Tag Archives: mother

Petals on a Rose

The poem my mom asked for only days before her passing. She said, “You need to write a poem about not being able to fix petals falling off a rose.” Maybe she knew her time was short. I never got the chance to read it to her.

Petals on a Rose

moms roses2

Rose petals from mom’s casket spray in her favorite green vase

If you were here with me you would see
A million memories of us drifting free

The days we laughed and days we cried
The years we spent together side by side

Those days are now remnants on weary dreams
And yet I hear your voice in all I see

Your scent has left, but your smile not lost
Those days we owned were worth the cost

I want you back, but my heart now knows
You can’t put petals back on a rose


Tania L Ramos, BSN RN


“What You Do For a Living” Living?

Among my many titles are: mother, nurse, It Works! distributor, chauffeur, grammar Nazi, water pitcher refiller, travel liason, pillow, ATM machine, grocer, and keeper of the electricity (AKA: light Nazi). And those are only the top listed ones. As such, when I meet someone new and they ask what I do for a living I’ve always answered, “I’m a registered nurse.” But a few days ago, in a Tums overdose, someone online asked what I did for a living, and my calcium carbonated mind decided to analyze the question?

I carry many roles, yes, but what do I do for a living? was the question. I decided to look it up and here is what I got.


11. the act or condition of a person or thing that lives
12. the means of maintaining life; livelihood
13. a particular manner, state, or status of life

The one that really stood out was under noun #12. The means of maintaining life. So I thusly looked up life. There are innumerable entries for that one (25 under noun).  The one that stood out was bibliography.
So to rephrase the question; what do you do for a living, I give you this question: What is your means of maintaining your bibliography?

I write!

Ummm . . . and think too much sometimes.
Tania L Ramos, RN and Author Maintaining her Bibliogrpahy
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Prenatal Ninja Assassination On My Life

There I am in my van, talking with the kids about the randomness of life. So many useless subjects, so little time. And so goes the life of having all the kids in the car at once. Each one has some silly question, some ridiculousness about life, and I’m supposed to have the answers to all that is silly, ridiculous, and down right weird.

As the conversation progresses–or regresses–the subject of who was the easiest kid rears its ugly, sibling rivalry head. The questions come flying like some kamikaze verbal assault, and I’m surprised I was able to multitask that with defensive driving through the bad lands of the High Desert. So who was the easiest kid during pregnancy? River was. Who was delivered the fastest? River was. Who didn’t try to kill me during my nine month gestation? River didn’t.

Oh, you think that last question is odd? Ha! You don’t know my children and their plight to stump me. Who was the most difficult pregnancy? Dasan. Who was the longest delivery? Dasan. Who made an assassination on my life while in the womb? DASAN! Oh, if you knew my Dasan, you would just nod and say, “Yep, that makes a heck of a lot of sense.”

ninja babyHow does a child attempt an assassination while still in utero? As such: he wiggled around so much, I had to get up and walk to relieve some pressure. All part of his master plot, by the way. I decided to walk to a little restaurant a few block away, and as I did, the little goon up and sends a forceful drop kick directly into my bellybutton. Yes, dropkick! It was so vicious that I swore I saw little toe sillhouttes protruding from under my tank top. Yes, dropkick! The neonatal executioner was able to defeat my awkward center of balance and thrust me face down into the ground.

Bystanders pulled over their vehicles to stop and see if I was okay. Not only did I fall face first, but I was very visually pregnant . . . and I rolled off the sidewalk. Strange sight to see, I imagine. Must have looked like some scene straight out of Fight Club. I remember it all too well, now that my child brought up the memory that was recessed somewhere behind gestational PTSD. Ah, memories . . .

Am I mad about it? Nah! These kids give me the best writing material. #AdenturesInPregnancy #MothersLife #RevengeIsMine

Tania L Ramos, RN and Author Who Survived the Assassination Attempt

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The Pain of Productivity

changes Ever wish there was more time in the day? Maybe in the year? How about your life? I’m torn. On the one hand I can’t wait until the end of the day when I can sleep it off. On the other hand there isn’t enough time to get everything done.

What is my life? Well, in 2011 when I was on disability my life consisted of writing and attending court every other day. It was miserable and wonderful all rolled into one. In one regard I was able to follow my dream of writing, in the other it was a tragic and devastating year for my entire family … makes for great writing though.

In 2012, I returned to the work force, albeit it was a slow transition. After the dark year of 2011 there were many changes in my life, the biggest being the newly shared custody of my sweet baby girl, whose father moved over an hour and a half from me. That was a game changer. I took an on-call position with no benefits or paid time off, yet worked full time hours and more. I was also thrust into having to commute weekly to pick up my daughter. Since my time with her was now shared, I found it difficult to give away the time we had together to doing anything other than being with her. This left me with zero writing time.

Do you know what happens when you have zero writing time? The voices go away. They don’t disappear per say, they simply grow quiet and go down to a low lull. I still hear them, and they still beckon me, but I have to put them off to be a responsible adult and manage my home and family. Single mom status is not as glamorous as Hollywood makes it out to be.

So during NaNoWriMo month I pledged to start writing. How did that turn out? Epic fail! 500 words, and it was more venting through characters than actual story line. Then the night before Thanksgiving I was hit with something exciting: the stomach flu. What good can from the stomach flu? Well, after realizing I would be living in the bathroom for 24 hours it occurred to me that I could spend that time productively. So, I grabbed a copy of Be Still and a red pen, and while my intestines slowly died I edited my book. TMI? Too bad.

The moral of the story is: I have to be in physical or emotional pain to be productive. So here’s to all of you who can relate … out of the ashes rises the Phoenix.

Tania L Ramos, RN and author who’s finally on solid foods


Scene Setting vs Author Setting

Hello bloggers and good morning. Today I am coming to you from very warm and sunny Las Vegas.  I arrived yesterday to a wonderful resort with great staff, bedside view of the pool, cool room and piss poor internet service. Heh, can’t win them all.  besides, I’m here to write, not socialize–as if.

Last night, as I stared out my window and watched visitors play in the brightly lit pool, I wrote a scene set in a hospital.  This morning when I woke up, I opened the window curtains to the full and inviting sun and wrote about a woman sitting in a bleak, pitch black hospital room.

When my internet finally gave way to working (despite the cost of $9.95 a day for use), I caught up on some Facebook posts and looked up a song that has really set the pace for this current WIP. While watching this rather downtrodden and eye opening video, I again looked out my window.  Such an uplifting day.  It’s the kind of day that inspires me to think about getting life back in order.  The kind of day that makes you want to seize it! Ha ha! I can do this.  Heck, I want to run a marathon . . .

Okay, so you get it.  And yet, here I am, writing a dark indie novel about the ties that bind and sometime break us.  I’ve said before that I listen to music to create a mood, but it has occurred to me today that I don’t need that same setting to create ambiance in my book. I can just as easily write death and destruction from an awesome vantage point as well as I can write sunshine and rainbows from my dark closet.

Okay, here is the video I was speaking of.  Thompson Square “If I Didn’t Have You,” which pretty much sums up my book WIP. EXCEPT, this book isn’t about a romantic couple, it is about the struggle between a mother and son, with some Tania L Ramos twists and subjective fiction.

Tania L Ramos, Author With a Great View

Oh, look, there is the view from bed. Mmmmm, I love writing getaways!

hotel room

Emotional Therapy

It was a pretty tense time in the house of Tania L Ramos last night. Yeah, I was probably the cause of it, but I prefer to think it has something to do with Jupiter aligning with Batman, or something to the likeness. Anyhow, in my near frothing state of having to have a moment’s peace and quiet, I was unable to find one. How did I push out two books in one year before? Oh, that’s right, I was on disability and sat at Starbucks consuming caffeine and Izzes for ten hours out of the day for an entire year.

Checked my disability numbers last night: not much in the way of aloting another year off.  So I step away from my precarious perch, with toes curled over the top step of an eleven step decline. Time to reconsider my approach. I realize I can’t keep up my pace of staying up at all  hours of the night, because even then there are so many noises and distractions around me.  Everyday manages to be some Calgon Take Me Away day, yet it never comes, and even if the opportunity arose there would undoubtedly be some child pounding on my door, complaining about some adolescent crises, whether it be, “I think I broke my thumb skating,” to, “My ponies are arguing again.  How do you spell ‘effective communication’?” Then there is the adult I seem to really torture who will inevitably ask, “What’s wrong with you? Maybe we should talk? Did I do something wrong?” And I pull out all my hair and just yell, “ALL I WANT TO DO IS WRITE IN QUIET WITHOUT PRETENSE!” Ah, the fun never ends, the noise never dies down, and alas,  I am rarely alone … but always having to effectively communicate

So, last night, while I toured my house with laptop in hand, seeking out a quiet place that didn’t have a frigid draft, I discovered something interesting: it doesn’t exist.  So I walked into my room, fit for some diabolical rage against humanity, plugged the laptop in at my desk, gave my boyfriend the look that read Are you feeling lucky punk? Well, are you? There was no effective response, so I plugged in my sticky earphones (those of you with ticking biological clocks really need to know that once you have kids, everything is sticky), turned up my sad love songs/breaking up songs/see you on the other side songs, and finally–after two weeks–opened my WIP file.

At one a.m., I had accomplished the daunting task of procuring 4,938 words. And I was proud as a new momma who doesn’t already have a gaggle of kids at home.  I was hopeful, renewed, and spent.  This chapter was torture, plain and simple.  I mean, if the government needs a new methodical device for torture, they should have prisoners have to write a dramatic scene built with forthright carnal tensions by two characters driven together, who can’t seem to push passed their own doubting thoughts, and be thrust into these onslaughts of romantic indications whilst trying to maintain a platonic boundary that has made their friendship over nearly two decades as strong as it. Yeah, write that one suicidal car bomber!

in-queso-emergency-i-pray-to-cheesus-jesus-mouse-cheese-memeNeedless to say. That chapter left me emotionally drained, and any form of effective communication was spent on those two characters last night.  If anyone in this house thinks I need some emotional therapy, they can read the book … and then they can commit me.

Tania L Ramos, Author On the Verge


Books by Tania L Ramos: Be Still and Surviving the Writing Apocalypse

This is Me. No Really. This is Me.

Ever run out of things to say? Yeah, I’m there. I’m hoping it comes to me as I partake in this semi-strange web blog.  So what shall I say? Complain about work? Talk about my book club speaking event? Explain why I shouldn’t play football against high school kids (still hurts)? Sing you some Justin Bieber karaoke? Hehe, I’ll spare you that part … but if you’d like to do some Rock Band competitions then its on.

Guess I’ll just tell you more about me.  Some may be repetitive, but some of you are new, and its me, which means it’s worth repeating. Right? Okay, so who is Tania L Ramos? I’m going on forty this year and pretty happy about it. My thirties weren’t as awesome as I thought they would be, and more over, when I hit forty I get to attend the “Cougar Convention” in Las Vegas. Such a thing would make any woman long to be forty, I think.

I was born and raised in Los Angeles, CA where I was the only child for twelve years. Then came my brother … he’s grown on me since then.  I made a series of moves and eventually made it to the High Desert.  I’ve run the gambit of jobs from the Domino’s Pizza phone girl, a taxi cab company secretary, the See’s Candy girl, a temp, EMT, and now a nurse … oh yeah, and I worked at the Gap a spell, “Hello, welcome to the Gap, can I show you our sales items today.” Yep, that was me; only one word away from being the WalMart greeter, don’t you think?

I was a swimmer in high school; breast stroke and backstroke. Played powder puff football and failed miserably at trying out for the high school mascot: GO BULLDOGS! I was in drama, was 9th grade class treasurer, participated in the Leadership program, started a lunch time DJ program, and was the youngest student to attend the USC Young Writers Program for a summer. I played softball and managed a softball team in my twenties, and was known as DJ Babs for a while (played alternative music like The Cure, Depeche Mode, and Morrisey).

I was in journalism, creative writing, and some other writing program that I can’t remember. Yet, I failed every English class. I used to write sad, depressing, morbid poetry, then moved into horror stories that made my mom worried. Now, I write INDIE!! I love words. I love people who can hold intelligent conversations.

I don’t speak Spanish. I can use American Sign Language when I really put my mind to it. I hear words in color, which so many people still don’t understand, but it’s called Synesthesia and it really does exist.  So when someone talks and the words hit my ears, I see colors.  Kinda neat, sometimes a nuisance, makes me wonderful.

I speak with a slight lisp. Was teased about it most my life, don’t realize I have it until someone points it out, but tend to reaffirm it with this, “If I didn’t have a lisp then I’d be perfect and the world would hate me.” It’s my own way of coping. 🙂

I have three cats, two dogs, a turtle, and a partridge in a pear tree (A.K.A. a parakeet). Three kids: one in college, one trying to drop out of high school, and the 5 yr old prodigy. I love them all! Still, would like one quiet day out of the year.  Married twice, divorced twice, and it pretty much ends there. No more rings on this finger.  No. No. No. Well, unless a new guy comes bearing cookies, ice cream, and writes like Sparks.  Then we’ll start the negotiations. I’m a wallflower, usually get lost in the crowd, but back me against a wall and man-oh-man watch out– I may just get strongly worded and throw a cat at you.

I lived for X-Files, attended more than one Star Trek convention, and once watched an episode of Jersey Shore. I hate mashed potatoes, eggs, milk, vegetables, pork chops, pork products (except bacon), and orange cheese. I love pizza, spaghetti, pizza, spaghetti, pizza with spaghetti, and bread.  I talk to my animals as a form of therapy, because they listen, rarely judge, and seem to get it.

I hate taking pictures! I love taking pictures! Yeah, try and figure that one out. I tend to be more active in spring, then bury my head in the ground from Summer through Winter. I live in my denim jeans. Love my baggy college sweater. Wear crazy socks and wish my job would let me put pink streaks in my hair (I tried, I was caught). Miss my Doc Martens. Own ONE skirt, and said skirt is black plaid with several buckles on the side and has hanging suspenders (I lost). I love anything with skulls on it!! Cute skulls, girlie skulls.

I don’t talk much, but if I get to talking then you may never shut me up. And apparently, once I start rambling you can’t shut me up. Obvious? Should be! Any questions?

Not me

Not me

Tania L Ramos, Author with Nothing to Say