[Untitled]

Photo

Sat, 30 Mar 2013 14:25:23 -0600

Lilith and Vampire Myths: Stuff You Should Know Animated (by...

Sat, 30 Mar 2013 14:23:46 -0600

Lilith and Vampire Myths: Stuff You Should Know Animated (by joshandchuck)

"Nursing the baby: My friends marvel, and I tell them, oh it’s easy to be such a cow. I..."

Sat, 03 Nov 2012 14:30:00 -0600

“Nursing the baby: My friends marvel, and I tell them, oh it’s easy to be such a cow. I remember how beautiful my mother seemed nursing my brother, and the milk just flows … “”

- Olsen, Tell Me a Riddle

Can we have it all, afterall?

Mon, 16 Jul 2012 16:07:46 -0600

A while back, I happened to catch the Anne-Marie Slaughter interview on Fresh Air in which she explains why she believes “women still can’t have it all” and to my surprise, I found myself understanding this argument. I found myself almost - almost agreeing with it. I had quite a life before I became a mother, and despite myself, I found that maintaining my pre-motherhood identity and everything that came with it was so much harder than I had anticipated. I’ve said in the past that I’m less and more of who I am than I’ve ever been, and I stand by that. I have lost a lot of what made me who I was. I can’t be everywhere at any time anymore. I can’t drop my motherhood status and jump back into the scene whenever I’m tired or need a break. But, on the other hand, I’ve never known myself so well. I’ve never been so in tune to my body, to my spirit, to my ancestry and to myself - my deep, instinctual, inner woman. I’m less and more of who I am.

Motherhood is a life-changer, there is no doubt at all about that. But does it have to be a life-ender? While I was pregnant I had this vision of myself as an all-powerful super-mom with my baby strapped to my chest as I went about my life as usual. Class, work, docent meetings, museum tours, garden upkeep, doggy play-time, family outings, home decor and general upkeep, crafts, etc.

How hard could it be?

When I was pregnant, and I mean really, really, ready-to-pop pregnant, I was helping set up the Museo Urbano exhibit at the El Paso Museum of History and dreaming of this kick-ass mom that I would be. Another volunteer, Sandra, was there with her baby girl and I watched the two of them in awe and with high hopes. Here this woman was, new to motherhood and still holding her own in our community. Beautiful. Powerful. Capable. That was going to be me.

When I tried to take Arco to class with me when she was 2 weeks old, I had a very rude awakening. I don’t want to get into too much detail, so suffice it to say that I was still in a reasonable amount of pain from labor, among other things, and my tiny baby didn’t seem to dig the classroom as much as I’d hoped. While we sat trying to analyze the construction of a classic American poem, Arco thought she’d occupy herself by loudly slurping away at my breast, stopping for the occasional grunt, burp, or fart. Needless to say, it was a little distracting. That, on top of the pain I was in, was too much to put up with, in my case. All I wanted to do was get home, get topless, and nurse my baby in the privacy of my own home. So that’s what I did. I petitioned for incompletes and have happily been completing the semester from home.

About a week later, I tried to take her to a docent meeting at the El Paso Museum of History, and the results were equally disappointing. During the opening lecture on the history of the ASARCO plant, Arco made it super-duper clear that this whole situation was not her idea of a good time. I ended up having to leave the meeting to wander the museum as I bounced her to keep her from crying as she nursed and napped. Again, I found myself wishing we were at home.

At a certain point, I starting to wonder if it was possible, this dream of mine. Could life as I knew it go on at all? Was this it for me? Was everything outside of motherhood gone from my life? How could it be that my newborn wasn’t into borderlands history and literature? But yet, here we were. My desire to do right by my baby was overwhelming, and it seemed that dragging her around the city with me just wasn’t … well, right.

I don’t want to give the impression that I didn’t enjoy staying home with Arco. On the contrary, I loved it. That’s why I wanted it. Every day that we went out, all I wanted to do was get home. I loved our bed, I loved our super-secret cuddle up and nurse time. I loved our sleepy evenings napping and sipping home-made chai tea with a movie or lullaby playing softly in the background. I loved our rocking chair and nursery. I loved our new family and our life together. But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t miss my old world, my old life, or the old me. I just wondered … why can’t I have it all?

So, Arco is about to be 4 months old, and things are changing every day. She is lively and fascinated by the great, big world, and even if she may not understand classic American literature or Chicano history, she likes to hear all about it, she likes to watch people move. She likes to hear people talk. She likes to watch what I do. Things have been changing for the better, I would say, and I often think that if I were to take her to class now, things might be different with the experience I have now. I’ve got the hang of this in a way I simply didn’t two weeks into motherhood. I’m growing into my motherhood like a new pair of over-sized mom jeans. Sexy, powerful, bad-ass mom jeans.

A few days ago the curator for the Museo Urbano exhibit emailed me to ask if I was available to help take the exhibit down and I didn’t hesitate to hop to it. This morning, we woke up early, dropped daddy off at work, paid the internet bill on the way, and got to the museum right on time. It wasn’t until I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of glass case that I realized:

without noticing, I’ve become my vision.

There I was, with Arco strapped to my chest and two arms full of artifacts.

Beautiful. Powerful. Capable.

I remembered standing in this very room watching Sandra and dreaming about my motherhood - and this was it. My dream come true. I realize I’ve been doing it for weeks, little by little. A restaurant here, a farmer’s market there. And now it seems I’m working my way back into my identity and my life as I knew it. I doubt (cheerfully doubt) that it’ll ever be the same. I will never be the same. I’m not who I was a year ago. But I’m more than who I was.

So can we have it all? Can we be mothers and maintain our pre-maternal identities? Yes, sometimes … and eventually. It’s a process. A strange, beautiful, and evolving path. One I’m looking forward to walking … with my baby strapped to my chest.

Sharing Poetry: Amy Lowell, "Madonna of the Evening Flowers"

Mon, 16 Jul 2012 13:44:41 -0600

Sharing Poetry: Amy Lowell, "Madonna of the Evening Flowers":

sharingpoetry:

All day long I have been working,
Now I am tired
I call: “Where are you?”
But there is only the oak-tree rustling in the wind.
The house is very quiet,
The sun shines in on your books,
On your scissors and thimble just put down,
But you are not there.
Suddenly I am lonely:
Where are you? I go…

Author Luis Alberto Urrea Chronicles Ever-Changing Life On The Border

Thu, 12 Jul 2012 15:13:33 -0600

Author Luis Alberto Urrea Chronicles Ever-Changing Life On The Border

"Bless Me, Ultima" to Make El Paso History

Thu, 12 Jul 2012 14:34:40 -0600

"Bless Me, Ultima" to Make El Paso History:

mexiroccan: Julio, 2012 Tijuana, Mex Photo by: Uriel Reyes

Mon, 09 Jul 2012 11:34:05 -0600

mexiroccan:

Julio, 2012 Tijuana, Mex

Photo by: Uriel Reyes

Sergio Troncoso: Review of Crossing Borders in NewPages.com

Fri, 06 Jul 2012 13:02:51 -0600

Sergio Troncoso: Review of Crossing Borders in NewPages.com:

sergiotroncoso:

Crossing Borders: Personal Essays

Nonfiction by Sergio Troncoso

Arte Publico Press, September 2011

ISBN-13: 978-1-55885-710-0

Paperback: 216pp; $16.95

Review by Cheryl Wright-Watkins

…

pbsthisdayinhistory: July 6, 1907: Artist Frida Kahlo Born On...

Fri, 06 Jul 2012 12:40:53 -0600

pbsthisdayinhistory:

July 6, 1907: Artist Frida Kahlo Born

On this day in 1907, female painter and wife of fellow Mexican artist Diego Rivera, Frida Kahlo, was born in Mexico City in her famous Blue House. Known primarily for her striking surrealist self-portraits, Frida was also an avid political activist. The Blue House (La Casa Azul) in which she was born and returned to in her last years is now a museum dedicated to her life.

A collection of 6,500 of Frida Kahlo’s personal photographs were opened to the public for the first time in 2007 and were placed on display at Artisphere in Arlington, VA earlier this year. If you didn’t get a chance to see the exhibit, you can view some of the photos here, and read a Q&A of curator and photographer Pablo Ortiz Monasterio about putting together the exhibition.

ilianation: Ajuuua!

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 15:55:42 -0600

ilianation:

Ajuuua!

Amen.

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 15:52:44 -0600

Amen.

Photo

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 15:51:18 -0600

themagicpomegranate: MUJER DE MUCHA ENAGUA, PA’ TI XICANA by...

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 15:47:06 -0600

themagicpomegranate:

MUJER DE MUCHA ENAGUA, PA’ TI XICANA by Daily Sundial on Flickr.

Yreina D. Cervantez

Via: yesixicana

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 15:31:00 -0600

Via: yesixicana

My Virgensita on display at the El Paso Museum of History as...

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 15:05:08 -0600

My Virgensita on display at the El Paso Museum of History as part of the Healing Hands and Healing Ways exhibit. There are only 3 days left to see it, apurense!

Since I’m on a breastfeeding kick.

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 14:38:00 -0600

Since I’m on a breastfeeding kick.

When I started breastfeeding I expected to face a certain amount of harassment from the world – you...

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 13:30:01 -0600

When I started breastfeeding I expected to face a certain amount of harassment from the world – you know, like the women who are asked to take their nursing babies to the restroom of a restaurant or a store because it makes the other patrons or shoppers “uncomfortable.” So I started practicing my responses to the people who would harass me while I was still pregnant, going over and over what I would say to this or that comment and perfecting my come-back like an actress learning her lines. However, and fortunately, in the three months that I’ve been breastfeeding I’ve had nothing but support from the public. The first time I nursed in public was at a Target (of all places) while I was shopping for nursing bras. Every passer-by greeted me with a smile, and not one soul dared ask me to nurse in the dressing room. Since then, I’ve even had a woman approach me in a restaurant to congratulate me on breastfeeding. While I’m grateful for this type of support, I’m also slightly disappointed that I’ve never been able to deliver my oh-so-carefully recited lines.

So.

I’ve decided to write them up in a scene like the one I envisioned when I planned them out. Enjoy.

Let’s pretend I’m eating in a restaurant. At the table to my right there sits a family of four – mother, father, and two children (young girl and teenage boy). As my teeny tiny baby girl starts to whimper, I make to nurse her and use my top layer blouse to cover my breast as to be discreet. The mother at the next table notices, and so it begins:

Woman (with a disapproving look on her face): Excuse me, do you mind? We’re trying to eat here.

Me: No, I don’t mind at all! Please, continue.

Woman: Don’t you think it’s inappropriate to breastfeed at the table? Why don’t you go to the restroom?

Me: No, I don’t think it’s inappropriate for my child to eat at the table with her family. Tell you what, if it makes you that uncomfortable, why don’t you take your meal to the toilet and eat it there until we’re done?

Woman: That’s disgusting.

Me: Exactly.

Woman: Why don’t you just pump and give her a bottle?

Me: Hmm. How do you suggest I keep the milk refrigerated while I’m out in the 100 degree summer heat? Should I also carry a refrigerator around with me? And how do you suggest I warm the milk when it’s time to nurse? With a portable stove? I think I’ll stick to the breast, thank you.

Woman: I’m with my family, what makes you think I want my son to see your breast? What am I supposed to tell my daughter?

Me: Why don’t you use this as a teachable moment and tell your son that’s impolite to stare at nursing mothers and explain to your daughter that this is the biological function of the breasts she is developing?

At this point the woman the woman shuts her face.

Fin.

Rosie the breastfeeder.

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 12:30:54 -0600

Rosie the breastfeeder.

[Untitled]: Ni Una Mas

Mon, 25 Jun 2012 17:47:43 -0600

[Untitled]: Ni Una Mas:

I’m adding to this post because it has come to my attention that someone reblogged it and added something (shown below) that I want and need to correct. I tried to message this person directly but was unable to do so. El Paso is not a dangerous place to live, despite its proximity to Juarez (which while dangerous, is not so dangerous that I refuse to go there - things have been looking up). I’ve spent most of my life in El Paso, living so close to the border that I could see Juarez from my roof, and I’ve never felt like I was in any danger whatsoever. When I was growing up we never locked our front door. I felt safe leaving my home alone and went out often after dark, alone, with no fear. El Paso has consistantly been ranked among the safest cities in the country, and for good reason. I’ve had people who are passing through ask me if it’s safe to stay in hotel in Las Cruces and I laugh! It’s more than safe, really. The reblogged post is riddled with errors. El Paso is absolutly NOT comparable to cities “that have some of the sketchiest reputations in America” and there is no ” palpable terror in the air.” I assume that the “statue of Mary on the mountaintop” refers to Mt. Cristo Rey which is, as the name implies, actually a statue of Jesus Christ. I go there all time, people are certainly still allowed to go there and they certainly do - the claim that “Now no one can go there because we’ll be immediately taken away” is laughable. I wouldn’t go there alone, but people go all the time in groups, particularly on religious holidays. It’s a beautiful experience and I highly recommend it. If you read this, paleotrees, and I hope you do, I ask that you delete your comments on my blog post. Thank you. My orignal entry can be found here.

paleotrees:

tdevez:

It is still happening… Ciudad Juarez, the Mexican sister-city to El Paso, Texas, sits snugly across the Rio Grande and is in many ways not unlike other border communities. The city boasts the types of street vendors selling colorful Mexican oddities, mouth-watering Mexican dishes, and lively…

I’ve lived in cities (and in neighborhoods of cities) that have some of the sketchiest reputations in America. But I have never experienced anything quite like simply passing through El Paso on a bus. There was palpable terror in the air the whole time. Everyone on board just went quiet, an uncomfortable hush.

On both my way into the city and again on my way out, a different woman sat next to me and talked about Juarez. The first woman was older, maybe in her fifties or sixties, and she said she would have left town already if she wasn’t caring for an elderly relative. “When I was a child, we used to go up into the hills to pray at the statue of Mary on that mountaintop. Now no one can go there because we’ll be immediately taken away and … they’ll do things, they do terrible things to women and little girls, and then leave the bodies.”
The second woman was probably in her early to mid-thirties, and she was punk-rock, obviously not a shrinking violet. “The border crossing is like a gate into Hell. I’ve crossed back and forth dozens of times, visiting my sister, and today was probably the worst. The Army was there, with tanks again. Buses will come across the border, pull into this Greyhound station, and unload all the unclaimed luggage from the women who’ve been kidnapped at rest stations or directly off the bus on their way here. Do you want me to walk with you to the bathroom? Sorry, I don’t mean to scare you, but I wouldn’t leave another woman alone, even over here.”