my heart

when he told me that

he had endured

being bullied in high school.

Had been teased,

mistreated,

called a faggot.

He had just voted
in his first election
and the election
did not go his way.

How could this happen?

Why don't people understand?

I have cried
over knowing
that some of my best friends
have faced
the same battle.

I have cried over
the taunts
and
looks
and
not holding the hands
or kissing the lips
of their partner
in public
because they're afraid.

I have cried
over every story
of every kid
bullied to the point
where they have
taken their own life.

How could this happen?
Why don't people understand?

Today's Supreme Court ruling

lifted my soul.

The existing wedding rings

(and the ones to come!)

on the fingers

of my friends

meant more today.

They always meant everything,

but today they meant more.

Because these marriages

and families

always existed

to the people in them,

but now they exist

in a way that says,

you are real!

Even to the people

that haven't wanted

to acknowledge that.

You are real!

And safe!

And we're not going to let this happen!

We understand!

I have never been raised

to see sexuality,

or color,

or gender.

Thanks to my mama

we love everyone.

All are welcome.

Please come in,

there is room at the table

for all of us.

Always.

Endless thank yous
to the Human Rights Campaign
and Equality Now
for their tireless efforts
in rectifying a wrong,
to the plaintiffs
who fought for their love
and for the love of those who couldn't,
and to the Justices
that voted yes to the strike down.

My two little boys
and their mother
are eternally grateful.

We have hope today Harvey.

They gave us a whole lotta hope.

#loveislove