Starlight

October 12, 2017 By Jay

In the past I’ve talked about how 2014 was a hard year for me. My father got sick and died that year. But it was also the year I got pregnant and had a miscarriage. I have never written about it. I lost my pregnancy at about 12 weeks—just when we thought we’d share the news with our friends.

It was the holiday season and I had placed an extra tiny stocking on our tree. The day after Christmas, we had a scan at our OBGYN that showed no heartbeat. What followed was almost more awful: several more scans and tests to confirm. During each exam I was hopeful that there’d been a mistake. But that was not the case.

It’s a strange pain to grieve for someone you’ll never know. If everything had gone well, we’d have a two-year old and five-year-old in our home. Julia would have been a great big sister. The reason I felt compelled to write about it today is that October 15 is pregnancy and infant loss awareness day. I’ve seen this day come and go, when I didn’t want to think about it. But I remember how I felt when everything was happening—how I scoured the internet for similar stories, for women articulating similar pain. I want this to be one of those stories.

I read about “rainbow babies” (the one you wouldn’t otherwise have had) but in my case, I didn’t want to get pregnant again, at least not for a long time. I too was subjected to messages that sought to comfort me but just deepened my pain. “You can always get pregnant again.” “At least it happened early.” Minimizing loss doesn’t help the hurt.

Oh, and if you happen to know someone in the midst of this kind of grief, it’s better to say “I’m so sorry, but I’m here for you”—and actually be there for them.

In the years since my loss, my life has grown in different directions. I’m grateful for all the yoga, meditation, the solace of the mountains, and long walks—basically everything that helped me find clarity when I most needed it. I feel exceptionally fortunate to have Julia for a daughter and for my wonderful husband, who has been trekking alongside me in more ways than one.

This past year we thought about having another baby. And no, I’m not pregnant—this isn’t that kind of post, sorry. But if we end up being a one-child family, I guess we’ll have to deal with having been blessed beyond imagination just once.

I read a while back that when you’re done growing babies, you have to grow something else. That’s where I am now. But I can also say that I’m OK again. Grief is like being tossed into an ocean but I’m no longer in the waves. I’m at the edge of the water looking out onto an expanse. And I’m not alone; perhaps you are standing next to me. And if you are, I’m holding your hand.

Without a happy rainbow to end my story, I’ve been unsure how to convey this experience. But then today I saw it. It was in a heartfelt post by Hurrah for Gin, an otherwise L-O-L parenting site (and book.) Today, her post ended with the notion of having a star in your life no one else can see. The metaphor is perfect.

The baby I would have had, but didn’t, brought several things into the light—namely, how lucky I am for my little family and the moments we’ve shared together. Today, I’m thankful for the starlight.

Night Cereal: Pistachio-Fruit and Steamed Milk

August 23, 2016 By Jay

Brought to you by got milk? #FoodLovesMilk

Life gets busy and I don’t always plan dinner ahead of time. There have been plenty of evenings in which I just end up making “breakfast” because I know it’s a crowd-pleaser. There’s just something about breakfast foods, right?

I love to cook (and find prep work oddly relaxing) but when you’re running low on time, it’s nice to reach into your fridge and pantry and whip up something easy. If I can avoid take-out and serve something healthy, I will.

In our home, we always have milk, cereal, nuts, and some form of dried fruit. I thought it would be fun to put the flavors of our childhoods into one bowl. On my side, an homage to chocolate and cinnamon. For my husband, a nod to his background with pistachio and dates. I rounded it out with dried apricot (Julia’s personal favorite) to meld everything together. I used plain corn flakes for their mild flavor and great texture. Julia helped sort the fruits and nuts—I’ve found that kids are always more willing to eat something new if they helped make it.

The final result is fruity, crunchy, with a hint of chocolate and spice. It’s kid-friendly, but works for grown-up palates too—everyone wanted seconds. The mom side of me loves that this meal is packed with protein, light on sweetness, and took only minutes to put together.

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Pistachio-Fruit Cereal With Cocoa-Cinnamon Steamed Milk

Yield: 3 bowls

Ingredients:

3 Tbsp chopped dates
3 Tbsp chopped dried apricots
3 Tbsp chopped pistachios (unsalted)
1½ cups Milk
1 Tsp cocoa powder
Dash of cinnamon
3 cups corn flakes, divided

Directions:

Discard pits from dates and prep first three ingredients, combine in a bowl.
Pour milk into a small saucepan over low-to-medium heat, stirring constantly.
Bring to a light simmer and turn off the flame, add cocoa powder and cinnamon and stir until add-ins have dissolved.
Let milk cool—you want it to be warm, not hot
In a cereal bowl, pour 1 cup of corn flakes and top with 2-3 tbsp of fruit and nut mixture. Pour ½ cup of milk into each bowl and serve immediately.

The Future is Bright

April 26, 2016 By Jay

Brought to you by Covergirl

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My sweetest memories are filled with people, not things. Today’s post is about this and a subject every woman cares about but few discuss openly: money.

Becoming savvier about this subject is an integral part of building the life you want. I’ve learned a lot of lessons from different people in my life and one of the most empowering ones you can learn is that there’s more to money than just buying stuff. Savings can help you achieve a bigger goal or smooth over shakeups in your life like a career change or moving to a new place. Savings mean security and options for your family. I know this is a goal many people share.

Here are my tips for building up your own nest egg:

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Family Legacy and Love

February 13, 2015 By Jay

Last week’s love story was about romantic love. Today’s is about family. Pictured above: my wonderful Cuban grandparents.

I like telling stories, especially to my daughter. Even on my hardest days when nothing went right and I’m emotionally drained, when I see her walking over to me with a book and that bright look in her eyes, I can’t turn her away. I pull her up on my lap and I read her a story.

You see, stories are in my blood—her blood. Almost 60 years ago my grandmother penned a letter to my grandfather that resulted in them marrying. Just like that, with a few strokes of her pen, she wrote us all into existence. The older I become, the more I think of people as living, breathing stories. My grandparents, myself, my daughter, each one an obra. If you could string together the stories of our family, that’s our legacy. It’s always seemed to me that women in Latino families are the story keepers.

We are tasked with not forgetting, so that our children can also know.

Maybe this is why I’m moved to write after any major life event—I’m literally writing down our family history. When my father died, pages poured out of me. Que no se me olvide, que no se me olvide. You might forget what you did two days ago, but the memory in your bones is long. It reaches far back to where you come from, where struggles and dreams are mounted on one another like grains of sand in a heap.

We are the culmination of generation-after-generation of striving, seeking, not yielding. Latina mothers won’t forget and they won’t let you either. That perspective is immeasurably valuable. These stories empower one to say: I know who I am, even if you do not.

Baby me in a poofy dress; my parents in love.

Like many Americans, my own story is woven from the threads of two people who bravely left everything behind in search of a new land. My mother crossed a desert and my father crossed the ocean and happened to meet in a place called Los Ángeles. And their daughter was both sand and salt air. Some events, like this one, reverberate through the entire family line.

I’m dedicating this story to my daughter Julia because so many things had to go right for her to be born. The entire universe had to happen and our ancestors had to survive so that one day she could walk barefoot on the grass of our garden.

What I hope I’m able to convey, is that she is her own story, but she’s also the story of everyone who came before her—a group Spanish voyagers, an Indian merchant, a landless Frenchman seeking the New World, a Maya man tracing the stars, my great grandmother planting cocoa trees in Guatemala, my other great grandmother being courted under palm trees in Cuba, and more.

All that striving—tanta vida—is fueled by one thing: Hope. It’s what propelled my mother through the desert and what helped my father endure the sea. It’s what drives my husband and me when we get up every morning. It’s about creating something for yourself and your children. That’s legacy in action. That’s love.

Turns out we both love pandas.

I can only wonder what stories Julia will tell her own child someday and if she’s still be holding onto that time-worn thread of historias passed down from mother to daughter. I hope.

Jay Miranda

Good Taste, Mom Life, Homeschooling