" Strenght, Art, Children, College, Inocente, Kahlil Gibran "On Children, Mothers, Parenting, Single Parents, Wisdom

Mommy Angst

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Yesterday I scrolled through my Facebook and stopped at a painting of a purple tree. A tree with lines and thick branches, reminding me of strength. Pink and blue limbs embraced tiny red hearts, while others unfurled their branches. These delicate curving lines seemed soft, almost frilly against the stoutness of the tree trunk.


Hearts tumbled from the limbs, cascading against a background of warmth. Other hearts lie under the branches. They seemed happy, perky, ready to bring forth their own seedlings. 

The drawing resonated with me at that particular moment. Yesterday was my youngest child’s birthday, and he will be leaving for college out of state in late August. 

These two life markers coupled with the image of the strong tree and delicate hearts hit me in the solar plexus. I am that tree. The mommy tree. The hearts are my children, held close, then released into the world. 

Although I haven’t been called mommy since my three kids turned eight or so, I felt transported back to ‘mommy’ status. My being filled with angst, a single mommy angst.  None of my other children left out of state for college and are still in my home.  

To further push me out of my comfort zone, today, my middle child, my daughter, wants to go with the youngest to Colorado to look for a job. Who knew that phlebotomists and medical assistants were oversaturated in our county. Well, they are and she can’t find a job here. 

Two of my three leaving. A double whammy of angst. I know this is something every parent goes through whenever one of their children leaves the home. Knowing that doesn’t make it easier. I’ve been a single parent for so long that I may not know what to do with my feelings, except to write. 

So it was serendipitous that I came upon this poem quite by chance. The words gave me another perspective. I felt understood. 




The wisdom of the poem helped me through the day. I hope to find more ways to help me go through the mommy angst as the weeks go by. 
Art, Chingonas, How to be a Chingona, Latina, Latino culture, Papel Picado, Self-confidence, Self-Esteem, Strong Women, Yreina F.Ortiz

Today I Will be Chingona

I don’t know if this is a coincidence, or not, but Chingona’s have fallen out of the sky and into my lap. Most of you know the definition of a chingona. If not, here’s last week’s post which gives you an idea. For a practical application you can read the 10 Steps from Sandra Cisneros

Yreina Flores Ortiz is a Poeta, Artista Chingona. She used the Mexican folk art craft of Papel Picado to make this artistic piece titled “Today I will be Chingona.” (This is a photo of my own copy).


The designs are cut from tissue paper or by folding the tissue paper and using small, sharp scissors. They are commonly displayed for both secular and religious occasions, such as Easter, Christmas, the Day of the Dead, as well as during weddings, baptisms, and christenings. 


This poem furthers the definition of Chingona.


Today I Will Be Chingona
Today, I will greet the sun as my relative
and give the morning my full attention.
I will say “I love you” into the mirror
and draw my eyeliner extra straight.
I will not call myself fat
because everything in my closet will look good on me.
I will rock my huge Latina hips
like the blessing they are.
Watch out!
I might even wear heels.
Today, I will not hand out one unnecessary apology.
Today, I will be Chingona!
-Yreina Flores Ortiz
You can find this framed piece on Etsy.com. (Please ask for permission to use poem or graphic, it is copyrighted). Click Yreina’s name under the frame to find out more about this talented craftswoman, photographer, graphic artist, and teacher from Indio, CA where the temperature rises to 120 degrees and your chanclas (sandals) melt if you don’t put them in the fridge, like my tia used to do. 

Loving yourself, taking care of you, appreciation for your body, feeling your connectedness to the world, and being your best self is what I find when I read the poem. 

What do you find?