A Simple Act of Kindness Can Go a Long Way #26ActsOfKindness

I remember after September 11th how fragile New Yorkers were. When I returned to work, strangers said "good morning" and held the elevator door open.  

It's been more than a week since the Sandy Hook tragedy. And we are once again a nation in mourning. Our hearts heavy, are eyes watery and our minds still in disbelief. And in these times of unimaginable sorrow, we are reminded how precious life is and of how much we take for granted. 

Tis the season of goodwill toward men (women and children). And to honor the 26 lives lost, people everywhere are participating in random acts of kindness.

I try to be a kind person. I try to be considerate of others. I give up my seat on the train for pregnant women, parents holding babies and the elderly or disabled. I hold doors open for strangers. I say bless you when a stranger next to me sneezes, offer them a tissue if I have one. I smile and say 'good morning' to people I don't even know - because even a smile can make a difference in someone's day. I let people go ahead of me at the checkout line.

It's days before Christmas. And I haven't purchased a single gift for anyone other than The Boy. There just hasn't been any time to do so. And it's hard for me to buy gifts for those that mean the most because my gratitude is so great, it surpasses my limited budget.

I remember my mother saying to me once. "It doesn't matter what I give at Christmas, I give all year long." As a child I didn't understand what that meant. Now I do. My mother is the kind of person who gives all year round. She gives her time so generously and expects absolutely nothing in return. She gives of herself quietly, wanting no recognition, praise or even gratitude.I admire her most for that.

My mother never wants a gift for anything. But the other day, I called her up and thanked her. I really thanked for all of the help she has given me over the last few years. I told her much I appreciated everything she does for me. And I told her how grateful I was for everything. I think my words of appreciation were better than any gift.

But I also greatly appreciate the kindness of strangers. Having a son with autism - it's come to be something I have had to depend on. Random acts of kindness mean so much to me. And I try to pay it forward whenever I can.

I love the idea of Random Acts of Kindness. But the idea of posting about my acts of kindness and what I'm doing seems artificial for me. It's like how I feel about charity. When I give to something, I don't want to be recognized for it. I do it because I want to, not for any accolades.

I want to go into 2013 being a kinder person. But I don't need to talk about my kind acts, I just want to do them.  

I hope you do too.

My Mom. My Inspiration. #InspireCare

Growing up, my mom and I didn't always agree. I didn't understand her. She didn't understand me. She was old school. I was not. There were times I cringed when we were compared. And I spent most of my teenage years trying not to be like my mother.  

Then I grew up. Got a job. Moved out on my own. I got married...had a baby. I don't think I truly understood my mother, until I became a mother. Becoming a mother,  made me look back on my childhood in a completely different way. 

I looked at my mother in a completely different way.  

I realized that if I wanted to be a good mother to The Boy, I needed to be more like my mother.

My mother went without so that I could have. Growing up, I may not have had everything I wanted but I had everything I needed: a clean home, clean clothes, a hot meal. 

My mother was always more than willing to do everything for me, so long as I went to school and got good grades. She spoiled me in ways I could not understand, she did so much for me and expected nothing in return. Not even a thank you.

Over the last decade, I have watched my mother become the primary caregiver to my grandparents. And whenever anyone in our family needs help, she's always the first to offer. She gives so selflessly and she leaves me often in awe.  

During my pregnancy, I read countless of parenting books. Books on feeding, sleeping and parenting. But my first lesson on being a good mother, a good all around person came from my mother. 

I am not one of those people who longs to relive their younger years. But I wish I could go back in time and appreciate my mother a little more and to say thank you more often.

My mother and I still don't always agree. She is old school and I am not. We do not have the same taste in clothes, furniture or politics. She will still criticize the way I cook and clean. I'm okay with our differences. And I thank her every chance I get.  

But when it comes to being a mom, her advice is the one I'll always seek out first. For me, she is the measure of motherhood I want to live up to. She inspires me to the best mom I can be.  

  

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For more than 125 years, Johnson & Johnson has been committed to serving the health care needs of others - especially mothers and children. Their history as a brand is pretty fascinating. Many of the products we take for granted, the products that are simply part of our every day lives - are because of Johnson & Johnson.   

It is estimated that Johnson & Johnson and its partners touch more than one billion people’s lives each day through health care products, services and various programs. 

This year at the LATISM 2012 conference, Johnson & Johnson will be showcasing some of these initiatives under the theme “global motherhood.” And I am so honored to be chosen to help raise awareness about important issues and some solutions that make a difference.

Johnson & Johnson has been a part of my life since I was a little girl. My mom always purchased Johnson & Johnson products. Now that I'm a mom, it's the brand I trust for my own family. And as a company, Johnson & Johnson's share many of the values my mother tried to instill in me. They are the same values I want to pass along to my son.

Johnson & Johnson is a company who is committed to:

• Saving and Improving Lives
• Building Health Care Capacity
• Preventing Diseases

If you are attending LATISM, I would love for you to stop by the Arboretum II Suite to talk with Johnson & Johnson and their partners about the work they do. I'll be there too! 

Together we can help them spread the word through social media about the challenges that mothers face around the world. 

You can inspire mothers like you to join them in helping other mothers by raising awareness about important issues and some of the solutions that make a difference.

BUT - You don't have to attend LATISM to learn more about Johnson & Johnson's endeavors to make the world a better place for mothers and children around the globe.

If you're on Twitter follow them @JNJStories and their #InspireCare hashtag.
I'll be tweeting throughout the conference.

Visit them on Facebook - Johnson's Baby. Or go directly to the website by clicking HERE

Note: These photos represent a few of the many programs supported by Johnson & Johnson and its partner organizations to serve the health and well-being needs of communities and people around the world. To read more about these programs and others that help us care for those in need, please visit our website: http://www.jnj.com/connect/caring/. 

*This is a sponsored post. All opinions shared are my own.

It Was Bound To Happen. I'm Becoming My Mother.

My relationship with Carmen (aka my mother) hasn't always been easy.  I am quite certain Carman can say the same about her relationship with me. But I love her and would be completely lost without her. And she is a wonderful Abuela to The Boy (you can read about their relationship HERE).

There was a time in my life when I said I wanted to be nothing like her.  And now I spend most of my days trying to be half the woman she is.

These are few things I've said, thought or done that remind me slowly but surely, I'm becoming my mother.


Why are there 4 boxes of cereal open? And don't let there be more than 2 kinds of juice open in the fridge.

The other day I was out walking with The Boy and he asked for ice cream from the ice cream truck and I said, We have ice cream at home.  Neopolitan to be exact. It was the only flavor my mother would buy. I used to hate it. And when I bought it the other day, I cursed myself at the check out counter when I made the connection.

Speaking of check out counters...If I realize something is not on sale as the cashier is ringing it up, I decide I don't want it. 

When out shopping, I find myself looking at labels. If I see dry clean only - I immediately put back on rack. I have to really really really love something to buy something that is dry clean only. 

That's not the way I do it.

I walk around the apartment turning off lights and appliances like a mad woman. What do these people think, I'm sleeping with the Con Ed man?

I reuse paper towels whenever possible (and also zip locks). And don't throw away that (paper/plastic) bag, that's a good bag.

Dios Mio, ¡Ayúdame! or ¡Qué jodienda coño!  I don't even speak Spanish but if you heard me say either of these phrases, you'd swear it was my first language.  


Because I said so, that's why.

And these are some of the things I don't do, that make me realize, I haven't become my mother just yet:

• make my own sofrito
• cook 3 meals a day and make dinner large enough for leftovers
• clip coupons and use them
• move my stove and refrigerator twice a year for a good cleaning
  

When do you do, say or think that makes you realize you've become your mother?

I Need To Live For As Long As I Can: #ChooseSkinHealth

Having a child with autism gives me this sense of urgency to take better care of myself.  Because while I know it's impossible to live forever - I want to be healthy and live for as long as I can.  


I really started to think about immortality on the day my mother told me she had skin cancer  (melanoma).  For years she had a dark growth on the back of her ear that kept getting bigger and bigger.  


My mother said the words like it was no big deal.  But I knew she was worried.  And she was playing it off because she didn't want me to worry.   


The thought of losing my mother.  The thought of The Boy losing his grandmother - scared me.  


Luckily once removed, she was fine.  But it made me think.  


My father would be described as trigueño (olive skinned) and he spent many summers, shirtless, strutting up and down beach boardwalks, soaking up the sun.  As for my mother - her childhood nickname was leche because her skin was as white as milk.  In all of my years - I had never, not once, seen either of my parents apply any kind of sun block.  



And it made me think of my younger years.  Laying out at the beach slathering on baby oil mixed with a splash of iodine or cola.  Not smart at all.     

One American dies of melanoma almost every hour, and the number of cases is increasing in the Latino community. However, many people are still ignoring the serious repercussions of exposing their skin to UVA and UVB radiation without protection by going to tanning salons, sun bathing and not using sunscreen when out for long periods of time. It's also been noted that compared to Caucasian women, fewer Hispanic women believe it's important to wear sunscreen daily and are under the impression that darker skin is at low risk for melanoma.

 As a mom, I've made sure The Boy is protected from the sun, lathered with lotion and skin covered.  While often neglecting my own skin.  


I can't reverse the skin damage I've done but I can learn from my mistakes and take better care of my skin all year round.  That's why I'm excited to team up with Neutrogena and help promote their Choose Skin Health Campaign.  Because, I know I've taken my skin for granted and I don't want The Boy to do the same.   

I need to take care of MY skin, 
the way I take care of HIS skin.  

Below are a few helpful tips:  

• Try to avoid peak sun hours if possible, especially between 10 AM and 4 PM.
• Avoid tanning and UV tanning booths.  (I don't know about you but that NJ tanning mom has me freaked out.) 
• Always wear a sunscreen.  ALWAYS.  All year long. 
• Dermatologists recommend a sunscreen with an SPF of 30 or higher every day. Apply 1 ounce (2 tablespoons) of sunscreen to your entire body 30 minutes before going outside.

For more Choose Skin Health info and FREE cancer skin screening locations (across the country) please click HERE and/or "Like" the Choose Skin Health Facebook Page.

I searched New York State/City area and there are several locations within New York City.  

I remember when my mother finally got tested for skin cancer.  Thinking back I realize she may have waited so long  to have it checked was because my parents didn't have health care.  (My father had lost his job and well...unemployment and health care are tricky things.)      

With so many still unemployed and ever changing health care rates, these free skin cancer screenings could save so many lives.  Even if you have medical insurance - make an appointment with your doctor and/or dermatologist and have yourself examined.  

Whether you're a parent or not.  Whether you're a special needs parent or not.  We all have one life to live.  Let's live it to the fullest, longest and healthiest.    

   

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Disclosure:  This is a compensated post and in collaboration with Neutrogena and Latina Bloggers Connect.  All stories and opinions are my own.  

Just Another Manic Month

I can't believe it's the last Friday in February.  This month has been a whirlwind - a month of ups and downs.  Rejoices and rejections.  There's been so much going on that I haven't had the energy to write or read.  So this is my month in Fragments:

Back in November my mother's father, sister and brother were hospitalized.  My aunt was out within a few days - she's a feisty old broad, that one.  My grandfather (who is 89) was out after a few days too but he's not doing so great.  He needs insulin shots twice a day and my mother is the one that gives it to him.  She prepares his breakfast, lunch and dinner too.   As for my uncle, he just got out of the hospital. He's home and my mother checks in on him too.  (My mother, grandfather and uncle all live in the same building.) 

And then my mom takes the train from Queens up to The Bronx 4 days a week to pick up The Boy from the bus.  (I know, my mom is a saint!)  Anyway - my mom is tired.  And she won't say it but I know all of this is taking a toll on her.  And I was trying to think of an alternative solution for after school childcare that will still allow The Boy to get his ABA therapy.  I'm VERY happy to have found one.  I asked one of The Boy's past teacher assistants if he'd be willing to pick up The Boy 2 days a week.  Not only did he agree to do it BUT he's super excited about seeing The Boy again.

*

This month The Boy had two evaluations: psychological and speech.  Which meant he had to miss 2 days of school.  Which also meant me rearranging my work schedule for a few days.  Which meant I had to take 2 buses to get to the evaluation place.  Sit 2 hours through the evaluation.  Answer the same questions I've been asked for the last three years.  Then take a bus to the train station.  Take the train into the City.  Drop The Boy off at the company back up day care (a major perk that I LOVE!) and then run up 9 city blocks and 2 avenues to my office.  Work for a few hours, then run back the 9 blocks and 2 avenues down to pick up The Boy from the daycare.  And then...luckily both days, The Husband picked us up in the City.

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Earlier this month, I was invited to this amazing lunch hosted by the Ladies Home Journal.  I was pretty honored to be there - I was in the room with real writers, women that I had been reading for last the year.  As a secretary, I'm used to being seen and not heard.  I'm used to sitting in on meetings taking minutes, but never would I dare offer my opinion.  Most of the time, I'm ignored; the higher ups just don't talk to the secretary.  It's just the way the corporate world works.  So to be at this table among these inspiring powerful group of women, mothers, special needs writers/advocates - was sort of intimidating.  But it was one of the best experiences I've had (as a blog writer) and that post is coming soon.

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Speaking of amazing experiences...I've been invited to write guest posts on a few websites.  And it feels really good, to get that kind of response to my writing - it's validating.  But wouldn't you know - I've had an incredibly case of writer's block.  And I have these great opportunities and I'm struggling.  I mean, if I write something crappy here...that's one thing.  I can revise or delete.  But to write something crappy for another blog  - one that gets way more traffic than mine?  There's no going back.  It's quite a bit of pressure...

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I stepped on the scale...as a result, I've been trying to exercise more.  That post is sitting in my drafts.   Have I lost any weight?  Nope - I've been losing & gaining the same damn 3 pounds.  But I have to get serious.                     

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This time last year, I had no idea where The Boy was going to go to school.  Then a school accepted him.  Then we started...and it's been a roller coaster ride ever since.  I probably shouldn't even be writing about it anymore but screw it.  A school shouldn't retaliate if the truth is being told.  Anyway - everyone is giving me the run around and I'm dizzy.  One day The Boy isn't appropriate, the next day he is.  And once again, I have no idea where The Boy is going to be placed in September. 

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And did I mention, I may be going to an Impartial Hearing in the next few weeks.  Did I mention, I'm going pro se (without an attorney).

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And before you go...please check out my Q & A with Unknown Mami :) 



Play along! Don't know how?  

Check out Mrs. 4444

at Half Past Kissin Time 

for more Friday Fragments.

My Mother as Abuela

I am always amazed when I watch my mother kiss my son goodbye.  Often she will not leave my apartment without several hugs and kisses from her only grandson.  My mother will give him a big squeeze and kiss him repeatedly on the cheek, “Bye my little pussycat.”  And I roll my eyes because (a) she refers to my five year old son as a “little pussycat” and (b) she never ever called me anything else other than Lisa – unless esa Lisa counts.  And when I witness the exchange I wonder: who is this overtly affectionate woman who claims to be mother?  This is not the woman that raised me.

The woman that raised me is one of the matriarchs that everyone fears respects.  Born in Cidra, Puerto Rico my mother's family moved to New York City when she was nine years old.  My mother is the kind of woman many would describe as “old school,” however her true power rests on the values of two worlds: old and new, Cidra and New York.  A clash of two cultures – whether she realizes it or not. 

My mother is a big believer in tough love and teaching lessons.  She was quick with a slipper and quicker with her hands.  She moved so swiftly, you didn’t realize you were given a cocotazo, until you felt your scalp stinging. Needless to say - I got the slipper often.  As for her lessons, the older I get, the more I can appreciate what she tried to instill.       

We spent most of my teenage years arguing, clashing the way mothers and daughters often do.  When I was about sixteen years old, I yelled, “When I have kids, I’ll never bring them to your house.”  To which my mother replied, “I want that in writing.”  So I wrote down my words on the back of a bank deposit slip, signed and dated as if it were a legal document. 

A few years ago, while having dinner at her house – my mother brought out the note to show my husband.  We all laughed because my son (who was two at the time) had just spent the night.  And now I laugh because every afternoon my mother takes the train from Queens to the Bronx so that she can wait for her grandson to come home from school.  She stays until me or my husband come home from work.  She sits in on his SEIT therapy sessions, makes dinner, washes dishes - even manages to do laundry.  And when I try to pay her - she shoves my hand away. 

I often come home and find my mother reading to my son, in a quiet patient voice; a voice that I don’t recall hearing as a child.  There is a small part of me that feels jealous, almost slighted because my mother never read to me.  On days when my son’s therapist cancels a session, I’ll come home and find my mother and son sitting at the table in his room and they are working on fine motor skills like stringing beads or rolling out play dough.  I hear her singing to him and her voice is always playful and sweet.  Don’t get me wrong – she scolds him, but even when she does it’s not the same as when she scolded me. 

I love watching my mother and son together – the bond they have is special.  And I’m grateful that my mother kept the note I wrote so many years ago.  It makes me realize how wrong I was and how lucky I am to have a mother like her.  And that my son benefits from having her as his Abuela. 

I learned my lesson - nearly 20 years later.  Maybe my mother is just as patient with me.     

Milk & Bread: Food Staples or Enemies of the Table

This morning The Boy asked for milk – demanded, is probably the better word.  We ran out of milk last night and I was too tired to run out and get more.  I don’t drink milk, and The Husband only drinks it with cookies.  But The Boy – he can drink it all day long.  Guzzling it straight from the carton (I know, kind of gross – we’re working on that).  There are mornings when I wake up and find the refrigerator door open – the gallon of milk on the floor with the top off.  And I know at some point during the middle of the night, The Boy woke up, walked to the kitchen, gulped down some milk and went back to bed. 

Whenever I see him chugging his milk like a frat boy chugs beer, I can’t help but wonder if I should’ve have stuck to the GF/CF diet. Is milk doing his little body good?  Or is it holding him back from further development? [According to one theory, some people with autism spectrum disorders cannot properly digest gluten and casein, which form peptides, or substances that act like opiates in their bodies. The peptides then alter the person's behavior, perceptions, and responses to his environment. Some scientists now believe that peptides trigger an unusual immune system response in certain people.] 

A few weeks after his original diagnosis (May 2008), I decided to try the diet.  I went through my kitchen cabinets, cleaned out my refrigerator and went on a food shopping spree.  Do you know what food products contain Casein or Gluten?  EVERYTHING!

I read the nutrition labels of packages and opted for organic and all natural ingredients.  So I replaced regular milk with Almond, Soy, Rice & Hemp – unsure of which The Boy would prefer.  I purchased Tofutti (dairy free) ice cream and Gluten Free cereals.  And eliminated a staple from his diet: The Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich. 

Starting the diet was expensive – do you know how much a tiny carton of almond or rice milk costs?  And living in the Bronx , GF/CF products were not only harder to find but more expensive. (Though, now as my neighborhood is becoming gentrified - there are more GF/CF options.) So I found myself food shopping in the city during my lunch hour and lugging bags home on my way home from work.

I wish I could say that starting the diet was the hardest part.  But have you ever tried convincing an old school Puerto Rican grandmother that milk/milk products and bread needs to be eliminated from a child’s diet? 

My mother and I disagree on a lot of things – almost everything.  But this decision made Carmen crazy.  (I often refer to my mother as Carmen, though not to her face – I’ll get slapped.) 

“What do you mean no milk and bread?  He needs his milk.  You are taking away all the things he loves!”  She yelled. 

“He’s two Mother.  He doesn’t know what he loves.”

“Hmpf…we’ll see.”  And I knew this meant that when he was with Abuela, she would give him whatever he wanted – gluten free/casein free or not.

At the time, no one was supportive of my decision of going GF/CF.  Not our pediatrician, not the ABA therapist, not my mother, some friends. 

So after a few months of doing it (kind of half-ass), I gave up.  He was making strides with the Early Intervention therapists and was about to start a center based program.  And I didn’t know if his improvement was due to the therapy or the diet.  So we went back to milk, ice cream and gluten filled cake.  And secretly, since quitting I’ve carried this guilt around, feeling like a mother failure. 

Like all else Autism – there is so much debate and nothing truly conclusive.  Ask five different moms/doctors/therapists and you’ll get five different answers.  So what is a mom to do?  Give it another go?  I know that if I decide to try it again, I need to give a full six months and document the results.  And now that he's older and knows exactly what he likes and doesn't like - it will be so much harder.  Am I ready for that?  Am I selfish for not willing to commit and try again? 

Would love to hear your thoughts/stories on living GF/CF!