I love

John Grisham. I love John Grisham. As an author.

The Partner. The Client. The Street Lawyer. The Firm. The Chamber. The Pelican Brief. Also, The Brethren, which I got one day as no-occasion present from my then-suitor now husband. I love these and more.

And then he called me. Today, as I sprightly walked in the office after a five-day break, he called me.

Because he, my suitor turned husband, is buying me The Broker.

vacation-ing at home

I’ve just came out from my short blogging hiatus. At last.

Actually, I also had an unexpected “vacation” from work. For quite some time, I haven’t warmed my bum on my ergo seat in the office and haven’t commanded an oh-so serious look while facing the monitor, as if doing something of high importance (when all along I’m just blogging! Hah!). Oh-lala, I have been spared from work-related concerns and network worries. For five glorious days. Bliss, bliss, bliss.

But then in the five days that I stayed at home, I was doing…everything. Everything except blogging or writing. Nor did I have the time to think about blogging, much less miss it. Really.

Last Thursday, my sister came down with a GI bug and my father did not feel too good either. With mother attending to their needs during the day, I didn’t have to think twice about dropping everything else and taking care of dear son.

That night, my sister was brought to the hospital and for the first time, I spent a night home alone with only my son as company.

And no sooner had my father, who helped my mother attend to my sis in the hospital, felt a little better than my mother fell ill too. So my supposed one-day leave from work turned into a mandatory three-day leave.

And I found myself busy as a bee mothering not only my son but the family members I’m living with as well. Even when my sister was discharged from the hosp by Thursday noon.

By “mothering” I meant slaving over the stove and making sure everybody had their meals on time, playing nurse to my mother and sister, doing the dishes, taking care of my son’s laundry, keeping the house clean and somewhat sanitized (for everyone’s sake!), humoring a super active boy…yaddi, yadda…and everything in between. It went on like this for five days. My life was certainly a marathon of household chores. What a life!

What a hectic life! Indeed. Sensibly, blogging had to take the backseat. Of course! I hardly even had the time to comb my hair.

Surprisingly though, I was not complaining. Everyday, I woke up earlier than usual (despite the lack of sleep) with a light heart, a smile and a matching energy to boot. Really, really true. Despite the God-help-me long list of household chores to accomplish. That energy just helped me get through it all (thanks God!).

I still don’t know why I felt so great and happy- I still feel the “bounce” now. Of course, I didn’t feel good about my love ones getting sick and all. But then staying at home and doing the mundane, I think, had done me more good than I could have ever imagined. I feel lighter in the heart now, my stride feels lighter, too. Something must have happened while I was deep in my knees doing nothing and everything. I wonder what.

P.S. Maybe too much Sesame Street put some “bounce” back.

almost

If I were to turn one moment of my life into a 3-minute flick, I’d have chosen an afternoon of late when a seemingly innocent mineral water bottle somehow found its way to my son’s hand.

I daresay that it had the needed elements in one full package. Suspense. Drama. Comedy. And a bonus twist.

Moreover, the actor is, by consequence and by choice, my favorite. My son.

So there he was holding the almost empty mineral bottle. What could possibly be wrong with that? Nothing really, had my imp of a son not found a better way of emptying it- by aiming to pour out the last of its content on a very live electric outlet, silently lying on the floor just few centimeters away from him. But then, kids are, indeed, predictably unpredictable.

Luckily though, he missed it by a hair’s breadth!

[With fear slowly ebbing away, myriad of emotions hit me full force. Relief, annoyance, rage… I was really really really upset. Honestly mad.]

“MATT, YOU…,” livid me started to chastise him in a louder than usual voice. But checking myself, I cut myself short in mid-sentence, unwilling to let anger get the better of me.

I was still seething but gritting my teeth and scanning my ire-addled brain for something constructive to say, when my son quickly butted in, “You, vee, doe you (double-you)...”

The unaffected man of the hour gleefully continued in the tune of the Alphabet song! His initial reaction of wide-eyed wonder was slowly replaced with a sheepish grin.

And I couldn’t help it, I broke into laughter myself. In times like this, I think dear tot is becoming more like my husband in character despite his constant-albeit-unwanted absence.

Lesson: Humor is a dangerous powerful weapon. It is a magic spell.

Why do I blog thee

A male friend of mine thinks that like lipsticks, blogging and friendster-ing are a girl thing.

I just smiled. And didn't say anything to contradict or affirm his theory. And we moved on talking about other issues.

But I didn't quite forget about that comment. I was not offended or anything but I didn't forget about that.

Because.

I have yet to thank my husband for starting it all. (But then didn't I already thank him here?).

He did sort of pave the way - my way to blogging.

He surprised me, one day, when he asked me to check out on this. He said, it's something he made for our son. It must have been his way to deal with the loneliness of not being able to see us -his family everyday.

But to me, it looked more than that. It's a gesture of love.

Hubby would post pictures of dear Matt (which i previously sent him) and add captions (which I'd sometimes edit) there.

Sometimes, I would insert posts and adjust the dates.


Later on, I began entertaining the idea of signing up for a new one, where I could freely pour my thoughts out. Without messing up with the one hubby made for our son.


It actually became another mode to bridge the distance to my husband, who works away from home. For him to get a picture of what's happening at home. Or to get the story straight from the (mother) horse's mouth.


As well as my therapy.

(2/2) On motherhood: I feel different

Previous post

Do I make it sound as if becoming a mother makes a woman grow fangs? Pardon me. Although that's figuratively true, too. Like one could be capable of brandishing sharp claws to protect her young ones from all the harm in this world. But so different is a mother because one moment, one can be a symbol of bravado and be unyielding. Yet squishy, mushy soft, the next. (And I'm definitely like this all the time)


But when I say different, I am not implying that we are unkind, uncaring persons before the Delivery-Room moment. Maybe we were good. Now, better. And different. Certainly different.


Somewhat dogmatic me, for instance, likes a quiet bedtime and orderly bed. But when you have a toddler at home, who cares about “quiet and order”? I tell you, the peals of laughter from the tot will all be your source of comfort and joy. And then you just have to put “order” in the garbage bin and forget about it. Because you just cannot throw a fit when you find yourself sharing the bed with more than just your kid, but the whole troop of soft, hard and metallic toys!


In the past, I used to squirm when I see women nursing their babies in public places. I didn't imagine I'll be able to do that too. No, not when there are people who might gawk. Not in my wildest dream. I never really expected myself to be capable of that. I didn't know that one kid later, I would be in for a surprise.


I have changed. Maybe not too drastically. But that makes me feel different.


Sometimes, I think I must be too sensitive already. A month ago, we saw a seventy-something man who works abroad as a garbage collector or something. He was featured on TV and he said he hasn't seen his family, his kids for a very long time because he doesn't earn that much to be able to afford the expenses of coming home. That moved me and made me shed some tears (not copious but tears all the same) because I felt his pain, his deep longing as a parent to see his kids.


I cry over the life story of seventy-something, but how much more for the little ones?


And that brings me to the answering why I’m writing what I’m writing. Because THAT is exactly why I’m writing what I’m writing now.

I feel different, and most especially when the subject is the children. When I hear of a nine-month old to undergo an open-heart surgery, to correct a congenital disease. When I see a grubbily-clad toddler lying on the sidewalk or bare-footed youngsters rummaging through a pile of garbage. When I read about Annie’s daughter. Or read about the plight of exploited and abused kids, I feel different.

I look at them with mother’s eyes, listen with mother's ears and feel for them with mother’s heart. And pray for them like they are my own.

***

How did motherhood change you?

(1/2) On motherhood: Feeling different

When you become a mother, you just feel different. I couldn’t quite put a finger to it except to say that, you just feel different. Or maybe that’s just from my own standpoint. I feel different everyday. I'm still the same me but I am different in more than a thousand ways.

So different that, for me, to use one word just cannot encompass all the feelings of being a mother. So inadequate, I think. And honestly, I don’t think there’d even be one word that can do that. Even to use the adverb motherly might not suffice because other than implying about being a mother or showing attributes that of a mother, it is simply vague. That’s just like an arrow aimed for bullseye but fell meters short off the target and didn’t really come close to hitting it.

So, what precisely are the attributes that make one motherly? Such a loooooooong long list of adjectives, I might say. More patient. More considerate. More loving. More enduring. More intense. More compassionate. More perceptive. More sensitive. More, more and more. My best attempt at capturing the feeling is only to add more before each adjective even though sometimes it really, really is MORE THAN just more. And all that may still be lacking and still conjure less than half of the picture, but that’s the best I can do to describe being a mother.

The amazing thing is, the capacity to be all that is immeasurable.

But then it also goes without saying that, sadly, not all mothers become these though. A sad fact. But consider too that it’s not even because one brought a life in this world, that makes one a mother. So they say. Why, then, would there be many of them urchins begging in the streets?

Getting back on track, I am not describing myself with ALL those terms. That would be cheeky of me and I am not that audacious yet. Haha. But then, that doesn’t say I am not hoping that one day Matt would describe me to be all that and more. That would truly be compliment of all compliments.

So what am I trying to tell then? First, I’ll venture a shy half stride forward to say, uhmmm, SOME. I feel I’m some of those terms. NOT ALL but some, just some. Especially when it comes to children. Kids. Matters concerning the little ones. Even if he, she, they are not my own, they always touch a chord in my heart.

***

Do you feel the same way too?

An excerpt

To my number #1 reader, who doesn't like to comment online but who is the reason I'm back into writing. He who keeps me all aflame
***

Sometime in the past, hubby and I were talking about ourselves, our characters and our relationship.

Hubby: You are fire, and I am water.

I couldn't be too sure now but knowing myself only too well, I know I must have had a harried expression on my face then ( let's say, it's more from the motherly responsibilities than anything... smirk!). But I could clearly recall thinking, me- fire? What does he mean by that?

Does he think I'm the angel of destruction? God, no. It sounded like I could wipe a village down to ashes. Ominous.

Fire is powerful. Too powerful and dreadful, in fact. Do I wield that much power?

Does he think I'm passionate? Now, wouldn't that be interesting. Romantic me thinks living life without passion is absolutely not living it. Don't you think so too?

Fire could mean strength. But to actually be compared to fire sounded not good to me.

Ironically, I, who is a short fuse, wanted to be water - a cool liquid with quiet strength.

So what really does he mean by that?

Hubby, explaining to me in a no-nonsense tone: [It only means] we complement each other.



Translation: [If you could use some dousing] I could douse a raging fire. [But I could also use some heat, some warmth, some light] so kindling a comfortable smolder will be all welcome.

***

So what about you, what best describes your character with respect to your partner?

Photo credit: FotoSearch

wedding bells

We’ve received one very wonderful news at so late last night. My brother –the eldest among all sibs- will be getting married real soon. Finally. And that makes him the second to get married in our family (the first is obviously yours truly).

It hasn’t quite sank in yet. But then we know that this kind of news really takes some time to actually sink in. No matter how ready you seem to be to hear it.

Definitely, we’ve all been waiting to hear something like this from him. And we, all of us who are already in the know, are very very delighted and excited to hear this latest development in his life. My parents. My sister AJ. Maybe my son is too, judging from his latest pre-occupation of calling out “Tito Mike, Tito Mike, microphone” (whatever that means) many times (actually, that's everyday since last week).

Boy, I’m just so glad he’s deciding to get hitched at last. He’s been putting it in the sideline for quite sometime now. For awhile there, I have been a little concerned that, with him so busy taking care of a flourishing career in the military, he might end up missing out on something wonderful as starting a family.

Hearing wedding bells always brings me such a high in spirits! Another fireworks ey? And gun salutes, too.

Tagged: Weird things about me..

Was tagged by G to post six weird stuffs about me, and here goes my list.

I am....

• Missus Total Recall. There are things I can remember down to the tiniest detail. Strangely enough, there are also important things that, without my meaning to and just when it matters, slip out of my mind.

• Missus Strapless. I like wearing strapless xxxs. The catch is I like snapping them in place AFTER I've donned on the top. I have yet to, maybe, thank the designers for coming up with the strapless kind, because I always have the option to sneak them underneath after I put on a top.

So, when you add #1 and #2, you get total disaster. That's right! I'm so Missus Misses and I have gone out more than 3x already, sans these trimmings. Once to church and more than twice to work.

These are statistics which I cannot really be too proud of, because in the Philippines , like in most Asian countries, wearing a xxx is a must-do. You can only imagine the attention you’d be getting if you fail to do that. And unless you purposely want to draw all that attention to yourself, you would really feel embarrassed.

So help me remind my Missus Misses self to snap the xxx on right after donning the top and not a moment later.

• Missus HAND. I like to hand wash my clothes. I insist. We used to have a washing machine but I was never able to use it. Ever. Not ONCE. I haven’t really learned to use it at all.

And then, I also like to do it all by myself. Letting other people do my laundry doesn’t sit well with me. I still feel that way now, even if we have cleaners who come by our house to do the laundry once week. I still wash some of my clothes (although I have relinquished some heavy stuff like my pants and jackets because washing them proves to be so time-consuming and energy-sapping) and all of my son’s, too (if my mother hasn't gotten to it first..hehe).

But when doing the laundry, I never mix mine with my son's. I just don’t.

• Missus HANDYMAN. I know how to use the following: screwdrivers, pliers, Allen wrenches, shears, crowbars, shovels and...uhm, my imagination (joke!). I dig repairing than buying, especially toys which my son always, always has the knack of disassembling.

As expected, I linger in home and do-it-yourself shops more than in clothes/shoes/personal effects stores or the grocery. I am just so fascinated with the interesting goods you find there that time seems to fly so fast when I'm inside these shops.

• So by now, you might have faint idea that I could be Missus HAND-ish. I do have a hand fetish. I like looking at long and slender fingers. Working hands. Mine are stubby and unappealing though. But my husband’s are nice, the exact opposite of mine and that gave him enough plus points.

• Missus Rock and Blues. For someone who loves the music of Linkin Park, Evanescence, Nirvana, Metallica and other rockin'&rollin' bands like you- and me, you’d think I must be out of my mind to also love mellow, sappy songs.
  

• I’d like to think I’m Missus ORGANIZED. Other people think so, too. Or maybe seemingly organized. But I honestly can be vainly and painfully organized. Because if I don't try to plan ahead or put things in their proper order, I'm more inclined to fret and fidget. So, it's actually more for my peace of mind than anything else. But my bag, check my bag, because, it is so so far from orderly.

That's all folks! Maybe I am so, so, so... But lemme tell you, I'm happily so!

Now, I'm tagging no one in particular but if you'd like to do this too, fire away! Aww, on second thought, to my friend Bvlgari, if you want to do this, consider yourself tagged.

Happy weekend everyone!

some nights in a mother's life

Silent night. All is calm. All is dark. Actually, it's pitch-black dark because we -mother and son prefer it that way.

Perfect. Everything's just perfect.

At the right time, my dear tot sleeps. At the right place - in the circle of my warm embrace, he slumbers.

Comfy makeshift bed. Soft pillows. The right room temp.

And a soothing music to boot. The even breathing of my son and the gentle humming of the aircon blend well, creating such a perfect melody.

I would have liked to succumb to blessed peaceful slumber there and then. But no, not yet. I still have one little tidying task to do as yet, I'd patiently and firmly remind myself. One more reality to face before I could hit the sack.

Even before flicking the main light on, I could already see the mini pandemonium that is our room.

I see a similar picture in my mind's eye

Happy Birthday!

My sister, Jacky is celebrating her birthday today.

And I know she must feel so homesick already, and doggedly tired with her work. But here's to hoping she finds the time to celebrate and to give herself a treat of relaxation.

***

MAMI,

We love you and miss your laughter and cooking a lot.

organizing

I'm glad that finally I was able to organize my prized possessions, which I've been dumping in my sister's territory for what seemed to be the longest time (making me, by some degree, the next-to-major contributor to the mess, which my mother kept on complaining about, in her room).

BTW, these so-called prized possessions are little toys that may be interesting yet hazardous to a curious toddler. Generally, these are aka men's toys. Generally.

So with every intent to neatly stash these toys out of the sight and reach of that toddler and to satisfy my order-freak self, I bought myself a must-have toolbox last Thursday. Finally.

A real toolbox.

It has taken me quite a long time to buy one because I wanted to make sure it will be a best-buy.

I would honestly have preferred a Stanley but found none that appeal to my eccentric taste.

Anyway, I believe, this is at par to any Stanley. And I know this would suffice.

My prized loot: wires, screwdrivers, tie-wraps, bolts and nuts and whatnots.

viva la carnival!

One of my best buds, G gave me an idea about this carnival thang.

So one day in my less than ordinary life, I dropped by the site , perused their list, and submitted some.

And forgot all about them, not purposely because you know how I am.

This morning, I got a pleasant surprise when I found out that one of these got featured in the Carnival of Family Life.

On my weekend

If my blogging could be any indication, I am so back. But then I was never even 5km away from home on the weekend that-was.

Last week, I had been excited to wear a tan when I get back, I thought, to work this week. But no, my skin didn’t have the glow of an after-beach tan. Because I didn’t have skin-baking sessions under the sun.

I had been yearning to hear the sweetly enticing sound of the waves as they run to kiss the sands ashore. But heard none over the weekend.

I didn’t even have the chance to smell the salty tang of the sea.

But I don’t mind. Certainly.

Instead, I have basked in the warmth of my son’s peals of laughter. Basked in his wide-eyed attention when he thought I’m heading out of our room.

And I have alternately heard my son whisper and yell sweet-nothings to me.

I have one too many “catch me” games with him. So much so, that at one point, I started feeling cross with all his seemingly unending attempts at mischief. Actually, I got cross because I couldn’t have as much bounce and energy to match his.

And we had so much cat-dog moments, some funny, some wacky, some nerve-fraying.

But all in all, I had a fun-filled weekend too (despite that Sunday incident).

On Papa again

Today being a Sunday, we went to hear an early morning mass. There could have been nothing to write about it, if not for one incident that caught me off guard.

You guessed right. Who else could effortlessly do that except for dear Matt?

The mass was in near finish and everyone’s standing. I was also standing while holding Matt when in a quiet voice, he said “Papa.” For a moment, I didn’t quite grasp what he meant by that. If he hadn’t repeated the word again, I would have dismissed that as random babbling of a verbally groping kid. But he repeated the word again.

And because he was not pointing, all I could do was to follow the direction of his gaze for some clue.

His eyes were fixed on a man, having the same profile as my husband, who was standing couple of pews ahead of us. The man would sometimes turn his head, giving us fair glimpse of his face.

Slightly thrusting his body forward, Matt said the word again. And it didn’t take long for me to figure out that Matt has mistaken that man to be his Poppa.

I could have been grateful when the priest asked the congregation to be seated so as to put that man out of my son’s sight. But as some luck would have it, there were just a small number of us churchgoers, and the big gaps and spaces still gave us a good view of that man and his kids. It didn’t help one bit that he was PDA-ying (read: kissing and hugging) with his kids as Matt looked on.

He softly whispered the word one more time and then he was silent. Did I sense yearning?

Even if firm was the last thing I could be deep within, I said firmly,"No, Matt. It's not Papa. Papa's in Cebu."

Though uncommonly silent, he continued to stare and observe the man’s every movement with his eyes.

I honestly felt like crying. And I was so concerned what he was actually thinking while he gazed straight at him, at his kids.

And GOD forgive me because I also felt like I wanna cuss. Dang!

Patting myself on the back

I wanted to give myself a whooping congratulation for mustering enough courage to drive to the mall.

Confetti? Or how about some fireworks? I am so in the mood of making a big deal out of this minor development in my driving practice. Haha.

But this is actually a rare time. Because I don’t really like going past the maze of traffic, which is so typical of streets leading to the mall. I hate it. But what else can I do if I live in a country boasting of mad speed-freak drivers?

And so goes my reason why I don’t volunteer driving to the mall.

But then, I couldn’t forever be sitting pretty in the passenger seat and let someone take the wheel and sweat it through the traffic.

Nor let my father bring us –or me- to the mall forever. That would just be too preposterous bordering to being illogical.

and i , you thought...

I'm still here.

Yeah, yeah. You read me right the first time.

I'm still here. I am here at home. Contrary to, possibly, everyone's belief.

I have to forego with my travel plans, with my wanting to romance the sea and the sand and with my wanting to relax and enjoy.

A star called frequent LBM afflicted dear son, thus deterring me from traveling with some of my colleagues.

Although I understand that I also have various roles to play in this life, one thing is clear to me and that is to be a mother first. So pardon me for the let down of not finding attractive beach pictures in my post now.

Ayyy, saying. I heard someone say in the background. Of course, to miss out on the opportunity to chill out in Dakak is sayang because that’s an all-expense-paid trip (and you know I’m such a sucker to things given for free).

But had I decided to push through with that, I would also have to face the ire of a moon called dear mother, whom I expected to do everything in her power to keep me at home. Everything, short of pointing a gun in my face (and I wouldn't blame her).

You know what they say about this, it’s really one of those tricky when-you’re-not-there-you-worry-but-when-you’re-there-you-end-up-worrying-all-the-same situations. But no, I’m really far from worrying now, but I must admit I’m thinking, I’m wondering of the fun and adventure of being in such a tourist-y place. But then, if I were in Dakak now, knowing myself to be such a worrywart, I know I’d only end up thinking and worrying myself sick with the health of a kid I left at home. So for everyone’s sake, me and my sanity included, I stayed.

Matt’s not showing any sign of LBM today. And although I'm not romancing the sea and the sand, but only the keyboards, I’m really glad I stayed.

Boy, I'm just glad I stayed.

To Dakak

I'll be off to Dakak tomorrow. Woooohoooo!


But I'm not sure if I can squeeze some time to make some notes for this blog. I am not really sure I wanted to do that.

Because I just want to enjoy (even if I'm not bringing my son and my husband with me *groan*sigh*), relax, enjoy and relax. I hope I won't mess up miss them toooo much to be able to relax and enjoy *crossing my fingers.*

But I hope to post pictures when I get back. I would love to do that. On second thought, maybe I'll just make some mental notes for me to recall when I get back. That would be nice, ey?

Have a happy and refreshing weekend everyone!

A Pants (War) Story

Late last year, when flared-sies could be considered as mainstream popular,

Flared-sies, refusing to budge: "Don't I just look grand?"

I detected few pairs of skinnies strutting around town. Just a few of them that you could count them by ticking off your fingers.
But although there were just few of them, you couldn't miss noticing their attempt to knock the flared-sies over their firm perch on the fashion ground. They were throwing off stones, shooting arrows, firing water guns, stomping their feet and stepping on toes firmly rooted to the ground. Comparatively, if flared-sies were Goliath, then skinnies were David, feebly trying to topple a giant.

Skinnies, persistently trying: "You just wait! When our time comes, it will be a riot!"

Back then, I believe flared-sies were only teeny-weeny annoyed with their weak attempts but not really threatened with all that. But I could already sense a very tense atmosphere, very similar to when a person meets his antagonist face to face, for the very first time. Animosity was unmistakably high in the air.

But of course, it's not the first time that skinnies showed up their gorgeous heads, err legs. They've been here before, they graced the fashion ramp, walked all the streets of the globe. Until their time came, a time when they eventually lost their appeal to the fashion gurus. A sad time when they would have to be shelved back to old cabinets and bauls.

Incidentally, I bought myself a not-yet-trendy pants that fit perfectly like a second skin that very same time last year. Mind you, the attraction was more of economics in nature than fashionistic. That pair of pants I found hanging in a rack was sold for only half its original price. Although I still thought that flared-sies have all the advantage of surviving the pressure and could possibly last three to five more years, the bargain-hunter in me just couldn't resist that offer. Or is it safe to believe I have fashion instincts too? Ha!

Months later, but not really to my surprise, the proof that even David could topple a giant was all evident. The streets boldly shout his victory, in all different languages and colors.

And the flared-sies' time has come. And NOW is that sad time, their sad time when they will slowly have to be shelved back to old cabinets and bauls.

if we can only...

I am awed at the the power of barely a-square-inch something.

A bite size. Or technically smaller than a bite size BabyRuth.

So small and yet so powerful. It can wipe out a single character or everything in a flash. With just a tap of a finger.

Small and not really terrible. (it can only be terrible if you pushed it by mistake)

I am most certain 'tis the most frequently used button in my PC. When making write-ups. Email. Reports. Blogging. Organizing my files.

I am definitely guilty for over-using its power.

Presenting the delete button.

It seems like I just can't get enough of it, of using it.

So what if we take its power to a higher level? If it were possible.

Imagine if human memory works similarly like our typical computer memory. And creation of files started from birth up to how old we are now (and what we are now). Meaning, it still continues to create now. Files and files would have amassed in our brain already. Files and files of human activities. Of experiences. Of knowledge. Of people we have met and known. Of places we have been. Of every bit and all pieces of ourselves.

If files are created in our brain, in our lives, imagine everyone's need to perform a purging process. Not much of capacity concern but of human narcissistic tendencies. Of wanting to be perfect before anyone's eyes, to be prude. Of the need to be appreciated, to be loved.

Although I am far from calling myself as prudent, I am not excluding myself of these self-serving needs.

I shouldn't have done it, press delete. I shouldn't have said that, press delete. I shouldn't have seen it, press shift-delete. I shouldn't have heard that, press shift-delete.

But then what would we learn out of what remains in our memory? Or would we ever learn if we can erase as easily as that?

The PC remains a PC, one piece of equipment which is dependent on its user. It cannot decide on its own, meaning it has not learned one bit. Not from the users' mistakes. Not by repetition.

But GOD designed our brain to retain information, experiences, memories. To remember. Bad and good things alike. Because it is by remembering, by recalling the past, that we all learn.

Don't we?


This must have been the result to my constant staring at the keyboard yesterday.

just in time

I received this text message from my sis AJ, while in the midst of multi-tasking (read: conducting routine test calls and internet-ing!):

MGA PAALALA (reminders):

1. Nka xxx ka ba? (did you wear your xxx?)
2. Tawagan mo ang Philcom... (call a landline service provider)
3. Blah..blah, blah...

I had big laughs thinking that she's acting like a personal assistant, my personal assistant and reminding me of my what-to-dos. Perfect.

After that disastrous episode of forgetting to wear some bare essential (item #1) yesterday, I think I really need that.

I actually forgot. Gasp! My lips are sealed. I know you'd be aghast if you'd learn about my recent blunder so I'm not saying what it was. But shame on me for forgetting.

Sister, oh, sister. So smart and thoughtful and funny of her to remind me. Her being the youngest in the brood, and me, the eldest sister.

lost the words

I don't know what to write today. Nothing comes to mind and I just start looking at the keyboard for an inspiration. I'm fidgeting in my seat now in my desperate attempt to rack my brain for something.

Judging with the time I have in my hand plus the fact that the boss is not around, I should have finished a 10-paragraph post by now.

But there's really just nothing I can think of writing as of late. Forgive me.

A blessing

Isn’t GOD wonderful?

No I’m not going to make any big announcement or some big statement following that first one either. Not now.

Actually, if I re-think about it, about what I’m going to write here, I expect people to only sneer and go “so what?” or “too ordinary" or the worse, "like I care.” (Chalk it as the pessimism of the optimist.lol)

But I just wanted to say God’s been wonderful to me today. Because I have been spared from the sad consequence brought about by red tape in the company. This time (for me), it's sending-signing-approval of certain money-related docs. The sad consequence would have been salary deduction due to unliquidated cash, which, I might just add, I have not spent a single cent on myself.

I have spoken with the Accounting woman last week, explaining to her that the docs are already in transit and that she may receive these on the date of the deadline itself or maybe a day late. I was asking if she could consider the delay but her reply was terse and non-committal and she stressed to me that unless she has these papers in her hand, there’s just no way, she can do anything about the deadline, or the possible salary deduction.

There. That's company policy. And I understand that. But to have the whole amount deducted from my semi monthly pay-out means leaving me with a negative amount in the payslip! Of course, with mouths and a baby to feed, I’m so worried of that. I feared about that.

But thanks God. Because today, when I called the woman from Accounting Dept again, to follow up the status of the docs, she said she already have them. Got it later than expected but she said, it's okay 'coz the deadline is extended anyway.

Sigh. I'm just so grateful. I can breathe easily now. Sigh. Smile

.

Monday morning

I woke up this morning with my son hugging and shaking me awake.

It's still few minutes after 5AM. Too early. Groan.

But then, that's expected for someone who slept earlier than usual.

What's not expected though was Matt demanding, "Papa, hug, hug. Papa, hug." Fancy waking up with more than a ruffled hair? I honestly don't.

That left me racking my brain and fumbling for words to gently explain to a one-year-old that Pop's gone back to work.

Oh, I hate Mondays. Growl. Groan.

I just hate Monday mornings, after hubby goes back to Cebu. I really I hate the feeling of seeing Matt waking up and finding out that his Papa is no longer in bed or anywhere else around the house.

hubby's health check

It's confirmed. Hubby has diastolic hypertension.

So that's what the doctor said to him last Saturday when we went to a clinic to have him checked (supposedly for blood sugar).

It means the diastolic value of his blood pressure (bp) is beyond normal (maybe for his age and weight). When you say your bp reading is, for example, 120/90, the value after the "over" is the diastolic. So in the example, it's 90. And the 120 is the systolic value of bp.

The doctor, however, did not prescribe any med for him. Not just yet, he said. At his early thirties, he feels hubby's still too young to be prescribed with "maintenance." With proper diet and regular exercise, he said, this condition may be controlled, with his bp brought at normal acceptable value. He hoped.

And I hoped, too.

Now, the ball is in hubby's hand.

bad, bad, very, very, verrrry bad Papa

I was in the kitchen busy doing motherly duties, when I heard a news bit from the sala* TV that had me frozen to the bones.

With a mind of their own, my elephantsy feet brought reluctant me standing next to my father who was silently and attentively watching the evening news.

The news anchor said that the (prime suspect) father of the three-year-old girl who was found afloat on a creek, lifeless and bearing numerous stab wounds, was already found admitting to the commission of the crime.

That had me goose-pimply all over. Disgusting despicable father. killed. his innocent daughter. Eerie. Really, really unsettling news.

I just felt so sick in the stomach while listening to that horrid item.

With gloom in my heart and a little seed of hate directed toward that evil of a person, I resolutely walked back to washing my son's clothes. Without a doubt, the smell and feel of detergent in the sudsy water would dispel these unwanted emotions away.

So didn't I tell you I just hate, hate watching news these days?

sala - living room

Introducing Christ

A Christian mama like me also wants my kid (or coming kids) to know Christ. Not so much for any righteous reason or anything but for the young, for them to get acquainted with Someone who exemplifies obedience in all His life.

But it's a wait-and-see attitude for me. Actually, it's teach-comma-wait-and-see attitude.

Because what's clear to me now is that I'll leave it to the kids to decide what to make of that, of Christianity in their own lives.

I'll give the options but will not force them on their throats. An example would be, although I'd like also for Matt to attend Sunday classes or hear mass regularly, I cannot force him, when the time comes, to do that when he doesn't want to. Yeah, it's like that.

And right now, I'm slowly groping for a way to introduce Christ in dear Matt's life. Nothing complicated, it's just small things that may (or may not) matter. Kiddo is way too young for Sunday School lessons or big complicated things like that. So it's just little things like teaching him to make the Sign of the Cross, pointing out images of Jesus, Mary, Joseph or some angels and saints or praying with him before bedtime.

I'm even avoiding calling Mary as Mama Mary or referring Joseph as Papa Joseph because that might confuse my son. But in the context of Christ being her son (and telling Matt that), I use Mama Mary.

Read more of the recent session we have had of this alternative teaching at home, click here.

About Fireworks#1

I've seen people come and go, people in my company come and go, friends come and go. There's not much issue on the coming, it's the going and going away at that, that's much harder to get in terms with sometimes.

I've heard much of people in my company, people who are also my friends going away, especially this past few weeks. They are going away, moving on to higher grounds, to greater opportunities.

And I truly am happy for them, even ecstatic for some. How can I not be when it only means...ummm, having friends to lend you bigger bucks now. Seriously though, sometimes it really feels that their success is also relatively mine. So when I say I'm happy for them, I truly, truly mean it.

But you can actually call me happy-sad. Sad because the thought of people leaving is not really pleasant. How can being left behind be pleasant at all? It can only be when these people annoy you to no end. So you gladly smile and heave a sigh of relief that they're getting off your back, at last. *Smirk* But people leaving such as friends, not the fair-weather kind can be disheartening, disconcerting, or worse, maybe harrowing at times.

Sometimes, you go through a moment of denial before learning to accept that you just have to let butterflies fly, no matter how fond you are to keep them to yourself. However reluctantly.

Even then, when you really have accepted to let go, you also find yourself clinging to memories, albeit too tightly.

Early July Weather

An illustration of the weather this side of town.

It's pretty warm as is expected in the tropics at this time of the year.

And maybe warmer than usual because of the heat coming from...I don't know where. Or did I say radiating microwaves? No, don't look at me like that (in fact, don't look at me at all). Look at the structure at the right side of my head.


And expect a light wind to blow your hair in a gentle caress. The kind that would teasingly blow your skirt an inch above the knee.

Blow your worries away.


And yes, I know I shouldn't forget to mention about the clouds. The Cirrus clouds are such a pretty sight. Enjoy, enjoy the pretty sight.


Ayyyy no, it's not me again. Sadly, I just cannot say that to myself, no no no, not to me. Lol.

The wispy Cirrus clouds can lighten the mood, ey?

But later in the afternoon, when you look up to the sky, you'll see that they're all gone. And in place will be those dark Nimbus clouds carrying light to heavy rain. Just one click of the fingers. Just like that.

One moment it's hot, hot, hot the next ,it's dreary, dreary, dreary.


And this has been the unsmiling weather woman wanna-be trying to, just like Grover, sell the weather here . And saying, you're every bit wiser to protect your eyes from harmful glare of the sun.


But you'll be wisest and you'll find you're best off, if you don't take things -even the weather- seriously.

Have a happy heart, smile (coming from the unsmiling weather woman wanna-be herself) and enjoy life, anywhere you may be in the globe.

Fireworks # 1

We were already asked for our passports for VISA stamping by the Canadian Embassy.

Holy, holy cow! I just went stark-raving-mad.

Psssssss..Boom! Bang! Fireworks. Gee, I told you there'd be fireworks in July. And boy aren't they just loud. Pretty loud. And the smoke is making me almost teary-eyed.

But who cares, I'm happy, I'm ecstatic.. for my friend.

Blink, blink.

Yes, it's their passports. Theirs. Not ours. Owwwws.

But really, I was at a loss for words when I got that message from my friend, Che (who's also Matt's godmother and officemate before she's transferred to Ozamis late last year). Dumbfounded may even be the correct term.

And also floored because my son was perfecting one of his circus acts again, with the concentration and determination of a pro at the same time that I got the news. Or maybe my son felt he needed to do some crazy somersaulting in tune with the fireworks.

Or maybe the fireworks were meant for this heart-stopping circus act.

And I'm sure that there really are fireworks bursting in the sky at the other side of the globe, too. 4th-of-July fireworks.

But whatever.

It remains a fact that fireworks are now starting to rain from the sky.

Not really on me, on us but it's inching real closer to us.

Rain, rain

Me: It’s been raining here

Hubby: So how about letting Matt play in the rain.

Silence.

Months and months, maybe a year ago, kiddo used to cringe at the sound of rain. He would tightly hug me, duck and bury his head in the security of my chest.

I had promised myself to change all that.

Today, son looks forward to seeing a rain drop. He is so enthusiastic even if the loud clapping of thunder that accompanies it, scares him. When he hears it coming, he would excitedly scurry to our window, pull back the curtain and stand on tiptoe just to see them drop. With unmistakable sparkle in his eyes, he'd stare and stare and stare. Most of the times, he'd let out a happy shriek. It does give him a high in spirits. The simple joys of a child. Priceless.

Now back to hubby’s suggestion.

After a momentary hesitation, I said: “I think he’s still too young. Maybe when…” When what? 2? 3? Maybe 5 y/o?


Would I really want Matt to run around and risk getting colds? Am I willing to concede and let my son enjoy a day under the rain. It really sounds lovely.

But again. How about acid rain? I actually Wikied it. But is there really such a thing?

You know, I’ve had my share of rain baths when I was young. Totally awesome to the young. But Matt. I’m not really sure I want to give him that experience.

Hello. Hello..! on me. Son is not grains of salt or sack of sugar. He’s not gonna melt.

But that’s not the end of it. Not too long had passed, after that conversation with my better half, when my mother came in our room. She’s smiling and teasing my son (and I quote verbatim), “C’mon Matt, do you want to take a bath, in the rain?”

I couldn’t believe my ears. My mother. Of all people. I didn’t ask, but she must be kidding. I know she must be kidding.

What do you think? Yes no? Yes? No? Yes. Ahh, no. Yes. No. Maybe yes. No, maybe not. Yes? It cannot possibly harm the kids, right? I mean I see a lot of kids playing in the rain.

So would you let your kids bathe in the rain?