tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76431183752501711412024-03-08T04:30:15.271-08:00living and loving and laughing, oh my!i'm just another girl trying to figure it all out. knowing that i never really will. living authentically through all the changes. loving without fear. laughing with all my heart.Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-79732736835441425662018-08-08T11:24:00.000-07:002018-08-08T11:35:00.607-07:00Mama MusingsI devoured the second book of Kevin Kwan's <i>Rich Asians</i> trilogy. While on the waitlist for a copy of the third book, I'm reading about toddlers. Max turned two a couple of months ago and has been pushing boundaries more often and throwing dramatic tantrums more than ever.<br />
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A friend of mine warned me about hitting. Max hitting me; not me hitting him. </div>
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In the past week, the hitting and throwing things at mama began. It's playful, not malicious, but hurts just the same especially when aimed at my head. We put him in timeout when he does it. Max protests and cries but, thankfully, still stays in the corner until we call him over to explain why we was put there in the first place. <i>No hitting</i>. He apologizes - <i>sorry, mama</i> - and goes back to play only to run back towards me arms ready to throw a toy at me a few minutes later... and the cycle of timeout starts again. It's sucks for all of us.</div>
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On the other hand, Max greets us with <i>good morning, mama/daddy</i> with a big smile when he wakes up and is quick to give us hugs and kisses throughout the day. He can play on his own and shares toys when playing with others. A few months ago, he finally started sleeping through the night consisently (<i>I know!</i>) and wakes up at a reasonable hour - around 6am instead of four - these days. He's happy, healthy and super sweet. Other than the apparently normal tantrums and hitting/throwing, Max is easy and, as a result, Fraser and I are fairly hands off.</div>
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Other than putting him in timeout when he's crossed a boundary, Max runs around, dances and plays freely. Early on, we made a choice not to run to Max whenever he ran into something or lost his balance. Fraser and I would acknowledge the incident, tell Max he was okay and watch him pick himself up; obviously, we scooped him up in our arms and helped him up when he actually hurt himself a bit or was completely surprised by a run in with a wall or fall. We're not heartless. Quite the opposite really. It took a lot of self control for me not to run to Max and comfort him every single time he lost his balance or got frustrated with something, but it was important for him to learn to self-soothe. To figure out the difference between a small physical/emotional discomfort and one that needed more attention. </div>
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Many times, Max has tripped and fallen while walking in front of me and a friend, who instinctively crouch down to help him the moment it happens while, after a quick assessment of the situation, I assure both Max and my friend that <i>he's okay</i>. I've been told a number of times that I'm such an easygoing mom, which I don't think is true but take as a huge compliment. It all comes down to our ultimate goal as parents: we want Max to leave.</div>
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You read that right. </div>
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When the time comes, <i>we want Max to leave</i> with the knowledge that he can properly take care of himself and can always come home if he needs to. </div>
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As a mother, I want to protect Max from everything because the world can be cruel, ugly and unforgiving. The best way for me - for us - to protect him is to give him the tools to deal with the world. To love him with all we have, teach him to appreciate people and the infinite beauty of the world while acknowledging that things will not always go his way. Yes. You are loved by many. No. You can't hit mama or throw things at her head. Yes. You have to share that. No. You are not allowed to have more than one piece of chocolate. Yes. Mama/daddy will be back.</div>
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The freedom to pursue my dreams and live my life, and my siblings are the best gifts my parents have ever and will ever give me. We are still not sure if Max will have a sibling (that's a blog post on its own); sibling or no sibling, Max will hopefully grow up confident, in touch with his feelings, strong, compassionate and with love and respect for other people and, more importantly, himself... Yes. We love and support you. Yes. Of course, you can! Yes. Mama wants you to stay with her forever. No. You can't actually do that. </div>
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Honestly, I have no idea what I'm doing as a mother. There are days I feel like I'm not doing enough and days when it feels like everything I'm doing revolves around him. Both are true. It's different every day. The only thing that stays the same is the desire to raise a boy into a man who will make the world better than he found it.</div>
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For now, while that boy is happily in daycare, I'm finishing a cup of coffee, writing for a bit then working out before meeting a friend. </div>
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Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-2480464852485832742018-03-27T16:20:00.001-07:002018-04-04T22:25:19.230-07:00Breastfeeding No More<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Four weeks ago, I breastfed Max for the last time. Admittedly, I’d been putting it off for a myriad of reasons but knew that afternoon that it’d be one of last times we’d be connected that way. We’d just had family in town to visit and they, along with Fraser, wondered how much longer I’d planned on breastfeeding.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Let me back up.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Neither of my sisters produced much milk and, therefore, didn’t breastfeed very long. I was as surprised as they were when my milk came in and soaked my shirts until I bought breast pads (wasn’t sure I’d need them so buying them was not a priority... until it was). We were all thrilled and I set a goal to breastfeed Max for a full year.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">I’d read somewhere that it’s important to check in with yourself and your baby every few months to make sure you’re both still on board with the boob, so I was very conscious of doing so at six and nine months. Several of my friends had a mutual breakup between their babes and their boobs around that age; some mamas stopped producing milk, some babies stopped being interested and variations between the two. My milk production was solid and Max showed no signs of slowing down in spite getting his first teeth at four months and happily eating solids.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">As his first birthday approached, the idea of no longer connecting with, calming and comforting him by breastfeeding made me sad, so I decided to give it a couple more months. Then my schedule changed over the summer and the next thing I know it’s Thanksgiving, Max is 18mos and still full on breastfeeding.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">I weaned him down to twice a day (once in the morning and another as part of his bedtime routine at night) between Thanksgiving and Christmas only to fly to Wisconsin for the New Year. He caught a cold and ended up breastfeeding on demand again by the time we flew back to LA. I blinked and my family was here for a visit and Max three months shy of his second birthday.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">So yeah. He was a 21mos and a few days that Tuesday afternoon as I held him, telling myself I need to wean him cold turkey like Fraser had been saying for months. I didn’t want to hear it because Max is growing so quickly, I can barely wrap my mind around all of the phases he’s gone through already. Breastfeeding was something special to just us. I had no idea how much I would cherish that bond with my child and am so grateful my body was able to sustain it for as long as it did.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Baby number two is not completely off the table but Max may very well be an only child. Letting go is hard, beauties. I want to freeze time (when he’s not throwing a tantrum) and hold on to various phases of his all too short time as our baby. (I know. I know. <i>Toddler</i>. He's <i>technically</i> a toddler.) He’ll always be our baby, but he’s not even two yet and has had so many incarnations of himself already. His laugh, his voice, what he gets excited about, his face... his limbs no longer have baby fat on them! And while it’s such a gift to watch him grow, it is also heartbreaking to know we’ll never be as important to him as we are now. We recognize that his world revolves around us being around, so Fraser and I take him in as much as we can as he moves from yet another phase he'll never go through again.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;"><br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">It took him six days to stop crying when we walked him over to day care. In fact, on day seven, he waltzed straight to the table with his friends, took off his sweater (I helped), handed it to me, said <i>bye!</i> and turned his back to me to face his friends. When I asked him to give me a hug, he half turned in my direction, gave me a half hug and repeated <i>bye!</i>; I was so proud of him for having the confidence to own that room and know that we’d be back to get him. That said, I also cried as I walked away knowing he’ll continue to open his wings and, if we raise him right, take flight sooner than I’d be ready for it.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Okay. Back to four weeks ago.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">I’m having this beautiful, sad mama moment breastfeeding my baby when Max utters <i>mmm</i> the way he does when enjoying a cookie he'd dipped in milk. Whoa! I’m literally food. Don’t get me wrong, I know my breastmilk is nourishment but that <i>“mmm</i>" sounded like <i>that’s delicious,</i> which weirded me out. I knew it was over and immediately felt sad then, eventually, relieved that the time had come. </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Max threw full on tantrums the first couple days when I gently told him we <i>don’t do that anymore </i>and offered him something else: milk, juice, a cookie, to be held, to play, to go outside... Within a few days, the tantrums became whimpers then a look of disappointment and, finally, a mere change of direction as if to say <i>oh, well</i>; he took it better than I did.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">I was super sad for a solid week and talked about weaning Max to anyone who’d listen. It was rough.</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">We live in a one bedroom apartment, so I slept on the couch for a week. <i>Don’t feel bad. </i>Max was still waking up in the middle of the night regularly at 21mos, so I hadn’t slept through the night for about two years. I slept a solid 6-7 hours a night that week, which was heaven. We all did.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">When I went back to sleep I our room, none of us slept with Max waking up to talk, play and try to get in my shirt from 2-4am. Once until 6am... back to the couch I went. We all slept well for another week before I snuck back into our room to with my boys. It took several days for him to sleep in his crib again (he'd gotten used to sleeping next to daddy and having all that space), and as much as I enjoyed getting a full night’s sleep, I savor his sweet voice saying </span><i style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">hi, mama!</i><span style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;"> and telling me stories for a bit before drifting back to sleep in between us. I'm happy he's now back in his crib, which we push against my side of the bed at night. If he awakens in the middle of the night, I slip a hand through the bars for him to hold until he falls back to sleep, a trick Fraser uses to get put him to sleep in the first place... Another beautiful phase for us to cherish.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;"><br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Motherhood, man. Greatest gift I’ve ever been given. Complicated terms. Never a dull moment and some of the best, smallest, most authentic moments of joy. I wish this type of happiness (whatever it looks like: the dream job, perfect vacation, delicious cup of coffee, a parking spot at Costco...) for all of you.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Then, just to keep it real, your toddler will dump all of his toys out of their bins and throw himself on the floor screaming bloody murder because the broken hot wheel truck you set aside to glue back together is nowhere to be found.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="color: #222222;" /></span></span>Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-49890959777031912052018-01-05T14:00:00.000-08:002018-01-05T14:00:07.630-08:00Daycare: Day One<div>
Hello, 2018.</div>
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It's Max's first day at daycare and I have to consciously stop myself from picking him up now that I'm home from teaching private Pilates at the studio and my first audition of the year. He was actually registered to start a couple of days ago, but I kept him home because he was just getting over a fever and had cold from ten days of traveling over the holidays.<div>
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I know it's silly. I've thought and written about wanting time for myself again for many months and, now that it's here, I don't know what to do with myself. It's so calm and quiet here without Max. It's weird... and sad.</div>
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Of course, Fraser is totally fine about it. In fact, he dropped him off this morning because we decided it would be harder for Max if we were both there (and he's more attached to me). Fraser sent me a picture of Max at the table with other kids, looking like he'd been hanging out with them forever. Max cried when Fraser said bye but not for long (I called to ask). I reached out to Bells this morning and she reassured me, along with my amazing mama tribe, that Max is fine. </div>
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Both of my boys are fine.</div>
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Why am I sad? </div>
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That is a loaded question and one that I want to answer. I think it all starts with motherhood being all shades of gray, never black and white. For me, the fact that he may be our only one adds a layer of bittersweetness to every phase he grows into. While I don't want to be a helicopter parent, I have to admit I can understand why it happens. They grow so fast and you want to hang on to every stage of their development for just a little longer.</div>
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Max doesn't enthusiastically run to the door when I come home anymore nor does he cry when I leave. It's as if every stage is around just long enough for us to get used to it before he moves on to something else. Even his laugh is different. </div>
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I am so glad he's independent and very social, and there are days I wish he was more so then he's in daycare and I want him back in my arms all the live long day. What kind of crap are you trying to pull, motherhood? You surprise and humble me every step of the way.</div>
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The sadness is recognizing the change and not being quite ready for it. I'll probably never be ready for all the growth Max will go through by the time he is, and I have to be okay with that. </div>
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In my early twenties, I told my parents that I was moving in with my college boyfriend and asked them to trust me because they've taught me right from wrong and I didn't want to lie to them. How foolish of me to think my parents could simply trust me and be okay with my very adult decision. I have tears in my eyes thinking about Max saying those very words to me because I finally get it now. I will always be a little girl to my parents just as Max will always be my baby.</div>
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This is a new chapter for all of us. Fraser is going back to the gym; I'm happily auditioning again and have time for yoga, coffee with friends and writing; Max will make friends and thrive in daycare. I can get on board with all of that. </div>
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What a way to start the year. Happy happy, beauties. </div>
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Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-8589067056470157342017-07-19T17:10:00.000-07:002018-10-23T15:27:10.710-07:00Did I give birth?It's an odd question with a fourteen-month-old toddler attached to my hip, but it's a question I actually asked a handful of fellow mamas a few weeks ago after this conversation with a friend:<br />
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Me - (responding to sexist comments a mutual friend was sharing) Well, only women can give birth.<br />
Her - Not all women can give birth. Some women have to have a C-section.<br />
Me - (confused) I had a C-section.<br />
Her - Yeah so you don't know what it feels like to give birth.<br />
Me - What? No. I gave birth to Max.<br />
Her - No. You had to have someone cut you open and take him out of you.<br />
Me - Because I wouldn't dilate.<br />
Her - Exactly. You don't know what it feels like to give birth.<br />
Me - (not knowing what to say) So what did I do?<br />
Her - You carried him...<br />
Me - We are never going to agree on this.<br />
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Before I continue, I feel it necessary to tell you that this fellow mama is a really good friend; we've known each other for nearly two decades. If I'd had the conversation with someone I didn't know or even an acquaintance, I would've dismissed it as a difference in opinion and not thought twice about it. Because of our history, I haven't been able to let the conversation go. I also want to clarify that had she said I didn't know what it felt like to have a vaginal birth, I would've agreed in a heartbeat. Because that is a fact.<br />
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When I asked a handful of fellow mamas if they thought I'd given birth to my son the following day, my question was met with confusion. After explaining why I'd asked, every single one of them validated my birthing experience. I wish I could say I didn't need them to but, if I'm being honest, at least a part of me did; having a C-section was a last resort for me and I was disappointed that I wouldn't be pushing Max out once I made the decision. Thankfully, I was reminded by my sister and a dear friend that my job was to go home with my new family and that having a C-section was my birthing experience before I had the surgery. I'm fairly certain, my friend knew this, which makes me wonder why she'd say it out loud. To me... or any woman but I digress.<br />
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Anyone who knows me knows that I am a to-each-her-own type of person. I like to think that we're all doing the best we can in life and believe that people are inherently good. Don't get me wrong. I understand that there are people who are not nice, who are greedy, who take advantage of other people, who do awful things, who are assholes for no reason. I don't like those people and don't invite them in my life but also wonder what happened in their lives for them to fear being nicer, being generous, treating others as their equal, doing good, choosing to be kind.<br />
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I don't understand it when people are rude, mean or feel entitled to judge other people's choices. That's really it. <i>What's with the judgement?</i> In general but especially among women. More specifically among mothers.<br />
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Honestly, I think it's great when moms go above and beyond with all organic, well-balanced meals, regular playdates, fun activities outside the house, no screen time, strict nap and bed times and a million other things I do not do. I admire these mothers for their diligence (and truly wish I could be more like them) but am equally in awe of and applaud mothers like me, who do organic when they can, are happy when their toddler eats more than five bites at mealtimes, get playdates in when they can, mostly stay home playing with their child, use screen time while cutting nails or to use the bathroom, have nap times that fluctuate and bed time that is generally at the same time and a million other things I do that aren't by the book.<br />
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I've read the books (and the blogs, forums and websites) and appreciate the studies and information so easily available to me, but at the end of the day, Max is <i>my</i> baby. Fraser and I know him better than any parenting expert or opinionated non-parent we know. It's really interesting that friends <i>without</i> children tend to have more opinions than those raising tiny humans... because other parents <i>know</i>. They know about the never-ending choices you have to make as soon as you find out you are with child. They've heard the unsolicited advise and listened to strangers' opinions, smiling and nodding all the while imagining how this person would be without a full night's sleep for over a calendar year.<br />
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What I'm trying to say is <i>SHUT THE FUCK UP</i>.<br />
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Unless I ask your opinion (and<i> I won't</i> because I reserve my questions about parenting for non-judging mamas who are also raising tiny humans), I don't need or want to hear what you think about Max's sleep schedule or whether or not he needs his diaper changed (he likes to poop in clean diapers and needs a few minutes to do his business). Stop wrapping your judgements in thinly-veiled shows of concern. There's no need for you to be concerned about my child's comfort, safety or well-being because, <i>trust me</i>, I spend every second of my waking hours telling my psyche to not worry about every little thing because I do. <i>All the time</i>.<br />
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Every mother does.<br />
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If you're so concerned about my child, then take him for a few minutes and play with him. Make him laugh. Tell him a story. Show him something new. Teach him a song... Have compassion for his sleep deprived mother, who is doing the best she can and is probably moments away from losing her shit. Again.<br />
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<i>I am doing the best I can.</i><br />
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I've actually written that down numerous times to remind myself because I am my own worst critic. I regularly question my choices and my ability as a mother; I don't need anyone to join in. Being a parent is overwhelming enough.<br />
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The conversation that inspired this post still baffles me. While my friend is certainly entitled to her opinion, I don't know why she felt the need to tell me what she did. She's a sweet soul and wouldn't hurt me on purpose, so what was her intention? <i>Why make the distinction?</i><br />
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Are women who need fertility treatments less than because they can't get pregnant naturally? <i>No</i>.<br />
Are women who give birth prematurely less than because they didn't make it to full term? <i>No way</i>.<br />
Are women who adopt less than because they didn't carry their child? <i>Absolutely not</i>.<br />
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The path to motherhood is as varied as it is beautiful. While painful and not at all easy, giving birth is nothing compared to the daily challenges and elations of raising a child. It is the ultimate marathon of unconditional love and constant care that is easier in some ways and harder in others at every turn. Being humbled by motherhood is universal. The self-doubt I wrestle with and difficulties I face as a mother is not unique. My experience as a mother is as valid as anyone's, including the amazing day <i>I gave birth</i> to Max.<br />
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<br />Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-68072320140265673352017-05-14T22:29:00.002-07:002017-05-15T14:55:16.848-07:00Oh, Motherhood. How you humble me.It's my first Mother's Day.<br />
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Max woke up before six, found his way into my shirt to nurse and wanted to play after. We finally got up when his diaper leaked and decided to have breakfast at home before going to the beach, which is my only request for the day. By the time we finished eating and I was getting ready to write in my journal while enjoying a mug of coffee, Max was ready for a nap.<br />
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I've been in blissful silence, drinking <i>hot </i>coffee and writing, while Max naps with Fraser.<br />
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Now that I'm a year into this gig (Max will be one in nine days!), I'm finally starting to have a grasp on this whole motherhood thing, which is easily the most humbling experience of my life. It is all consuming and full of challenges but also incredibly fulfilling and, at times, <i>pure</i> joy (whenever he laughs, gives me a hug, tries something new and loves whatever it is, smiles when he sees me, sleeps… Max being here is pure joy).<br />
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Bells and I were talking about motherhood a few weeks ago and agreed that we both have a modern take on the whole experience because, while we are deeply committed to the happiness and well-being of our children, we are also committed to<i> our</i> personal happiness and well-being. In short, we are women with goals and dreams beyond our children, which is tricky especially when your child is barely one.<br />
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Last month, I managed to spend fifty hours in an intermediate reformer course for Pilates in the midst of momming, putting a show together with the non-profit I run with fellow artists, a part time receptionist job and running our household because I wanted to do something that was just mine. Though <i>just mine</i> is relative because, eventually, teaching Pilates will mean making more money in less time at the studio. It was a long month and we had a lot of help (my mom came and stayed with us for two weeks; friends babysat Max for us; we had his nanny come on Saturdays), but we got through it... and it felt great. Once it was over, it felt great; going through it, I felt like I was hanging on by a thread.<br />
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To say that motherhood is about balancing it <i>all</i> at once is misleading. No woman can be totally present at home, in her career, for herself, and everything and everyone else in her life <i>all the time, at the same time</i>. Something has to give otherwise she will break... I've never had anything close to an anxiety attack before I became a mom; I described not being able to catch my breath, my heart racing, due to a sudden fear something I couldn't put into words to Fraser recently. He said it sounded like an anxiety attack; I can't be sure but, whatever it was, it sucked. Thankfully, I knew enough to quiet my mind and mindfully breathe. Phew!<br />
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During my very busy month, I only worked out a handful of times, went on <i>one</i> date with Fraser (our first in many months), and did not have a single audition, which all sucks but I don't feel bad about it... It <i>can't</i> feel bad about it because, well, I don't have time to; there's a diaper to change, food to prepare and nursing to be done... And I only have one baby!!!<br />
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I used to see twins, triplets and other multiples and think, <i>How cute! It must be so much fun to have all those babies in matching outfits!! </i>Now I see them in photos, news clips and social media and feel overwhelmed for their parents, who have multiple diapers to change at once, various taste palettes to appease... I don't even want to think about nursing multiples; it's a full time job with one.<br />
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We are fortunate that my job allows me to be home with Max most of the time and only hire a nanny when I'm teaching 8-10 weeks in the spring and again in the fall. The owners at the studio a I work at part time, welcome him to go to work with me. It's a wonderful set up aside of the fact that it doesn't give me a break from momming.<br />
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Nursing is something I wasn't sure I could do because neither of my sisters produced much milk. Thankfully, I broke the mold and am still nursing Max. My goal was always a year and, as his birthday approaches, I am both sad and excited about weaning him. I had no idea how much nursing would mean to me as a mother; it really is a special bond beyond the womb. That said, while Max doesn't bite (he started getting teeth at four months and I trained him then that biting me meant no more milk for him), he now casually slides his hands down my shirt whenever I'm holding him, going as far as pulling my shirt down and sticking his face inside when he wants to nurse.<br />
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Even if he wasn't doing any of that, I'm just about ready to move on from nursing; it takes a lot of time and I'm ready to have my body back as my own. I've felt guilty just thinking that before, but <i>I need my body back</i>. I need to read books and articles other that baby/child development/parenting ones. I need to spend alone time with my husband. <i>I need to breathe</i>... I need time away from being mom to be a better, more effective mama to Max.<br />
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Using the bathroom alone is a luxury, especially now that Max is full on walking. I've held him while on the toilet many times but, a few weeks ago, took the experience up a notch and nursed him there. I sent texts to my mama tribe about it and the response was a unanimous, <i>Been there.</i> Not one them even batted an eye because motherhood is an equalizer of women. When Max is crying because he's hungry, my instinct is to pick him up and nurse him: in the middle of a coffee shop, behind the desk at the studio I work at, in the car (after I've pulled over safely), and, yes, while sitting on my toilet at home.<br />
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I've wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember. I am delighted to finally be one. That said, I had no idea how much I would miss the freedom of randomly going out for dinner with Fraser, meeting friends for a hike or coffee at the last minute, taking a yoga class whenever I wanted to, reading a good book in one sitting or washing my hair more than once a week.<br />
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Max is a dream come true, one that's required a transition nothing else in life could've prepared me for and it's important for me to recognize that it's okay for me to say it's hard, ask for a break or go to another room for a minute. Because <i>motherhood is fucking hard</i> and I need breaks and silence... Among the moments of delicious laughter, fun games and absolute privilege of watching Max discover, learn and grow, are moments of utter frustration, boredom, loneliness and misunderstandings with Fraser, who is going through a transition of his own.<br />
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And they're up... Time for the beach.<br />
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It'll be Max's first time walking on sand and feeling the ocean at his feet. I'll have Fraser take photos of us and put them on social media with a link to this post because <i>we have to keep it real, mamas</i>. For the sake of our collective sanity, let's support each other and our individual choices in this beautiful journey called motherhood.<br />
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Gotta nurse the babe before we go.<br />
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Happy Mama Day, Beauties!!!<br />
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<br />Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-86087651035236518992016-11-23T23:26:00.002-08:002016-12-01T17:30:09.947-08:00So... I'm a mom nowMax is six months today and I finally feel coherent enough to write again (yey!). So much has happened since my last post. I've wanted to write about everything but simply lacked the time, sleep and sanity to do so. Being a new mom is, without question, the most challenging and rewarding experience I've ever had, and I am constantly surprised by it. With all the amazing mamas in my life, I've found myself wondering why no one told me this, that or the other until it dawned on me that they <i>must</i> have; I just didn't understand what they were saying because, until I became a mother, there was no way for me to fully comprehend the intricacies of being one. As someone who loves to share, I can think of no better topic to open my motherhood posts than to discuss the things that have surprised me so far.<br />
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<b>Getting a C-Section</b>: My pregnancy was relatively easy and I naively thought it would translate to my delivery even though I had to be induced (because I was thirty-eight at the time, my OB would not let me go past a few days after my due date). After spending an uncomfortable night at the hospital with something inside me to ripen my cervix, I was put on Pitocin for twelve hours. On average, you're supposed to dilate a centimeter every hour or two. At the end of my twelve hours on Pitocin, I'd dilated one centimeter bringing me up to three centimeter total. The goal is ten.<br />
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I wanted to wait but both Fraser and my mom asked me to reconsider. They didn't think I would dilate any quicker and I already had Epidural dripping into my system. I'm a take-Tylenol-only-if-it's-unbearable girl after all and my body was not happy being pumped full of drugs, so I agreed to have a C-section. My goal was always to go home with Fraser with peanut in tow.<br />
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<i>If I have to have a C-section, I won't feel bad about it</i>, I said proudly to anyone who would listen. <i>I've done the best I can in my pregnancy and refuse to feel guilty for taking drugs to help with labor or having a C-section</i>, I'd continue.<br />
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But I did feel guilty.<br />
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Like I'd failed somehow because I wouldn't be pushing my baby out. The guilt surprised me even more than getting a C-section. Thankfully, my sister and a dear friend both reminded me of my <i>no-guilt </i>mantra and the fact that a C-section was actually part of my birth plan (as a <i>last</i> resort but still part of it).<br />
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<b>Exhaustion</b>: Nevermind the four days that I stayed at the hospital after Max was born. I didn't sleep lying down for longer an hour or two at a time for a solid three months. I started getting 3-4 hours at a time around three and a half months only to have Max hit a growth spurt, which meant cluster feeding. It happened again as he approached six months.<br />
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There is no way to describe the not-sleeping-because-I'm-a-new-mom kind of tired. It's like staying up all night for finals every night for weeks at a time and taking day long exams in between all the cramming. It doesn't stop. People always say to nap when Max does, which is great in theory but not in practice. I may not clean much but someone (me) has to wash dishes (half the time), do and fold laundry, sanitize bottles and breast pump parts, pump for milk... Then he's up and needs to nurse, play, get his diaper changed, take a nap, repeat.<br />
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I remind myself several times a day that I will not always be this tired. That my exhaustion is part of the deal. That being a new mother is a gift I asked for. But, let me tell you, it is rough. There were times those first few weeks that Fraser found me inconsolably crying in bed as I held Max; I was so tired my body couldn't process anything other than my need to sleep. Fraser would take our bundle of joy, close the door and let me fall into a deep slumber. Hours would pass and I'd feel like I'd just closed my eyes for a few minutes.<br />
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<b>Breastfeeding</b>: Neither of my sisters produced much milk after they had babies, so I wasn't sure I would. I walked around with milk soaked shirts for a couple of weeks until I finally ordered breast pads, which are staples for nursing mothers. Needless to say, I am one and there are two things that's been surprising about it: how much I enjoy nursing Max and the fact that I'm not crazy about my augmented boobs.<br />
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Breastfeeding hurt a lot at first. For several weeks, nursing was really painful then, like magic, it wasn't anymore. I love nursing Max, who is the size of an average one year old at six months (so much for calling him peanut). There are countless benefits for him to have breast milk and there is nothing like the connection of breastfeeding your child. I am grateful my body has been able to keep up with Max thus far and will reassess nursing him within the next couple of weeks mainly because he now has two bottom teeth (with a third newly broken in) and bites. The idea of not nursing him anymore saddens me, but I also do not want to resent him. If I have to pump for him to continue to get breast milk so be it.<br />
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Of course that means continuing to have my boobs fill up with milk every few hours. My boobs are solid Cs these days and, oddly enough, I am not a fan. My clothes don't fit right and I look funny with such big boobs. That said, the fact that they are able to produce enough milk to nourish my son makes me appreciate my breasts and the rest of my body.<br />
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I'll breatfeed Max anywhere, which surprised me when I first started doing it. Middle of a coffee shop? A table at Chipotle? Behind the desk at work? Without a second thought, yes. I feed him when he's hungry and do not apologize for it.<br />
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<b>So Much Poop</b>: Now that Max is eating solids, he's become more <i>regular</i>. Fraser once said that we should stick to breastmilk because he only pooped every 3-4 days before he started on solids. We didn't, of course, because <i>he loves to eat </i>like his parents. Fraser and I tag-teammed a couple of his blowouts pre-solids and they were nothing compared to now; I imagine it only gets worse, unfortunately. I've given Max a number of <i>emergency baths</i> because he's pooped so much but there are two I had to take photos of for Fraser: the time he projectile pooped (grateful I was not in the line of fire and it landed on the door and floor), and the time he shit so much he had poop up to his shoulders on his back. <i>Up to his shoulders </i>(damn prunes). Where does it come from?<br />
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<b>Losing Hair</b>: Pregnant women have thick, shiny hair. Mine was long and full and, frankly, beautiful. Even though I'd read about women losing hair post pregnancy, I was surprised when a couple of weeks after Max was born, my hair started to shed worse than it ever has. I am no stranger to losing my hair in the shower, when I comb it or run my fingers through it. This was something else: clumps of hair in the drain and on the bathroom floor enough to donate to Locks of Love. I sent texts to my mama friends about it because I was convinced I'd be bald by now. They all told me it's the change in my hormones and told me not to worry. I'm pleased to report the shedding has returned to normal.<br />
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<b>Stress</b>: Having Max has made life more stressful and less stressful at the same time. More because Fraser and I are responsible for a new human, which is overwhelming enough. Add lack of sleep to the equation along with the fact that we don't have family close by, and it's a recipe for disaster. Or at the very least, a lot of added stress. It all boils down to the fact that Fraser and I are both doing everything we were doing before and now tag-teaming Max, who needs constant love, care and attention. It's easy to feel unappreciated when you don't have time to just be together.<br />
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No one talks about the toll having a child has on a marriage. Let me tell you, it's <i>a lot</i> . Fraser and I look at each other at least once a day and ask how we're doing. Most days, we're okay, but there are days, those Max-is-cluster-feeding-and-woke-up-every-hour-to-nurse-last-night, when neither of us feels appreciated by the other. It's not easy to admit and it sucks, but it's the <i>truth</i>. I would be a lying asshole if I didn't say that.<br />
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Being new parents is no joke.<br />
It is fucking hard.<br />
It's easily the hardest thing I've done in my life.<br />
It is also the most rewarding. <br />
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Life is less stressful when you wake up to a sweet, smiling face that is somehow the perfect combination of your own and your husband's. Our stress diminishes when Max laughs or discovers something new, which is always. He sees the world the way all children should see it: fun, carefree, safe and warm.<br />
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There is nothing more heartwarming than watching Fraser interact with Max. They have so much fun together, my boys. Everything is an adventure between them; there's an undeniable bond in whatever they do. Beyond that, Max has a sweet, gentle soul like his daddy.<br />
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Even with little to no sleep, I can power through because one look into my son's eyes makes the world instantly better. His laughter invites joy into our lives. His smile brightens the room and warms my heart. Max is all love.<br />
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<b>Perspective</b>: My world has pretty much been Max over the past six months. As it should be. We're super lucky that my schedule has allowed me to stay home with Max for most of his life so far. I once remarked that I'm pretty much a stay-at-home mom while at my part-time job. <i>You work. You're not a stay-at home mom</i>, my female boss, who welcomes Max to come to work with me (awesome, I know), replied.<br />
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Beyond that, I run a non-profit working with inner city high schools and am an actor so, yes, <i>technically</i>, I am a working mom. The thing is, stay-at home moms are working moms with one of the hardest jobs there is, and working moms are stay-at home moms when they are home. The distinction is moot.<br />
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I'm thankful I can be home with him <i>and</i> work because I know that's usually not the case. We only have a nanny for the 8-10 weeks I teach each semester with the non-profit I run otherwise Fraser and I juggle Max. Because my schedule is much more open than Fraser's, I have Max more often. At home and anywhere I need/want to go, which is awesome but not always ideal. There are days I have to put him in his crib and walk away for a minute to center myself and shift my perspective. It can be overwhelming to have a helpless human depend on you for <i>everything</i>. I've cried out of frustration more times than I care to admit but, at the end of the day, I love being a mom. I know not everyone who wants to be gets be one so I always find my way back to gratitude. How can I not? I have my very own baby.<br />
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As much as I loved Max in utero, I did not think it was possible for me to love someone more unconditionally than I love my nieces and nephews until I met him in person. He is even better than I imagined. Not perfect. <i>Better</i>. He is my heart in human form and I am so grateful to Fraser (and the powers that be) for giving me a child.<br />
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<br />Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-66816985201823400922016-04-07T11:58:00.000-07:002016-04-07T19:44:33.102-07:00homestretchi didn't get much sleep last night. one of the books i'm reading said something about not being able to sleep towards the end of your pregnancy in preparation for the lack of sleep you'll experience once your baby is born. <i>i call bullshit</i>... if anything, women in the last few weeks of their pregnancy should be banking hours of extra sleep. but no!!! because sleeping is uncomfortable with a baby kicking and jabbing at your ribs or pushing their butt up to your lungs making it hard to breathe.<br />
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peanut will be here in six weeks, which is simultaneously exciting and overwhelming. i cannot wait to meet the human who is half fraser and half me but am not looking forward to all the things that must be done before he's finally in our arms. aside for all the stuff i have to go through and get rid of to make room for baby gear, there's, <i>you know</i>, labor.</div>
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i've read and heard firsthand from my closest girlfriends (and total strangers) about the ultimate female experience: delivering a baby. texts and conversations with my girlfriends, and women in general, are much different from what they were just a year ago. something about being pregnant invites other women to talk to you openly about their own pregnancies and give you unsolicited advice, which i'll gladly listen to. <i>i want to know what they know</i> but there are lines that shouldn't be crossed, and it's not what you may think. being told there may be pooping and tearing and lots of blood during delivery is very helpful, but telling me things like <i>don't get the epidural</i> or <i>keep him whole</i> comes across judgmental and is <i>not </i>okay. those are personal choices and it bums me out that some women feel like their personal choices are somehow better than other women's decisions.</div>
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my birthing plan (if you can call it that) is this: go to hospital. feel a cycle (or two) of contractions. ask for epidural if the pain is unbearable. get a c-section as a last resort. rest and recover. (hopefully) learn how to properly breastfeed and pump. go home with peanut.</div>
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the first three months of my pregnancy was awful physically; i was nauseous for six weeks straight and pretty much hibernated. there were the weeks of nosebleeds, headaches and constant runny nose during the second trimester. then throwing up in my mouth every day for a few weeks, an introduction to hemorrhoids and now not being able to sleep. i also drank 50 grams of sugar on an empty stomach for a glucose test four weeks ago and had to drink the 100 gram concoction this week because the results from peanut's first sugar high was <i>a bit</i> high.<br />
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i'm <i>not </i>complaining. in fact, i'll happily do it all again if fraser and i are lucky enough to get pregnant again in a couple years... that said,<i> i will not feel bad</i> asking for pain relief or possibly getting a c-section if it comes down to it as long as both peanut and i get to go home safe and sound with fraser. period.</div>
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oh. and i'm leaving the whole circumcision decision to fraser because, well, i'm not the one with a penis.</div>
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honestly, peanut has been relatively easy on me so far and i'm incredibly grateful for the opportunity to be his mother. all that physical stuff <i>sucks</i>. yes. but i'm still doing pilates on my own 3-4 times a week and started walking a mile a day last week in preparation for the day he decides to come out. i'm 34 weeks now so he's in good shape, but i've been encouraging him to hang in there until may. (because i'm 38, peanut will be evicted by my ob in six weeks; he won't let me go past week forty. i'm hoping peanut comes on his own before that happens.) i feel really good and having him move around in there is really comforting in a there's-an-alien-i'm-in-love-with-growing-inside-me way.</div>
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musician and sassy have lovingly taken on my baby shower; bells insisted on sending proper invitations in the mail and have worked out the details with them. packages for peanut started arriving this week; fraser and i have been given all the big ticket baby items by friends and family already. we're requesting gift cards because we'll likely end up needing diapers, wipes and maybe formula the most, but we really just want to celebrate our growing family with the people we love.</div>
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my parents are coming from wi the week after my baby shower and throwing me another shower for my dad's family and friends in the area. more celebration. more love... we are so lucky.<br />
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just don't ask us if we're ready.<br />
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Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-81164936200405480342016-01-22T22:44:00.000-08:002017-05-21T23:05:56.065-07:00blood tests and ultrasoundsduring my 16week checkup with my ob, fraser and i were surprised to learn that peanut has a penis. i sat up when my ob pointed to the ultrasound screen and told us we were having a boy. because i'm 38, we also met with a specialist for a more thorough ultrasound after a lesson on amnios (when they stick a needle through your belly button to get some amniotic fluid to test for genetic abnormalities) the following day. everything looked good. no amnio for us... our biggest concern was getting used to the idea that we were having a boy (not the little girl fraser had had his heart set on calling princess) and coming up with a boy name we both liked.<br />
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two and a half weeks later, three days before fraser and i left la to spend the holidays with our families, the receptionist at my ob's office called and left a message. i immediately knew something wasn't right; my heart pounded as returned her call and waited for an answer.<br />
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her - hello?<br />
me - hi. i'm returning your call.<br />
her - oh yes. the result of your 12th and 16th week blood test came back positive for down syndrome...<br />
me - (WHAT THE FUCK?!?!)<br />
her - it doesn't mean that your baby has down syndrome but you need to see another specialist.<br />
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that last part didn't register because once you hear your blood test came back positive for anything, your brain panics and automatically focuses on breathing so you don't pass out. i should say that i've never been a fan of this particular receptionist because she's impatient and not very nice, which i mindfully overlooked. my ob's office is busy and i understand her job is not to hold my hand and be my friend. i didn't expect, need or want any of that… that said, her blurting out my test results as callously as she did felt like a slap in the face.<br />
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i called fraser to tell him, went to work and sent texts to my closest girlfriends. three of them called me. i cried through my conversation with cheerleader, who i've known since middle school; one my hula girls actually made me laugh, which i desperately needed to do; and blondie, who is also pregnant with her first child, listened to me try and epically fail to articulate the dichotomy of my emotions.<br />
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at home, fraser and i sat on the couch and discussed our predicament. he wanted facts. i was drowning in feelings, emotions and hormones… with a slew of girlfriends researching and sending me links, we determined that the chances of peanut having down syndrome was anywhere from 4-12% and agreed that we would try not to panic until we knew more. because we were leaving town for a couple of weeks in a matter of days, it meant not being able to see a specialist and having to table our discussion until after the holidays. essentially, fraser and i decided to put on our big boy/girl pants, enjoy time with our families and figure things out when we got back. except for one thing.<br />
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fraser - nothing is off the table for me.<br />
me - nothing? so termination is an option for you?<br />
fraser - it depends… but that's a decision we would come up with together.<br />
me - (losing it) i can't do it, love. i've felt him moving for weeks now.<br />
fraser - okay.<br />
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let me be clear about something here. not terminating my pregnancy whether peanut has down syndrome or not is a deeply personal choice. i would not fault anyone/a couple for deciding otherwise. as bells put it, it's a lifetime commitment; she went on to say she would support whatever decision we made because fraser and i are the ones who will live with it for the rest of our lives… that's true for all couples and possible single mothers faced with pregnancy. neither choice is easy or better than the other.<br />
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the days that followed were a complete mind fuck as i tried to wrap my mind around the idea of peanut not getting the same start in life as his cousins and never being able to catch up. fraser and i often wondered what peanut would be like knowing that he's already who he is and our only job is to love, support and nurture him. i'd dreamed about being a mother my whole life. peanut is the realization of that dream and i would rather die than give him up… i was an emotional mess.<br />
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after fraser left for work that first morning, i found myself in fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably. when sassy called to check in on me, hearing me say hello was enough for her to tell me she was putting on a pair of jeans and heading over. she sat with me that day and made me feel less alone.<br />
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the day after that, i reluctantly told my parents. my mom started to cry when she realized what i was saying as my dad looked at me through the screen of his phone (technology!) and steadfastly reassured me that peanut would be loved just as he is because he is one of us, which i knew but also needed to hear. when he turned to my mom and told her to stop crying, i asked him not tell her that and, through tears of my own, reassured them both that it is okay for them to be sad and upset and to cry about it if they needed to.<br />
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as cheerleader so wisely (and lovingly) said to me that first night, the cocktail of emotions i felt were all valid and were in no way indicative of my love for the child inside of me. we were both gasping for air in an attempt not to lose it anymore than we already had at the time and i held on to those words along with these: <i>do not feel bad or guilty for feeling whatever you are feeling. you love him more than anything</i>… and blondie's equally wise and loving words when i tried to explain how i was feeling: <i>you don't have to explain anything. no one doubts your love for peanut. </i>they gave me permission to accept whatever emotion came up and to not judge myself for <i>any</i> of it.<br />
<br />
the holidays were a bit of a blur. fraser and i celebrated christmas in dc with his family and new year's with mine. we ate home cooked meals, shared stories with our siblings, played games with our nieces and nephews, laughed… i fell in love with my brother's three-month old son and barely put him down while we were in wi; his normalness simultaneously elated and broke my heart… two days before our flight back to la, i told fraser i was nervous. he admitted feeling the same. we may not have been openly discussing those damn test results but we were both keenly aware of my growing belly, which was a source of fascination and excitement for everyone, especially our little loves.<br />
<br />
fraser felt peanut move for the first time during our trip.<br />
<br />
we had an appointment with my ob hours after we landed back in la. he told us that the chances of peanut having down syndrome was 6% (automatically higher because of my age) and that the specialist we had an appointment with later in the week would be looking for soft markers in peanut's ultrasound. when we told him termination was not an option for us, he told us about another blood test the specialist could do if we didn't want to do an amnio... without guaranteeing anything, he mercifully told us he didn't see any anomalies in peanut's ultrasound that day.<br />
<br />
three days later, i was alone at a specialist's office downtown to talk to a genealogist and get blood drawn for the other test. fraser had to work but we wanted the earliest appointment we could get; we'd decided against the amnio, which could cause miscarriage (the chances are small but we didn't want to take the chance. another personal choice), and hoped peanut's thorough ultrasound along with the blood test would put our minds at ease… and the prognosis was good.<br />
<br />
specialist - okay. that's a great start. head looks good… spine is perfect… kidneys good… legs are normal… heart is great.<br />
me - really? everything looks normal?<br />
specialist - this is what i do every day. i have no reason to tell you anything other than what i see… your baby looks great. your ob will be very happy. i'll be surprise if the result of your blood test is anything but negative. you're my easiest appointment today... do you want to know the sex?<br />
me - a boy, right?<br />
<br />
after thanking him and the nurses in the room, i made a beeline for the private bathroom and cried for a few minutes. it was such a relief to hear the specialist say everything he did. my shoulders felt lighter with every tear of joy i released. i felt happy without worrying about peanut for the first time in weeks. it was incredible... i called fraser and my sisters to share the news before sending texts to my closest friends.<br />
<br />
it's been two weeks, so i called the specialist's office today to inquire about the blood test from that day and am thrilled to report that peanut is officially "normal"; i absolutely cried after i hung up the phone with the lovely woman who took my call. fraser and i are forgoing further testing mostly because the results will not make any difference in our decisions regarding our son. we also don't have a history of devastating genetic diseases on either side, which is nice.<br />
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peanut will be here in four months. the love and support fraser and i received from our family and friends these past few weeks have been nothing short of a blessing... i'm not exactly religious but i do believe in the power of prayer and collective energy. we are so grateful to everyone who have said a prayer and/or sent love and positive energy our way. thank you.<br />
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i must also thank my husband, who never looked away from me as i cried or failed to hold my hand and kept me from completely falling apart simply by being by my side. i could not think of a better father for our son than fraser.<br />
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<br />Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-2324294889734088282015-12-22T11:50:00.002-08:002016-12-06T17:44:59.274-08:00war against christmas?i am a terrible gift giver.<br />
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i've never been good at it and especially don't enjoy it during this time of year.<br />
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please let me explain.<br />
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growing up in the philippines, i didn't get gifts for christmas (or my bday for that matter). the holidays were all about going to church, singing carols, eating late at night and visiting people we loved, who gave you a bit of cash on christmas day. the focus was on being together and when our family migrated to wisconsin when i was ten, the holidays continued to be about spending time with people we love. instead of getting up early on christmas morning to open presents under the tree, my parents packed us up in our van and drove four hours south to chicago, where we spent christmas eve and day going from home to home visiting family and friends. we would laugh and eat and laugh some more. gifts were <i>rarely</i> exchanged.<br />
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that's not to say we didn't get gifts. following american tradition (like having turkey for thanksgiving), my parents bought us new stuff around the holidays, which we often <i>picked out and wrapped for ourselves</i> to be opened for pictures on new year's day when we were actually home as a family. through the years, our family tradition stuck: travel to visit people we love for christmas and be together for new year's, which has made the holidays super easy now that we're all married. our parents don't expect us home for christmas but we better be there as one year ends and a new one begins.<br />
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as our family grew with spouses and children, gifting became even less significant. we've been picking names for secret santa for so many years i don't even know when we started. i love this so much because i'm literally responsible for one gift... and we all write wish lists, which <i>fyi </i>get shared later and later every year because everyone's super busy. also, we're <i>adults</i> and buy ourselves what we want/need when we want/need them.<br />
<br />
my nieces and nephews all get gifts from everyone.<br />
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well, everyone <i>except</i> me.<br />
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more explaining.<br />
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because i'm the only one no longer living in the midwest, i'm the only one who travels home for the holidays. i take at least a week off from my life during this time to be with the people i love and, instead of gifts, i like to take the kids out for a movie and/or a meal. while i'm there, my focus is on spending time with my little loves and happily babysit them all for the week... i have a sister who gets it and one who pointed out that i only have four nieces and nephews last year. <i>why are you so bad at giving gifts?</i> she asked.<br />
<br />
oh, <i>i don't know.</i> maybe because it costs fraser and me $1200 in plane tickets (plus two weeks' worth of time off from work) to spend the holidays with both sets of families? i've spent some serious dough on flights to visit my family over the years and consider it money well spent.<br />
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i do <i>get it </i>though and gifts have been ordered for our nieces and nephews this year… and fraser's family. and the our two secret santas for my family.<br />
<br />
which brings up another thing: every single boyfriend i've had came from families who really do it up on christmas and fraser's family is no exception. the moms of these families will always say it doesn't matter if i bring gifts but <i>i know better</i>. i've been condescendingly spoken to more than once and asked <i>when do we ever not do gifts?</i> even after a boyfriend's reassurance that it was fine for us to show up with one gift for each person instead of <i>two dozen </i>(not kidding. i swear that woman goes to the toy aisle at any given store and buys <i>everything</i> in the girls' section for her granddaughter). it's uncomfortable and wasteful and i'm happy to report, fraser's mom is <i>not</i> like that... now that i think about it, only one mom really was. <i>phew! </i>dodged that bullet.<br />
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listen. i <i>love</i> the holidays. i love how festive people and places are during this time and appreciate those who go all out to celebrate the ones they love. that said, the holidays are not all love, laughter and joy for everyone. not everyone has the means to buy their loved ones the latest toys, gadgets and fashions. even worse, not everyone has loved ones to share the holidays with; people lose loved ones to death, divorce and tough luck throughout the year and this time of year is no exception. and must be especially hard for them.<br />
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i'm no angel but i do pride myself in being a good, loving person. i smile at people when i pass them on the street and treat people with respect. and while i may not buy gifts, i make sure my friends and family know how much i love, support and appreciate them as often as possible. every day when i can. i meet friends for coffee and give long hugs. i remind anyone who will listen that they have a story to tell and that their story is important. i teach my students (and my nieces and nephews) the value of kindness and compassion. i show them love through my words and my actions.<br />
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for the record, i have <i>nothing</i> against gifts as long as they're given out of love and joy (so <i>nice!</i>) and doesn't feel like an obligation (<i>don't</i> do it!).<br />
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i am not good at gift giving but love, laughter and joy?<i> those</i> are my jam.<br />
i am never shy about showing love, laughing loudly or spreading joy.<br />
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<br />Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-21741518569704449132015-11-24T22:00:00.002-08:002015-11-24T22:00:58.478-08:00six months to gotwo and a half years ago, i started this blog to wrap my mind around dating again in my mid 30s after a ten year hiatus. six months in, it evolved into a falling in love blog and, another six months after that, a wedding blog. just shy of a year from our first wedding anniversary, fraser and i found out that i am pregnant (<i>yey!</i>) turning my focus to motherhood.<br />
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but first things first. pregnancy.<br />
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real talk. getting pregnant was not easy, especially in a society that tells women in their early 30s to start thinking about it before it's too late. women who are lucky enough to get pregnant after 35 are automatically considered high risk regardless of their health. that would be me. we found out about my pregnancy a month before my 38th bday. we'd been trying for over a year.<br />
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the truth is, i didn't think it would take us so long. in spite of close friends and acquaintances who've had difficulty getting pregnant, i blindly believed i would be an exception rather than the rule. i have a sister who had multiple miscarriages before having her children and one who naturally had twins without complications. still, i naively thought it would be relatively easy. after all, i'd taken good care of myself and am totally in love with my husband. <i>of course</i>, it would happen.<br />
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just months before i took my very first pregnancy test, fraser and i realized we'd been trying for almost a year and getting my period began to take its toll. my initial excitement, which had turned to nonchalance (in an attempt to cover how hard it was hitting me emotionally) became impatience. frustration. anger. there were times i actually cried when i got my period. it didn't make sense and i gradually became sadder and sadder about it. at some point, i asked my closest friends not to bring it up unless i initiated the conversation because it hurt to talk about it.<br />
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the fact that i am pregnant is an incredible gift. fraser and i know many other couples who deserve the same and haven't been yet. to say that i'm grateful for the life growing inside of me is an understatement. i have to admit, however, that i had no idea what i was in for as i hoped, prayed and dreamed about being pregnant.<br />
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pregnancy is no joke.<br />
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i am in awe of every woman who's survived pregnancy. every single one. to be fair, i recently worked in an environment where pregnant women took indoor cycling and/or yoga classes like it was the most natural thing to do. a few of the instructors taught these same classes throughout their pregnancy, inspiring roomfuls of people to sweat it out and/or keep their zen. i admired these women for keeping up with their normal workout routines as i took their classes or worked out alongside them. today, i would give them all gold medals.<br />
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i have to be very careful here because i don't, <i>in any way</i>, mean to complain. that said, fifteen weeks into my pregnancy, i'm finally beginning to feel like myself again. working out exhausts me. i take pilates twice a week and have to nap after. i need more sleep than i've ever needed before. there were days when i'd sleep for ten or twelve hours a night and take a two hour nap in the afternoon. luckily, my schedule allowed for such luxuries; i cannot imagine holding a full time job and going through the first trimester.<br />
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with all that sleep, you'd think i'd feel refreshed and ready to take on the day. not so. i was nauseous for about six weeks straight. i never actually threw up but always felt like i was on the verge. having nausea 24/7 was numbing. everything smelled really bad. eating became i chore, which is disappointing because eating is one of my favorite things in the world. i assumed i'd have cravings for weird food combinations and enjoy consuming them. sadly, the opposite happened. i craved nothing. in fact, i lost my appetite but was constantly having to eat in an attempt to avoid full-blown nausea… the nausea eventually subsided and i only got nauseous when i waited too long to eat (thus the non-stop eating).<br />
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headaches are my new thing. for awhile, avoiding salty foods later in the day and drinking water helped. unfortunately, that's no longer true. i wake up with a headache every morning these days no matter how much water i drink. even though i'm not sick, i also have a runny nose and occasionally get nosebleeds. my appetite is still not the same but at least i can eat meat again. the only thing i've really craved is sushi, which i can't have. (yes. i know i can have california and tempura rolls, but i want the real thing. raw salmon. raw albacore. raw yellowtail.) oh. and i feel like i'm gonna throw up whenever i bend down now. all normal symptoms and not all in my head. i have a friend who is due three months ahead of me and sis-in-law is a month behind me, who both assure me that all of it is normal... and that more is coming.<br />
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i had conversations about pregnancy with each of my sisters recently. <i>bells</i>, who hated being pregnant, teasingly asked me how it was going, knowing full well how blindsided i was physically. she laughed knowingly as i told her how much i didn't enjoy it in spite my excitement about being pregnant. <i>ate</i>, on the other hand, dismissed my inquiry when i asked her why she didn't tell me how hard pregnancy was, simply saying that she kept her focus on the end result: a baby.<br />
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my baby.<br />
our baby.<br />
peanut.<br />
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when i think about peanut, i am overcome with love. gratitude. even a bit of grace… i'm not gonna lie, i worry every day that i'm not eating enough of a variety, am drinking too much coffee (i'm allowed 12oz a day) and not enough water, am not sleeping enough or pushing too hard in a pilates class. i talk to peanut and imagine what she looks like (fraser commented the other day that we're going to need to pull a major switch if peanut is, in fact, a boy because i've been calling her a girl for weeks now. for the record, he wants a mini version of me and i want a mini version of him, but i have a strong feeling peanut is a mini <i>me</i>).<br />
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bells told me that the love she has for her twins is beyond anything she'd ever known. knowing how much of my heart belongs to my nieces and nephews, she assured me that my heart will expand and love in new, inexplicable ways. i can't imagine loving anyone more than i love my family, my friends and fraser, but i look forward to giving peanut everything that i've got.<br />
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it's been a long time since i've posted one of these. the past several weeks, i've simply been too tired. the months before that, however, i felt too defeated by the whole trying to get pregnant thing. now that i am, i will power through the symptoms and keep my eye on the prize: peanut.<br />
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our very own little peanut.<br />
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<br />Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-30483650346679474452015-03-07T09:14:00.001-08:002015-03-07T11:37:37.604-08:00success 101yesterday was my maternal grandmother's birthday. she would have been a hundred.<br />
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growing up, i was her obvious favorite and she was mine. when she got really sick several years ago, i didn't go to see her. she died after a massive surgery a few weeks later and, still, i didn't go... i didn't want to see her like that and made every excuse not to. at the time, i truly believed i was doing the best thing. i see now that what i did was, in fact, the best thing. <i>for me</i>. i allowed my fear of losing my beloved grandmother to be a selfish excuse to not be there for her or my mom.<br />
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i haven't been back to the philippines since we celebrated my grandmother's 85th birthday fifteen years ago. there is a part of me that never wants to go back because she won't be there anymore and her death will be real... obviously, it <i>is</i> but i haven't been back there to see it. to experience the world of my childhood without her. it breaks my heart just thinking about it.<br />
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her picture graces my messy desk. i cry when i look into her eyes. her love for me shines through her eyes even in a photograph. i have many memories of her protecting, encouraging, teaching, defending, spoiling, taking care of me. she used to braid my hair every morning for school and was so proud of everything i did. i often wonder if she'd be proud of me today.<br />
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there's an exercise we do in the non-profit i work in that asks our teenage students to stand before their peers and declare the things they love, hate and dream. it's the last exercise we do in each class before they start writing their show because it reminds everyone in the room that, in spite of our differences, we are all similar in our desire for love, reasons for hate and dreams for the future. <i>to be successful</i> is almost always a part of everyone's dreams for themselves. most of our students equate making a lot of money with success. the more enlightened ones focus their dreams on being happy.<br />
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wouldn't it be wonderful for the world to recognize being happy as an essential part of a successful life?<br />
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my sister, bells, travels the world with an expense account and has beautiful three-year-old twins at home (4bed, 3.5bath, 3car garage) with her husband. we had an interesting exchange over the phone recently.<br />
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me: i babysat the other night. so much fun.<br />
bells: i wish i did random, fun jobs like you.<br />
me: you make six figures, live in your dream house and have healthy twins. i wish i had that.<br />
bells: it's not all that. i wish i live in warm weather.<br />
me: true. i wouldn't trade being in shorts in february but hustling is not glamorous.<br />
bells: it sounds fun.<br />
me: going to europe sounds fun.<br />
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the grass is always greener on the other side.<br />
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that said, i've never seen bells happier than she's been since having her twins. i've also been much happier lately... would bells like to live in warmer weather and have more time to sing and dance? of course. would i like to make more money and be a working actress and a mother already? absolutely. but the fact that we're both happy with what we have (my 1bed, 1bath, tandem parking with fraser is awesome) makes each of us a success in our own right. <i>it looks different for everyone.</i> what makes each of our lives beautiful and worth the fight is our individual passions and the happiness we create when we live up to our potential.<br />
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<i>i dream of a world where success is not measured by the amount of money you make or the things you possess but how kindly you treat yourself and others, how much happiness you hold in your heart and how much love and creativity you express to the world.</i><br />
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my grandmother loved to sing and dance. she had lots of friends and was a pillar in our hometown; she was really good with money. i'm very much like her with a bit of my paternal grandmother's compassion and hustling ways. they were both successful in their own way... i hope they're both proud of me.<br />
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<br />Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-34705855365450294792014-10-19T16:58:00.002-07:002014-10-20T10:29:22.780-07:00permission to celebratemy birthday month was hijacked by my wedding this year. as happy as i am to be married to fraser, as awesome as our beach wedding was and as easy as it would be to write about it all, i am taking a step away from it to honor my inner birthday diva for this post.<br />
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i've had quite a year since my last birthday and fraser did a great job celebrating me this year. normally, i'd plan a themed gathering for it but, with all the wedding hoopla (bridal shower, engagement party, wedding week), i decided to forgo my birthday party... bad idea. i remember fraser's mom telling him to keep our wedding anniversary and my birthday separate from each other. i agreed with her but didn't take the advice myself. lesson learned.<br />
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fraser did everything right. he took the day off from work. we picked up coffee and walked through a farmers market on our way to the beach the morning of my birthday. we sat on the sand facing the pacific. i walked to the water and felt the ocean kiss the the sand under my feet. three things i love all before noon... he made pulled pork sandwiches for lunch and took me to a bakery we've been meaning to try. we ate pastries and laughed until we cried over our own silliness. he bought theatre tickets and sat through a one woman show because i love live theatre. it was awesome. all of it... still. i would've loved the themed gathering i've grown accustomed to.<br />
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it's important to celebrate yourself and, what better way to do it, aside for a party, than by giving yourself a gift? here, ladies and gentlemen, is a list of the best gifts i've given myself over the years. often on my birthday but not always... may it encourage you to celebrate your awesomeness.<br />
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<b>gym membership. </b>i was twenty-four, in la and no longer taking dance classes or walking all over campus. power walking wasn't cutting it so i joined a gym, where i took step aerobics, salsa and yoga. it also introduced me to spin/indoor cycling, which i fell in love with. i eventually got tired of the same classes and ended my membership. i did a few rounds of p90x... my gym membership was instrumental in keeping me in shape and healthy. i made a habit of working out regularly, which i am grateful for today. i'm all about spin and yoga these days. it feels good to sweat. whatever physical activity gets you going is what you should do. <i>for you.</i><br />
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<b>roth ira. </b>i gave myself two thousand dollars for my twenty-fifth birthday and have been paying myself first since. because i've never had a traditional job, it was important that i set up an individual retirement account. my only regret is not starting one earlier... there's a commercial with three business men eating at a diner. outside a couple of teenage boys are touching the smooth surface of a beautiful classic car. it cuts to the waitress in the diner yelling at the boys to step away from her car and the business men raising their eyebrows at each other... i was that server (except i drive a sensible honda civic); a manager of mine used to say that i was the richest server he knew. i don't do anything (everything is automatically taken out of my checking account and put into various funds for my roth ira, emergency fund and wedding/condo fund) but i do live below my means. i am not writing this to brag. quite the opposite. i'm writing it to let you know that it's possible to prepare for your financial future on any income, especially when it's just you. do it asap. <i>for you.</i><br />
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<b>lasik. </b>an asian girl walked into the restaurant i used to work at wearing a jean skirt and a tshirt. her hair flowed down her back. she wore little or no make up. i told her she looked pretty because i'm a big fan of giving compliments to strangers. she told me she'd just 'rolled out of bed'; i decided to get lasik in that moment. i'd worn glasses that only got thicker in time since middle school. i don't wear makeup. i wanted to roll out of bed and look like that girl did... it cost an arm and a leg because i went to the place where cameron diaz and nicole kidman had theirs done. worth every penny.<br />
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<b>bold, gold ring.</b> i love jewelry and was devastated when someone broke into my apartment a few years ago and stole all of my jewelry along with my roommate's. i had a lot of fashion jewelry but also had several of my grandmother's pieces and ones my parents had gifted me. my family and friends have since rebuilt my collection, which consists of pieces similar to ones i used to own... i'd been looking for a ring to represent my transformation over the past couple of years before i met fraser. i wanted to reward myself with a bold piece of jewelry for facing my fears, taking a leap and welcoming change. when bells showed me an inch long, egg shaped rose gold ring with diamonds last spring, i knew i'd finally found it... fraser proposed just weeks after i bought my transformation ring and i was afraid i'd automatically favor my engagement ring. not so. fraser could not have picked a more perfect ring for me, but my transformation ring is something i chose to celebrate my growth. it is equally important, beautiful and meaningful. do not be afraid to invest in anything you love. <i>for you.</i><br />
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<b>permission. </b> to continue to pursue acting. to make time to workout. to quiet my mind with yoga. to eat potato chips then chocolate then potato chips again. to laugh out loud. to call my mom. my sister. any one of my best friends. to say no and not feel guilty about it. to let my body rest. to meet friends for lunch, coffee or a movie. to cry whenever something touches me: a book, a movie, a commercial, whatever... to quit my job. to leave. to start over. to try online dating. to jump into the unknown. to trust my gut and allow myself to fall in love. again. to get married a year from the day we met. to forgo tradition and get married on the beach instead of in church. to have a small wedding. to ask for what i need. or want. to express my anger and frustration. to ask for help. to live in love and gratitude. to do <i>anything.</i> for me... you can do anything. <i>for you.</i><br />
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i never would've given myself any of the gifts i wrote about, or anything else for that matter, without permission. the amazing thing is, you don't need anyone else's permission. just yours... i always ask a handful of people for their opinion, especially when it comes to big decisions, but the choice is ultimately mine to make, which is simultaneously awesome and scary. awesome because i get live the life i choose. scary because i am responsible for whatever happens... that's the rub, i guess. not being able to point a finger and blame someone else if you make a wrong choice. then again, who's to say whether it's right or wrong? give yourself permission to take a chance. maybe your heart will break or maybe it will soar higher than you ever thought possible... if you make a mistake, own it, learn the lesson and move on... be okay with making the same mistake more than once. our heart is sometimes stronger than our minds... ooh. watch out for your ego (that's another blog but be wary of your ego).<br />
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give yourself permission to celebrate yourself. at least on your birthday... i try to celebrate my strength, beauty and loving heart every day by being kind to myself. it doesn't have to be a big deal but be aware of what you think of yourself. it is life changing.<br />
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<i>i strong. i am beautiful. i am loved.</i><br />
<i>i am always cared for and supported.</i><br />
<i>i allow great things to come to me.</i><br />
<i>i am rich. i have abundance. i am grateful.</i><br />
<i>i deserve love and an acting career.</i><br />
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go on, beauties. celebrate your awesomeness. permit yourselves... <i>for you.</i><br />
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Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-49761190631720209802014-09-23T08:59:00.001-07:002014-10-19T07:08:18.892-07:00bride and feministfraser and i had to fill out a questionnaire for our beach wedding: what colors we want on the canopy, what flowers we want for my bouquet, how many chairs we need, what songs we want to hear... do we want the officiant to say "who gives this woman away?" to my dad when we reach fraser? huh... do we?<br />
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fraser: that doesn't sound right.</div>
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me: what do you mean?</div>
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fraser: you're not <i>property</i>... (sarcastically) i'll pay two shillings for the girl!</div>
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me: (laughing) two shillings? really? where are we?</div>
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fraser: three shillings!</div>
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we decided against it because it doesn't sit right with us, but that doesn't mean that couples who choose to have those words spoken at their ceremony are wrong to include that very familiar phrase. in fact, i was really touched when a dear friend's mom replied "her father and i do" when the female officiant uttered the question a couple of months ago. my friend's dad passed away a few months before her wedding and it was a wonderful way of including him in the very special occasion.<br />
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i'm a big fan of making your own choices and am grateful to live at a time in history when my choices, needs and opinions are <i>as valid</i> as his, especially since we'll be legally bound to each other in about a week. women before me sacrificed themselves in order for women to have the same rights as men today. unfortunately, we're <i>still</i> not there... feminism seems like an odd subject to tackle just days before my wedding but it actually feels appropriate.<br />
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it's simple really. feminism is about equality and supporting other people's personal choices. there's always a debate about being a stay-at-home vs a working mom. <i>why</i>? no one questions when dads go to work. in fact, there's an expectation for a man to provide. <i>why</i>? maybe he wants to stay home with the kids and she wants to go back to work. it's up to them. not you. not me. not us... unless, of course, we're the couple in question.<br />
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in my ideal world, i'm an award winning actress in demand for my work in film, stage and television, and loving wife and mother to happy, healthy children, while fraser runs our household. i've shared my vision with my future husband whose only concern is not having time to go to the gym. we agreed to hire a nanny and a housekeeper. problem solved.<br />
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feminism does <i>not</i> equate man hating. i adore men and am completely in love with one, who may decide he doesn't want to be a stay-at-home husband after all. that's okay! we can always figure out something else keeping in mind what would be best for us and our family when the time comes.<br />
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look. i can be as girly as they come. i wear short shorts. i put on make up. i like to feel pretty... i think it's nice that fraser opens the door for me and pays when we go out. i've been the girlfriend who paid for everything and one who didn't ever pay. i pick up our groceries and open doors for him when i get there first. i watch football. domestic violence angers and saddens me. i don't drink beer. i like tequila. fraser doesn't drink at all. i make breakfast for us every morning and do our laundry. i never take out the trash. fraser does a lot of the cleaning and cooks amazing dinners... when asked who wears the pants in our relationship for the newly wed game at my bridal shower, fraser proudly told my friends that we each have a leg in; i said i did after running everything by him. <i>close</i> enough.<br />
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i support gay marriage, pro-choice and equally respect stay-at-home moms and women who choose not to have children to be business owners, doctors, hourly employees, teachers, receptionist, chefs, dancers, writers, actors, engineers, yogis, musicians, inventors, bakers, designers, directors, grips, assistants, executives, comics, whatever... i respect and admire women who to do both... the thing is, people doing the same job with the same experience and qualifications should earn the same wage/salary regardless of gender, race, religion and sexual orientation. period.<br />
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am i a feminist? abso-fucking-lutely.<br />
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am i hyphenating my name <i>because</i> i'm a feminist? hell no.<br />
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i'm hyphenating my name because i love my last name and, thanks to the women who fought for gender equality,<i> i have a choice</i>. i'm also marrying a man who supports whatever decision i make. almost makes me want to straight up take his name, which i really like... maybe i will... probably not but whatever i do will be up to me no matter how often i ask for fraser's opinion, which i appreciate and value.<br />
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my choice is <i>equal </i>to his.<br />
i am <i>worth as much</i> as him.<br />
our marriage will be a <i>partnership</i>.<br />
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hells yeah. i'm a feminist... and i'm gonna look <i>stunning</i> on my wedding day.<br />
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<br /></div>
Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-84874306052481812542014-08-30T09:52:00.000-07:002014-09-01T09:48:41.202-07:00looking in the mirrormy older sister gave me a hard time the other day for leaving a painting (an original by her husband, who gave it to me for my college graduation years ago) with beamer when i moved out a year a half ago, so i called beamer on a whim and left a voicemail. i'd sent a text about the painting weeks before and didn't get a response; i was genuinely surprised when he called me back just minutes later.<br />
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me: hi, beamer.</div>
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beamer: hey. congratulations!</div>
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me: what? </div>
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beamer: i heard you got engaged. congratulations!</div>
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me: oh. yeah. i did. thank you. congratulations on getting married!</div>
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beamer: yeah. well. i guess hell froze over.</div>
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we went on with pleasantries, eventually got around to the painting (which he promised to locate and give back to me), and somehow ended up talking about my upcoming wedding. while it was a nice conversation, it was surreal even as i was having it. even more strange is the fact that fraser was driving us home from lunch as it all happened. it felt like a circle completing itself into fullness just over a month before i become <i>mrs</i> fraser.</div>
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i have dreamed about my wedding since i was a wee little girl: what i would wear, where it would be, what music would play... even in my twenties, i only ever thought about the <i>day</i> of and how magical it would be. thankfully, i've evolved since those fairy tale dreams and recognize that the days leading up to the wedding and the days after are just as important as the day i legally commit to spend the rest of my life with someone. maybe even more so. </div>
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the past couple of years has been one of self discovery and transformation. the past couple months have been a self-imposed study of the lessons i've learned from past relationships as fraser and i navigate the delicate balance of planning a wedding and simultaneously being good partners to each other... i am admittedly much more patient with, nurturing to and understanding of fraser because of my experiences with my exes. i've made a lot of mistakes and, in the process, have learned three tangible truths about relationships.</div>
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<b>apologizing.</b> i took pride in not saying i was sorry in past relationships even after i realized i was wrong. instead, i would change the subject and pretend it never happened. whichever ex i had wronged would be so relieved i was no longer going to war that he went along with sweeping my mistake under the rug. after years of not taking responsibility for whatever injustice i caused, i felt entitled to their shallow apologies and they, in turn, resented my arrogance... unfortunately, not apologizing was something i learned from watching my mom. it's a damaging downside to being raised surrounded by strong-willed, stubborn women. i grew up believing that apologizing is a sign of weakness. that to apologize is to concede. to give up power... i didn't understand that taking responsibility for a false accusation, a flash of jealousy, a moment of insecurity, would bring me closer to my partner. by being vulnerable and open and apologizing when i'm wrong, i allow fraser to get to know me better and help him understand how i need to be loved.</div>
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<b>fighting.</b> i loved fighting with my exes in my twenties because all that energy felt like passion. back then, i wholeheartedly believed fighting was part of a healthy relationship and fueled each one with references to things that happened in the past. without a second thought, i not only judged my exes in the moment, i also made sure they remembered every terrible thing they'd done. i knew which buttons to push and i strategically poked at my exes until we were both so emotionally exhausted that neither of us even remembered what started the battle... fraser and i have yet to have a full on fight, which would've made me feel uneasy ten years ago, and it's awesome. we <i>talk</i> about our disagreements. because we're not afraid of being judged, fraser and i openly explain our point of view. we don't always agree with each other and agree to disagree when we don't. being right is not nearly as important as respecting the fact that we will have different opinions, ideas and ways of doing things. what fraser thinks is as valid as my own thoughts and visa versa.</div>
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<b>listening.</b> as an actor, listening is a must in order to stay in the moment and not get distracted by your own thoughts. turns out, the same principle applies in life... in the midst of a heated argument, i often stop listening and focus only on being heard. i'd raise my voice to top my exes' and he'd do the same until we'd crescendo into a cacophony of unheard explanations and attacks until we'd both be screaming at the top of our lungs desperately trying to be heard. it's devastating. even after a bandaid solution is met, the hurtful words would echo inside our heads eventually making their way into our hearts... listening forces you back in the moment. it demands that you stop your own thoughts and focus on what your partner is saying. </div>
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after a sleepless night several months ago, i was failing to articulate why i was so upset as fraser sat at our dining room table for breakfast with me. </div>
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me: i don't know... you know what? forget it... it's fine. i'll fix it...</div>
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fraser: (gently says my name then)... don't end the conversation just because you don't know what to say. we need to figure this out.</div>
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as i looked back into a set of eyes that saw my vulnerability and chose to protect instead of expose it, i thanked god, the universe or whoever is in charge, for a man who did not shy away from communicating even when it's not easy. who listened to me as i carefully revealed myself. who encouraged me to make him understand... when i first started dating fraser, i was in awe of how much he remembered. even after years of dating, my exes forgot dates, plans and random facts pertaining me. i guess they weren't really listening... i cannot express how wonderful it is to be heard, to be listened to, to be so important that fraser knows my friends' names and our history before he even meets them.<br />
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really looking at yourself can be difficult. a year and a half ago, a defeated face stared back at me. a year ago, determination took over as i began dating again. six months later, giddy in love, a smiling face greeted me whenever i caught my reflection. in the midst of wedding plans just two months ago, conversations i had with fraser put mirrors in front of me that i couldn't ignore. the reflections were hard to swallow.<br />
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while i never pointed fingers at beamer for our breakup, i did so because i felt like i was taking the high road. the past couple of months have made me truly recognize my part in the whole ordeal, especially when fraser himself told me he wouldn't have wanted to marry someone who never apologized, fought to win and didn't listen. his words were not meant to hurt me. they never are. still, his words felt like blows to my heart as i finally understood my role in breaking beamer's heart. after talking to him the other day, i felt a sense of peace. it had been almost a year since i heard his voice and i was relieved that my heart did not ache. i wish him well (i wish all of my exes well); i hope he's happier than he sounds. it felt good to end the conversation and come back to the present moment with fraser, who is as flawed as i am but perfect for me all the same. he brings out the best version of me by loving me exactly as i come.<br />
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i don't know <i>anything</i> about being married, but i'm so glad fraser is the person i'll be learning with for the rest of my life.<br />
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Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-54754881350489192342014-07-25T18:21:00.002-07:002014-07-26T07:12:19.678-07:00wedding 101i've been saving money for my wedding for years. by the time fraser proposed, i would've been able to throw the wedding my ten-old-year self always dreamed of: beautiful catholic church, hundreds of guests, looking stunning in a gorgeous, heavily beaded gown with a train fit for a queen, reception at a great hall with a dj and dancing all night after a delicious sit down dinner... in the fantasy wedding of my ten-year-old self, i was in my early twenties and would've readily become mrs. looksgoodonpaper.<br />
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while that wedding would have been beautiful and possibly even right for me fifteen years ago, the one i planned for october is far from the grand fairy tale i dreamed of as a child and much more suited for the woman i am today. it's no secret that weddings are expensive and there's no way i'd blow my <i>entire</i> wedding fund in one day. <i>no way</i>. i am much too frugal/smart for that but did take a little less than half of it out to work with.<br />
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after going to a couple of destination weddings over the past few years, i decided that <i>that</i> would be the way to go: small, intimate and wouldn't cost me my firstborn child. once fraser had my family's unanimous approval, i started throwing ideas around with him, my siblings, my close friends... yes. all <i>before</i> he proposed (i had no doubt it would happen sooner than later)... it took me two weeks to make deposits on everything, pick out two dresses and his suit, and get a rough idea of who could make it after fraser got down on one knee. a month later, i am merely writing checks for balances on villas, beach wedding planners and a boat.<br />
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this is what i learned:<br />
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<b>compromising.</b> initially, i wanted us to spend a week in mexico, jamaica or the dominican republic with family and close friends; we'd get married on the beach and have dinner somewhere nice. because i cannot imagine getting married without my entire immediate family of twelve (parents, siblings, nieces and nephews), we settled on cocoa beach, florida, where we can still get married on the beach and take everyone out for dinner somewhere nice afterwards. my nieces and nephews wouldn't need passports; orlando offers theme parks galore for guests with children and is perfect for potterheads (me!); <i>and </i>more people could come... decide what's most important to you and work around that. for me, having my dad walk me down the aisle is a <i>must</i> along with having my mom, sisters, brothers, nieces and nephews there; the fact that fraser's mom and family are coming is a wonderful bonus.<br />
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<b>splurging.</b> i'm much better at saving money than spending it, but sometimes you just have to splurge on yourself. with years of waiting tables under my belt, i realized quickly that taking 40-50 people out to dinner would require a reservation, likely in a private room, which could turn our nice dinner into a reception. there were places to accommodate us that would forgo the reception (i <i>don't </i>want one), but, once i saw the boat, there was no going back. a private sunset dinner cruise sounded awesome, so that's what we're doing... i also wanted everyone to stay close together for the week, so we're paying for two villas to accommodate up to 35 of our guests. i am the last of my siblings, my cousins, my many groups of friends, to get married, so this is a big deal for my extended family, who have been invested in my happiness for the various years we've been part of each other's lives.<br />
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<b>delegating. </b>fraser would happily marry me in our living room, reminding me often that he wouldn't love me any more or less based on our wedding day. <i>this is your dream, baby. do what you want. </i>that said, i discussed our options with him before i decided on anything and put him in charge of making final decisions on our invitations, which bells is making for us. he agrees with most of what i come up with but is very clear when he does not like something, which i honor and appreciate... i have yet to meet his family but asked his mom and sister to take care of anything that has to do with our guest book because they wanted to help... doing anything by yourself can get overwhelming. even with fraser, my siblings and close friends to bounce ideas off of, i still needed to count to ten and breathe sometimes. it's totally okay, even necessary, to reach out and ask for help. also, people generally love weddings and <i>want</i> to help you.<br />
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<b>making choices. </b>there's an infinite amount of options out there. you can lose hours, even days, just looking through never-ending sites on gowns, dresses, color schemes, invitations... my approach? pick one and move on. i went to a bridal store, figured out what size i wore in their brand, went home and ordered two wedding dresses online; i found gowns on sale in the silhouettes i liked in the store... once i made a decision about the dress, the villas, the beach wedding planners and the dinner cruise, i didn't look back. <i>okay. fine</i>. i still look at wedding dresses online and find ones that are gorgeous, but i don't think about replacing the one i already have... fraser and i need to put this in practice as we come up with our wedding registries, which is a whole <i>other</i> thing.<br />
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<b>not sweating the small stuff. </b>our wedding has been really easy to plan. things have a way of coming together for us, sure, but we are also hyper aware of the fact that it's <i>one</i> day; there have been many before it and will be many more after. as awesome as we want it to be, we're doing the best we can to keep it about us and having our loved ones be a part of it. no one will remember that i was barefoot and he wasn't or what font was used on our invitations (sorry, bells)... we're getting married in florida on a wednesday. the beach wedding people we hired only provide up to 40 chairs for the ceremony; we <i>may</i> have our siblings stand up as our bridal party to make room for eight more guests if we have to. there are people we invite who won't be able to come and even more that we simply do not have room for... i sent emails to my closest friends about it knowing that they would understand; honestly, i wouldn't be friends with someone who wouldn't... my hope is that they remember our wedding week as a happy, laid-back, do-what-you-want, laugh everyday experience.<br />
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my ten-year-old self would be ecstatic to know that i am marrying a man who makes me laugh, believes in my dreams, supports my passions, respects my choices, treats me as an equal and loves me beyond measure. that we're paying for everything upfront. that we're celebrating for a whole week... she may wonder why i've chosen to hyphenate my name... all the other stuff is secondary.<br />
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... except maybe for the looking stunning part. she'd <i>still</i> want that.<br />
<br />
<br />Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-82762088589020736962014-06-14T20:30:00.000-07:002014-07-18T18:12:54.499-07:00random tuesday<div>
most of what i've written about this past year has been my journey after a painful breakup. bells encouraged me to write about starting to date again in my mid-30s. what it's like, how i approached it, all the stories that came along with it... i haven't written in a couple months because i haven't had much to share. i'm back in a monogamous relationship with an incredible man i met online. fraser and i have <i>no drama</i>. we have none of that toxic energy i used to think was passion in my twenties. i'm happy being with one man which translates to not having anything to say about dating anymore. we found each other and inspire those around us to throwup in their mouths a little with how well we get along.</div>
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mrpretty told me recently that when he asked friends of his who have been happily married for several years how they keep their relationship happy and healthy, they told him that they have manners. they <i>always say please and thank you</i>... sounds so simple but it's so important. fraser insists that we always speak to each other kindly, which is not always easy to do, especially when i'm hungry or tired or upset. that said, i've found that telling him exactly how i feel about any given situation, good or bad, can be done without a fight. i used to think fighting is part of being in a balanced relationship but am starting to buy into this whole communicating calmly idea. don't get me wrong, i get totally annoyed sometimes and, when i do, i tell him in the moment or soon after. he does the same with me... we <i>listen</i>. like saying please and thank you, listening makes a world of difference.</div>
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having a healthy relationship boils down to <i>both</i> people going into it <i>whole</i>, knowing who they are and what they want, and committing to it. fraser was not a good boyfriend to his exes because of his own demons; i always tried to be a good girlfriend but had baggage of my own to deal with. we each worked on ourselves before we met. fraser finally deciding to make different choices in his life; me, holed up at home, reading self-help books and writing in journals and making phone calls to various friends. by the time we sat across from each other on our first date last october, we loved ourselves, knew we were worthy and were ready to reveal our true selves to whoever was open to seeing it.</div>
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eight months later, back at the same restaurant after sharing happy hour appetizers again at the same table we sat at that tuesday night last fall, fraser asked me to marry him. even in that cliche restaurant ambiance, it could not have been more perfect... our server caught it on video (i thought fraser had asked him to take our photo until he turned me away from our server to face him); fraser could barely get the words out and i swore like a sailor. i said <i>yeah... yes! </i>people clapped. fraser turned to smile at them after we hugged and kissed as a few more profanities escaped my lips, my eyes glued to my gorgeous engagement ring.</div>
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i've always thought of engagement rings as a physical representation of how a man sees his partner. mine is a unique, art deco piece with a sapphire on either side of the center diamond. it's beautiful from all angles; he could not have chosen a more perfect ring for me... i get teary eyed when i look at it. if my ring, which he picked out, had set and sized just hours before he proposed, is how fraser sees me, then i must be pretty awesome. i love that <i>he couldn't wait </i>to ask me to marry him.</div>
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when i decided to move on with my life a year and a half ago, i was very clear about what i was looking for: i wanted to be with someone who'd love me for who i am and be excited to marry me and have babies with me. i wanted someone who'd see the beauty in my flaws, support my passions and believe in my dreams. i wanted someone who my family would approve of... i wanted someone who would know better than to propose to me on a holiday like christmas (why?), valentine's day (puke!) or my birthday (lame!). i wanted someone to propose to me on a <i>random tuesday</i>.</div>
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he proposed last tuesday. </div>
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we're getting married in october. a year from the day we met... barefoot on the beach.</div>
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Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-5138460666044756112014-03-31T22:57:00.000-07:002014-04-02T14:52:29.361-07:00perspectivea few months ago, my dear friend mrpretty pointed out that i was walking, talking and facing life with confidence, quickly adding that i always had it but never really let it shine. <i>there's a difference. it's good. you're owning yourself.</i><br />
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i feel like a monday morning quarterback when i think about the years i spent trying to fit an ideal i never was or ever wanted to be. it was subconscious and the more effort i put into understanding myself, the clearer it becomes. like little details that seem irrelevant in the moment but are undoubtedly big, important parts of your every day experience. bells saw it years before i did. newsister, my brother's wife, commented that i became quiet around my ex when she first met him. <i>i don't know, ate. you're different around him. less shiny. i'm not used to it.</i></div>
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looking back, there are many little details that i chose to overlook because i was determined that i was going to marry my ex. determined. not sure. determined... but this isn't about that. this is about me now. i've never been a fan of change but am grateful i was somehow strong enough to make the ones i did just over year ago. my life is so much better today because i decided take a risk and let go of the life i knew in order to live the life i wanted. stepping out of my comfort zone paid off in more ways than i ever could have imagined.<br />
<br />
while fraser has been a big factor as a positive influence in my life for the past few months, i have to preface the rest of this post with the fact that i started being truly happy with myself and my life again <i>before</i> fraser was in the picture. it took months for me to really start letting go of the old me and the life that went with her but, by the time i met fraser, i was walking with my head held high, my hips swinging and my lips curled up into a genuine smile again because <i>i knew i was worth something.</i><br />
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that said, nothing is better than being with someone who loves you exactly as you are. one of my favorite things in the world is seeing someone i love be loved completely by their significant other in every day life. having it for myself is surreal; i never thought i'd find someone to love me exactly the way i need to be loved<i> </i>because my needs are so specific to me.<br />
<br />
when my world came crashing down just over a year ago, my friends consoled me with the standards: <i>you'll find someone better for you... when it happens, you're just going to know... he exists. there's a man out there who will love you the way you want and deserve him to... </i>i had no idea what <i>any </i>of it meant<i> </i>before fraser and still find it incredible that we met online. there was no way we ever would've otherwise; we have very different pasts. also amazing that we met when we did because fraser and i would not have been attracted to each other even just a year or two ago; we were different people then.<br />
<br />
it all came together for us at the right time six months ago and it translates to the rest of my life... fraser and i were in the car on our way to meet sassy and musician for dinner a couple of weeks ago when fraser smiled out of nowhere and laughed privately.<br />
<br />
me: what? why are you smiling?<br />
fraser: i just never thought i'd ever date, much less end up with, an actress.<br />
me: huh... how's that going?<br />
fraser: i like it. it's creative... unconventional. it's good.<br />
<br />
he supports my dream and my passions. whatever is important to me is a priority to him, a far cry from being asked <i>how much longer </i>i want to pursue acting, having to keep repeating what matters to me and defending my opinions about religion and politics. there are so many things i love about fraser: he communicates well, cooks, cleans, always says thank you, owns his actions, tries to keep up with my social calendar, reads sides with me for auditions, tells me i'm pretty, buys me flowers, opens doors for me, makes me laugh, compliments my cooking... the fact that he doesn't want me to be anything but myself is definitely the cake though; the rest is just the light fluffy, buttery icing.<br />
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there are still days when self doubt comes out to play and i have to tackle her down before she scores. it's so much easier to do that when you feel good about yourself and how you're living your life. my family and friends have always been amazing at cheering me on; it's so cool to have a partner who does the same with as much enthusiasm and a steady presence every day... he's going to meet my family in may. i cannot wait for them to get to know him and for him to become a part of them.<br />
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i'm <i>super shiny </i>these days... and the world notices. it's awesome.<br />
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Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-24938248577237672272014-02-05T15:14:00.000-08:002016-12-12T16:30:49.781-08:00closure, 363 days laterafter getting home from a lovely dinner and a movie date with fraser last night, i logged into facebook on my phone out of habit and the second status i read, from an acquaintance, congratulated beamer on his engagement to his ex-girlfriend. <i>WTF?!?!</i> in shock, i sent texts to a handful of friends and quickly received responses from them. there were a lot of f-words and variations of it. it would've made me laugh had i not felt a sting in my heart. fraser asked what was wrong and i vaguely implied that we were all just trying to figure something out.<br />
<br />
five minutes later, my phone was down and i faced fraser.<br />
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fraser: are your friends okay?<br />
me: yeah. they're fine... i have to tell you something.<br />
fraser: what's up?<br />
me: beamer just got engaged to his ex-girlfriend.<br />
fraser: who?<br />
me: beamer... my ex just got engaged to his ex.<br />
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<i>silence.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
when fraser asked how i was feeling, the word that came to mind was shocked. he asked if i was hurt. yes... but i wasn't sad and felt that i could be happy for beamer at some point. not just then. i used the word rejected last night but betrayed is a more accurate description of how i feel.<br />
<br />
one of my best friends, sassy, articulated what i wasn't willing to say out loud or even put together in my mind. i had spent the last three years of our relationship waiting, expecting, hoping for beamer to propose. there were numerous times i tried to give him an out by telling him that it was fine if he didn't want to marry me but i needed to hear him say it. <i>he never did</i>. in fact, the day i moved out, he told me he always thought he'd have more time, which flabbergasted me. <i>more time?</i> we'd been together for nine years. i left six years in and he <i>begged</i> me to come back promising me we'd get engaged, married and have children. three years and many conversations later, i decided it was time to go and i still lived with him for three months after that... i simply wasn't the one for him. apparently, the one who cheated on him and broke him so completely is. that's a low blow. it's also true. <i>both</i> his ex-fiance and current one cheated on him, and i don't feel like playing nice in this moment because beamer betrayed me.<br />
<br />
it hurts because i just had a conversation with fraser about possibly meeting up with beamer for closure. i was worried about how he was doing and wanted to see him. it hurts because beamer was my best friend for nine years and he lied to me. i'm not even sure he knew why it didn't feel right for him to propose to me nor did he try to figure it out. therapy was discussed but never really on the table. it hurts because i gave so much of myself and my time to him because i believed him. i trusted him. i loved him... and he betrayed me by not being honest with himself and not letting me go. i had to be the one to leave <i>again</i> when, clearly, he was the one who wanted out. maybe he was afraid of being alone, even of losing me, but he should've been man enough to do it.<br />
<br />
i remember a woman with the same name as his now fiance calling beamer, who took the calls privately and told me it was work. there are movies in my head about how they got back together but none of them matter. the fact that they are back together has <i>nothing</i> to do with me and i do wish them well. even as my mind races with various emotions, i am not sad.<br />
<br />
fraser loves me better than beamer ever did. and i'm happy. not just on the outside but inside, where it really counts. i have received so much love via texts and phone calls from an army of friends, who support my well being. more than that, <i>i do not want to be with beamer</i>. we are each other's pasts. processing this has my mind racing and, when wingwoman2 told me she googled his name with hers to make sure the engagement was real, i had to do the same. they have a wedding website and are getting married in may. as in three months from now. fourteen months after i left.<br />
<br />
disappointed does not begin to describe how i feel about the fact that beamer did not give me a heads up about his engagement. don't get me wrong, i understand that he doesn't have to do that but, after nine years together, i <i>deserve</i> at least that. especially when he used to<i> always </i>tell me that he just wasn't ready for marriage and it wouldn't make a difference if he was with someone else. i don't even think he was lying to me; he was lying to himself... unless his ex was always in the picture. and even that's <i>fine</i>. what's not fine is letting me believe it would happen eventually if i just wait a little longer.<br />
<br />
blondie, another friend, asked me today if i thought i maybe should have waited another year. <i>absolutely not</i>. i did what was best for me and stand firmly by my choice. i've known for months now that beamer and i are over. still, it's been just under a year since i left and he'd been on my mind recently. i thought it was because i needed closure and asked god, the universe or whoever is in charge to give me a sign. i feel like i'm at the right place, with the right person, but i wanted reassurance from something bigger than me... and my mom.<br />
<br />
me: do you think i should see beamer for closure?<br />
mom: why? did he contact you?<br />
me: no.<br />
mom: well, who do you want? beamer or fraser?<br />
me: fraser.<br />
mom: then don't see him.<br />
<br />
i wrote beamer's best man speech for his brother's wedding several years ago. his brother met his wife on a dating site and part of his speech read <i>god works in mysterious ways and, apparently, in the world wide web. </i>had i not logged into facebook when i did last night, i would have missed that acquaintance's status completely, but god, the universe or whoever is in charge clearly works online. i was meant to see it.<br />
<br />
i have been careful not to air out our dirty laundry on social media and in life; i have not said anything bad about him this past year. when we last saw each other six months ago, there was still love between us. it was different and unfamiliar but it was there. we said <i>i love you</i> when we said goodbye and reassured each other that we'd be there for the other if needed. he cried and told me it was <i>so hard to say goodbye </i>to me<i>... </i>even as betrayal, shock and hurt flow through my veins and try to poison my heart, i refuse to engage in name calling or finger pointing because i take responsibility for my part in the demise of what we once had. for all the words that have been used to describe beamer by my friends today, the only ones that i will use are <i>not for me</i>... never was. i was just too stubborn to see it.<br />
<br />
<i>let it out. let it go. move forward.</i><br />
<br />
i'm done.<br />
<br />
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<br />Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-58622538593738448322014-01-21T11:08:00.000-08:002014-01-22T12:20:48.274-08:00oh, hello 2014.i'm going to wing my first blog post of the year. i've been over-thinking it. i had the perfect three subjects for a new year's post: lessons learned, resolutions and starting again. all relevant and works well together but i keep getting stuck. maybe because i feel stuck.<br />
<br />
don't get me wrong. this year is starting off quite well for me. i spent two weeks with my family in wisconsin over the holidays, missing fraser like a teenager as i changed diapers, had dance parties with my nieces, ran around after my nephews, caught up with my siblings and my parents, and occasionally braved the weather (-15 degrees with -45 windchill at one point) to take spin classes with my new sister (aka my brother's wife). fraser welcomed me home with homemade chicken enchiladas and has been beyond awesome. i've been catching up with friends and am back to my workout schedule. my first audition of the year was for a film and went really well. the weather has been a dream in socal. things are <i>good</i>.<br />
<br />
i'm happy... yet i find myself questioning all of it. i mean, am i really happy? is this really where i'm supposed to be? now that i'm with someone who wants the things i've been saying i wanted for years, i fear that i may not be ready after all. and is that really what i want in the first place? am i capable of handling my needs along with that of a husband and children while still pursuing my dream?<br />
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am i worthy of it all? of <i>any</i> of it?<br />
<br />
i know. <i>i know</i>... I KNOW!!! <br />
<br />
if any of my friends confessed to feeling this insecure, i would look them in the eye and tell them, without a doubt in my mind, that they are worth it. <i>all</i> of it... and most days, i feel entitled to the same level of worthiness. some days, i feel like a sunshine goddess whose purpose is to spread love, encouragement and happiness. other days, i have to force myself to recognize the sun even as its warmth gently caresses my face.<br />
<br />
i smile. <i>a lot</i>. all the time... no matter how i'm feeling, i put a smile on my face and forge ahead because that's the role i've played my whole life and i'm afraid to show the world anything but that smiling face. that face is familiar and comforting and usually authentic but there are days when it's a facade. we all wear one. mine just happens to be friendly and seemingly happy even as i feel my insides fall all over itself in a pool of inexplicable sadness and my mind races to the worst case scenarios to the questions above... please don't think my smile isn't genuine. it <i>usually</i> is but there are times when it's sole purpose is to avoid confrontation or conflict until i'm ready to face it. until i'm ready to face myself. <br />
<br />
maybe i can still work those perfectly paired subjects into this post because i really have learned from times like these. i know <i>i'm stronger than i think</i>. this is a phase. it's not permanent. i am going to get through it and emerge wiser, armed with personal knowledge to more easily win the next battle within. in the meantime, it's imperative that i surround myself <i>only</i> with people who love, support and encourage me. there is no way i can come out of these depressions, mild as they are, without people who look me in the eye and tell me, without a doubt in their mind, that i am worth it. <i>all of it</i>. we all need a reminder, even those of us who seem to have it together all the time. especially them... <i>you get what you give</i> so you might as well shine light and love, show compassion and kindness, support other people's dreams. three life lessons i try put into practice every day. not just at the beginning of the year either.<br />
<br />
let's be honest, new year's resolutions often fall on the wayside by february. sometimes march. so instead of making a list of things to change through control, my goal this year to let go of control. of expectation. of fear... control, expectation and fear will get you nowhere fast. it will eat at your soul and make you question your own glaring happiness... fraser is the first person i've dated who openly communicates his thoughts and feelings. when i have moments of control, expectation and/or fear, he discusses them with me. no judgment or desire to change me or a question of my motives. he wants to understand where i'm coming from and i, more often than not, fail to articulate my feelings well because i'm not used to being really listened to unless i force the issue. i need to let go of those habits because fraser is <i>not</i> beamer or golfer or whoever else made me question my worth in the past.<br />
<br />
so i'm starting over.<i> again</i>... it's scary because change often is and things with fraser are going <i>so</i> fast, but i'm putting a smile on my face and forging ahead. not because it's expected but because i'm worth it. i <i>deserve</i> to be happy and to have what i want, even if what i want changes. even when i question my own worth because i'm allowed moments of uncertainty... as long as i recognize it as such and get over it as quickly as possible. with that, i'd like to share an excerpt from elizabeth gilbert's wonderful book, <i>eat, pray, love</i>:<br />
<br />
<i>happiness is the consequence of personal effort. you fight for it,
strive for it, insist upon it... you have to participate relentlessly in
the manifestations of your own blessings. and once you have achieved a
state of happiness, you must never become lax about maintaining it.</i><br />
<br />
now go war.<br />
<br />
<br />Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-64918686105221910782013-12-14T16:55:00.000-08:002013-12-16T07:42:47.792-08:00trust, vulnerability and jumping in, oh my!!!today is beamer's birthday... after giving it <i>a lot</i> of thought and exchanging texts with several of my closest friends, i've decided not to contact him. instead, i posted a photo of me with fraser on my facebook timeline for the first time. beamer is not on facebook. fraser and i are not friends on it. only my closest friends will know the significance of my choice. of closing one door and opening another.<br />
<br />
i will always remember beamer's birthday and only wish him love, happiness and success. introducing fraser into my social media circle today is my acknowledgement of the immense amount of growth and change in my heart, mind and soul... two months ago, i was sure i'd be posting a photo of beamer and me wishing him the happiest of birthdays. today, i've chosen to trust the path i'm on and the fact that fraser is very much a part of it. it's a far cry from questioning everything about/with him just a few weeks ago.<br />
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the truth is i'm happy. we laugh all the time and time passes quickly when we're together. i can hardly believe the lightness of my soul, the ease of my mind or the giddiness of my heart. it just feels right. there's no other way to describe it... i've asked myself all the questions over and over. am i really this happy? is this guy for real? does it feel right? are you sure? yes. yes. yes... <i>yes</i>. the only thing left to do is let go and trust that my heart, mind and soul know enough to recognize what's really happening.<br />
<br />
i am falling.<br />
<br />
or jumping... there's a vulnerability that i wasn't sure i'd be willing to put out there again. not after experiencing the reality of never having any guarantees in love, life or even shoes because no matter how much you give of yourself or how well you take care of people or things, sometimes it doesn't work out. sometimes you get your heart broken. sometimes your favorite shoes fall apart along with the rest of your life.<br />
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being vulnerable is the last thing you want put out there again when that happens. i resisted everything with fraser. despite all the time we spent together and how lovely it always was, i refused to admit we were dating. my friends shook their heads when i stumbled to find another word for boyfriend when i talked about him. <i>i call you my girlfriend behind your back all day long</i>. he's been patient, kind, understanding, fun. he makes me feel like the prettiest, loveliest, smartest girl in the world.<br />
<br />
why not trust that? why not be vulnerable? why not jump?<br />
<br />
because it could hurt, that's why... hmm, i <i>can</i> get hurt. that sucks but you know what would suck more? not trusting the incredible happiness i feel when i'm around him. not allowing myself to be vulnerable and missing out on something that could be really great. not jumping because of fear... besides, he's already met my dad. <br />
<br />
so here i go.<br />
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again.<br />
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<br />Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-68634967178138403512013-12-01T21:16:00.001-08:002013-12-10T15:54:47.687-08:00grace, gratitude and going with the flow, oh my!!!since i started working at a boutique spin and yoga studio in the spring, i've gotten back to spinning regularly and fallen in love with yoga. i hustle through spin and flow in yoga almost every day there. spinning pushes my physical endurance. i often yell obscenities as i add on more and more resistance while maintaining the same pace on the bike. it is <i>hard</i>. i'm normally sweaty five minutes into the forty-five minute ride and completely soaked by the end. it's aggressive, fast, unforgiving. breathlessness happens in spin... then i take yoga, which quiets my mind and centers my soul. i focus on my breath and flow in and out of poses with as much grace as my physical abilities allow. i've surprised myself by shedding tears during yoga more than once. yoga is hard in a different way. it cleanses my heart and reminds me of humility and my own strength. awareness of breath happens in yoga.<br />
<br />
hustling and flowing has saved me from myself this past year. not only did working out give me something to do, it allowed my mind, body and soul to escape into a space that fosters a community based on love, encouragement and support. i'm <i>not</i> kidding. the studio i work at is full of beautiful, amazing women (and some good looking men, sure) who are there to either hustle and/or flow their way into leaner bodies and connect to their core... whether on a bike or a mat, i feel like i belong with them for the hour or so we spend together. some people are more experienced, more skilled, more graceful than the rest of us, which gives me something to work towards, to look forward to.<br />
<br />
grace has never been my strong suit. while i can learn steps and execute choreographed routines, i was never a graceful dancer be it hula, tahitian, jazz, modern or (yikes!) ballet. to be fair, i didn't take dance classes until college and being graceful was the last thing i worried about as i tried to keep up. i love to dance but a dancer i am not. i like to pretend i am one though and twirl around in my apartment with my dancer roommate all the time like we're both ballerinas performing pieces set to 80s dance music. it's fun and we laugh breathlessly at our silliness. we're loud. yup. i laugh a lot and out loud. not exactly graceful but there's nothing better than a hearty laugh... or a good cry, which isn't socially graceful for some reason. there's no denying i'm a total klutz. i am constantly running into furniture, plants or whatever else jumps in front of me; i have scratches and bruises from these surprise attacks.<br />
<br />
what i do try to be graceful about is the way i treat people, especially those i love. even when asked to be completely honest, i do so without being harsh whenever possible. i'm competitive but am neither a sore loser or a rub-it-in-your-face winner. losing sucks. winning is enough... it's been a year since beamer and i broke up now. we lived together for another three months after the fact. the morning i decided to move out followed one of the most ungraceful nights of my life. i will only say that i do not talk that way to people i love and knew it was time to go before i lost anymore of myself. graceful is how many of my friends describe how i handled our breakup. the fact that i didn't (and still don't) talk badly about him or announce our breakup on social media wasn't about being graceful, it was about treating what we once had with respect, compassion and gratitude.<br />
<br />
every night before i go to sleep, i thank god, the universe or whoever is in charge for all the blessings, all the good things, all the lessons i encountered that day. most days, i readily come up with things to be thankful for: an especially challenging and, therefore, rewarding spin class, a yummy yoga flow, hearing from my mom, having lunch with a friend, kicking ass at an audition, unexpectedly getting a residual check, a two hour massage, blue skies, witnessing kindness between strangers, getting a voicemail from one of my nieces and/or nephews, getting a free carwash because it rained, the courage to say no to something i have no interest in doing... when i have a bad day, i give thanks for my loving family, my incredible friends, the fact that i have everything i need, not having to shave my legs, being happy, healthy and pretty... maybe it's cheesy or hippie or much too cosmic but it works.<br />
<br />
giving gratitude for what you already have invites god, the universe or whoever is in charge to keep sending you people, experiences and seemingly random situations to be grateful for. even if it doesn't work that way, you've painlessly made yourself aware of how good you really have it... those sleepless nights when i first moved out were opportunities for me to really appreciate the people in my life. i named every family member and close friend in gratitude for being in my corner those first few months. i knew i wasn't alone as i faced the loneliness of sleeping solo for the first time in nearly a decade even as my heart seemingly stopped beating every now and then. i was incapable of seeing anything else to be grateful for at that point but acknowledging my gratitude helped my heart heal. it didn't just happen. i worked at it.<br />
<br />
spontaneity is not something i'm good at. i like having a schedule and knowing what i need to get done and by when. it's the only way i can manage my time well... dating has been interesting because i don't play games. i don't respond to people i have no interest in meeting (unless they talk football; i always reply to those messages) and am happy to meet someone for coffee when they ask because compatibility percentages mean nothing if you don't hit it off in person. my online dating experience has been really positive. in fact, i recently disabled my profile because i've been seeing someone exclusively for several weeks now. this is where going with the flow comes in because i am beyond afraid of putting my heart out there again.<br />
<br />
i don't even know where to start... we met online and exchanged messages for a few days before he asked to meet me in person. i agreed to dinner our first time out because our schedules did not allow for an afternoon date that week. he threw a bomb at me five minutes into our first date and has been fearlessly vulnerable and open with me since. i have, in turn, been as honest as i can be about my inability to do the same. due to personal circumstances on my end and his willingness to keep driving to my side of town, we've spent a lot of time together and have somehow stopped seeing other people. there's a sense of comfort between us. we laugh <i>a lot</i>... trust me. i <i>tried</i> to slow it down by refusing to admit i felt any of the things he said he was feeling and attempting to set up dates with other people that somehow never worked out. when i started introducing him to my friends, i knew i was in trouble. then i told my sisters about him. done... i'm finally more excited than scared about whatever it is we're doing (we're not defining it though he'll readily tell you it doesn't matter because it doesn't change anything for him), but i still find myself grasping for the safety of not going anywhere. of not falling.<br />
<br />
every single one of my friends has told me to let go. to go with the flow. to enjoy the ride... so i am. it's <i>not</i> graceful (i've already freaked out on him more than once) but i am grateful. i didn't realize how unworthy i felt with beamer towards the end of our relationship but, no matter how you try to sugarcoat it, he <i>chose</i> not to marry me. his decision may not have anything to do with me as a person but it effected me deeply nonetheless... fraser makes me feel pretty and smart and worthy without an agenda. i feel like myself around him and not the scared, insecure, self-sabotaging version who comes out intent on protecting my heart. i get to be my normal fun-loving, always laughing, fearlessly badass, totally nerdy, happy self again. it's nice. he's sweet... i don't know what will happen a week, three days, four hours from now but going with the flow feels right in this moment.<br />
<br />
so yeah. i'll just call him fraser, hustle and flow through breathlessness, grace and gratitude in spin and yoga, and call it a day.<br />
<br />
<br />Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-5609930877440105842013-11-10T15:01:00.001-08:002013-11-11T13:40:34.022-08:00sixteen, twenty-six and thirty-six, ah!!!i started seven different blogs last month. it was my birthday month and there was a lot going on in my head but none of it felt inspired once i began writing them. while i felt incredibly loved as friends celebrated my birthday all month long with lunch, coffee and dinner dates, there was an tug of sadness in my heart and i didn't want to admit it. i wanted to write about the past year as one of change and transformation because it really was that... but it was also a year that broke me so completely that i find myself struggling to find the courage to be vulnerable again. i have become the girl i never wanted to be. while jaded seems a bit harsh, it's definitely along those lines. unfortunately.<br />
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i'm scared of... not finding the dude or, worse, finding him and getting my heart broken again. fooling myself into believing i have control over anything. not having any control. falling in love. not falling in love. opening up to the wrong person. not allowing myself to open up to the right one. trying too hard. not trying hard enough. losing balance. losing parts of my myself again. not having enough time. wasting it. doing the wrong thing. not doing anything... <i>everything</i>. i'm scared of everything.</div>
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everything i wrote last month felt contrived because i didn't want to share my fears. i have so much love and support and have worked hard over the past year to be present and thankful and appreciative for all of it. and i truly am... but, if i'm to be completely truthful, i have to write about the fears that accompany turning another year older no matter how i try to mask it. twentieth anniversary of my sweet sixteen, anyone?</div>
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i was sixteen when lint and i started dating. so much has happened in the twenty years since then. i've grown up a lot but am still the same girl with the big dreams and an even bigger heart. i'm a nurturer. i have a tendency to take care of other people before myself. only recently did i start to really put myself first, something that you really must do if you are to nurture anyone else. i don't have kids (<i>yet!</i>), so i don't know what being a mother is like, but i do know that not taking care of yourself will eventually leave you feeling empty and resentful. that part i know... i fear falling back into that with someone new.</div>
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i was twenty-six when beamer and i began what would become a nine year relationship. he sent me a text wishing me a happy birthday the day after the fact and i almost cancelled a dinner date i had planned. it was nice of him to remember and acknowledge it (beamer is not good with dates) but it may have been easier not to hear from him. <i>not better</i>. easier... i responded with a quick thank you and pressed send before i could start telling him all about the night before when i celebrated with a group friends; i wanted to share every detail with him... hearing from him no longer feels like someone decided to sit on my heart but it still stops for a second and i have to actively talk myself out of being sad.</div>
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no matter how good i feel about the progress and transformation i've made both emotionally and physically in less than a year, the fact that beamer could not bring himself to marry me continues to nag the back of my mind and stab parts of my heart... i don't think he'll ever figure it out nor do i hope he ever does because i'm not sure what that would mean for me after all this time. these are facts that only my body can feel. these are facts only my heart and mind can counter with as much grace and kindness and love that i can muster for myself. sometimes not a lot... i fear that i will forever be nagged and stabbed by this.<br />
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i'm thirty-six now and no closer to figuring out how this whole falling in love thing is supposed to happen. i've always been a jump-right-in kind of girl and being cautious is new to me. there's a desperate desire for me to feel safe, to protect my once free-loving heart, but i know that's not the way to go even as i subconsciously, purposefully build walls around my still mending heart. it seems unfair to whoever i start a relationship with for me to hold back, but that's exactly what i'm doing. even as one of the guys i've been seeing has clearly peaked my interest more than the others, i find myself planning dates with other people. it feels safer not to focus on just one. i've already done that. for nine years.<br />
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it's a battle within. my optimistic, openminded, outgoing self is weakened and fighting a much stronger afraid-to-be-vulnerable, still-nursing-a-broken-heart version of me. i'm rooting for the former but the latter is easier to live as... i realize i'll have to forgo easy and jump in again if i'm to even have a shot at what i eventually want in my life. for now though, i have to settle for being present exactly where i am and not judging every choice i make.<br />
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all i can do is be honest and kind and loving to the thirty-six year old woman looking back at me in the mirror and reassure her that she's exactly where she needs to be... <i>for now</i>.</div>
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Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-50538199491395855042013-09-19T22:42:00.000-07:002013-09-23T17:44:57.332-07:00fairy tales and real life and finding balance, oh my!when i was little, i used to think little mice in tiny shirts and cute hats went into my closet and altered my clothes to be smaller. i'd seen how they'd made a beautiful blue gown for cinderella to wear to the ball and was confused why they'd chosen to shrink my stuff... i now know there were no mice after all; i was simply growing out of my clothes. of course, it's more fun to think that these friendly mice are responsible for my too tight jeans instead of the fact that i've gone out to eat with friends several times in the past few weeks or eaten cupcakes everyday or accidentally shrunk them in the dryer myself.<br />
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honestly, i wish my mice friends were in my closet altering my jeans a size or two smaller these days. i started working at an amazing boutique spin and yoga studio five months ago and, over the past three months, have made it a habit to take spin followed by yoga five or six days a week (yes, 10-12 classes a week). i still eat normally. cupcakes, potato chips and chocolate are very much a part of my diet but so are kale, quinoa and bananas. it's a balancing act. working out a lot means i'm hungry a lot, so i eat often and drink a lot of water... i don't think i've lost weight but i'm definitely leaner, so my clothes fit looser. thus, my need for my fairy tale mice; i really don't want to give up my collection of jeans.<br />
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as adorable and helpful as they are though, the mice have never been my favorite part of cinderella. it was the love story. the romance. i'd be lying if i said prince charming didn't make my heart melt. even as a wee little girl, i found him incredibly handsome and absolutely perfect. (thanks, disney, for turning me into a white boy kind of girl; growing up in wisconsin didn't help either.) i grew up with an image of an incredibly handsome, absolutely perfect man who would fall in love with me at first sight, pursue me with only my glass slipper to go on, marry me in front of the entire kingdom and have a castle for us to live in happily ever after. that's a fairy tale for you.<br />
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real life is... <i>different</i>. the incredibly handsome man is either gay or emotionally unavailable or, hard to believe (i know), just not interested, and the absolutely perfect man is your friend, one you're not attracted to or you're attracted to but he's married to someone else or, let's be honest, he's gay. i am surrounded by a variety of these men, none of whom i can feasibly date seriously much less marry... i enjoy their company, adore their humor and, in some cases, truly love them as friends. <br />
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i had dinner with fratboy the other night. we'd gone to college together and always had an unspoken attraction to one another. we were dating other people back then and neither of us is the cheating type, so nothing ever happened. over the past thirteen years, we've kept in touch going as far as making a pact to marry each other if we were both single at forty. around his thirtieth birthday, he asked me to marry him, to move our pact to thirty instead of forty. i was with beamer and gently declined... fratboy dated here and there, asking me to marry him once (twice?) more before eventually getting engaged to his ex-fiancee around the time i left beamer almost four years ago now. beamer and i got back together; they broke off their engagement soon after.<br />
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we went to our ten year college reunion together three years ago; he flew in from new york and i from la. he rented a car and we drove to the place we met; we shared a hotel room with two queen sized beds. beamer and i were living together at that point; fratboy had just started dating his now wife. nothing happened beyond the campus tours, football game, drinks with friends and all the meals we shared together; again, neither of us is the cheating type... fast forward to six weeks ago when we recently met up for dinner (he's in la for work every six weeks or so):<br />
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fratboy: i can't believe he let you go.<br />
me: yup. i'm single... and you're married.<br />
fratboy: (<i>shaking his head</i>) i didn't think you'd be single again.<br />
me: yeah. me, too.<br />
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that's real life. fratboy thinks... no. he knows i'm amazing and wants the same things i do. he's also <i>married...</i> to someone i've never met and may never meet... the truth is, fratboy and i have fairy tale ideas about each other. while we've been honest in our conversations over the years and have a solid friendship, neither of us really knows how we are in our everyday lives because we've never lived together. he's never seen me sick or dealt with me when i'm hungry; i have no idea what he's like after a bad day at work or what he smells like after a night out with his friends. (also, he's a bears fan so it would never work.) we love each other without the complications of dating. that ship sailed thirteen years ago.<br />
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don't get me wrong, i have a rom-com worthy fairy tale ending with fratboy in the back of my mind. there were epic ones with beamer for a long time. the one with handyman is particularly romantic and the most unrealistic. why i even bother, i do not know... i subconsciously create these impeccably scripted boy-realizes-he-can't-live-without-girl (<i>me!!!</i>) scenes despite the reality that is my life. i'm not sure if it's normal and i really don't care. that's just where my mind goes. sometimes i fool myself into believing these fantasies can actually happen (yes, i am that confident some days). thankfully, i'm not entirely delusional and can tear myself away from my perfectly imagined situations.<br />
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i find balance.<br />
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fairy tales always end with happily ever after. i've wondered what that must be like and have decided it would probably get boring after awhile. there are only so many balls you can attend in a gorgeous gown with your handsome husband before you decide a night in your pajamas with your girlfriends, pizzas and ice cream is exactly what you need to center yourself. to find balance... or maybe you just want to stay home with a good book; it's a lot of work to get ready for a ball or even a party... romantic gestures are great but to deal with being romanced <i>all the time</i> would be annoying. i can't imagine being romanced while i'm watching my packers play or am sick with the flu; i'd just want to watch the game or take a nap.<br />
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real life gets messy... i prefer messy over perfect though. perfection is a facade. it's not real and <i>i want real</i>. i don't need to meet someone at a ball and fall in love at first sight, but i do need him to really see me and love me beyond the initial attraction. i don't need a handsome prince to sweep me off my feet into his castle, but i do need him to be supportive and treat me as an equal. a partner through whatever life throws our way. i don't need him to save me from an evil stepmother or a witch or a dragon, but i do need him to accept me and treat me with kindness, generosity and compassion. i also need him to make me laugh and marry me, not necessarily in front of a kingdom. a beach somewhere tropical will do but...<br />
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the shoes i'll take.<br />
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<br />Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-48887144547255458592013-09-01T17:58:00.000-07:002013-09-21T22:36:22.937-07:00choices and control and combing my hair, oh my!for the past few months, i've been on a mission to abandon hope and expectation. it sounds harsh because it is. after all, hope is sometimes all you have... but in order to free myself from the idea, the expectation, that beamer and i would somehow, magically work out our core differences, i had to let go of hope. it wasn't easy. <i>isn't</i> easy.<br />
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less than a year ago, the idea of letting go of anything in my familiar, comfortable life wasn't even a part of my reality. i led an easy, happy life with a man who provided me with love, laughter and financial support; he also left me longing for marriage and children as i watched everyone else in my life get married and have babies. let me be clear here. my desire to tie the knot and be a mother may have been ingrained in me from childhood but it's something that i really want as an adult. the idea of not being a mother someday breaks my heart. it has nothing to do with what everyone else in my world is doing or how i was raised, i'm simply meant to be a mother and, while i'm by no means old-fashioned, i want a partner to share that adventure with. <br />
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<i>i love you so much but, if i have to choose between you and having children with someone else,</i> <i>i choose them. </i><br />
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i made my choice and left beamer with a heavy, broken heart. i questioned my choice to do so every day. every hour. every minute those first few weeks. it consumed me and i was grateful to start teaching again soon after i moved out. every morning last semester, i made a choice to get out of bed and do my job. there were so many days i cried and screamed in my car on the way to school before forcing myself, choosing, to pull it together to run the show. i left all of my questions, uncertainties and insecurities in my car and chose to be present in a room full of teenagers and company members<i> </i>every day.<br />
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after our twelve week program, i apologized to my executive director for being <i>all over the place and not being as on top of things </i>as i normally am. he was surprised i felt the way i did. apparently, in choosing to pause the madness in my head for even just the few hours i taught every day, the show did go on. successfully. while our company members knew about my situation, they steered clear of talking to me about it unless i said something first. they chose to be gently supportive, which i needed desperately. working with an amazing group of artists and talented teenagers, difficult as they may sometimes be, saved my sanity.<br />
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the choice is always ours to get up for that spin class, take yoga after, smile at people, meet up with your friends, go on a date, be kind to ourselves... i made a choice to see beamer three weeks ago. we had lunch at a place we frequented as a couple. it had been five months since we last laid eyes on each other and it felt good to sit across from him and catch up a bit. we were at ease with each other, talking like only longtime friends can. there was no anger or resentment or blame but, even as we laughed, there was sadness. it felt different. something had changed and i soon realized it was me. my heart felt free from guilt and frustration at the fact that we didn't workout. apparently, love doesn't conquer all when you make the choice to love yourself first.<br />
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while the choice is always yours (and you should take responsibility for the ones you make), control is not and thinking that you have any control over what happens in the world or how people act or even your own feelings will eventually drive you crazy... if it hasn't already. i've learned over the past few months that the only thing i really have control over are the choices i make in deciding what to do about or how to react to what life throws my way.<br />
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i had my life planned out when i was ten: i was going to spend a year as miss america, go to med school, become a doctor, get married and have babies years before i turned thirty. almost six years past my dirty thirty, i'm an actress living in la, running a privately funded non-profit and doing other odd jobs, with a roommate on the westside and very much single. nothing like i planned but exactly how it needs to be... if i ran for miss america now, i would kick ass in the interviews and have a real chance at winning the crown simply because i know myself so much better at 35 than i did at 20; i have hard earned wisdom that no twenty something young woman has. i certainly didn't when i was vying for the title of miss wisconsin all those years ago. i had no control over that.<br />
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i chose to drop my pre-med major and tell my parents i didn't want to be a doctor after my first semester in college; i had no control over the fact that my passion was in performing, not dissecting things and learning formulas. i've clearly made choices that's led me to being single again; no control over anyone else's choices. i've chosen to surround myself with only good people because i know i cannot control crazy be it my own or someone else's... every day, i'm faced with infinite choices and no control so, whenever possible, i choose love over hate, courage over fear, compassion over judgement. i fail some days because, even though i recognize that life isn't fair, it pisses me off that not everyone is given a real shot at it. sometimes, i want control over something and it drives me illogically crazy that i don't.<br />
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a few years ago, i came into work and everyone marveled at how pretty my hair looked. i was embarrassed to admit that i had just combed it after taking a shower. i hadn't combed my hair in a decade; i'd just been running my fingers through it. i didn't realize it made such a huge difference when i took the time to comb it. one whole minute... i now comb my hair whenever i wash it. a choice made to make myself slightly more presentable. i have no control over how my hair will be on any given day though whether i comb it or not. it just is and i'm okay with that unless i have an audition or feeling particularly unattractive or unhappy, in which case i put on some makeup and maybe even blow dry my hair choosing to present myself differently to the world for my own benefit.<br />
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combing your hair and putting on makeup is easy. controlling how you feel or how the world perceives you on any given day is impossible. your best bet is to make the choice that feels right and not expect anything. you may change your mind the next day, week, year... allow yourself that choice. i wanted to make it work with beamer so badly that i spent another three years choosing to be with him until i didn't want to, couldn't, anymore... i have no idea what the future holds for me. all i know is, i wanted a different result, so i made a different choice. it's really that simple. it's not easy nor is it comfortable, but it is simple.<br />
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i chose me.<br />
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<br />Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7643118375250171141.post-19152545885561053832013-08-19T21:29:00.000-07:002013-09-03T13:56:14.609-07:00kindness and generosity and laughter, oh my!i'm taking a break from writing about boys and am dedicating this blog to a man. the man. it's my dad's birthday month, so why not?<br />
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it's no secret that i'm the black sheep of my family. i was the boy-crazy middle daughter, who has broken my father's heart more than once. i am not proud of this. i don't think it's cool... i've made many mistakes in my life and breaking my dad's heart will always be on the very top of that list.<br />
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growing up, my biggest fear was disappointing my parents. they had given up everything they knew and loved to give their children a better life halfway across the globe. i prided myself on getting good grades and not getting into trouble. that changed when i started really liking boys... man, boys really are trouble. i'll never forget my dad telling us how people in our hometown would tease him about having three daughters as he walked around with us. <i>that's what you get for all the trouble you caused. all the hearts you broke. three daughters. </i>we were karma personified.<br />
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here's the thing. making mistakes is a part of life. no matter how many people tell you something is not a good idea, you will feel compelled to find out for yourself. and you should. you cannot live your life afraid of making mistakes based on other people's experiences. you have to make your own choices. live your own life... i know i have. living my life authentically has led me to wonderful experiences and excruciating heartache. the numerous times i've admitted to making bad choices to my dad, he's always looked passed my shame, embarrassment and heartbreak and said nothing. not a justifiable <i>i told you so </i>or a blaming <i>that's what you get</i>. he just looks at me and understands; if he's disappointed in me, he doesn't show it.<br />
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there is no kindness in the world like the kindness in my father's eyes when my decisions haven't turned out the way i thought, intended or hoped it would. he looks at me. sees me. loves me. he says everything without saying a word. i know, without a doubt, that i there is nothing i can do in this life that would take his kindness away from me and that fact alone makes me braver, bolder, better.<br />
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my dad is the kind of man who would give you the shirt off his back; he is literally generous to a fault, often giving more than he has. one of my more vivid memories growing up is my dad buying all the neighborhood kids ice cream when my sisters and i wanted some; the ice cream man loved him. the kids loved him. everyone loved him. loves him... and why wouldn't they? he tells the best stories, cooks the best filipino dishes you'll ever taste and treats everyone he meets like his best friend. my dad is generous with his time, kindness and attention; he raised us to be compassionate because <i>not everyone is as lucky as we are. not everyone has the same opportunities. </i><br />
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generosity can be tricky though. when is it enough? is there such thing as too much? i think so. there's a fine line between being generous and giving too much of yourself. i've crossed this line and have struggled to find the right balance for me. i'm not one to keep score but i believe in the idea of giving and taking and visa versa. when i do something for someone, i expect a thank you. it doesn't have to be a big deal. it shouldn't be a big deal but you should acknowledge that someone opened the door for you, treated you to coffee, sent you to college. though it often does, generosity does not have to involve money; the most generous gifts i've received in my life haven't been bought.<br />
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laughter is one of those treasures. my dad is hilarious. he has stories for days; his enthusiasm is infectious, especially when he attempts to share them in english. his laughter fills any room with warmth and joy; i challenge anybody not to laugh with my dad when he's in his zone. friends i grew up with remember my dad's tall tale stories and his laughter. when i feel overwhelmed or have a problem to work through, my dad tells me to laugh it off. <i>problems? what problems? laugh at it. it can't hurt you. </i><br />
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that's the thing. sometimes it does hurt me and no matter what i do, i end up crying instead. there's no stopping the tears when you're vulnerable and feel utterly alone. the more you try to reign it in, the more it comes. it just happened to me today. i literally sobbed through the last third of my yoga practice. twenty minutes of non-stop tears. it took me by surprise and i was a little embarrassed by it. thankfully, i was in a room full of people who understand that being vulnerable is not something to shy away from but celebrated. out in the lobby, i joked and laughed about the experience knowing that i'm cared for and supported by the people around me.<br />
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i will always laugh because, no matter what happens, my dad will remind me to do so. he'll tell me one of his many stories with a grin he can hardly hide, and i'll laugh. i'll laugh because my dad is awesome and just talking to him makes me happy; i'll laugh because i like the way i feel when i'm laughing. i laugh often and loudly. my dad will be celebrating his birthday on sunday; i'm sure we'll be laughing over the phone then. how lucky am i to have been raised by a man who values kindness, generosity and laughter most in life? very lucky. i know. i feel abundant, loved and vibrant because i know what's important.<br />
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thanks, dad. i love you.<br />
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<br />Luisa Vitorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07626189904512571027noreply@blogger.com0