Another day, another dollar. Also known as 18 pesos. Per day. For a family of 13. How could anyone live like this? Waking up before the sun rose only to face a long, hard day of nonstop, back breaking labor and come home just before the sun set. The women had it a little bit easier. Except for the fact that they woke up before the men so that they would have a warm meal waiting for them when they woke up. The women spent all day cleaning, tending to the livestock and the children, making sure to provide food with whatever ingredients they could afford to make three meals a day for thirteen people. Sometimes the kids wouldn’t eat because they adults were the ones who really needed the nutrition; they were the ones doing all the heavy work.

   Maria was among those thirteen. She was somewhere in the middle. She wasn’t one of the eldest who were subjected to arranged marriages, nor was she one of the youngest who stayed behind when everyone else made their way to America. She learned what it was like to be an older and younger sister. Suffered and enjoyed both roles. Unfortunately, she was part of the majority that was not allowed to go to school past the 6th grade and her dreams of being a nurse were crushed. “They looked so beautiful to me, with their pretty, white uniforms, helping anyone that came through the door.” But at least she was able to make her own decision about whom she would marry--though under ridiculously strict rules. She was only allowed to see Humberto once a week, for an hour, and he had to travel 20 miles on his horse to come see her. And to top it off, Maria’s father would have to be fully able to watch them, at all times, or else Humberto had to leave. That was the way it had to be or not at all.

   Once they finally got married, Maria knew that Humberto had little but a vision for himself and his family, and she was willing to do anything to help him get there. They had their good times and most certainly their bad times, but at least they were surviving. “When we first came,” says Maria, “We shared a small trailer with one Humberto’s older brothers, Ramon, his daughter Josephina and his wife, Teresa.” Maria looks down and shakes her head. She lets out a sigh and says, “Ay Teresita! I don’t know what I did!”

   Teresa had been in the family for two years already. Maria and Humberto had only been married three months. Everyday was the same. Teresa made Maria do all the chores while she tended to her baby. And when the two men came back, Teresa would sob to her husband about what a terrible and long day she had slaving away in the kitchen and handling the child. At night, Teresa and her husband had the only bedroom while Humberto and Maria had the living room/ kitchen/ bathroom area and the couch to sleep on. So, Teresa would take her sweet time on the couch watching T.V. late at night even when Maria was seven months pregnant. Maria quietly waited for her to go to bed so that she and her husband could arrange the small mattress that was made up of cushions of the sofa.

   Everyone has their breaking point. And Maria’s was the day that Teresa insisted on making lunch. That day Teresa said that she would help Maria make food for everyone. So Maria made fresh tortillas to go with Teresa’s beans and carne asada. When the men came home Teresa was just finishing making lunch. Humberto looked down in shock. Teresa looked at Humberto and said, “I’m so sorry, compadre. Maria said that she would have something made for you two by now. I only made enough for myself, Ramon and Josephina.”

    That. Was. It.

    “I’M DONE.”

   Maria walked out of the trailer without another word and walked two blocks to a park and cried silently on a bench. She felt her child move within her womb and realized something. She saw her her husband approach her out from the corner of her eye. Without a word he held her close. She took a deep breath and said, “We have to leave.” There was no way her son would grow up in a household like that. …

   Maria and Humberto struggled to keep up with the bills for their studio in Santa Rosa. But they did it. Humberto finally had enough money to start his own small business after leaving “Castañeda Brothers.” “I remember I had Humberto Jr. sleeping in the car seat and I would be finishing up signing a few checks.” Maria would make meals for herself and her husband and prepare a diaper bag before she left at 6:30 every morning for work. She supported her husband through the long hard hot days and at night they would travel to San Francisco to deliver the orders of the day. “We’d come back tired, hungry and so, so cold.” Since Humberto was just starting out, he could only afford a small, old, semi truck with no air conditioning or heat, not to mention a broken radio. All this and coming home at 1:00 or 2:00 am, and then start over the next morning. But he was happy. He came to work everyday holding his head tall, proud of where he was and where he planned on going. And Maria stood by him. Yes, she woke up a little earlier and went to bed a little later, but her husband had a dream. And she would do anything to help him achieve that dream. …

   It had been years since she had seen her mother and some of her brothers and sisters by the time that Maria had Humberto Jr, Gabriel and myself. My mother was excited for her parents and little sister Leticia to come and see her in America. Though they only came for a short visit, she tidied up her entire house until it was pristine. I don’t know what she was so worried about. Her family all lived in their old mud house, in the middle of a farm, in an isolated area in Mexico. Even if we were just living in our small house on Navarro Road, they wouldn’t judge. But everything had to be perfect! My mother wanted always wanted all of her guests to feel welcomed; she went overboard in giving them everything they needed. ...

   One time, my cousin Gloria (Teresa’s youngest daughter) wanted to sleepover at my house. (She and I were very close as kids, regardless how much tension there was between our parents.) My mother welcomed her happily. “Mija, our problems have absolutely nothing to do with you,” she told me. But then it when it was bedtime Gloria looked around and said, “Where’s your bed?” I pointed at the blankets and bed comforters on the floor that were meant to make to make the floor more comfortable. “That’s not a bed. That is.” she pointed at the my parents’ bed. I told her “That’s for adults.” then I pointed to the crib “Those are for babies, I’m not a baby anymore so I gave it to my little sister, Linda Faviola,” I said proudly.
   
    “I don’t want to sleep here anymore,” she said, “I want my bed. My OWN bed.”
   
    I didn’t understand what was wrong with my bed. It was totally fine. Every once in a while I’d get my toes stepped on, but that was okay. Better me than the baby.

   My mother would not have history repeat itself. I was five when my mother gave me my own room. I had Barbie ballerina sheets, blanket and a matching comforter. We put glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and I had my own dresser. (I later took the initiative to decorate it with beautiful stickers and masterpieces I had created in preschool and kindergarten.) The family business was growing and there were only three rooms in the house, so half my room was the company office. I loved my big brothers Gaby and Tito (my nicknames for Gabriel and Humberto Jr.). Gabriel sacrificed his own room so Favi and I could share and he and Tito could share. …

   Maria is 48 years old. She looks in the mirror and considers her age. They appeared when she turned 45. They’re located throughout her scalp and they’re silver. When she turned 40 she started getting dark spots. When she turned 35 her eyes permanently creased right when she smiled. I think her eyes are beautiful. I think she’s absolutely beautiful. My mother, a warrior, a doctor, a friend, a caregiver and a teacher. She looks down at her thickened body. “I used to be a double zero.”

   “Yes,” said my father, “and sick because you didn’t have enough to eat.”

   My mother says she ‘used to’ be beautiful. But see in my head, she’s more beautiful. Those “crow’s feet” are her badge of happiness with her husband and kids. Those dark spots are from the long hard days under the sun to give me my own room. Every pound was from every child she dreamed of and bore. And those greys are because of us. Because of the great burden that her heart carried when her daughter failed Algebra. When her eldest son let her down. When her youngest son becoming a father so soon. She has no badge on her body to show all the love she’s given. But I know it’s there.

   Though both her sons didn’t make it to prestigious colleges and become doctors as she had dreamed, she still loves them unconditionally. When my eldest brother struggled, she didn’t give up on him. Now he’s a real estate agent and is applying for a firefighting job. She didn’t give up on Gabriel and now he’s on his way of becoming the owner of Humberto Castañeda Produce. And she hasn’t given up on me. She has done everything to get me here. It’s my turn to take care of her because she deserves nothing less than the best.

   My mother is beautiful. My mother is my Superwoman.