Chronic Ama

I read an article recently about "unicorn moms." No, really. Someone wrote that shit. Because some twit out there thinks I want to be compared to a horse with a horn growing out of its fucking head. OK, I'll bite the click bait because I'm curious if a mom with a subcutaneous hunk of keratin protruding form her fucking forehead is anything like the one with the giant cystic zit on her chin from all the stress in her life. Unicorn moms drink and curse and don't care of their precious little brat gets a skinned knee once in a while. Oh Em Gee! So fucking eye opening, right? Why is there such a pretentious desire to squeeze women who have popped out a little crotch demon into these ridiculous categories. Fuck it, I want to be an asshole mom. Does that make it any better? No it doesn't. Here's why. Today I rocked the fuck outta my khaki linen plazzo pants from Old Navy, clean hair for the week, and my messenger bag with a giant fucking goat head pentag

Good morning. I hope you had a pleasant morning. Me, I got to pour my coffee and look up to see the tears my daughter held back in her eyes. I got to see the pain streaked red across her face. I got to hear the heartache as she angrily told us she didn't sleep last night. Yesterday I got to hear all about the other girls that yelled at my daughter to drop the fight against her bully. I watched my daughter's shoulders slump as she said she had no choice but to yell back. I think her heart is switching the sadness to anger. My heart is breaking. I have raised both my kids to be loving and accepting of people. I'm raising mixed race kids in a technology driven world and that used to be scary to me, but we've delved in. We celebrate inclusive love in this house. Both kids know that they can grow up to love anyone. We celebrate culture with friends that have grown up differently or even in different countries. I attended a dinner in not the so distant past where the ho

As a woman, I am well aware that health is often measured by that nasty little digital number on the top of my scale. It is insanely hard to change that idea since we are inundated with that measurement at every turn. I remember my primary care doctor having me sign a document that had my height, weight, and BMI on it along with information about how I was overweight and at risk for diabetes, even though my bloodwork had always showed my blood sugar as being on the low side of the normal range. I remember when I was dealing with all the issues and symptoms that go along with having Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome and having my OBGYN at the time tell me that I needed to not worry about how I'd get diabetes, I needed to worry about when because for one, it ran in my family, and for two, I had insulin resistance which usually goes hand and hand with PCOS. I remember the first time I stepped into my GI doctor's office. The older gentleman had more than a few extra pounds around his mid

Today was the perfect overcast spring day for an adventure. I'm beginning to want to explore again. I have all these ideas and a growing destination list that begins right around the corner. I better get started, so here's my take on a little afternoon adventure before the summer hear set in.  We started the day at Mercado San Agustin, mostly because we were hungry and partly because I had been craving something from Seis Kitchen. Breakfast tacos are an odd concept to me, but my mouth watered as the chorizo and sriracha hit my palate. I cleaned my plate and washed down the spicy goodness with an icy jamaica, which I hadn't had for a long time. It's my favorite, even over horchata. Jamaica is a Mexican drink, or agua fresca, made with hibiscus flowers. It's dark pink and sweet and refreshing. Full bellies called for some walking. I finally got to visit the MSA Annex, up the block from Mercado San Agustin. It's a trendy little outdoor shopping and dining

Man, I just gotta love when I feel the need to record some of my musings and then this lovely blogger program eats all my words and refuses to spit them back out.  I was reflecting on the face that I feel complete for the first time in a weeks. I feel like I can let go and just be happy and content. There are no lingering tasks at hand like sorting out looming finances or making sure the fridge is full again and we're not out of toothpaste. The kitchen is clean and dishes are put away and I'm not even worried about the upcoming lunch, snack and dinner messes. Laundry isn't piled up taller than my youngest and the cat box no longer is emitting cartoonish green essences into the air. My garden is not dead. The pool still has water. There are no overdue library books hidden in the depths of a child's sanctuary.  I have allowed myself some time to be pulled out of the mundane daily world and, in sharp contrast, put into the world I love. The one that never ceases t

I'm afraid of moving forward, which is exactly why I do it every day. I think that's what drives our nostalgia and love of the past. It has to be fear of the future with a nod to our own existential debate. Often internal, and more often lived out each day. I wonder why I'm here a lot lately. I wonder why I keep going. I keep writing waiting to find some sort of epiphany, that one idea to make everything right, to make everything ok. I keep writing to find that connection, the thing I'm going to love doing, the person that says I made a difference for them, the end to my worries. I lay here in bed thinking of all the things I want to do for myself. I'd love to get a hair cut that didn't involve 5 minutes in my bathroom with a plastic trash can and a pair of hair shears that came with an electric trimmer as a bonus. The idea of a beautiful hair cut and maybe even some color is so distant to me. I could really use a massage, but time eludes me when I have

About an hour and a half drive from midtown Tucson is indeed a summer haven for those brutal Tucson summer temps. At the top of Mount Lemmon lies the town of Summerhaven. With temperatures at least 20 degrees cooler, hiking trails and restaurants, it's the perfect summer day trip for locals and visitors. We had the perfect day trip in July, during monsoon season. We got to Summerhaven early enough to enjoy a short hike on the trail at the end of Turkey Run, aptly named for the wild turkeys roaming around in the early morning and calling out through the day. We stopped to photograph a fairy garden and leave our own momentos for other passerbys to enjoy. It was at least 25 degrees cooler than down in Tucson, which was a nice break from the dry heat. After building up an appetite, we walked to the Cookie Cabin for a carb fuelled lunch of giant pizzas, decadent oversized cookies and calzones that took an extra while longer to arrive. Waiting outside at a picnic tabl