The good, the bad and the real.


I’ve talked about this before but i had to have an emergency c-section a couple of weeks before my due date because my baby was sick. She had her first intervention the day after she was born, then a second one, then mayor surgery at 6 months old.

I remember all these people congratulating me on what an amazing job we were doing, how i had a great attitude, how i was an incredible parent, how they didn’t know what they would do if it were their baby.

But to be honest, that was not the hardest part. I was not a human being at that time. My world stopped and i couldn’t even tell if i was breathing.

Somehow i could not sleep for a week and still have energy to talk and sing to her for hours to try to distract her from the pain. That energy was coming from someplace else, i really feel like i can’t take credit.

That was something else.

The hardest part about parenting has been any other day, was today, yesterday, any random monday from last year.

Any day where we were already late and she spilled milk all over herself, the sundays where she woke me up at 6:30 am jumping on my face, were she used my good make up to paint on the walls, the days were i have to keep putting off the things i’ve always wanted for myself to do the things she needs right now.

That is where the real challenge lives.

Not in extraordinary situations, but in the ordinary. In making simple things magical. In having to make soup sound delicious, in having to make a dollar do the job of 10, in having to pretend “frozen” is fascinating when everything in your life is falling apart. In not letting the adult world touch hers, even though both worlds are always holding hands.

The hardest part about parenting is also the most beautiful part.

The part were you, just a candle, find the strenght to never stop burning so your child never stays in the dark.


And that’s all i understand about parenting so far.

But it feels like enough.

They warned me about guns and knives, so they were ok.


They always warned me about knives, scissors, needles, all pointy things, they hurt.

So they were ok, i knew, i stayed away from them.

Guns kill, knives kill, i knew so i never touched them.

But no one ever warns you about the worst things, the ones that jump at you from someone elses mouth and tear you apart.

No one ever warned me about people leaving and taking parts of you with them. Parts you need.

No one ever warned me about empty spaces and their punches.

The empty space around you growing up.

The empty space in the closet, on pictures, the empty space where the third plate used to be.

The empty space around my daughter now.


There is only two christmas stockings in our home this year.

And i know, i lived it!

No matter how much i fill them, nothing will ever be complete again.

How Carolina won the skirt war



Born in a house with just brothers, the long awaited princess, Carolina was born to wear skirts.

Her room a pink marshmallow, her hair long, her opinions wrapped in ribbons and bows and tossed away.

Born in a house with just brothers Carolina had to fight and yell just to be given the same amount of waffles.


She had to fight to be given racing cars for christmas too.

She had to fight to be part of the football team.

She had to start a revolution to be batman for halloween.


But with a skirt…

She was Batman with a skirt.

And the only football player with a skirt, and the second best at karate, in a skirt.

Because, well, skirts are cute and she loves them.

What’s that has anything to do with anything?


Carolina, now 23, runs marathons in skirts.


Born in a house with just brothers, Carolina was made to wear skirts.

But instead of letting skirts change her, this fighter,

she went and changed skirts.

I don’t fall in love with things anymore

lula avila

I don’t fall in love with beautiful things anymore.

Because they change.

The nice car we were so proud of.

Now he uses it to take his new girlfriend to school.

All the fancy furniture?

We sold it and moved to two different houses.

I learned not to love things, they are so fragile.

They change when someone else touches them.


So i don’t fall in love with beautiful things anymore.

I fall in love with people.


Even then i add a little disclaimer at the end of them:

*This person will change.

Luiza and the list of “afraids”


Luiza is afraid of exactly 83 things, they’ve counted. Her and Ruy, her brother.

Luiza is afraid of snakes, spiders, dogs (big ones), the noise the refrigerator makes at night.

Luiza was not afraid of her parents splitting up, but still it happened.

Luiza is still not afraid of her family being broken, because she doesn’t know.

Luiza is afraid of getting fat, of the world ending, of hidden murderers in the backyard.

Ruy is afraid of Luiza hearing the fights, so he reads her stories.

Luiza is afraid of taking bad pictures, of eating alone, of failing math.

Ruy is afraid of Luiza growing up before her time, so he turns her around and takes her out.

And they walk, until they are tired, until she, with her head on his shoulder says: “Let’s go home”

He says one more lap, you see, i’m afraid of this road, let’s take the long one.

She wraps her skinny arms around him and says “I’ll protect you”

Not knowing that the armor around her is actually made of his skin.


Luiza is afraid of 83 things.

Ruy is afraid of one.

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