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!