january 2 2009

Every place I ever lived
(A writing exercise)
By Adriana Silva


Well. I was born in 1981. In Chino California, it use to be a small farming and dairy community. Over the years it has grown to a little orange county.
I know I lived a lot of places or visited a lot of places. I think at one time I was actually homeless with my mother. I don’t know if it really counts. Since my mother could always take us to my grandparents house. However the one place I felt the closet to home is were ever my grandmother is.
After I was born I lived with my mother and father in some small apartment in either Chino or Pomona. I lived with them in a nuclear family until I was one or two. The story changes from time to time. Then depending who you ask, I was either taken away or saved for a better life. I sometimes feel that the whole situation could have ended differently. I could never understand why my mother was a good at saving and paying things off, but not good at following through on things that could help her get her children back.
I lived with my grandparents in Chino on a dairy road behind the Men’s prison. Now that I live out of the state of California people will ask in passing were I am from. I’ll respond with California. People will then ask what part. Saying Southern California won’t do. They want specifics. I say Chino. Blank stares. But wait. Chino’s Men’s Prison comes to their mind. Or they ask is it by Disneyland, San Diego, or Los Angeles. And that is how the conversation starts or ends.
Living with my grandparents are my most happiest and saddest memories. There was a lot of love because there was a lot of heartache.
When I was ten I went to live with my mother. I really didn’t want to leave my grandparents. I was just so obsessed with wanting to know what it felt like to live with my mother. I wanted her to love me the way I love her. She moved to Hesperia. First lets briefly go through my mothers living history, because although I lived with my grandparents for a good part of my life, I visited my mother and all the places she lived in. Rancho Cucamonga, Pomona, Ontario, Santa Anna Downy and Rose Mead, with or with out boyfriends. A good chunk of my life I was either an outsider in my mothers home or my grandparents.
My mother moved to Hesperia to get away from my grandparents I’m guessing. We moved into my mothers cousins house. We stayed in a bedroom with all our stuff. Our clothes were always on the floor. I remember hating it but I never cleaned up. I think shortly moving there my brother moved with my uncle in my grandparent’s house. I took a babysitting job. I was 10. The mother a newly separated women thought I was 16. I took care of her two younger children for one hundred dollars a week. She had a nineteen-year-old son. Who was always one step from sexually crossing the line with me. After a short stay with our cousin and his family my mother got a two-bedroom apartment in the next down. I don’t have many memories of that place. Since we didn’t stay there long. I do remember we did not have refrigerator. Instead, we had a Styrofoam ice-chest that always smelled stale. Our milk was always going bad. I remember always being alone with my sister. . I remember being hungry. I used a knife once to open a can of yummy gunk. I made a friend on the school bus and I think our hunger lead us to stay the night at her house. I didn’t ask our mom, because she hadn’t been home for a couple of days. Some how my mom and uncle knocked on my friend’s door. I don’t know how they knew were to look, nonetheless they found us. After that we moved to a duplex in Ontario. A lot of misshappens went on. I think I had my first sloppy kiss at that house. We didn’t stay there long either.
At twelve I got into some adolescent argument with my grandfather. I felt at the mature age of twelve that I needed to leave. What did I really know? I look back on it know and I feel like such a selfish brat. I moved with my mother, sister, and my mother’s pervert boyfriend Johnny. They lived in a back house with one bedroom, one bathroom, and no refrigerator. Because of my grades I was moved from the 7th grade to the 9th grade. Life was fast and miserable for a few months. I became my mothers care giver, my sisters mother, and Johnny’s infatuation. I was beat and humiliated. Like a scene out of Mommy Dearest. Except her house was much nicer. That year a monster came out of me for the first of the two times it came out. I hit my mother after being punched in the face. It makes me sad that that ever happened. I would die if I drove my daughter to such lengths.
Of course I went back to my grandparents house. Until 11th grade I moved with my aunt to finish high school. My grandparents were bought out. So they moved to the mountains.
Two weeks after graduation I moved into a room for three hundred dollars a month, then became pregnant. I moved in with my boyfriend and his father thinking it was the right thing to do. We lost the baby. I was secretly sad about that for along time. I was ready to move on. Find a small apartment by myself. Work and go to school. I was ready to break up with him. Then I became pregnant with my son. I felt that I had to stay. I was happy about my baby but again secretly sad that I had to stay in the relationship. We moved to an apartment in Rialto. I had my son there. I was alone in that apartment. That was fine, because I had my son. One day I came home and half of our stuff was packed and gone. My boyfriend had decided it was time to move. So I did. We moved to his mother’s house. I felt like such an outsider. If I ever doubted how American I was, living with his family proved that I was just as American as the white kids I went to school.
I had my daughter sixteen months later. We moved into an apartment in Chino on Riverside Drive. We only lasted as a couple there 2 months. Shortly after my daughters first birthday we split up and I realized didn’t love him. I
I lived in that apartment alone with my two babies for four years. Working and going to school. I tried hard to be a good mom and keep a clean house. Instead it was picked up and there were bugs from all the different neighbors that moved in and out. I would have my apartment fumigated and the bugs just went to the bottom floor. Then when the bottom apartment had their apartment fumigated the roach bastards came back up to my place. Back and forth those nasty little things went. Now I am married to a man I actually love. I live now in Texas. And the size, style and comfort tone of our house and life is a writing exercise for another time.
These are the entire place’s I’ve lived. Mostly.

july 16th 2009

Had a lot to write about, now the morning has come and my writers block is back. Let see what did I want to write about, Depression, kids, husband, the lake, no more pills....... I don't even know right now. I am just rambling on. The only thing I can think of right now is should i drink water first then coffee or the other way around? And I hear Enso fussing in babytopia. the clothes are calling and the dishes, the fat is looking straight back at me! Time to be a house wife

October 2009

clock is ticking

Enso is finally a sleep, well kinda of....I decided to take some time before I am off to to the same place and doing the same thing I was doing this time yesterday. Their are two things that are constantly going through my mind lately. 1. What's wrong with me and 2. I need to snap out of it and get myself and things into order by the time our new baby comes long. The last thing I need is to be unorganized, wound up, and unhappy when our little number four comes along. A very huge goal of mine is not to fall into a depression like I did with Enso. I admit, I had shame and a sense of failure admitting that I was or might be depressed, but I kinda got over that. Just a little. I'm have a small nugget of guilt, fear, and shame about the whole thing... but really what was their to ashamed about. I ask my self always and sometimes I have the answer and other times I don't... And just to let you know, NO... Enso is no longer half a sleep. Instead he is ripping an old book I had on my dresser. And I will will let him do that. Reasons being I've read the Yaya sister hood several different times and I always feel the same after reading it. Also he is using is fine motor skills, and were gonna see how well his digestive track works if by chance he ate a piece of chapter 27. Big reason is it's gonna give me about 15 minutes of quiet.

I need to be positive. Do something that makes me feel validated. Out side of cooking and cleaning. (Don't like cooking....I really don't even like to eat. Unless well I'm starving then I'll of course stuff my face. But I want to set a good example for Zen and Wednesday, and of course Enso. But he has no trouble eating anything. I'm giving my self one week to snap out of this....let's call it funk. Shake some things up. Make myself happy. Add some color. Like my chaos. Find that bright side to every thing. And most of all make time to leave my house. If your not careful it can consume you.

Last weekend my husband got plastered. and thank gwad no one reads my post and most importantly my in-laws don't even know that I have one. IF they did of course somehow they would get upset with me.. as in face book. What ever I post becomes so damn important, and instead of asking me about a "post" it has to be talk amongst then my husband has to be interrogated....instead of just asking me. YES.......I'm going back to school! ugh.....this is so childish.

my mother

I was looking through some of my older writings and this is what I came across.

10/26/2006
My mother sat outside on her mother's porch. In the dark. In the night. Smoking a cigarette. Then another. Then another. Smoking staring in the sky.

I sat next to her to smell the leather from her jacket, the cheap make-up on her face, and the cigarette in her hand. I took it all in. Who knew I would be setting my self up for second hand lung cancer or a lifetime of smoking cigarette's.

I sat next to her to see the smoke float from her hand and her mouth and her noise. It looked like hand writing. The thoughts from her mind hand written with her exhaled smoke. Then disappeared in the air. Much like everything else she did or said. They just went away. I never did get those shinny tap shoes.

I sat next her. I wasn't noticed.

I sit in my patio. In the night. In the dark. smoking my cigarette. Just like my mother did. I don't smell like leather or make-up. And I couldn't bare for my daughter to sit next to smoke, being hypnotized by my handwriting. Being unnoticed.

Yet, still I sit alone in the night in the dark. smoking like my mother did. Still watching the handwriting disappear in the sky.

Dear Talulah

Dear Talulah,

I am sorry that you dealt with stress last night. I wish you were born so I could hold you and put you in your bassinet if there was any loud noise in our house. I hope that as you and your sister get older, we never have the relationship that my mother and I have or my aunt and her daughter have for that moment. I promise to always to try to understand you and what you are going through. And just know that even if you feel like I don't understand what your going through or where your coming from...trust me I know. I love you more then you will ever know. You are my daughter. I will always love you.

Mom

I'm just a home for Talulah

Day Gazillion and four. Translation, eight days passed my due date. I truly have to say I hate being pregnant right now. And I really don't care what any one else has to say about that. My kids are driving me crazy, the oldest to the youngest. My husband, my mother, cousin....and even the dog are driving me crazy. Right now in our three bed room house we have our family, which consist of My husband, Ramon, my self, evil pregnant lady, Zen, our oldest son, Wednesday, who will be our oldest daughter as soon as Talulah decides to come out, Enso, our youngest son, and Wasabi, our very horny dog who is constantly licking him self and humping the stuff animals. In addition to us we have my cousin aka niece living with us, and my mother is visiting for a month from Utah. Little info on that, it was suppose to be a week!

I believe I'm on the verge of an anxiety attack. My baby, Talulah... is in position, her head is down and her butt is up...and her cute little feet or some part of her body are stuck in my ribs or hips. I feel immobile. I can not drive any where. It's to uncomfortable, so it's not safe. I defiantly can't drive leaning like a cholo. I feel like a oopa loopa. REALLY! I am 5 foot 1 and all this weight is.....well weighing me down. I am out of breath just walking down the street. I am having irregular contractions. But man, weeks of contractions is tiring. and YES I know the difference between Braxton Hicks!

Not to mention my family. I am constantly being yelled at to rest. Ya, that's real calming. Also I have the pressure of giving birth. I have my husband home for the rest of the week, after Friday he goes back to work and won't be home or able to be their with me when the time comes to deliver. My mom is leaving back to Utah Wednesday my grandmother comes in Tuesday and someone has to stay with the kiddo's while I'm in labor. Plus all the friends I have who were not working when I first got pregnant, now all have jobs. First I thought I could give birth all by my self. However the closer the time gets (or not) I'm getting anxious and scared to be by my self. I never thought I would be afraid to do this by myself. I've given birth three times before. I really don't want to be alone during labor. I was alone a lot during this pregnancy.

My mom asked me when I thought the baby is coming. I had to tell her honestly I really don't know. She just cried. "The baby is not coming out because of me". That's what she said. Every one around me is an emotional wreck and I have to be the calm during the storm to keep them all together, when all I really want to do is sit in my room and cry until Talulah come out.

This one is a mommy Blog.

I was looking around my house for my journal that had written in while I was away in Nevada. Goodness that felt like an eternity. I was so sad. Then towards the end I was angry. Which I feel was a good emotion to have. It gave me the strength that I needed to bring the kids back. And not get intimidated by Carlos. I never understood why it bothered me so much when ever Carlos attacked my parenting skills. Once he said that I should comb Wednesday's hair better. He mentioned that the girl he was dating at the time always had her daughter's here up in a pony tail an her shoes where always clean. God, it bothered me. I hung up the phone, laid in the bed and cried. It wasn't until the next day that I realized that the kids had been with him for two days, and that I had sent them clean and "combed". At the time Carlos was around his girlfriend, he was the one responsible for Wednesday. Yet I allowed him to in so many words call me a bad mom. Now Wednesday is back home, and she still hates for me to touch her hair. She's told me that her dad combs her hair better. Someday I'm going to make a movie about daughters and brushing their hair. And yes their is definitely gonna be a scene where the mom goes ballistic and maybe a few broken mirrors and toilet. The audience will realize that the mom was just imagining all this in her head.. Don't worry folks CPS will not be called during filming. Lately my daughter has been on a role. If I so much as brush my arm against her in the morning she yell's "YOUR HURTING ME....STOP HURTING ME". I had my hands on her shoulders guiding her to the restroom to get ready for school. I couldn't believe that she yelled, "DON'T PUSH ME"! What the hell!!!! The "what the hell" is from me. I just don't understand it. Is it because the baby is due any minute. Is it because we have guest in the house. Which by the way is my mother and OMG she likes to butt in when she shouldn't. I wonder if Wednesday misses her dad. When they first came home from there father's he called every other day. Now he calls once a week. And to top it off he talks longer to her brother. I do know that she wants all my time to her self. The one thing that I worry about being a mother of more then one child is that I am not giving my attention equally to all of my children.
I was thinking the other day. I consider my self a nice person. I follow the rules and I functioning part of society. I hardly cuss out loud. I volunteer, I don't beat or starve my children. I am still a child of abuse,neglect, and more abuse. Despite all of that I always strive to be good human being.......what I'm trying to say is that my children have never had the childhood that I have had. I have made sure of that and at times they treat me like dirt. I don't have the heart to tell them how lucky they are to have parents who love them and that when they come home they are safe. Have I over compensated for my short comings in life with my children? And had it back fired? Or am I reading to much into this and my daughter is just acting like a daughter or better said a BRAT!

The most hideous thing's about being "very" pregnant.

1. Constant emails, text, and phone calls to see if the baby has been born yet.
It's like I'm a ticking time bomb with people waiting for Gold to come crowning
my birth canal. Really, I don't even know the exact moment I conceived the
little darling. So please don't ask me daily if "she's here yet"?

2. If I don't call you right after my weekly doctor appointments...
Please don't freak out! I have to drive from the office to home and most likely
pee. And by that time I have completely forgotten to call/txt any one. I almost
wanna say....don't call me....I'll call you.

3. Waiting at the check out stand at the grocery store and having a "kid" tell you,
"wow you look like your like 10 months pregnant, wow", and I don't think
need explain more, other then...how aged do I feel that I just referred to the
check out guy as a "kid".

4. Their is nothing worse then to be told, "your tired".
I know I'm tired. Please don't constantly tell me the obvious, and force me to
rest. Because it really isn't relaxing to be drilled that I need to take a nap.
I know I do...I read the magazines. Another thing that is not calming, is to be
forced to lie in bed for a "nap", while the kids and life are continueing right
on the other side of my bedroom door and some one is whispering/yelling,
"SHHHH, YOUR MOM IS TRYING TO TAKE A NAP", trust me the kids don't bother me you
voice does.

5. Please don't ask me if I'm feeling alright.
Because I don't, and I won't until the baby is born.

6. Promising a foot rub and/or back rub.....
then falling asleep before I can get out of the shower. Somebody has a death
wish.

7. My least favorite of all!!!!!! Don't ask me what I am going to do after the
baby is born! True I have three kids, and after the baby is born I will have
four. You know what I'm gonna do...I'm gonna be. Just like I did when one kid
became two, then three, now four....I'll survive thank you very much!

I would just like to say that I love the Sushi Ladies at HEB. They never judge me when I buy a Spicy Tuna Roll and drink a cup of coffee. Thank you Sushi ladies. You and your delicious mercury are one of the few things I get to enjoy right now.

a bird indoos is good luck right?

I'm at the airport and thank goodness for the invention of Black Berry. This has been the smoothest check-in in a long time. No lines, and I wasn't "randomly selected". I did start feeling my eyes tear up when I started to think about Enso. I miss him already. He's in good hand. Many hands. Were boarding the plan now, I got my water. Ready to go......When I started typing this it was the present, now it is the past. I've been home now for one full month. We've all been home! this is a good thing, it's a really good thing! How like most of my writings I will go back and forth...past and present...I will inform you.

So back to the day I flew back to Nevada from Texas. I went home for one week. That week went by so fast. Doctors appointments, bills, house, spending time with the husband,attempting to hang out with the girlfriends, trying to keep it together and not cry when ever I thought about the kids, and getting reading to fly back to Las Vegas. Zoom, the week went by and I had to say good by to my husband and my baby. I knew that I was not going to loose my baby Enso and I my husband was by my side, but just the fact that I had to leave him killed me. I had to leave my son in Texas to attempt to get my older son and daughter in Las Vegas. I felt so alone.
However, like I said it was the smoothest check at the airport that I ever had. Although I terribly missed my Enso, it was a little bit easier to check in with out having to hold Enso on one hip, trying to take off our shoes and jackets, and what every ridiculous request the airport request. I also didn't have any stairs of pity or annoyance having a small child with me on the airplane. It kinda felt weird, to be honest. I made a decision to just soak in the quite time. When do I ever get it and when will I every get again. I bought my self an over priced cross word puzzle book. I believe it was called My Posh Cross Word Puzzle. It was very pretty and bright, and it made me feel good. So yes I spent 10 bucks on a cross word puzzle book. I loaded the plan and tried to go to sleep. Didn't happen. I stopped in Denver, reloaded the plan to take me to Las Vegas, which I like to call the Devil for right now. I had to sit between two skanks. Yes I said skanks. They just reminded me of the kids step mother, with their "I know huhs" and "Stuuuuupid" East L.A talk. And all I kept thinking about this trash is around my kids. Alas we landed and I entered Las Vegas Airport for the first time ever. Holy crap was I ever confused. I felt like a country pumkin that just landed into the big city. I just say people and lights and sex and alcohol and more sex and sex and sex. It was on all the billboards on the way down the escalators and out the doors. I walked out side with my one little carry on and smelled the night air, filled with freshness, sweat, and . I remembered I closed my eyes and took a secret deep breath just to see if I could get a taste of the nicotine that I gave up a year and half ago and during the whole ordeal with Carlos wanted to take a drag so very bad.
I made it. I made it in one piece, and I was ready to take on Carlos in court.

coming out with her fingers up.

That's it I'm convinced my baby Tallulah is going to come out of my womb waving her middle finger in air. Telling every one to fuck off. She's going to say screw you every one for making my 9 months so freak'n stressful and hectic. With everything that is going on right now, I can keep my raw emotions in from the outside. Usually they are kept in analyzed and rationalized. And after the crying has stopped internally I can talk about it with my loved ones. However, how am I suppose to hide my feelings from the baby growing inside me. Her main existence at this point is depended on me and how I take care of my self. Eating, sleeping, feeling, etc. I'm not a doctor but I do know that stress and depression is hormones that are in my body and wither I show them or not they effect me internally. And of course somehow affecting Tallulah. Goodness!
I stayed up last night on the computer and looking through calenders and legal paper work. Scanning and emailing documents and rebuttals to my attorney. Not the way I wanted to spend the night with my husband and son before I have to fly into battle. Instead of spending the night holding Enso watching reruns of Yo Gabba Gabba, he walked around the house in a diaper way past his bed time getting into every thing! And instead of laying in bed snuggling with my husband, I tossed and turned thinking to my self, "God did I leave anything out"? Oh and not to mention the massive heart burn and little feet kicking my ribs. I actually think Tallulah got her finger and poked the side of my stomach enough to make me gasp to tell me to go to bed. I don't know. That's what it felt like. Well here I am Saturday morning, emailing the last of it to my attorney. Tomorrow is the day. And I am prepared as I will ever be.

On a side note, it was pointed out to me yesterday by my best friend a few grammar error. Yes it's true. Pregnancy has gotten the best of me. And I promise you it will only get worst with lack of sleep. So my http will for ever be morethanpasingthetime.blog spot. When it should have been more then passing the time. Oh well.

It's almost over...

It was so hard to fight back the tears today when I was talking to Zen on the phone. Actually I did a horrible job. As I talked to zen the tears ran down my face. However my voice sounded fine. No shake or quiver. I hope he didn't hear my tears through the phone. I talked to Wednesday. She sounded happy. Why wouldn't she be it's her birthday! I just want to reach through the phone and hug them. I wonder what they are thinking. How they feel. It sounds as if though Wednesday is doing ok. She is finally getting the attention that she never got from her father. When I talk to Zen, I can hear his unhappiness. Zen told me that for lent he is giving up being mean to Wednesday and his step-brother. MEAN! I know that my son is a typical big brother to Wednesday, but it sounds like lately he is going out of his way to be mean. That is not like Zen. What can I do. I have to wait until Monday. Oh I am praying, I mean really praying that everything works out good. That my babies will be home safe with me. I've questioned myself through this whole ordeal...Am I really a good mother? Did I appreciate my children enough? Am I a selfish person? What can I do better? I suppose these are questions that every parent ask them self's. When can I not question my parenting skills. You know, I knew deep down in my soul, that when I waved good-bye to Zen and Wednesday as they walked into the plane that that was the last time I was going to see them for a long while. Every day that they were gone for Christmas Vacation with their father, I had a nagging feeling deep in my gut that something was wrong. And as the days grew closer to the date for Zen and Wednesday to continue their every day life's I got that horrible text..."we need to talk". I knew that the kids were fine, but nothing good could come from this conversation. My heart dropped, my ear's burned, and I was trying not to hold my breath and push the baby out from inside of me. "The kids are staying with me". Every thing just stopped. When I hung up the phone, I vomited in the kitchen sink and my husband said for me to please stop. How could I stop? My children were were thousands of miles away. States away! Just away. I couldn't just go and drive and pick them up. We'll actually I did drive but it took two days and I'm going on a month to finally finish this and have a judge say were the kids should be. That is insane to me. I actually have to prove to a complete stranger who has never known me, my x-husband, or my children. It's come to this. We have to have a stranger make a decision about our life. About our future. This is sad. I did not have a judge while I made them, or got up night after night to breast feed them. I needed no educated law person to tell me when to give them love and care and when to say, "no you can't have that". Or "you need to do your homework". No Judge was here when I had to shell out countless amounts of money on anything the kids needed or wanted, from birth on. I had no judge to tell me that moving to a completely different state was the safest for me, Zen, and Wednesday. ..and now here we are, "please tell me that I am the better parent, please". It's almost over. Just a little bit longer. Only one more week without Zen and Wednesday. Just one more week with out Enso. Just one more week that Ramon will have to be alone with out his wife and children. It's almost over. God give me strength.

Today is my daughters Birthday. I would most likely be happy. But not today. She is not with me. First let me tell you how I would have woken her up today. The same way I've done for the past 8 years. My daughter was born at 12:03 am on a Monday. I went into labor with 4 days after Ash Wednesday. I didn't know it at the time but maybe that is why I named her Wednesday.

If Wednesday was home I would go into her room at 12:03am and sing happy birthday to her. I would tell her the story on how she was born. I would tell her that it was a rainy day and I went walking for what seemed forever around our block because I knew something was happening inside of me. I would leave out that her father did not want to go walking with me because he was playing playstation. I would tell her that it was a cool day with mist. I would tell her how we went to Target to make sure her brother Zen had enough snacks and a special DVD so he would be entertained when I was in labor. I would tell her that I sneaked in a few bites of a Hawaiian Hamburger when I knew I wasn't suppose to eat anything. I would tell her about the labor, about how I was told as a joke to hit her dad. And I actually did. I wouldn't tell her about how good that felt. I would tell her how the student Doctor didn't believe me that her head was coming out and told me to grunt while he stood with his back against the wall pail as the sheets I didn't pee on. I would tell her that she came out of me so pink and plumb and how I felt when the doctors put her naked chubby body on my chest. I would tell her that she woke up every hour that first day in the hospital to eat and when she cried it sounded like a little squeak. I would end her story with a hug and a kiss and put her back to bed.

Out of all the years that I have been Wednesday's mother this year, her 8th birthday will be the first year I won't be able to do that. I will have to cross my fingers and hope that her dad answers the phone and feels just so to let me talk to her. This is one of the worst and helpless feelings I have felt in a long time.

My Children have not been with me for the past two months. I feel so empty. Everyday is a internal struggle not to lose it. I have a 19th month old and I am 32 weeks pregnant. I have a husband AND I have to be strong enough and calm enough to fly to NV to go to court to fight for my two older children to come home. It hasn't been easy. I can say this much this might be that last time I send my children to visit in another state for Christmas. They may never come back. I know....I know... I'm leaving two months of "What the hell happened". I'll get back to that. For now I have to become queen of denial and mama of Enso my 19th month old energy taker.
So until next time.....