That's where we're all walking towards, whether we like it or not.

Old age.

I had an experience today that reminded me why I love old people... and why I love to work with them, hug them, care for them, and make them feel special.

When I was a little girl living in Portugal, I would sometimes go visit my old aunt. She was my mother's aunt and yes, she was old... and that's how we'd refer to her. Come to think of it, I don't even remember her name. I was a child that would pay my aunt a visit when mom asked me to, since we lived within walking distance. I can't say that I liked those visits, but I didn't dislike them either. I felt sorry for her, mostly. I don't remember much of these visits, which makes me think I was really young... but I do remember a few things.

Old aunt lived alone in the city in a very old apartment, on the second floor. Going up the stairs to see her, I could already feel the foul smell coming from her apartment. I don't really know who payed for this, but she had a caregiver that would come in the evening to cook dinner for her, help bathe her and get her in bed. I believe that she was alone for most of the day, and Heavens know what she ate when she was by herself... or what she did all day. She liked to sit by the window and watch people go by, that's all I remember her doing. I don't even remember her speaking, even though I'm pretty sure she could speak. Here's what I remember from my visits with old aunt;
She was never very clean. She smelled. She didn't smile. She did what she was told by her caregiver, even when she was yelled at. She always had the exact same thing for dinner, day after day: boiled potatoes with a boiled egg, sprinkled with olive oil. Every single day. Because someone was too lazy to cook for her, despite being paid to do so. She didn't get a bath either. After she'd go to bed, the caregiver would sit and read, or go to the window get some of the summer breeze... or just talk to me as if I understood why she did the things she did.

I don't remember going to old aunt's funeral... I just remember that mom told me I didn't have to go see her anymore. And to this day, if I close my eyes and think back, I can still picture the tiny kitchen table where she ate... I remember the smell... But most of all, I remember her silence, and her sad eyes. Maybe because of her, I can love any old person, rich, poor, clean, dirty, happy, sad. Because of her, I can kiss their cheek, or forehead, hold their hand when they're afraid. Because of her, I love my job, as crazy and busy and tiring as it gets. The money from my paycheck gets deposited religiously  in my bank account every other week; but it's when I get a simple smile in return from "my" old people, that I really get paid. The kind of payment that doesn't go in the bank, but makes my life richer somehow.

I miss old aunt.

Changes...

I haven't written here in five years.
If anyone had asked me, five years ago, where I'd be today, I would have failed miserably in my attempt to guess.
Life changes. And life changes us. In update is needed in this blog and it's description.
As for me, I'm still here. And I'm still me.

Mormon women, equality, and things of the sort.

Yes, I'm a Mormon.
Yes, I'm a woman.
And yes, I play a great role in this big plan of life.
I'm important.
I'm a cool mom, a great friend, a hard worker, a caring person, and, you guessed it, I'm as humble as I can be. ;)

OK, I'm really not snotty or arrogant. I like to tease. Yes, I'm funny too. ;) Ooops, there goes humility again... what was this post about anyway? Oh yeah, being a Mormon woman.  Let's try to stay focused here, Bela, will ya?

I try to make light of a situation that actually troubles me. Women in the Church I belong to, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, are feeling inferior and unappreciated. They are starting movements to show their indignity, and to try to change how things work in the Church. And I can't help but wonder why they feel this way. I try to understand, I really do. It saddens me that they feel the way they feel. I try to be sympathetic, to love and, above all, not judge them.

This is not why I'm writing this today, though.

I guess I just need to tell the world (or at least the two or three people that will read this post) the way I feel as a Mormon woman. Because there's so much out there that can confuse people that are not familiar with my faith.

First and foremost, I am a Christian. I try to leave my life in a way that pleases Christ (trying being the key word here). He is the most important person in my life. Then comes family; I'm a wife and a mother, and as such, the most important goal in my life is to raise my children to become great people, to love the Lord, and to understand their divine role in this crazy thing we call life. I am not alone in this great assignment; I couldn't do it on my own. And one of the places where I get help from is, indeed, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

In the Church, we have a living prophet, twelve apostles and seventies. Their primary goal is to teach all nations about Jesus the Christ. I believe that Thomas S. Monson is the prophet that leads the Church today, like Abraham, Moses and so many others in the Bible did in times of old.

In our Church, men are given the power of God to act in His name here on Earth. That power is the Priesthood, and it's given to men to bless the whole Church. Its power is extended to every single one of us, women and children included. Many a time I have asked a blessing from these men, when I'm struggling with something, or when I'm sick. They lay their hands on my head and say a simple prayer. And my faith in the priesthood will work the rest.
I would like to point out that a man that has the priesthood cannot bless himself. He's not all powerful. He is simply a vessel through which God can manifest Himself. A man that abuses that power, that boasts  about it, will have to answer to God one day. And, if you ask me, it won't be pretty.

So, mainly, The Priesthood is given to men, not to bless themselves, but to bless others.

Imagine I'm a firefighter, or a paramedic, or a nurse. I was given the knowledge and the tools to help others in need; I have a fancy fireproof outfit, or a resuscitation kit  in my ambulance, or a pain reliever to alleviate someone that is recovering from severe injuries. What am I supposed to do with those things? I won't keep them with me to show the world how cool I am. I go and fight the fire. I try to save a life. I help someone in pain. I give. I serve. I care.

That is the priesthood.

As a woman, I am also given in-numerous gifts to share with others. I serve in the Church (yes, I can serve in many callings is the Church), I serve my family, I care and love my friends.
I am yet to find a Church that values, respects, appreciates and loves women in the same way that the Mormon Church does. I am constantly reminded how special I am, how divine is my purpose.
I am not a blind follower. If you know me, you know that I am stubborn, curious, and like to do things my own way. I do not like to be told what to do. I am independent, and value freedom. I would never, ever be a member of a Church that would oppress and diminish me. I would clash with whoever tried to tell me how to do things.

So, if I do things a certain way, it's because I have chosen to. I have chosen to serve The Lord. I have chosen to put on my firefighter gear and bless the lives of others. I have chosen to accept the children that God trusted me to raise. I have chosen to be a part of  this Church.

 Me.

A long time ago, I have chosen. No one is responsible for my choices other than me.

I am a Mormon woman. I am not less than a Mormon man.
I do not seek what is not mine, because what I have is my share in this work.

I don't fully understand women that think that what they have is not enough. Do they realize the tremendous value of the gifts they already have?
Do they use those gifts to help and serve?
Or do they just seek what they think they need, ignoring what they've got?

I don't know. I can't judge.

But I know who I am. And I love who I am. Because I know the way The Lord sees me.
A queen in the making.

What else can I ask for?

Paint job

I have painted just about every room in every home we ever lived in. It has been almost three years since we bought this home, and I did some painting then, but our bedroom has been the one thing that I kept saying, I'll do it soon... and we all know what happens when we say that.... it won't get done. Well, I finally got to it. Love the color and the feeling of the room. Only have to hang the curtains on the other window, and it will be perfect. I'm kinda proud of myself. :)

Here are three things you need to know, if you are planning on painting a room in your home.

1. When you get down to paint near the trim, or near the door and underneath the windows, you will see that the last person that painted that room did a horrible job. You'll wonder why you never noticed how sloppy the last paint job was. The trim is splashed with paint from the wall; the walls didn't get a second coat everywhere. You wonder who in the world did such a thing.

2. When you take the plates from the outlets out, you will always see a little bit of the color that the room used to be, before it was painted so sloppyly (I know that's not a word, but it should be). And yes, the room used to be the exact color you are painting it now. I don't know how this happens, but it does. "Hey honey, guess what color this room used to be!" Yup. The same one I got. It's kind of fun actually.

3. No one can do it as well and perfectly as you. Kick everyone out. Close the door and open the windows for fresh air. Don't let anyone get near a brush or the roller. YOU are the best painter in the world. yes you are. Don't need any help. Take your time. Put on some happy music, and sing along with ABBA. It's a super relaxing job. And you will do it all by yourself.

Here's how you do it. Start with the trim. I like white, always white. One coat. Then use the brush to paint corners and close to the trim. Nice and slow. After that, comes the roller, and do all the walls. Then another coat near the trim and corners, another coat with the roller. Take breaks as you need. And the comes the funner(is that a word?) part : The trim's second coat. The paint from the wall splashed a bit on the white that you used for the first coat. So now you'll get down on the floor and go with a small brush and give it a second coat. It needs to be perfect. If you ever sell the house, you want the new owners to say, wow, what a nice paint job!. Chances are, no one will notice the perfectly painted trim. It's like when you clean the bathroom and clean behind the toilet. No one notices it. But you know it's clean, and it's awesome.
The trick for a perfectly painted white trim. Use a small angled brush. Don't rush. Have the wall paint close by, because the white will get on the wall. Oops. Let it dry and paint the little bit of the wall that got some white from the trim. Then the wall paint gets on the white. Just a little bit, but you can't leave it like that. Remember, perfection. Let dry, use the white on the trim. Long story short... you'll go around the room scooting, with two brushes on your hands. Fix the white. Fix the green. Repeat a dozen times. Or two dozen. It's fun, you'll see. "Super trooper". That's you. The trim and the wall will look fabulous.
OR
Do like the professionals do, and buy painter's tape. The job will get done in half the time.
Your choice.
I like the little battle between green brush and white brush. But if you don't want to be a Super Trooper, go ahead and get the tape.
I always choose the harder way. Who knows why. I like the feeling I get in the end, I guess.
I want to go sit in my bedroom and look at the walls all day, now. The rest of the house is boring. I'm weird. But that's old news.


Before.

During...

and after.

Next project, kitchen cabinets to be painted white. I'll let you know how that goes. Hopefully it won't take me another three years. :)

New year's resolutions bug me.

Maybe because they tend to be the same every year. I'm not sure what happens in the begining of a new year... we think we become super heros overnight. So we make a list of things that "I'm starting to do everyday". Hmmm. We wake up new year's morning and we are the same people. No super powers. We work hard to reach our goals, but by the end of January we forget all about them.
A new year doesn't bring us super powers. If anything , it should bring us motivation. That's the only thing I'm expecting from myself this year. If I have that, I might acomplish something good every day...or once in a while. :)
I finally got my room painted. I have been in this house almost three years; I have painted the kids rooms, bathroom, kitchen... everything right when we moved here. Why is our bedroom always the last thing to organize? Anyway.... it feels good to do something you've been wanting to do for years. I'm thankful for motivation. I'm going to ask for it and gain it every day and not only on new year's.
Man, what a boring post.
Pictures will follow tomorrow or Friday.

Let's try this again.

I need to go back to blogging. Especially since I've been horrible at journaling, scrapbooking and other things I used to do to keep memories alive for my kids. Facebook doesn't quite cut it, but unfortunatly has replaced lots of cool things. Like blogging. So, I'm trying this again. One day I'll print my blog entries; because let's face it, old school paper has no substitute.
I guess I should have done this earlier in the day though. One o'clock in the morning is not the time to pick up after over two years. Oh well. Better than nothing I guess.
Nicolas turned 12 last November. Suzana will be 16 in less than a month. No, I'm not ready to face that reality, so I won't talk much about it. Today I cried listening to ABBA's " slipping through my fingers". That one always gets to me.
I'll be 40 in April. No comment here. Hmmm. Maybe I should come back tomorrow. Yep. Great idea.

From mom.

If I had a wish, that wish would be

That you could look inside my heart and see

The way I love you, and what you mean to me.

Masks

We all wear them at one point or another in our lives.
Lately I've been wondering why.
Why do we automatically say we're fine, when someone asks us how we're doing.
Why we need to laugh at a joke that wasn't funny at all, just because we want to be part of the gang.
Why we hide our fears, tears and frustrations.
Why we always need to go outside with a smile.
Why we say what people want to hear and not what's on our mind.
Why we pretend to be someone we're not, sometimes unaware that we're doing it.
Why we put on our beautiful mask, just so we'll be accepted.
Why we are a fake.

The more I think about it, the more I believe that people need to please others. They're afraid that, if the mask comes off, no one will care for what they see. They're afraid that others will see them as weak, and who wants to be viewed like that? We need to be strong and not let life's struggles wear us down. We need to be heroes and save all the unfortunate people we come across with. We need to be happy, no matter the circumstances. We need to be beautiful and conceal the zits and the dark under eye circles. Because someone said so. No one recalls who said so, but it's been passed from generation to generation, in a very subtle way, and we believe we can't survive in this world without masks.

The story says that a wife always cooked her pot roast in a very particular way. She always cut about a third of the meat, put it in the freezer, and cooked the bigger piece. Her husband was always intrigued by this, and the answer he got was that this was her mother's recipe, this is exactly how she's done it every time, so she really didn't care to know why this was. Mother said so. So the tradition was passed on, and when this woman's daughter was married and cooked the famous roast with the same recipe, she, also, would keep a small part in the freezer and cooked the rest. Until one day, when grandma came to visit, and the granddaughter wanted to cook it perfectly to impress grandma. She took the meat, cut a small part and froze it, then proceeded to cook the bigger part. "Honey'", asked grandma, "why do you do that? Why don't you cook the whole piece of roast?" Puzzled, the girl said, "well, I don't really know why. Just because mom said so. This is the why she taught me, and she didn't really know why either... just because you always did it like that, I guess!..." Grandma chuckled a little. "I always did that in the old days, dear, because my pot was too small to hold the whole chunk of meat."

I can't keep but wonder what would life be if we tossed the idea that we need to appear composed at all times, because someone, who will forever be nameless, said so. What would the whole world be like if, at the count of three, we all dropped our masks to the ground, never to be picked up again, and be comfortable wearing our own skin.

Friends will be friends!

Im trying to put a smile on my best friend's face, who has this annoying habit to read blogs without commenting. :) But, since I know you're reading this, I want to thank you for being there for me last week. Wherever I'll go, it doesn't matter how far, please know that I love you and miss you dearly. Just never forget that good friends will always be friends, (and you can read this with "Queen" singing in your ear) and I will always be here for you too. I want you to always be happy. I love you dear.

And now go back to work! I dare you to do it without laughing out loud! :)

My other "kids"

I don't blog as much as I should, so, I often let the good ocasions go by without writing them. After yesterday's post, I thought it would be important to reinforce my love, gratitude and friendship for the other five rich blessings of my life.

Gina's children, from youngest to oldest...

... and from oldest to youngest.

Sofia, who will always be landita to me. The only child of my oldest sister, she is also the oldest niece. I miss her. I miss our talks. It was amazingly good to see her last week, but that was not nearly enough time to catch up.

Valter, Gina's oldest. Thank you for everything you guys did last week. I love you!

 Vanessa. I miss you girl!Where have you been? I need more pictures from you. Please take care of yourself.

 Viviana. I am so happy that you found the man you needed! Thank you both, your happiness is  contagious!

Vlady! Another 10 months and you'll be home! Keep up the good work. I love you.

I miss you kid.

For time and all eternity.

One of the most gratifying experiences here on Earth is to watch our kids grow up and make right choices, do the best they can do to improve their lives and themselves, learn, love, and be happy.
I had my first kid at age 9. We can have kids without being a mother, ya know. These kids I watched being born, help care for, and love like my own were my sisters' children. I've had the priveledge to see them grow and love them like my own. I try my best to be at special occasions in their lives, so, after much thought and prayer, I flew to Portugal for 9 days to help prepare the wedding of one of the most special people God has ever created. I was sleep deprived, tired, my back and my legs hurt like crazy.... but I had a blast. There's something about helping people you love that it can't be explained. I was so, so happy. Happy that Vasco has found the love of his life; happy that she loves him just as much and is such a special girl; happy that they are happy, and just plain happy to be there and share this big moment with them.
    

The preparation was as much stressful as it was fun. I could probably write a book with all the little things that kept coming up, unexpected, things that had to be resolved right then and there, and how we managed to do it all, sometimes using the magic of being at two places at the same time. Believe me, it can be done.

Friday morning was the big day. The church/civil marriage was at 1:00, and there were a million things to be done before that. A little side note to say that in Portugal, for all the years people can remember, only the catholic church had authority to marry a couple and have that marriage legally accepted by the government. If non catholic couples wanted to do a church ceremony, they had to pay a judge to be there at the appointed time to do it legally. So, it's no wonder that the changes that happened in the last few months were welcomed by the LDS church and all non catholic churches, for a new law was made that the clergy of any organized church will have the legal authority to perform such ceremonies. Vasco and Ariana's wedding was the first in their district to happen after the law was implemented, so we were all thrilled that our bishop was going to be performing the ceremony. (and to my LDS friends, that also means that, when the temple in Portugal is complete, a sealing will be all that couples will need to be married for time and eternity. For now, we're happy that the bishop can marry them for time, and they can make the trip to the Madrid to be sealed for eternity. But I digress...)

It was a busy but fun morning for me, since I was staying at my sister's and got to see the groom trying to figure out what to do first and pacing from one room to another, under a stress that only us that know him well could tell was swelling inside him. He always manages to appear calm and peaceful, but we know when nerves and tension make their way into his heart. I remember the morning I got married, it was terribly stressful... but somehow, when we see it in others we find it rather comical. Vasco probably got more hugs and kisses from me than he really asked for. (come to think of it, he never asked for any, but they kept coming anyway)

I was also in charge of picking up the bouquet at the florist, and go to the other side of town to help the bride get dressed and ready. So I got to see both of them before the wedding, and she wasn't any less nervous than him; in fact, she was a basketcase. With no reason for it, for she was radiant and gorgeous and no man in this world would think that she did not look splendid.

See the phone here? They kept calling each other checking on how much longer the other would take to be ready, and what they were doing at that time. Needless to say, this made them both late. REALLY late!

And may I just add, what a gorgeous, handsome man, my boy had turned out to be!

I don't think Ariana will ever know how much it meant to me that she asked me to help her get ready. I love this girl so dearly. Being there with her was a real privelege and I will forever treasure that time with her. When her friend left, after doing her hair, it was just the two of us and my heart was full. I had to hold back my tears so many times, I was in awe and as happy as could be.

Yeah, here's the phone on the other side of the line. They really cracked me up.

She was stunning. Seriously, I would look at her and want to burst into tears. The dress was gorgeous, the flowers and the veil made her look like a princess, and her eyes... there was something in her eyes that lit the room, and made any heart melt. She looked absolutly perfect.

Are there any words to describe this beauty?

And then another call...

She finally made it to the chapel!

...and hand in hand, no more phone calls. They were together.

Wasn't all the stress worth it?

The bishop then announced a special musical number. And Ariana stood by the piano and sang "I feel my Savior's love" like a perfect angel.

By now the pictures I was taking were turning all blury, because I could no longer contain the tears.

We all felt our Savior's love.

And off we went for lunch and lots of fun...

Picture time!!!

beautiful and carefree...

and laughing all the way. Who knows what about!

Back to more fun...

...and the famous first dance.

Watching them was a delight. And we all joined in the fun, dance,  even kareoke. Yeah, you should've been there to hear me sing! Aren't you sad you miss such an event!

The evening was one of the funnest I can remember. The day had been so glorious, that we thought we could not be happier that we were then.

We were wrong.

I wish I could put into words the feelings I experienced the next day at the Temple. I wish I could express the peace, joy, love and gratitude I felt, watching the sparkling in their eyes as they were declared sealed for all eternity. I wish I could transmit the feelings that started swelling in my heart, until it felt it would explode with happiness. Here was my boy, my dear, dear boy, turned into a good man, an extraordinary human being, hand in hand with his eternal companion. I couldn't stop crying. I remember one day when a child came to me at church and asked me why do people cry when bearing their testimonies about Christ. The best explanation I could give her is that, when we feel The Spirit of God, we are filled with an emotion that transcends our human capacities to hold it. So, our bodie doesn't quite know how to react to such amount of divinity. So we cry. Kind of like when something bursts, it leaks. And it's not because we are sad, it's because we are so, so happy, and we don't know how to put into words what we want to say. I wanted to let Vasco and Ariana peak into my heart and see what was inside. Instead, I hugged my nephew with a teary smile, the last hug I would give him for a good while. I just remember telling him to be happy. And then I turned to my new niece, and we embraced, and we sobbed, and all we could say to each other was "thank you". We stayed like that for a bit, and then, on to wipe our faces from the runny make up.

Not that it would matter. We cried a whole bunch more even after that.

We left them with a tear in an eye and a smile in our hearts.

Their "happily ever after" had just begun.