May 2011

 

Let’s tell each other one thing that we love about the other person before we go to sleep.

Okay, Mama.

I’ll go first. I love the way your whole face lights up when you smile.

Oh, Mama. That’s sweet…And I love when you give me strawberries.

***

Where did I come from?

A wish on a star.

I’m happy you wished me.

Me too, baby. Thank you for being my wish.

Thank you for being my mom.

***

Mama?

Yes,  baby?

I love you so much it makes my heart pop.

You make my heart pop, too.

***


Mama, can I…?

No.

Why?

Because.

No, Mama. You have to give me a reason. “Because” isn’t a reason.

It isn’t a reason when you say “because.” But I’m a mom. So that makes it a reason.

Well that isn’t exactly fair.

***

Happy birthday, Mama. I’m going to hug you now. Because sometimes I just want to hug you because I love you so much. Okay?

***

And my heart pops just a little bit more.

The #MexicaninMaine is currently the #MexicaninMichigan, which, by the way, is not a big deal at all. We’ve got family to visit and friends to see and at the end of the week, we’ve got 17 hours between us and home. I’m obviously behind on everthing right now — hence, the archive blog share –  because this is my first “vacation” since all of this writing stuff I do graduated from Hobby to J-O-B. The short story is this: I can run in circles trying to “get ahead” and go insane, or I can plug away, a little each day (while on vacation because that’s how it  goes) and pat myself on the back for making it through another day.

I choose option B.

 

Remember when...

 

We’ve lived in this house since May of 2013. We aren’t even close to being  completely organized. Our basement is a mess of boxes and garbage bags full of out of season clothing and stuffed animals Eliana has outgrown. If we’re missing anything from our last move (the fifth in four years), we wouldn’t know it.

Our old landlord called yesterday to let us know we had left a box behind and was kind enough to meet The Husband to hand it off yesterday. Inside, we found memories we didn’t realize were missing.

There’s one of me at 21. The  Boyfriend that eventually became The Husband had whisked me away for our first romantic weekend getaway to Mackinac Island. Truth? Yes, it was a weave and no, he didn’t know it yet. When the truth eventually came out, he was visibly relieved. Turns out the tracks connecting the weave to my scalp had left a lot of unanswered questions in those wild with abandon moments during which he ran his fingers through my hair.

I made a wish...

Monkey toes.

She was so tiny when she was born. Long little limbs. The longest fingers and toes I have ever seen on a newborn attached to the daintiest pudge-free baby feet ever to have existed. She was six pounds and 21 inches with a perfectly round head that made everyone who saw her assume she was a c-section (she wasn’t).

I remember looking at this picture when I first saw the proof. It took a minute to realize that my baby’s ankle was positioned just above my arm and her toes stretched far below.

“We’ve given birth to a monkey, I think.”

And the nickname stuck.

 

Upon a star...

My mother’s parents were killed in a car accident on their way back from a trip to Mexico when I was 10-months-old. My grandfather had been a native of Guadalajara (which, I guess, explains my hair), and my grandmother had been American-born but raised, for part of her childhood, in northern Mexico. My mother  was supposed to have gone on that trip with her parents but had decided at the last minute to stay home. I was just baby; too young to leave with family.

At 19, my mother buried her parents.

I lived in my paternal grandparents’ home in Detroit for the first three years of my life with my own mother and father. My mom likes to tell the stories like how my Guelo was feeding me beans and rice at six-months-old and how I called my Guela “Mom” and called my mother “Dorothy.” I remember going to Bingo with Guela and I remember translating an entire conversation between my grandmother and a postal worker dropping off a package while home alone with her one afternoon.

My grandmother died when I was six, leaving my sisters and me with one grandparent. He was  just over  five-feet-tall and was a big, round belly. In my entire memory, he is retired, always balding, with sharp, hazel-green eyes. His voice is gruff, his English choppy and so heavily accented it’s impossible to understand. He commands respect and once drove an old station wagon and had a dog he called Come Cuando Hay which literally means “Eats When There Is.” Every Sunday we ate dinner at Tia and Tio’s house and every Sunday, Guelo left with a bag of bones and meat scraps and leftover beans and arroz. That’s when Come Cuando Hay could eat because there was.

Guelo called us his cabronas. His little assholes. To me, that’s just proof that anything in Spanish can be made into a term of endearment if said with love and a smile.

Andale, mis hermosas cabronitas.

Come on over here, my beautiful little assholes.

And there it was.

Love and a smile.

 

I recently had the chance to hang out with Holly Fulger and friends (and fellow Speaking of Beauty contributing writers) in Holly’s home in L.A. Don’t freak out if you happen to be aware of The Cali Curse and the Me Being Banned from Ever Stepping Foot NEAR Cthe State of California thing.

At least, not yet. I may eventually need to have a shaman clear me for seeing Holly in person, but right now it’s all Google Hangout, but you’re safe for now.

The purpose of our chat was to discuss the focus of our writing for Speaking of Beauty as Holly moves forward in her vision and her mission to grow the conversation of beauty, perception, and self-acceptance. That sounds a lot like Girl Body Pride, with my own personal flavor, of course, and I think it’s why Holly and I were naturally drawn to each other. This, people, is one of the reasons I love social media. Pretty sure there’s no way in hell there’s any other way Regular Me would end up anywhere on Hollywood Actress Holly’s radar without my iPhone in my bra, twitter, and 140 characters. And here I was helping Holly lead a group discussion focused on writing, inspiration, and sharing ourselves and our stories with the women looking to see themselves in our words.

Our conversation was incredible, the group is amazing, and even Eliana had a chance to sit on my lap and say hello to Holly, as she will soon be joining the ranks as an official contributor to the site. I just need to remember to drink an espresso before the next time we get together, and perhaps write up a few bullet points to stay on track, because I’m pretty sure I gave the impression that I like sniffing glue.

Other than that, I learned I’m inspiring.

It’s my word.

Speaking of Beauty features a Style Profile Test designed by Holly and business partner Melissa McNamara. The idea is pretty simple: Choose your word and find your essence. Holly and Melissa plan to launch a makeup line in the near future and the style profile is meant to help women realize that beauty truly is an inside job by first defining themselves before defining their style.

Choose your word and find yourself. Are you an Inpsirer? A Seeker? A Dreamer? a Leader? or a Thinker?

 

GROUP 1                                                                                                                               Visionary, Inventive, Original, Authentic, Spontaneous, Unconventional, Sexy, Outgoing, Idealistic, Inspiring, Stylish, Motivating, Exciting, Influential    YOUR WORD___________

GROUP 2                                                                                                                                 Curious, Funny, Natural, Musical, Entertaining, Joyous, Playful,Whimsical, Eccentric, Vibrant, Artistic, Blithe, Vivacious, Creative                                                                    YOUR WORD ____________

GROUP 3                                                                                                                      Caring, Gentle, Peaceful, Graceful, Spiritual, Deep, Source, Ageless, Classic, Serene, Balanced, Soulful, Ethereal, Still                                                                                                         YOUR WORD ____________

GROUP 4                                                                                                                          Passionate, Powerful, Independent, Commanding, Adventurous, Fearless, Bold, Athletic, Brave, Risk-Taking, Heroic, Confident, Indomitable, Forceful                                           YOUR WORD____________

GROUP 5                                                                                                                        Strong, Rational, Wise, Centered, Honest, Elegant, Prosperous, Logical, Focused, Loyal, Determined, Organized, Striking, Driven                                                                            YOUR WORD____________

WHAT ARE YOUR 5 WORDS?   __________,  _________,  ________, _________,   ___________

NOW CHOOSE 3 __________,   ___________,    ___________

NOW CHOOSE 1 __________

 

My 5: Inspiring, Creative, Deep, Bold, Driven

My 3: Inspiring, Creative, Driven

 

My Word: Inspiring

 

It must be the lipstick. Sexy, yes?

 

According to the Style Test on Speaking of Beauty, Inspirers are visionaries, idealistic, and spontaneous.

 

Inspirers stand out from the rest. Others follow you and the influence that you embody is very compelling. Your look has been designed to accentuate the aspects of your visionary nature. Since you are unafraid to take chances, a bold palette has been created. The Inspirer’s strength and sense of purpose can be conveyed by strong colors, a distinctive eye, and a defined lip. — Speaking of Beauty

 

That sounds about right.

Me? I like my red lipstick.

You? What’s your word?

Find it. Then go out and live it.

 

 

 

 

 

because her imagination trumps your opinion. Always.

A conversation with Eliana, my almost-six-year-old.

Me: Baby? What do you think of when I say the word “beauty?”

Eliana: Beast.

Me: I like it. But let’s think of things you think are beautiful. What are the first five things you can think of?

Eliana (thinking): Flowers. And butterflies. And Princesses.

Me: Anything else?

Eliana: Yep. Love. And people’s spirits. That makes them beautiful.

This will be my daughter’s first transcribed post as a contributor to Holly Fulger’s Speaking of Beauty blogging team. She talks. I type what she says. Or maybe vlog it. It all depends on if she’s feeling like a rock star or a writer when it’s time to work like Mama.
And this is the bio I wrote up for her.

 Eliana Mercedes is the daughter of The Husband and writer Pauline M. Campos. Up until now, she has been known online simply as Buttercup. But this homeschooling first-grader is now a blogger, which means Eliana Mercedes looks better in a byline. She has no idea what that means yet and only hopes it includes the chance to adopt a baby beluga and visit Disney World one day.

I’m kind of proud. Kind of scared. And maybe a little crazy. But keep in mind that this child does not watch TV with commercials and has no concept of the media trying to brainwash us all into a singular concept of beauty. That’s exactly why I cannot wait to see what she has to say next.

 

 

Buttercup loves her, too.

 

It’s midnight. The grandfather clock tells me so, loudly, and interrupts my five-year-old’s current explanation for why she is still awake and will she grounded from that birthday party this weekend because she is?

Yes.

No.

Maybe.

No, I have to. I haven’t gotten any work done (or even started ) and I have to keep her from a birthday party on Saturday even if we are moving or become the mom who never follows through on consequences. I know the move is on her brain and its causing anxiety and many mixed emotions so I’m trying to be lenient. But it’s midnight and she’s just now allowing herself to relax enough to drift off.  Sometimes t all boils down to wishing Benadryl made her tired because I can’t keep clocking in at midnight and stay sane.

We drive to Maine in 16 days.
I can’t sleep when I’m anxious.
She may never see this little boy again so I have to let her go to the party and I can get firm another time, right???
We drive to Maine in 16 days and I am going to miss my first best friend so much it hurts because being connected via tweets and texts and status updates become different things when time zones hamper communication and plane tickets are required before scheduling joint pedicures.
Buttercup can’t wait for snow and white Christmases and spring and running barefoot in the grass. I can’t wait for seasons and new adventures and the next chapter. We both understand that we have to go because severe mesquite allergies and Southern border living are not a good combination. It sucks, actually.
We have so much to look forward to.We know we can’t stay and we have known for a while and instead of just looking for rentals, we are actually looking into purchasing a home. There’s email and post cards and promises to video chat with the friends we love.
There’s so much. To look forward to. That we are leaving behind. That we are trying to bring with us.
Doesn’t make leaving easier.
I climb out of bed when I know she is asleep, tuck her in, and kiss her cheek and give in to her innocence like she knew I would but promise to be firm when…well…not today. We are going to the party on Saturday. And I’m pretty sure she’s going to be up until midnight tomorrow, anyway.
That’s okay. I understand because the BFF sent me a text message that simply read …
Please don’t move
…and I won’t sleep at all.
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