When your amiga suffers a miscarriage


Miscarriage is an easy word to write. It is not however, easy to talk about. I’m sure as I continue typing away at this I will shed lots of tears and reopen the wounds of my heart that have (sort of) healed…well, as much as they can. But I’ll push forward because it happens, and we must talk about it. We should talk about it because the women and families left scarred from the loss of hope are suffering. They’re sad, they’re heartbroken, and we need to take care of each other.

Most of the women I know do not speak of their miscarriages until way after it has taken place. They share about it in whispers, with close friends, either as an anecdote. Typically, someone breaks the ice by bringing up their own miscarriage of the one of a close family member/friend, and then one after another women begin to share. It’s rarely brought up in a forthcoming “hey, look what happened to me” type of way.

Pre-miscarriage this made absolutely no sense to me. I wondered how on earth any women could feel embarrassed by something like this. I thought it SHOULD be talked about, it happens to so many women, we should be talking about it the way we talk about periods, cramps, stupid men who don’t “get it,” etc.

Then I had one myself. Actually, I had two. One in a very public setting, the other in the privacy of my own home. Both times, I wanted to crawl into the deepest darkest hole and disappear.

I was sad. I was scared. It felt like my heart had been ripped out of me and flushed down the toilet along with the precious angel I lost.

It doesn’t matter how small the baby is, 4 weeks, 10 weeks, 12, whatever the size… it is a loss. It is painful (physically and emotionally and mentally painful). And no matter what, no matter the woman, we will first try to disappear. Then dissolve the problem. Minimize it. Pretend like it wasn’t truly a loss, or something to grieve.

So, as a friend or family member of someone who has suffered this type of loss, here’s a small guide on what to do and what not to do.

Pay attention.  

If your homegirl announced she was preggo and was posting or texting daily or weekly updates, like how she thinks she felt a kick (even though It was probably just gas), or how excited she is and it all of a sudden stops…check on her. Send a text, give her a call.

Perhaps she’s just fine, and hasn’t posted anything cause she lost her phone.

Or maybe she got some bad news at the doctor and has had or is at risk of something happening to her/the baby.

Or perhaps she was forthcoming with the info and decided to do a mass post on Facebook to let everyone know. Don’t just comment, send a message, a text, or better yet flowers of an edible arrangement. Show her you care…she needs to be showered with love.

DON’T tell her to think of the child(ren) she already has.

 You’re coming from a good place, but that phrase is painful. Because (if it was a wanted pregnancy) she was already in love with that particular baby. That baby had already began taking up space in her heart. Help her grieve that baby.

DON’T ignore when she deflects or deflates.

This is for those friends/family member you’re real close with. The ones you really know. Don’t let them blow it off. It will catch up to them later, and the grieving process could be much worse if they try to shove it under the rug. Call her out and et her know it’s OK to acknowledge it for what it truly is.

Let her cry.

She needs a cry. It’s ok to be a llorona sometimes. Hand her every last tissue out of the box. Hold her as she sobs. Tell her you’re sorry. Don’t try to fix it. Bring over ice cream, her favorite movie and sit with her.

Distract her

Take her out to eat, or for a walk. Let her choose what to do but let her know you’re there. It will mean so much. She may put up a front or genuinely want to be alone, but to know she has someone there in spirit with her is enough to help her through it.

If you have to, intervene.

I pushed a lot of people away when I miscarried. I felt like I was made to be a spectacle (when it happened in the public setting) so I wanted to be a complete shut in unless it was work related. But after a while, I even stopped talking to my husband. And he stepped in and called me out. So I had to crawl out of that deep dark space with only him to help pull me out. I wish I had reach out to more friends for help, or had someone notice. But that’s the trouble with deflating, deflecting, and not sharing…no one knew I needed help.

It wasn’t until I started opening up and telling others about what happened, how it happened, cried about it and laughed about it,  that I felt like I truly started to heal. It felt foreign to me to talk about something so sad…but there’s something familiar about it when the person across form you has also gone through it and can relate.

Miscarriages happen. More often than you think. So ladies, don’t be afraid to share your story, and amig@s, don’t be afraid to listen. Maybe you’ll be uncomfortable for a moment, but it’s not about you…and it’s nothing compared to what she’s feeling.


Best Decision Ever.

Back at the end of October, I was brought on board to Adelante Scholarship Fund to help coordinate their annual Leadership Institute for their scholars and young students across the nation.  It was an amazing experience, for many reasons, but one moment stuck out to me, because it’s a huge part of why I even started this “Esposa Experience thing” anyway.

me-and-dr-machado-casasDuring the opening session Dr. Margarita Machado-Casas shared her story and how she has come into her own identity and paved a way for herself. Btw, if you EVER get a chance to her her speak-do NOT pass it up. She’s strong, vivacious, and gives you #RealTalk. Everyone was enthralled with her story, her positive attitude, and her all out badassery…especially the young ladies.


Then she says, “One of the best decisions I ever made was marrying my husband” I saw the young ladies in the crowd taken a back and perk up as if to say “wait, what!”


Dr. Margarita Machado-Casas speaking at the Adelante National Leadership Insititute

This brilliant and vibrant woman, Dr. Margarita Macho-Casas had just shard a bit of her personal story-which is AMAZING, and began talking about how she handles a work/life balance today.

She began to speak about how women need to be careful to pick a partner who is not intimidated by their success.


I immediately jumped on the mic and asked “Can you say that again?”

And she did. Slowly. So these young adults could really hear her.

Just then my cell phone vibrated in my hand with an update from husband about the children:

“All kids picked up, heading home. Love you”

It’s hard being a tough and independent Latina whilst being a married soft and sweet wife. I’m loud, abrasive, and sometimes intimidating except behind closed doors with my husband. He’s the only one who sees that side of me. This dichotomy leaves me, and many other like minded women like myself with a little feminist guilt. Like, I know I can do it all if I had to. I know I don’t truly NEED my husband, but I want him, and for now I want to need him.

I’m often asked “how do you do it all” and the first answer is always “Jake.” He’s never been intimidated by everything going on in my life. There’ve been times where I made more money, other times where he did, and that never mattered. Because it was always our house, our money, with respect to each other’s finances and independent lives. We figured it out. We continue to figure it out-everyday. We support one another. It’s tit for tat. And no matter how many comments are made about are vastly different personalities, professions, and even interests, he doesn’t let it get him down, jealous, upset, etc. He knows me best.


Hubby and I at a Galas. He often volunteers at my events just so we can get some time together ❤ 

We’re not perfect, I can take him for granted, and he sometimes has to put me in check. He can be a poor communicator and I have to check him as well But we work as hard on our marriage as we do on our careers, parenthood, everything else. What’s important is that we put each other first. Above everything.




Maximus The Great: 3 things you should before your first ARD

So you’ve gone and done your Special Education Evaluation with your school district and you wait. It may feel like forever, I know but soon you will have your ARD meeting (ARD = Admission, Review, Dismissal) where you’ll review the options for your child within the special education system. After the evaluation, the school district has up to 45 school days to schedule and meet with you.

It can be intimidating to go through this process as a newcomer-trust me I just had mine a couple of weeks ago! But I’ve been blessed to be around folks who’ve sat at each side of the table who gave me tips and made me feel comfortable (well, sort of). So I will share the wisdom that helped me through with you!

Ask for the Evaluation Results before the ARD.

Your evaluation will be sent to the school in which your zoned and will be reviewed by the professionals there who will create the IEP for you. These folks may never set eyes on your child before they enter their classroom, and it’s most likely the evaluators only interacted with your child that one time…remember, you know your child best! Request the evaluation before the ARD (this can be done by making a phone call to the school district’s special education department, or just by asking the specialist at your evaluation. Review the evaluation ahead of time. Mark it up if you see fit! Highlight sections you wanted to discuss at the ARD.


Take someone with you. You are entitled to take another person, whether it’s a paid advocate, speech therapist, occupational therapist, nanny, grandparent, aunt, whomever you feel is best with you to be a participant in the ARD. For example, I took my son’s Speech Therapist. She knew Max’s capabilities, his weaknesses, and his personality. She wouldn’t have come, however had I not asked. Speak up, parents…no need to be shy when it comes to these things!


Remember: YOU ARE IN CHARGE. You are the parent. You know your child better than anyone. The entire process is overwhelming. To the folks across the school office counter or tiny desks, or maybe even a real adult sized conference table, you’re another parent out of the hundreds they see in their career. And though they’re usually nice and considerate and treat each child/case independently, don’t let their experience one-up you. They may be experts in their fields, but you’re an expert in who your kid is, what they’ve experienced up to this point. Ask questions, make sure you understand EVERYTHING. If anything makes you say “huh?” or you don’t quite understand the next steps in the process, ask for them to explain.


Have any tips of your own? Leave it in the comments!


The day after, I had bigger fish to fry.

It’s the day after and the stirring silence from friends and family is an indicator of the fear leftover from election night.

But I have to put that away right now. Because my son needs me. I want to rant and rave and be pissed then take a deep breath and say ok, I’m moving on, staying in track and fighting harder….but all of that noise doesn’t matter right now in this moment. 

In this moment my 3 year old lays sedated with wires glued to his head and a bright computer monitor with scriggly lines all over it. Repeated fluctuations, moving at a constant speed….this goes on for an hour and a half. 

I’ve choked down tears three times already. Once when they put the IV in, again when I sat waiting for the doctor and my sensory sensitive kiddo kept trying to rip his IV out, and again as I held his screaming flailing body fall to a deep medically induced sleep.

Feeling your child go limp is not fun even when you know it’s for his own good and part of the process. 

img_0127Our boy is not a lab rat. We are not a case study. We are human. I know that, the doctors know that, my friends and family know that but that’s what this feels like. Every assessment we get watched through a window, every time we review and repeat the family history, every time I have to think about those quirks he began as a baby that were much more than quirks. every form I have to fill out, and every observation made, I’m made to feel like a science experiment.

He is not a lab rat but here we are in this most unnatural environment as I sit and watch my son sleep heavily with red,green, blue and white wires attached to his head. I’m googling what a normal EEG should look like. But I’m not a neurologist and am too tired to pretend to be. 

And then the reality sits upon me, we are in this new world packaged in a dark cloud of hate, racism, fear, and everything else bad with this country. But I don’t have time to complain. I don’t have the energy to focus on negativity right now because I have to use it all to fill up my hope tank. Hope for my son, for my other children, and hope for the rest of us.

I won’t give up on Max. I won’t give up on you. I won’t give up on this country. We’re great, or we can be anyway. But we need work. Lots of work. And I do look forward to a greater tomorrow, but one that benefits us all. Because we all deserve that dream. No matter what life hands us we have the right to dream and work for a greater tomorrow. And we have the right and responsibility to help each other do that. 

I can’t open the flood gates of fear right now, because trust me, the thoughts are there

“what happens if the Affordable Care Act IS repealed, and preexisting conditions comeback into play and Max’s autism is seen as a preexisting condition and we have to pay even MORE money than we already do.”

“What if we lose a job and have to use medicaid, what will happen then?”

And that’s just scratching the very surface.

What I’ve learned from this journey with Max is that I have to turn my fear and urge to run, hide and cry into stand up, face it, and fight. And that’s what I’ll do for whats right, for our future. Turn the fear and anger into hope and action. img_0130


When meltdowns invade your marriage.

My forehead laid against the top of the steering wheel and it hurt as pressed up and down between my sobs. I hadn’t cried this hard in a while. I was defeated. My son’s meltdown kicked my ass. I spent hours picking apart what I’d wear and did my makeup with extra precision so I would “look” like a mom who had it all together. My son, and his autism sure as hell didn’t care.


He sat in the back staring off at pigeons circling the parking lot. I tried my best not to let him hear me cry. Worn down and scared, I pulled out of the parking lot and started running down the list of people to blame. My parents, my sister, my husband….yep…my husband’s fault.


A flood of pointed questions came over me:


“Where is he?

Why isn’t he here?

Why do I have to do this alone?

Don’t  they know I wasn’t built for this?

HE’S the laid back and patient one.

What kind of father would let us walk into this scary assessment by ourselves?”


A distant, very quiet voice inside of me started answering:

“He’s at work.

He couldn’t get the time off today.

You didn’t ask anyone to come with you.

You are built for this, you’re his mom.

He’s doing his part. He’s at work. He’s providing.”


Nonetheless, when he got home, I let him have it. I just railed into him about how terrible everything was, how I felt so alone, how he wasn’t there for me, how I needed him to do more…because his hepling bathe the kids, do dishes, laundry, diapers, basically everything I do on a daily basis wasn’t enough.  And then I realize it. I was having my own meltdown.

I was allowing my stress to pop the bottle top off of my pent up emotions and sprayed it all over my husband…the most hands-on father and provider you’ve met.


Parents of children with autism are at higher risk of divorcing than those with neurotypical children. I can sympathize. I think God put us through the ringer the first several years of our marriage because he knew we longer bumpy road ahead of us. So we had to build up our love, respect, and strength for one another.


Being a parent is hard. Being a parents and REMEMBERING you have a spouse is hard. Keeping that spark is hard. Adding elements like children with special needs, traumatic experiences, etc. make it all the more hard to be the happy couple who walked down the aisle.

Don’t let your words or actions make it even harder. Life will do its part to put obstacles in your way, don’t make the mistake of placing those obstacles there yourself.



Photoshop fun

Maximus The Great: It’s Official.

He’s three. He’s had three birthday parties. Three Christmases. Three Easter holidays.

He’s three and has had double as many assessments than birthdays, holidays, and years on this earth. They started when he first failed a milestone survey at 2 and half and his Early Head Start teacher asked me to meet with ECI. At that point, I realized I was caught. A dirty liar. I may have imagined the milestones he was expected to have completed while I hurriedly filled out the same surveys in the waiting room of my doctors office; “I think he imitated my line drawing,” “Sure he can alternate his feet while climbing steps. Some times. Once?”  I thought to myself. I guess I thought those forms were more of a testament of me as a mother than how my child was truly performing and interacting with the world. Six “tests” to determine whether or not my kid is normal. Two for ECI, one for the Autism Community Network (which was part 1 of 2), two more for therapy services, and most recently, a big one, his School District’s Special Education Assessment with a Licensed School Psychologist and Special Education Specialist.


Over the summer, as we spent our days together the cosmic bubble that consumed him, the one he’d allow me to enter every once in awhile, the one we’d have to step into to see the world through his eyes faded into something a little more transparent. He began to see us, interact with us. During our time together, a new school year began and so, we met with our local school district to get a Special Education evaluation.

Our intake portion of the assessment was about an inch short of a disaster. I had paperwork to submit and review with the very sweet, very patient Special Education Director. But Max didn’t care. We got in the room and he had an instant meltdown. Which included throwing himself against the large window (it didn’t break), throwing a stapler, disconnecting a phone, a computer…basically destroying anything he could get his hands on then running to the door. So there I am, trying to hold a very serious and super informative conversation while the Tazmanian Devil tore through the room. As I sat and listened, responded, and tried to take in what she was telling me about my rights as a parents through this process the tears welled up in my eyes and I choked back the strong urge to cry and give a little scream.

I thanked the staff for their time and patience, clutched my son’s hand very tightly and all but dragged him into the truck outside. I buckled him in and threw myself into my seat where I proceeded to sob in the parking lot while he sat quiet strapped in staring off into the sky.

After the defeat of that day, I planned better for the next time we’d return to the school for the big assessment. I asked my Esposo to take the day off work, I packed snacks and a change of clothes, coloring books, and anything else that made me feel “prepared.”

I didn’t need any of it.

He did very well. He needed some redirection but showed off his new words, his ability to stay focused for longer periods of time, and just his overall awesomeness to both assessors. Who each, at one point, gushed about how handsome and/or cute he is. (Swoon!)

After about two hours of “tests” which looked a lot more like guided play time, several in depth questions for me and Dad, the School Psychologist came back with what we’d been waiting to hear.

“He’s brilliant, there’s nothing wrong except a little speech delay, go home and quit your whining crazy lady with blue hair!” Just kidding. That didn’t happen.


She laid down his scores, and there it was, above the threshold for “Severe Symptoms of Autism Spectrum Disorder.”img_0137-2

I couldn’t get past that first word “Severe.”

Surely, my bright adorable kiddo who doesn’t flap his hands, or rock back and forth is not “severe”. I scanned over the different categories and could no longer lie to myself as I did in my pediatrician’s waiting room.

This is reality.

This is what we came here for.

This is who he is.

This is Maximus.

And that’s okay.

I took a breath. It came out deeper than I expected and a rush of relief came over me. “Finally.” I said. “We’re not crazy.” They handed me a tissue as I nervously laughed and caught my husbands eyes across the mini table. We felt vindicated. We felt relieved. We felt nervous. We felt proud. No one could say “estas loca mi’ja” or “no seas exagerada!” anymore. Not when it came to this, anyway.

“No, you’re not crazy, and we’re glad y’all are here,” she said.

Non Categorical Early Childhood Autism Spectrum Disorder. It’s official. Like, on a paper with a professional’s signature and everything.

10 months of waiting. It felt much longer. But it’s nice not to be in limbo. It’s nice to be able to understand that what my kid is living with has a name. An OFFICIAL name.

He’s also officially  using the most amount of words he’s ever used, putting sentences together, learning to be soft with baby sis, can walk into a crowded room sans-meltdown (most of the time). He’s officially moved on from Buzz Lightyear and Trains are his new jam.

And so we are OFFICIALLY ready for this journey. And we hope our friends and family are too, because we’re recruiting for Maximus The Great’s Army of Advocacy.

This process was a bit tough to navigate so I plan on advocating and spreading education for those families who may not know where to turn or what to do if they expect their little one may the on the Spectrum. Stay tuned for more info and share this with a family member of friend going through it as well. There’s power in numbers!

Navigating the Pressures of Traditional Esposa Expectations

While I am half Mexican, half Polish, I was raised  by some incredibly vivacious Latinas.  And despite the fact that I do not speak Spanish (yes I know it’s a travesty, but I did take Spanish class every year from elementary through my sophomore year of college if that counts for anything) I grew up with what I would like to call Independent/Traditional Mexicanas.  A bit coconutty, as they were Air Force brats who all look caucasian, they all had that Latina flare, but with a sense of world view since they traveled all over the world.  I learned so much from my great grandmother, grandmother, mama, and my two aunts.  Looking back I can see how these women shaped my entire outlook.  It’s still a bit confusing now that I think about it, I can only explain it as being trapped between two worlds; holding strong feminist ideals, but coated with hardcore Latino traditions.  Let me explain…

I grew up as an only child with a single mom and three generations of women who had been through lifetimes of experience.  I was the only grandchild/niece for nine years, the only thing I could do was watch and learn from these five different women.  I watched and listened to their lives unfolding.  I feel as though they poured all of their knowledge into me, whether they knew it at the time, or not.  I watched them – all of them.  From the youngest auntie to the matriarch, my great grandmother.  I watched them find love, marry young, put on their makeup, struggle with their weight, cry through marital and life’s struggles, travel across the globe for love, pray, make more tortillas than I could ever count, work really hard, have babies, ride horses, grow old, dance with joy, serve their husbands, manage their households, and even struggle to maintain their Latina roots in a white world.  I learned how to be a woman from five different women ranging from their nineties to their early thirties. I didn’t have anyone to share their crazy with – it was just me taking it all in and most of the time being really confused.

They taught me to pay my own bills, use power tools, dress like a diva, to take conservative risks, to work my ass off “Because you need to be macha! You don’t need to rely on a man, learn to do it yourself.  Don’t be lazy! You make your own way and no one can tell you how to live, now go heat up tortillas for grandpa,” to get educated, to have a voice, to travel and of course I learned that a clean house was incredibly important, along with heating tortillas, and making dinner (which by the way I refused to learn because no one was going to tell me what to do.)

I could never understand how such “macha” women would end up doing everything in their marriages – cook, clean, be obedient wives, take care of their kids, work, run errands and somehow always look fabulous.  Don’t get me wrong – they all have this amazing fire about them, and boy can that fire turn into wild fire rather quickly, but no matter how mad they could be at their husbands, they still did everything! It was a paradox of feminism and keeping up with the what I thought were bizarre traditional expectations.  So like all head strong girls I said I would never get married because I just wanted to live for me.  I noticed they all lived for their husbands and children, and at the time, I did not understand this.  Amazingly the women in my family didn’t push me to get married, have babies, or to be someone I wasn’t.  They let me be me – because they understood and rejoiced in my freedom.

Until I met my Mexican Mr. Darcy… then it started.

Despite my intense love for my Mexi-Darcy, I still believed a marriage should be 50/50.  I was NOT going to be the one making dinner, serving, washing, cleaning, and being the macha of the marriage.  And then it happened.  As soon as Darcy asked for my step dad and mama’s hand in marriage – the comments started… and it started with the men in the family first.

My very Mexican step father said, “You know, once you buy the cow, there’s no returns.” and my grandfather (whom I love as my father and respect with all my heart) sat down and told me to “be subservient, that is a wife’s role.  To listen and let him be the head of his household.” I understood where he was coming from and respected him, but I felt like I was going to vomit.  I was a modern chick – this was not how it’s supposed to be right? I could feel the anger begin to boil and felt my grandmother’s machisma start to rise within me!   I. DONT. THINK. SO!

I ignored all of this because in perfect fashion my Mexi-Darcy was as modern as me.  We went into our marriage understanding we would take care of each other and do away with the old school traditions of subservient behavior (even though I think sometimes he wished I was a little more demure).   And we did, but Lord help us, after the wedding the comments just kept coming from all sides of our families.

“Aren’t you going to get up and serve him? Wow… he has to serve him self… mija?”

“I would never do that, your husband should do those things.”

“Where are the tortillas? You know he needs tortillas right?”

“You mow the lawn? Aye no!”

“Wait – he went grocery shopping?  He works so hard, you should be doing that.”

“Why aren’t you cooking? Poor Chris has to do all the cooking.”

“You shouldn’t be so loud. He should make the decisions.”

The struggle it took to not say a word… After we said “I do” it seemed I needed to be two people; the modern working macha woman and the traditional wife.  Navigating my way through this felt awkward at times, nit because of Mr. Darcy’s expectations, but everyone else’s.  He loved me just as a I was and we were in this marriage together, but I still heard the voices of all those women in my head.

I tried it for a little bit and felt as though I was losing myself.  And then it hit me… everyone loses themselves in their marriage.  They become someone different because of traditions, comments, expectations, experience, time and struggle.  Marriage changes people.  I look back at all of the women in our families and realized – it all started because they wanted to please, and pleasing became spoiling, and spoiling became an expectation, then the expectation turned into a learned tradition of behavior.  They lost themselves in pleasing.  While I’m all for pleasure on both sides of the marital coin,  I don’t want anyone to truly lose themselves to being a servant.

I had to stop and remember the core of what I witnessed growing up and make it my own modern version, with my modern Mexican husband.  We still hold to certain traditions, but they’re OUR traditions.  I do the laundry because he hates doing the laundry.  He cooks because I HATE COOKING!  I clean because I love a clean house (I can hear the women in my family are rejoicing) and I only use my macha voice when it’s absolutely necessary.  And by God I love using power tools!

As a fourth generation woman in my family and the eldest of all of the little cousins I want to take the best of each of the women who raised me and give it to my daughter.  And there is so much beauty from those five women to share that will last for generations to come.  I love you family.

Texas Latino Bloggers Hispanic Heritage Month Blog Hop


This post is a part of the #TXLatinoBlog Hispanic Heritage Month Blog Hop. Visit the bloggers listed below as we celebrate Hispanic Heritage Month together/juntos! Follow the hashtag #TXLatinoBlog on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, too.

Que Means What – Being Latina Enough – Wednesday, 9/14

MexiMoments – Importance of Learning the Language as a Child – Thursday, 9/15

The Social Butterfly Gal – Mentoring Young Latinas – Friday, 9/16

Juan of Words – Mexican-American Culture – Monday, 9/19

Sweet Life– Food Recipes – Tuesday, 9/20

The Optimistic Heathen – Sharing Our Heritage with the Kids – Wednesday, 9/21

Modern Tejana – How to Live Your Latinidad in Mixed-Race Families – Thursday, 9/22

The Esposa Experience – Navigating the Pressures of Traditional Esposa Expectations – Friday, 9/23

The Nueva Latina – Mexican Independence Day in Guadalajara – Saturday, 9/24 – Self-Reflection and Latino Outdoors – Sunday, 9/25

VodkaGirlATX – Latin-Inspired Cocktails – Monday, 9/26

Momma of Dos – How Mexican I grew up! – Tuesday, 9/27

Family Love in My City – Immigration – Wednesday, 9/28

Creative Meli – Basic and Healthy Latin Cooking – Thursday, 9/29

Mejorando Mi Hogar – Being Latino or Hispanic – Friday, 9/30

Power to Prevail – Body Shame in Latino Culture – Monday, 10/3

Teatrolatinegro – Latin@ Theatre Show in Houston – Tuesday, 10/4

Candypo – Being a Latino Military Spouse – Wednesday, 10/5

Coppelia Marie – Am I a Bad Latina Mom? – Thursday, 10/6

The Restaurant Fanatic – Cocina Latina – Friday, 10/7

Haute in Texas – Mothering Latinas When You’re Not a Latina – Monday, 10/10

– See more at:

Happy Anniversary Esposa! – A letter to my Esposa Janeli

Dear Esposa Janeli,

On the heels of our one year anniversary of working together on the The Esposa Experience I felt like I needed to let you know a few cosas.

I love you boo! Happy One Year Anniversary!img_0802

As an esposa and mama it can be incredibly difficult to find friends who you have a soul connection with, ones you can TRULY rely on during the really hard times, as well as, the fabulous times, in between times – you get my drift.  While we were friends before we started out esposa journey together, I feel like our friendship grew even more once I joined your mission to blog/vlog about the real esposa experience.

I wanted to say thank you – thank you for bringing me into the Esposa Experience, thank you for always keeping it real, having my back, making me laugh when I couldn’t, being yourself, sharing your heart, twerking in my living room, slaying the camera, calling it like it is – even if I do not understand what you’re saying because it’s in really fast Spanish, trying to teach me the pop sound with my mouth, that I still can’t manage to do, helping me not be too much of an old millennial, and sharing your esposa experiences with me.

I was reviewing photos from our recent photoshoot for Morris Kaye & Sons and I realized how much we, as women and moms, have grown in one year, how much I rely on your point of view, sharing news with you, just venting about life, or how you had to be the first person I had to tell about how Vivian (our vivacious three year old) looked at my boobs while I was changing and said, “You gotta pick those up guuuurl!” (lord baby jesus help me!)

So, while I could go on and on, I’m keeping short and sweet.  As per my usual, I’m drinking a tasty bevie and toasting to us! Cheers to many more wild years of The Esposa Experience and more importantly to our friendship.

Much love,

Exposa Dani




Reliving your Boda

As we celebrate our One year anniversary (can we get a “WHOOP!”, no make that a “WEPA!”) we can’t help but realized we never made this thing official! There was no cake, no dancing, no big dresses, no honeymoon…but the we remembered, we’re already married. To men. That we love very much. haha!


It did however make us also realize all the things we did do at our weddings, and regret the things maybe we shouldn’t have done. Why did Janeli need 20 bridesmaids? Maybe Dani should’ve had one less drinky poo (or not).


All this pondering had us thinking what went wrong with you at either your wedding,or,if you’re an Esposa to be, a friends/sisters wedding? What, if anything, would you do differently? Do you have a confesion about your boda?  If you are an Esposa/o to be, what is your fantasy wedding? We wanna know it all! Mostly so we can offer advice as event professionals, but also cause we like chisme.

But seriously we don’t want ya repeating mistakes we made, and want to kow how you either avoid making mistakes at other events, or how you can help your sister, friend, mejor amiga/o at their wedding.

Let us know by either leaving a comment, commenting on our facebook page or sending us an email at Subject Line “Boda Confessions”

We’ll share your “confessions,” regrets, questions, comments etc. on the blog. If you want to be annoynmous, just let us know-we won’t blow your cover 😉




❤ The Esposas

The ingredient every Esposa needs in her marriage.


Jake and I are blessed with a great group of young friends….they keep us young ( I feel so old saying that). They often give us sweet compliments like “y’all are #goals!”, or “I love your relationship” and I must admit, it love it too. We’re proud of it, it took work for us to be as happy as we are today. Love came strong and easy for us, but it hasn’t always been smooth sailing, that’s for sure. And through all the tears, arguments, make ups, date nights, “come to Jesus” meetings, and everything else in between we found there are a couple of secret ingredients to marriage. Well, there are many but today I’ll choose two.

The first is that marriage is a CHOICE. everyday. Choose to commit to those vows, choose love, choose your marriage. And the second one is instrumental. And no, it’s not Love.

What’s more important than love? That’s all The Beatles say we need, right? well, I’m here to tell ya, they were WRONG!

I WISH all it took was love. In marriage, I feel, the rate of affection is fluid. There are some days, where that man i married is the most fine, most sweet, most romantic husband you would have ever met. and there are other times, where he’s….well he just doesn’t hit it out the park. And then, sometimes, those days can come more frequent, and even turn into weeks where he has his game is just not on point….and I am guilty of the same!

But even when Mercury is in retrograde, the hours at the office run long, and y’all haven’t had “Esposo and Esposa time” in a while this secret ingredient that will take you through those “womp-womp” days and back into the swing of things: RESPECT.

2 days after my wedding, my grandmother kissed me goodbye and gave me some sage advice as grandmothers are wont to do; She said “El Respeto es lo mas importante en el matrimonio…cuando no hay respeto, no hay amor verdadero.” Basically, she said if there’s no respect, there is no true love. I smiled and said “si Abuelita” but I most definitely did not take in the advice…not that I didn’t respect my husband, but because I was so wrapped up that new honeymoon romanticism that respect took a back burner.


seriously in love. 

And then we were tested and I mean TESTED that first year of marriage. Life threw all sorts of lemons at us, and in those moments I wanted to crumble, my husband whipped up some lemonade in a big old picture called Respect.

I may disagree with my husband, we may have few similar interests, and he may not be the best at communication even seven years in, but he is the most hard working, kind, selfless and lovely man with the most integrity you will ever meet. He thinks faster on his feet more than anyone I know (and that’s saying a lot for someone in PR), and he is always, ALWAYS there. He will always be there for the ones he loves, and even the ones he doesn’t love as much…he is  a rock for so many.


So even when I’m wrapping my brain around another issue and asking myself “why did I marry this nerd?” I know, that no matter what happens between us, I will always respect my husband for the man he is outside of us. The man who puts family first, above all.

Love can be a fickle thing. It can come, go, shrink and grow. But Respect, although it is capable of fluctuating, is harder to do so. Respect should be poured, equally form both parties into your  marriage.