Reethinking Life

My First Blog Carnival

2011-03-19T12:11:00.002+08:00

I haven't been updating this blog too much, because most of my time is spent taking care of the kids, and maintaining my mommy website, Rainy Days and Mom Days. Do drop by. And please check out my latest post--my first for a mommy blog carnival--and the posts of the other breastfeeding moms.

Yes, We're Still Alive!

2011-03-01T14:21:00.002+08:00

It's been nearly two years since I've updated this blog. I now have two new babies: my second daughter, Sarayu Beatriz--we call her Breeze--and my mommy website, Rainy Days and Mom Days.

Since Rainy Days is more a practical tips site, helping make motherhood a breeze, I'll put my personal, not-so-helpful musings here. Do come by regularly. It's nice to see old friends, and make new ones. And please do visit Rainy Days and Mom Days too.

In the mean time, here are a few pictures to show what I've been up to.

Sleeping soundly together--isn't that sweet?

Raine preparing for Christmas in Baguio

Breeze enjoying the cold weather

Yes, We're Alive!

2009-10-26T18:34:00.002+08:00

And we're expecting another baby by June next year.

I wanted to write a long, cute blog post about this latest addition to our family, but my brain is not working. And I'm still trying to figure out how to type and work around being queasy, dizzy and generally blah all day.

Which doesn't mean that we aren't excited about the new baby (we hope that it's a boy this time). We are.

Sometimes I feel a little guilty (mother guilt even at 8 weeks!) that we aren't acting as giddy as when Raine was in my tummy. And sometimes I wonder if I can ever treat them the same or will Raine have the advantage of being first?

Perhaps it's the hormones talking. Or the morning sickness that has no concept of time.

I just need to jumpstart my writing again. Then I can share how happy we really are.

What I Wish for Raine

2009-04-24T12:14:00.003+08:00

Sometimes I find Raine out back, by herself. Sometimes she's puttering around, but most times she's to be found on the top rung of our folding steps--just sitting quietly. She can spend as long as 15 minutes out there, being still.

I don't quite know yet what's going on in her mind when she's out there. I'd like to think that at this young age, she has learned to appreciate the simple joys in life. Like the birds chirping or the flowers stirring in the breeze (then again she could also be plotting her next act of mayhem).

When I think of Raine's future, I want grand things for her, naturally. I want success, happiness--all the good things, all the best things. But what I'd also want is for her never to lose this ability to simply be still.

Be still and know that He is God.

That's something that I have difficulty doing. I get so lost in the busyness of this world, in the striving to achieve whatever--success, happiness, accolades--I no longer can be still and trust in the God who only has the best in mind for me.

The same God who has only the best in mind for Raine, even grander than I could ever hope for. And I wish--I pray--that Raine will always know to be still and find peace in that.

Adventures in Motherhood, Chapter 2

2009-03-18T14:19:00.003+08:00

We lie in bed, side by side in the dark. It's time to go to sleep, but I can see the exuberance and energy still shining in her eyes. She holds up a finger close to my face, and with a pleading look asks, "One?"

I'm dying to sleep, but I give in. "OK. One last time."

She scrambles into a flat-on-the-bed position and begins, "Say.....clock!" It sounds more like, "see cahk", but we understand each other. I echo, "Clock!" and tickle her tummy as she screams with laughter.

"Say...clock!" she says again when she regains control of herself. "Clock!" And more giggling, squealing and tickling ensue. Over and over, we say clock and laugh. Sometimes, she takes a very long pause after "Say"; I can see her bursting with the anticipation. Sometimes the anticipation gets the better of her. She dissolves into gales of laughter--without saying "clock" or me having to do anything.

Finally, I tell. "OK, enough. Time to sleep. Good night."

She takes my face in between her tiny hands and gives me a kiss. Then she settles down with a final sigh: "Fun."

We drift off to sleep.

Why I Married Him

2009-02-06T16:13:00.003+08:00

Me: Do we look at the glass as half empty or half full?

The Hubby: Half empty.

Me: Darn. We're both pessimists then.

The Hubby: Yeah. And we accuse each other of drinking from the glass.

Adventures in Motherhood, Chapter 1

2009-01-27T18:21:00.002+08:00

Motherhood may sometimes be a lonely job, but you are rarely, ever, alone.

Take the bath I tried to sneak in the other day. I park Raine in front of her electronic nanny and zip into the bathroom. Madagascar is Raine's current favorite (she finds the scene where Alex the Lion bites Marty the Zebra's butt hilarious), so I assume that would give me enough time for a little pampering.

I had barely turned on the shower when I suddenly feel a cold draft. The door bangs open (should've locked it!) I hear "Mama!" And suddenly I'm shampooing to the melody of an enthusiastically played out-of-tune xylophone. OK, skip the conditioner.

Then total silence. Uh oh. I peek out of the curtains and I see Raine busy brushing her teeth. Well, sucking on her toothbrush is more like it. I figure that will buy me an extra five minutes, so I prepare my bath puff. Then there's a rustling of the shower curtains. "Boo!" she says, then disappears. She reappears on the other side. "Boo!" This happens several times. OK, fine. I'll just use plain soap today.

I peek out, and Raine is back to brushing her teeth. I hurriedly rinse off. I open my eyes and there is Raine right in front of me, with a huge smile, tugging off her shirt. "Aaaaack!" I scream, "Raine, get out, you're going to get wet!" She steps out wailing. OK, no post-bath body oil.

I towel dry, quickly. "Sorry, Raine, Mommy didn't mean to shout. You startled me, that's all...Raine?" And I step out of the shower, she's sniffling while brushing her teeth. When she sees me, she lightens up. "Mama." She lifts her hands to be carried.

Oh well. There'll be time enough for long baths when she grows up.

Some Weird Advice

2008-12-04T18:12:00.002+08:00

Yesterday, as I was waiting for my train, I started reading those TV-type ads at the station. The flat screen monitor ones with soundless MTVs, supposed ETA of the next train, and of course the ads.

These TVs also had scrolling tips, to give more value to the bored commuters, I suppose. Yesterday's set of tips was for better hair. And this is Tip#2:

When going shopping or running errands, take some time to stand outside nearby salons.

Um. OK. That makes perfect sense. Will try that some time soon.

This Really COULD Happen To You

2008-12-02T09:21:00.003+08:00

Yesterday, Raine was taking a nap and The Hubby texted to say that he was back from the grocery. So I went out to open the gate. Chloe, our grumpy old wonder dog, had peed on the driveway, so I started hosing it down as The Hubby parked our SUV in the garage. Next thing I knew, there was a barefoot baby next to me, toes wiggling in the puddle of water, gleefully grinning at me.

My heart stopped beating for a moment. The Hubby and I did not see her come out of the house.

I've read about the rise of young children's accidental deaths caused by SUVs. They said that as SUVs get bigger, the visibility--of the ground and those blind spots, I suppose--goes down. The drivers just don't see the kids--toddlers mostly--and they get backed up on or hit, usually in their own garages or driveways. Musician Steve Curtis Chapman's daughter, Maria, died because of this. But I was thinking, hey that happens only in the States. It wouldn't really happen here. And not to us.

Wake up call! I am so thankful that nothing happened to Raine. I realize that we have to be more vigilant, more conscious of where she is and what she's doing. While I am a staunch believer in independence, I have to temper it with caution, with prudence.

Thank you, Lord, for watching over Raine.

And So It Begins

2008-11-27T16:21:00.005+08:00

A few weeks ago, I was ferociously typing (not a pretty mental image, but I assure you, that's what I was doing) in our bedroom when I realized that Raine had been pretty quiet for the past 15 minutes or so. Now, as any mom will tell you, total silence and awake offspring--the combination will always send shivers down your spine. Not a good thing.

I was about to get up and check on her when she came tottering in, burbling non-stop in that breathy, high-pitched voice of hers that she uses when she's excited. She took my hand, pulling me to my feet, then led me out the door. She proudly pointed to the wall and beamed at me. And this is what I saw:

Raine had scribbled on the entire wall with her blue, purple and black crayons.

When I finally reattached my jaw, I launched into the full "crayons are only for your paper you don't write on the wall or the floor or the appliances or your books or on yourself no no no no".

Raine's proud smile changed to her pouty, lower-lip-trembling-I'm-about-to-cry-but-I'm-holding-it-back look. She sniffed--then reached up her arms for a hug from Mommy.

As I held her, her face buried in my shoulder, I gently explained again why I reacted the way I did. Deep inside, though, I thought it was adorable (as did her Daddy, when he came home that night). She's a quick learner, though, our Raine. She never wrote on the walls again after that.

We didn't wash the walls immediately. The Hubby wanted to keep her masterpiece up for a few more days. And every time Raine would pass by, she'd pause slightly, and give a little smile.

Ah, Raine. Someday. Someday, your work will be admired by many. And it won't just be on the wall outside your Mommy's bedroom.

The Dinos are Coming! The Dinos are Coming!

2008-11-25T18:22:00.005+08:00

I've been thinking of places I'd like to bring Raine to, such as the Museo Pambata and Ocean Park and the zoo. Now I've heard that there's this theme park type dinosaur exhibit coming end of November--with 30 life-sized robotic dinosaurs! How cool is that?

Dinos Alive! World Tour is a purported traveling exhibit cum theme park, complete with sound and light effects to highlight the said 30 dinosaurs. They also have lots of activities, and I'm looking forward to the Fossil Dig. You get to pretend to be paleontologists! Of course Raine will just want to stuff the sand in her pocket, but who knows what future career it could inspire!
The Inflatable looks like fun (but check out the line!) but I don't think Raine's ready for that yet.

They have games, activities and puzzles at Dinos Alive. I don't know what kind of food they'd have at a dino-inspired cafe--T-Rex Steak perhaps?--but they do have one, should hunger strike you in the middle of the Jurassic Period.

Dinos Alive will be set up beside Mall of Asia from November 28 to January 11, 10am-10pm on weekends and 12pm-10pm on weekdays. Tickets are available for purchase from Ticket World by calling 891-9999 or online at www.ticketworld.com.ph Ticket prices for adults are Php 600, kids below a meter are Php 450 and the family package costs Php 1,750 (2 adults+2 kids+1 free ticket).

Giant Inflatable

Apatosaurus

Stegosaurus (I think)

Fossil Dig

Early New Year Goals

2008-11-20T15:16:00.004+08:00

I have tons of work to do, but I can't quite focus. My mind is racing ahead to next year. A whole new chapter in life. The Hubby and I have discussed it, and we've agreed that I'll shift gears (not necessarily downshift) and be a fulltime, honest-to-goodness SAHM (that's stay-at-home-mom for the clueless).

The past year-and-a-half, I've been a WAHM (work-at-home-mom) and though the situation is workable, there are still some things I'm not happy with. Like the way I get all grumpy with Raine when I have a deadline looming. Or how the meals are not too well-thought out because I'm too busy or tired to prepare a proper menu. And--maybe a little selfishly--how I don't get to blog as often or write me stuff because there's always something else I need to get done first.

I'm not sure what will happen next year though, when I'm a SAHM. The Hubby once said in exasperation, "Take away all the deadlines and things you have to do and you still won't bake!" Or make soap or make cookies for gifts or (fill in the blank for whatever activity that I always put off).

But there's always hope for the not-so-domestic goddesses. I'll just take it one step at a time. And the first step is to make a list of all the things I want to do.

Clear out the house. Big task, I know. But basically, I want to get rid of clutter. Maybe have a garage sale, even. Weed out the closet and the cupboards and the piles and piles of stuff.
Fix the house. Get new curtains, placemats, stuff like that. Add some personal touches. After all, we plan to stay here a few more years.
Have a weekly menu and grocery list. Make sure that the food is healthy and yummy. In line with that, I'd like to try out at least one new recipe a week. Or every other week.
Bake cookies, makes spreads. Make a cake! Maximize our fantastic oven. I'd like to be that kind of house where there's always something freshly baked (and that way, I can make sure that there isn't too much sugar in our goodies, and like spike the muffins with carrots and that kind of thing).
Make my flavored oils and vinegars that I can give as gifts (I bought the bottles for it a year ago!).
Wean Raine from videos. This is my ultimate I'm-such-a-lousy-mom issue. I always said pre-Raine that I would never let my kid get hooked on TV and videos and computer games, but I find myself relying on videos to keep her busy while I go do other stuff. I want to do stuff like go on nature walks, bring her to Museo Pambata, make homemade clay and finger paint.
Look into homeschooling. I know it's a bit early, but I want to stimulate Raine's mind. And this dovetails with #6.
Exercise. Kickboxing or swimming--I just need to get into the groove. I want to lose that final 16lbs that's been hanging around for over a year!
Revamp my wardrobe. After I see the effects of #8.
Make soap again. I want to make that Oh Baby! bar for Raine. And The Hubby wants that Great Mornings bar. I want that Rix Trix and people are looking for Honey Oatmeal. So even if I don't sell them anymore, I can just make for my own use.

I better stop at ten for now. Otherwise, it'd be unmanageable. This blog post also happens to be my entry to the Moleskine Philippines Giveaway. I hope to win! That gorgeous paper! I am so addicted to notebooks and Moleskines are the best.

The Moleskine Notebook is courtesy of Avalon.PH
http://www.viloria.com/go/go.php/avalonph

For the Viloria.net contest rules, please see
Viloria.net

Schizophrenic Conversations with God

2008-09-25T12:45:00.006+08:00

I was in the shower early this morning, pondering my to-do list, which is possibly longer than Raine, when a voice popped into my head. What about the other things you really want to write?, it said.

While I didn't drop to my knees in awe, I did pause my vigorous shampooing, "Are you talking to me, God?" A heartbeat later, "Or am I just talking to me?" It didn't help my confusion any when the soundtrack in my mind started warbling dito baaaaa ang sulok kong takdaaaaa sa ilalim ng araaaaaaw... (semi literal translation: is this my spot under the sun?); which made me think that either my inner jukebox is a closet baduy or the neighbor's YesFM is more insidious than I originally suspected.

The past three months have been hectic, and in the midst of deadlines, coordination, hunting down writers and photographers, conceptualizing editorial lineups, proofreading, researching, writing, editing, counting words and counting toes (when Raine insists on sitting on my lap), I received two very flattering offers (and no, they weren't from The Hubby).

The first was from this huge magazine publishing company. I'm doing a mockup issue for them, a sort of Magazine Lite--all the articles without the ads--to see if it's a viable new title. They offered me the Editor-in-Chief position when the mag goes to print next year. This is the stuff that dreams are made of. Mine anyway. I've been working, thinking, breathing, writing, conceptualizing magazines for nearly a decade. To be EIC of a real magazine, a commercial-sell-to-the-public magazine (my magazine work has largely been custom magazines, not consumer) is wow. I've been wanting to head my own magazine, to give it direction, to share my passion with readers. And working with this publishing company is a great opportunity.

But. Yup, there's that big but (and I don't mean mine). It will take all my time and energy. I know it will. Friends who work in that company (or even in the publishing industry), much as they enjoy it, admit that there isn't much of them left for anything else. So where would that leave The Hubby and Raine? Sure I'd be making good money; I'll be in a creative (but cutthroat) environment; I'll be doing things I'm good at and I enjoy--but what are my priorities?

After much prayer and discussions with The Hubby and playing "What Ifs", I said no. And it felt good, sort of, turning down that fantastic opportunity. I could feel a sense of reassurance, a sense that God has something better planned for me. Then came the second offer.

This time it was from my long-time client, whose annual watch magazine I've been doing for more than a decade. He knows that I don't want to work full time, so he offered me a full time-part time job. I'd report to the office once or twice a week, and I'd work at home at my own discretion the rest of the time. I'd be working on the magazine, and basically the other stuff that he regularly farms out to me. I'm pretty much steeped in the watch culture, so while I'm no expert, I am passably knowledgeable. So the work wouldn't be that hard. And I like my client; he and his company are one of my favorites. They're generous, easy to work with and we respect each other's capabilities. Again, it would be a great opportunity. While it will still take up a lot of my time and energy, it wouldn't be as deadly as the EIC position. And it would help with the finances, cover the tuition and school fees of Raine (been thinking of sending her to play school twice a week, but The Hubby said we can't afford it yet).

I was discussing this new offer with my mom last night, and I wondered if I just am looking for opportunities (or excuses) to not be a full time SAHM (stay at home mom). And I wondered if I'm not really built for pure domesticity. I have all these domestic plans in my head--I'll bake cookies and make flavored oils and vinegars for gifts; I'll make soap again; I'll organize the family finances; I'll revolutionize the way we do the grocery; I'll homeschool Raine--but I never do any of them because there's always something else for me to do. Some article I had to write. Some expert I had to interview. Some book I had to read to unwind (it IS crucial to have some me time). In theory, if I quit my writing gigs, or at least did less, I'd have more time to act on all these plans. Theoretically. And so If I accepted this offer, it goes back to having no time to do anything.

I suppose I was still subconsciously playing around with these possibilities in the shower this morning, when I heard that voice in my head. What about the things you really want to write? Because if I'd have no time for SuperWife/SuperMom stuff, what more for those personal things that I've been dreaming of writing? Right now, I write for a living. I write what people tell me to write. And what I want to write for myself--the children's stories, the essays, the short stories, the novel, the blog post even--they've withered into vague, colorless ideas at the back of my head.

What about the things you really want to write? Is that God reminding me to wait on his perfect timing? Because He promised that I would write something great. Something that will be remembered. And I wrestled a promise out of Him that I would publish a book of my own.

I guess it's hard to shake off that saying that 'God helps those who help themselves'. He doesn't really. He helps those who have faith in him. It's a fine, fine line between helping yourself and acting in faith.

So what do I do now? What about those things that I really want to write? Are you talking to me, God? Or am I just talking to me?

From Hair to Eternity

2008-08-15T11:47:00.003+08:00

My hair and I have always had this uneasy alliance. I keep it relatively clean and healthy; and it covers my head. I suppose if I exerted more effort at styling, my hair and I could be best friends: It would be shiny, soft and en vogue, and I would look effortlessly glam. But alas. Like my drawing skills, my hairdressing talent is woefully lacking.

I try, I really do. When I was in grade school, I had this clump of hair by that whorl (puyo, I think it’s called) that refused to stay down flat on my scalp. It was like a perpetual wave on an otherwise calm sea of hair. I would wet it constantly (gel and mousse were still beyond my ken) but it would pop back up. In frustration (and in typical Ree-fashion) I grabbed a pair of scissors and hacked off that stubborn clump of hair. Now I had an inch-and-a-half wide clearing right on top of my head, with spikes sticking straight up. My aunt promptly dubbed me “Chicken Head”. Till I graduated sixth grade my mom would always fix my hair—ponytail, clips, and my favorite: the French braid. My frustration was that no matter how tight and neat she made it, by lunch break, strands would escape everywhere, making me look so untidy. Worse, they’d be all over my face; and there’s nothing I hate more (well, actually, a lot) than having hair in my face.

Fast forward to high school, where I had to stay in a dorm, six hours away from my hair-fixing mom. This was the era of Aqua Net and other cement-hard hairsprays; when towering bangs were a badge of honor (and a sign that you woke up early); and you walked downwind so an errant breeze wouldn’t knock your hairdo over. Again, my hair got the better of me; those pesky bangs wouldn’t just do what I wanted. In another pique, I grabbed some scissors (they are so dangerous to have around when my hair isn’t cooperating), grabbed my hair in a bunch in the middle of my forehead and slashed straight across. This time my roommate, Leah, nicknamed me “Padre Salvi” (if you ever read Noli Me Tangere, then you can imagine the hugging-the-edge-of-the-hairline-upside-down-U-bowl-shaped-typical-monk cut).

I’ve tried permed hair, long hair, bobbed hair, shorter-than-my-husband’s hair—rarely can I sustain a fantastic hairstyle beyond the few hours out of the salon. My friend, Mich—makeup artist extraordinaire—once cut my hair and it looked great for a time (incidentally, Mich did my maternity portrait makeup—she disguised my bloated nose and yucky skin and made me look so sexy and glam) then it was gone. There was a time, when I was pregnant with Raine, when my client, Keren, commented, “Parang di ka buntis—you’re so stylish!” After giving birth, my hair was up in clips or a scrunchi until I had it chopped off. Now it’s growing back—too long to stay out of my face, too short to keep in a ponytail. I look like Princess Di in the 80s. All that’s missing are the shoulder pads.

I desperately want to cut my hair. I don’t think I can survive long hair now. It’s just too much to care for. I just have to find somewhere to have it cut. Is it too much to ask that the hairstylist at least look at me well—at my face shape (I think it’s square, currently rounded out and padded at the cheeks), at my glasses, my head shape, whatever—and really try to suggest cuts that would work well? Is it too much to ask that they ask me what my lifestyle is, if I even own a blow dryer (I used to have one, but it was only used for drying the dogs after their bath), if I have the patience to style my hair (no, I don’t)? Usually, they just say, “Anong gupit? Ay, gusto mo magpa-hot oil?” And till recently, “Saan ka nagpapakulay ng buhok?” Oh, one thing about my hair I love is the color—it’s a mix of light, dark and reddish brown, and it usually changes shades with the seasons. I’m so happy Raine has my hair color. But back to ranting: do you have to pay exorbitant sums to get that kind of treatment at a salon? And even if you pay so much, is it a guarantee that they treat you nicely? I hate snooty salon staff, people who make you feel like, “OMG—who is this creature that the cat dragged in? The cat’s hair looks better!”

Aside from Gemini in Baguio—he’s been cutting my hair since second grade—I haven’t found any hairstylist I can pledge loyalty to. And I desperately need one now. I mean, Gemini is in Baguio—I’m not traveling all the way up to Baguio just for a haircut (when I do go to Baguio, I always plan a trip to Gemini). And last time I was there, I showed Gemini photos of Halle Berry and all these other Hollywood stars’ short ‘dos and he flipped through his catalogue and showed me some old photo of Maricel Soriano—the same one he showed me two years before!—and said, “Yan. Yan ang bagay sa yo!” Well, there’s no denying he knows me and my hair, and when Gemini cuts, it always grows out nicely. But I think I’m ready for a change.

So where to go for that change? And what kind of change? I think Katie Holmes and I have the same face structure (she just has a nicer nose and less padding by the cheeks). So will this suit me?

The Hubby says it’s obviously styled—the fact that it looks so artlessly windblown is proof. And that means I’d have to have it cut often (I guess one reason I can never develop a lasting relationship with my hairdresser is that I’d prefer to see him or her like once a year—that’s all I have patience for). And it will eventually get into my eyes and be all over my face. But I think it looks fab. Where can I go for something like this? How much will it cost?

I’m going up to Baguio next week…and I’ll probably end up at Gemini’s.

Birthday Gift

2008-08-11T12:50:00.001+08:00

After nearly a month, The Hubby finally found the perfect birthday gift for me. He was thinking of an iPod Touch, but I guess he realized that while I'd enjoy it for a bit, I'm not the techie-gadget type, and I'd never maximize its features. So instead, yesterday, he got me a wetsuit.

Oh joy joy joy. We've been taking scuba diving lessons together (thanks to my uber generous seester, who gifted both The Hubby and me with the lessons) and I am having loads of fun. For one thing, getting my diver's license has been on my to-do list. First it was on my list of Things To Do Before I Turn 25. Then I had to move it to my Things To Do Before I Turn 30 list. Then it got bumped off to my Things To Do Before I Get Married list. Then finally to my Things To Do Before I Die list. So thank you, seester dear, because I didn't have to move it my Pros and Cons of Raine's Education list or my Things To Ask God When I See Him list.

Next, it's been quite a while since The Hubby and I did something new together. When we started dating, we went wall climbing, kayaking, snorkeling, hiking, food tripping and all that. Now our lives mostly revolve around domesticity. Not that I'm complaining, but I truly miss that adrenaline rush and those adventures we had together. I'm so glad he agreed to go diving with me. I hope, after we get our licenses, that we actually go diving!

But back to my birthday gift. Joe, our instructor, brought it last night and asked if I wanted to try it on. The Hubby had to sort of stuff me into it. It's even worse than squirming and jumping into skinny jeans, because you have to get it all the way up to your neck. And it definitely is the most unforgiving of all outfits. I looked like a PVC pipe with a thick layer of vulcaseal somewhere around the middle. Or like a butete. After our pool session and it was time to strip off, and The Hubby unzipped me, I could actually feel my flesh spreading. On a more positive note, when I wear it like divers do between dives--with just the legs on and the top unzipped and folded over by the waist--I look passably good.

I've told The Hubby it's time to launch Operation Wetsuit, where the objective is to get into a wetsuit in less than 15 minutes and actually look sleek in it. The Hubby actually thought of going for a run yesterday. So we're off to a good start.

Budding Art Connoisseur

2008-08-05T22:37:00.004+08:00

The other day I drew this for Raine:
And she took one look at it and signed cat! I was so happy. Her appreciation of works of art is phenomenal. This, however, was beyond her:

It's a duck, people.

Brownies and Life

2008-08-01T17:43:00.002+08:00

Yesterday I taught Raine one important life skill: how to scrape off brownie batter from the bowl and how to lick the spoon (and her fingers) clean. She's such a quick study. She immediately took the bowl from me, sat herself down at her small table and licked the bowl so it looked like you didn't even have to wash it (and in inverse proportion, got herself all dolled up in chocolate).

Sure, this seems so inconsequential. Silly and useless even. Or stroke-inducing, for the OC people and neatniks out there. But what did I really teach her? Well, I hope she learns that life is meant to be enjoyed, even while working. That she should stop and savor those moments of accomplishments (like getting the brownies in the oven), before moving on to the next task (like cleaning up after). I want her to know that she shouldn't take herself too seriously; that's it's OK to be messy once in awhile. I want her take pleasure in the mundane. I want her to see the joy in everything. I want her to be grateful that God gave us such a rich, gorgeous world, and he gave us the senses to experience it fully--from the rich aroma of baking brownies to the warmth coming from a lit oven on a rainy day to the decadently fudgy chocolate melting on your tongue.
I want my daughter to live life to the fullest, knowing that there is a God out there who cares enough to think about the little things like enjoying freshly baked brownies on a cold day.

I pray that Raine will appreciate and come to love all the brownie batter bowls (and I mean that literally and figuratively) that life will send her way. That's the life skill that I want her to learn.

Biker Chicks--The Prequel

2008-06-30T21:49:00.003+08:00

Way before Rix got her motorcycle and before that fateful Biker Chick episode, I got us a couple of mountain bikes first. Now that I think back, I realize the foolhardiness of youth. I mean, I am not the best biker in the world. Or in the neighborhood. Or even in a 100-meter radius (unless my mom is with me). I don't even know why I biked. Each biking excursion left me wiped out from a mixture of fear and exhilaration. But bike we did; Rix and I really went places with those mountain bikes.

We lived near the Buendia end of Leveriza, and Harrison Plaza was a short jeep ride or a calorie-burning walk away. We were aimlessly wandering around Harrison one day and we saw "Buy-One-Take-One" on mountain bikes at Toby's and I still have no idea how she did it, but Rix convinced me that it would be a fantastic idea to get ourselves bikes. I think she used lines like, "Think of all the places we can go to!" and "It's good exercise!" and "It's fun!" and "It's cheap!"

Let me digress here a moment--so we got the "cheap" bikes and soon after, we were becoming regular customers at the Cartimar bike shops; so much so that our bikes were hardly the ones we started with. And eventually we traded in our bikes and added twice what we first paid for them to get spiffier bikes. By then I realized that I would never be Lance Armstrong, and I refused to spend a single peso more on my bike. Rix, though, really souped up her bike and used to bike to and from UP! And as with the motorcycle, I settled for vicarious biking thrills. I would say, "Oh my sister bikes to school and back," in such a way that you'd think I was there pedalling with her.

Anyway.

So from Harrison, we biked back to the apartment. And I remembered that the last time I biked on anything with only two wheels was a decade ago. And that was in a controlled environment, with no silly pedestrians who think that the road is the place to be; no maniacal car drivers whose sole mission in life seems to be terrorizing those on vehicles with half the number of wheels; no oops-did-I-just-run-into-something jeep and truck and bus drivers; no biker-unfriendly things littering the road, like parked cars, trash cans and sign posts. But we made it home safely, and began to plan our next trips.

We biked to church (Union Church on Rada St.), and it always made for a more worshipful experience--I fervently thanked God each time for still being alive. We biked around the CCP Complex; we even went around Intramuros several times. And one time I got a flat right outside Intramuros and we couldn't find any vulcanizing shop and I had to walk my bike all the way home while Rix biked in circles around me.

Once, on impulse (naturally), we decided to meet a friend one afternoon at our Kuya's gaming shop in BF Paranaque, passing Roxas Boulevard, then the Airport Road. We figured it couldn't be that far. I guess in our minds we were thinking of Merville, not quite realizing that BF is way, way, way past that. And on the way we encountered more of those silly pedestrians milling around the road. I sort of almost ran down one guy--not my fault; I called out 'excuse me' and he didn't listen!--and he kinda got surprised and possibly to save face, he yelled at me something like, "Gago ka! Bulag ka ba?" and I felt like getting off my bike and yelling back at him, "Hoy, ikaw ang bulag, GAGA ako!" But stopping gracefully and getting off the bike was something I hadn't quite mastered yet. We made it to BF in two hours. I think. And we made our friend drive us back home.

But the most memorable by far--and the most fun, in a weird way--was when we biked along Manila Bay in the middle of a typhoon. Fine. At the tail end of a typhoon. It was one of those slow moving storms, and we were cabin-fevered, cooped up in the house for days. On the third day, we peeked out (like Noah) and saw that the wind had let up a bit and it was still raining, but not as hard. So what's a little rain, right? We headed out to an eerily empty Buendia then on to Roxas, where we saw the waves slamming against the wall, sending massive sprays of sea water onto the sidewalk and street.

We felt like we were in some kind of man-against-nature movie. I mean picture it. We were the only ones out (only brave ones or only foolish ones, you decide) on the road. The rain was coming down in sheets, the wind whipping us, monster waves out to get us--stopped only by that wall--and further drenching us. We were screaming our heads off each time a wave hit the wall. We felt invincible! I would have raised my arms over my head as we biked down Roxas, or spread them out, like Meg Ryan in City of Angels, except that I would have most likely lost balance and toppled over.

We were thoroughly enjoying pitting ourselves against the sea. Then we saw it. First it was one supot. Followed by another. And another. Then we saw tsinelas. When we got to the end of the wall, we saw a whole mountain of trash being spit out by the sea. We continued screaming our heads off--this time with a different tone, and as much as possible, with our mouths closed.

I think the sea and Mother Nature had the last laugh.

TRUTH THURSDAYS: I Wish...

2008-06-27T17:20:00.003+08:00

Inspired by Stef's Truth Thursdays prompt.

I wish I knew why there always seems to be a shoe in the middle of the road. Drive anywhere here in Manila, and sooner or later you will see a shoe. A single, forlorn shoe. Sometimes it's a sneaker; sometimes a serious leather lace-up type; often it's a sandal or slipper. Whatever kind it is, it makes you wonder how it got there. And why, oh why, is there always only one?

Did the person wearing it dart across the road, like foolishly lazy pedestrians are wont to do, and the shoe just came off and the person was too scared to run back to the middle of the road to retrieve it? Or maybe he was riding a motorcycle and a pothole jerked the shoe off his foot. Or perhaps, like Hansel and Gretel, she was just leaving a trail her star crossed lover could follow as her furious parents carted her away?

The Hubby and I also have this theory that it's all part of MMDA's "Bawal Tumawid. Nakakamatay" campaign. These solitary shoes in the middle of a busy street subliminally underscore the message. As in, see--all that's left of the pasaway crosser is this shoe...do you want this to happen to you? We have images of the blue MMDA trucks making midnight runs, dropping shoes at strategic points; and of MMDA enforcers radioing the base, "Wala nang sapatos sa EDSA-Magallanes, over."

Naturally, my mom and sisters find this hilarious, and have quickly adopted this MMDA-shoe theory as their own. Once, my mom texted me, "I think MMDA has been training the people here in Baguio...we saw a shoe on Kennon Road."

Is it a conspiracy for road safety? Is it a mystery that will never be solved? I wish I knew.

TRUTH THURSDAYS: Sometimes I...

2008-06-12T15:10:00.002+08:00

From Stef's Truth Thursdays post. I skipped last week's prompt, so will try to be on time with this week's.

Sometimes I wonder if I have any depth or substance to me at all. I have minimal interest in current events unless it directly affects me like, right now, here where I am standing. I can't knowledgeably discuss politics, economics or give an intellectual analysis of such. I can discuss in detail, though, the pros and cons of ProKids vs Huggies Pull-Ups; and I can identify a goony bird on sight (at least I think so).

Sometimes I think the world revolves around me. And everything is about me, and what I do or don't do.

Sometimes I wonder how I can call myself a writer, when I don't sit down everyday and write. Maybe I'm really a dreamer, who dreams of being a writer. Or I'm just a plain reader who dabbles in writing.

Sometimes I feel like I'm such a fake Christian. A poseur who goes to church regularly and prays at mealtimes and spouts things like "God bless you," and "Be still before God." But if you look deep inside you'd find something dark and sinister. The amazing thing is though, God loves me just the same.

TRUTH THURSDAYS: My Worry Today…

2008-06-02T08:26:00.002+08:00

Inspired by Stef's Truth Thursdays prompt.

I worry that I'm not a good enough mother. That I'm not stimulating enough. Not patient enough. Not loving enough. I don't teach her enough. That I don't discipline enough: she'll grow up to be a spoiled brat like those spoiled brats that I hate and whose parents I blame for their lack of discipline and now I've become one of them. I worry that I don't put enough sunscreen. That I don't feed her right. That her knees are dry and her legs full of bruises from bumping into things as she walks around (so like me!) and marks from mosquito bites because I don't put enough insect repellant and she'll grow up and won't have the chance to be Ms. Universe because her knees are dry and her legs are spotty. I worry that she'll grow up vain because I can't help but exclaim, "Oh you're so pretty! You're so cute! You're totally adorable!" because I can only tell the truth and I'm her mother and she really is. I worry that she isn't speaking yet because I don't talk to her enough and I'd rather read a book by myself than read to her sometimes and I can't keep up a running commentary on every single thing we're doing like the books say I should. I worry about her character. That she won't get it about the fruit of the spirit because maybe she doesn't really see it from me. I worry about her relationship with God: how will she believe me when I tell her we should put God above all else, and that we should rely on Him totally when I run around trying to solve everything myself. I worry that her teeth are going to get cavities because I still let her breastfeed to sleep and she still wants milky in the middle of the night. I worry that it will be hard to get her to sleep in her own bed because she thinks that she belongs in our bed, with her Daddy and me, and I shouldn't have agreed to let her co-sleep with us in the first place since she was doing so well in the crib. I worry that she has dandruff because she loves pulling her hair and scratching her head. That when I trim her hair, it will grow back straight and her beautiful curly hair will be gone forever. I worry that I'm forcing her to be independent too soon. I worry that I won't let her go. I worry, I worry, I worry.

TRUTH THURSDAYS: My Body is Holding Back...

2008-05-23T08:59:00.002+08:00

Another entry inspired by Stef's Truth Thursday prompt. And I'm getting better; it's only Friday.

My body is holding back energy and a lot of productive output. My body is a firm believer (or marshmallowy believer, if you want to be more accurate) in Newton's first law of motion. Inertia has become my enemy.

I have so many plans and ideas--most of them brilliant, really--but not much comes to fruition. Say my mind has this fabulous idea on how to fix the house, and all these images of tastefully decorated rooms float around my head, and I can picture Real Living magazine giving me a call, they want to shoot the house for their next cover, and I can hear everyone ooh-ing and aah-ing over the beautifully done interiors and I'm raring to go get started, and my body says (aided by a traitorous part of my brain), "Wait, there are about 50 billion more pages to surf, you have to get more tips on how to decorate the house, and besides you need the budget to get all the stuff you want, so you have to go shopping, if and when you get the budget, and that means you have to get a babysitter for Raine, and of course, that all depends if The Hubby does give you the budget...so just stay in that seat and surf." And my body just won't budge.

Same thing happens with my cooking gourmet meals, baking scrumptious cookies and cakes, taking lessons for driving or cooking or writing, writing my next blog or short story or article, or whatever amazing thing I have in mind. Sometimes I do get mind over matter (if you don't mind, then it doesn't matter--hee) and I manage to accomplish something, then I run out of momentum. Newton's law again!

I need an outside force to continuously keep me in motion. Help!

TRUTH THURSDAYS: My Body is Holding Onto...

2008-05-16T09:12:00.004+08:00

From Stef's Truth Thursdays prompt. And yes, I know it's Saturday already.

My body is holding onto its former glory. Or at least the memory of it. Gone are the days when I could (and would) strut around in short shorts and mini skirts, in belly-baring tops and unforgiving bodyhugging catsuits. I no longer turn heads as I pass by. Fortunately, people don't turn tail and run away yet when they see me coming.

As The Hubby would say, women reach their peak at 25, then it's all downhill from there (so it's a good thing The Hubby and I hooked up when I was 25). Eight years and about 25 pounds later, I'm still sliding down that slope, silently screaming.

But my body has been through a lot, the most recent being childbirth and breastfeeding (and I maintain that five of those excess pounds are all boobs and milk), sleepless nights (and days) and everything else that comes with wifehood and motherhood. So while my body looks back fondly, and sometimes sadly, at its old self, it's learning to adjust to its new self, and learning to look at it with a new sense of pride. From beach goddess, I am now a domestic goddess.

Still, losing that extra poundage wouldn't hurt. Oh well.

What's Cookin'

2008-05-13T15:54:00.003+08:00

I love food. I adore eating. I live to eat (as opposed to The Hubby, who usually eats to live). Consequently, I enjoy cooking and baking. Most times anyway.

So this love affair with food got me out of bed at 5AM last Saturday, and out of the house by 7AM, for a cross country trek to the Center for Culinary Arts (CCA) on Katipunan. My friend Ruby invited me to join her and a group of her friends for a Kitchen Discovery Class (KDC). Supposedly for cooking and baking enthusiasts and those who want to check out what happens in a professional kitchen or those who are thinking of going into Culinary Arts, the KDC is a 6-hour course that "introduces you to the exciting foodservice and hospitality industry".

As far as introductions go, it was like being introduced to a prince. Or maybe some mid-level duke (is there such a thing?). I mean, at the end of the day, we were supposed to have learned to make Caramelized Salmon with Orange-Shoyu Glaze with Sauteed Mixed Vegetables, Soba Noodles, Lemongrass Beurre Blanc and Balsamic-Soy Reduction; plus Saffron Panna Cotta with Citrus Caramel Sauce and Almond Tuile. As our chef-instructor Menoy Gimenez said, quite a mouthful. Then again, I don't suppose you'd pay P3,800 (the cost of the KDC, if I paid for it myself) to learn how to cook sinigang or fried chicken.

Speaking of the chef-instructor, I was hoping for Chef Rob from QTV's Chef to Go. Yummy! Unfortunately, he doesn't teach at CCA. Ruby said that Chef Tristan Encarnacion, he of the countless Alaska and pots-and-pans print ads, could be teaching (pretty acceptable). But we ended up with Chef Menoy, and I loved him. Just like our balsamic-soy reduction, he managed to reduce what felt like 20 pages of recipe ingredients and instructions into its simple, palatable essence.

For someone who is one of the founders of the first (I think) culinary school in the country, Chef Menoy reminds me of a big bowl of sundried-tomato-and-broccoli pasta: slightly exotic but very comforting; intimidating at first, but once you get used to him, very encouraging. He broke down the complex instructions into easy-to-digest steps, punctuated every now and then by "Does that make sense?" Explained the way he did, things did make more sense.

I won't go into a blow-by-blow (or bleu by bleu, if you prefer) account of our three cooking hours. But at the end, we had a fantastic tasting, beautifully plated salmon.

Fine, I'm not the best food photographer, but our salmon really did look nice. And it was yummy. As Chef Menoy says, the test to see if the dish is any good: would I pay for it? Hmm. If I weren't such a chennybopper, yes, I would.

I didn't stay for the afternoon Panna Cotta session (I heard that it was a blast) since I promised Raine I'd take her swimming in the afternoon. Would have been nice to learn how to make those fancy tuiles (can't even pronounce it).

I wish I was able to take home what we prepared though (each group of five had two salmon pieces--not enough to go around, especially if you eat the way I do). Oh, and I wanted to take home their knives! Such joy chopping up things with a sharp knife. What I did get to take home was my CCA shirt, a nice apron (perfect, as Ruby says, for preparing instant noodle soup), a hand towel and a skull cap (I guess you get the toque when you're seriously cooking). And I got a CCA certificate. Will have it framed and hung in my kitchen.

I am looking forward to their classes in Serendra though, mainly because it's so much nearer (I can't imagine getting up and making the cross country trek on a regular basis). JB, who's on CCA's marketing team described some pretty interesting courses called "Chefs and the (Global) City". It isn't hands on, more like a cooking show type of thing--but you get to eat whatever's prepared. Oh joy.

I do hope CCA has more hands on classes somewhere closer to home. Here in my house, preferably. Their Kitchen Discovery Class has sure whet my appetite for more.

What I'm Reading and What Else Should I Read

2008-05-08T08:11:00.002+08:00

My book drive has been pretty effective. I now have a small stack of books to read. I'm starting to not miss my other books too much.

So far, in my pile I have:

New Moon by Stephanie Meyer. Recommended and lent by my sister Ro-Ann. It's book three in the Twilight series, which will soon be a movie. Fine, it's sort of a teenybopper series, and I sort of cringe reading some parts, but it is intriguing. I'm not sure I'll enjoy this third book though, since I'm rooting for Jacob, not Edward (get into the Twilight craze to see who I'm talking about!).
Raising Lifelong Learners by Lucy Calkins. Lent by my sister in law Lelay. She got it from her dad before her son Third was born. He's now 6 years old, and she hasn't read the book! Let's see how old Raine will be when I do get to finish reading this.
Practical Soups; Practical Wok & Stir-Fry; Pasta; Curries & Tajines; Spaghetti; Appetizers; Chocolate. A plethora of recipe books, also from Lelay. I love reading cookbooks. Sometimes, I even try out the recipes! The one I'm really checking out now is the soup book, since Raine has developed a liking for soup, and I sort of am getting nilaga/tinola/sinigang/Chinese soup/instant mami fatigue. The other day I modified one of the recipes and made a luscious, if rather watery, carrot and potato soup. Raine loved it! I want to try making truffles (from the chocolate book) next.
The Best Philippine Short Stories of the Twentieth Century edited by Isagani R. Cruz. Gift from The Hubby last Christmas, and I've been reading it slowly. It's a really hefty book, so it's hard to read while lying down in bed (or on the couch or wherever), and it's hard to haul around in your bag for emergency reading. Now I leave it in the bathroom, where I can read a few pages during "library time". Now The Hubby gets to enjoy it too.
The Poetry of Pablo Neruda. Another gift from The Hubby. And again, another hefty book. So after the short story anthology, this goes into the bathroom next.
What to Expect in the Toddler Years. Finally got a copy in Booksale at less than half the price in National! Yet another hefty tome. Then again, it's meant to be read in stages. So expect this to be on my bedside table for months to come (couple of years, actually).

As for recommendations, Djong has suggested The Girl with the Pearl Earring. Will try to look for a copy.

Any other suggestions, donations, gifts or books to lend?

If I Won P100,000 SM Shopping Money

2008-04-30T12:03:00.002+08:00

Got a text the other day, telling me I have some raffle points and the prize is a hundred grand shopping money at SM. That got me thinking—if I won (though my chances are slim, since I didn’t join the raffle), what would I buy? Well, here’s my shopping list:

Bed for Raine. We still co-sleep. Last week, I was sleeping in between The Hubby and Raine, and I had to lie there like a log, with my arms growing numb raised over my head. I haven’t quite figured out how to move Raine into her own bed though, and if it goes into her own room…Forgot where I saw this bed that’s convertible from crib to toddler bed to full bed. It also has built in drawers and desk. Kinda pricey. Estimated cost: P15,000.
Vacuum cleaner. Definitely need one. Looks like Raine has inherited my dust allergies. The wet-dry, heavy duty one looks like the perfect one, so we can clean screens as well. Estimated cost: P9,000.
New mattress for us. Of course I’d love that Tempur-something that costs as much as a house. But I’d settle for a nice Uratex one. Our current mattress has permanent dips; it’s like a hill, with a peak at the middle and down slopes at each side. Would love some new sheets and comforters as well. Estimated cost: P20,000.
Car seat for Raine. She’s rapidly outgrowing her current one. Estimated cost: P15,000.
Mirror for our bathroom. The Hubby comes to the room to shave. Enough said. Estimated cost: P3,000.
Curtains. So we can change this set which is wash-and-rehang-immediately. Estimated cost: P4,000.
Bakeware. I don’t really know how much these things cost, and I have no idea what I really need. But since I’m fantasy shopping anyway, I will set aside a budget and see what I can buy with it. Silicone stuff most likely. Estimated cost: P8,000.
Clothes for me! I haven’t bought anything fashionable in ages. Last article of clothing I bought was a pair of shorts. I need shoes! Dresses! Tops! Pants! Skirts! A new bikini! A bikini coverup! More tops! More shoes! Estimated cost: P10,000.
Clothes for The Hubby. Though I shop for The Hubby’s clothes more than I do for me (me – 0; Hubby – 4), I’d still want to get him some stuff. Estimated cost: P6,000.
Clothes and toys and stuff for Raine. Ehehe. Can’t help it. Love getting her stuff, even if she has tons. Estimated cost: P5,000.
Stuff for the rest of the family. Share the blessings! Estimated cost: whatever’s left. Ehehe. Am I bad?

Goodbye, Beloved

2008-04-30T11:56:00.002+08:00

They came to pick up my beloved books today. I decided to donate them to a community reading room in a seamen's village in Cavite. I was saving them for my own reading room project, but since I don't think that's happening any time soon, those books will be better off with other people enjoying them.

More space for new books then. I welcome donations. :D

Hmm. Let's make it a game. Send me a book (or at least suggest a title of a book) you think I should read. :)

More Baby Stuff I Love

2008-04-25T13:32:00.003+08:00

In a way, motherhood is easier in my generation, because of all the cool baby gadgets and gizmos we have (but whether it's easier to raise kids now than in our moms' generation is a different story). My favorite things so far (aside from the stuff in my last post):

Angel Toothbrush. This is like a cross between teether and toothbrush. It can, according to the packaging, clean 10 teeth at a time and clean all six surfaces. Since Raine only has three teeth, and I never knew teeth have six surfaces (I can account for only five), I am duly impressed. It's also easy to use, since Raine likes it and I don't have to force her to use it (unlike that finger brush I tried before--had to force my finger into Raine's mouth, which is scary to do now because her teeth are really sharp). I stick it in the freezer to help soothe her gums. She just has to bite it to clean her teeth. Now my main challenge is remembering to make her brush her teeth.

Jar of Hope Gel. 100% organic and created by the mompreneurs of Indigo Baby. My kind of thing! I use Jar of Hope for everything, from diaper rash (well, almost rash--I put this at any sign of reddening) to insect bites. I also put it on bungang araw, scratches, Raine's gums and any bumpy skin. Works pretty well. My only complaint is that it's more watery than gel-like, but they said they're reformulating it to deal with that (they reply immediately!). It's best kept in the ref--feels good when you put it on sunburnt skin.

Shoo Fly Insect Repellant. I love the smell of this. Also from Indigo Baby, this is 100% organic as well. Works well, isn't sticky and makes skin feel smooth after.

Praise Baby Collection VCD. I try not to let Raine watch TV (though we both watch American Idol. Ehehe. Now, when I sing to her, she claps) and I limit her videos. Among her allowed videos, this is her favorite. It has well-loved praise and worship songs, and it shows stuff she loves--babies and kids playing, furry animals, balls and fish. She can pick her video out of a pile. She gives it to me than she starts dancing--her sign that she wants to watch.

Huggies Pull Up Pants. Makes diaper changing so much easier! At night, or for long stretches between diaper changes, I still use Pro-Kids, since Huggies doesn't absorb as much.

J&J Top-to-Toe Wash. I love the smell of the yellow one. And it's so practical for traveling--no need to bring shampoo, and no worries about sticky bars of soap.

Mommy Matters Nursing Tops. I still breastfeed Raine up to now. It's healthier, saves us a bundle, and makes going out and around so much easier, without tons of equipment to haul. Nursing tops make the whole breastfeeding routine more discreet, especially in public. It's hard to look for decent and affordable nursing tops though. So I'm pretty happy with Mommy Matters. Not only do they have stylish tops, they also do home service! For a minimal fee (which is waived if you make a minimum purchase), they deliver a whole collection to your house, where you can fit and choose at your own pace, and they pick up payment and whatever you didn't get after a few days. Talk about service. I wish they had dressier tops though.
Bugaboo Headband. I don't know what this furry, antennaed headband is called, but it sure made Raine get into kikay stuff. From detesting anything on her hair, she now asks to wear the Bugaboo, clips and hats.

Gifts for SAHM

2008-04-17T12:17:00.006+08:00

There was a post on one of my mailing lists a few weeks back, asking what would make a good gift for a woman who decided to be a SAHM--otherwise known as a stay-at-home-mom. Having made the transition myself (technically though, I'm a WAHM, a work-at-home-mom, since I still do rackets every now and then), here's my list of things I'd appreciate (and I'm sure other SAHMs would too):

Gift certificate or voucher for a manicure and pedicure. If you can throw in a foot spa, that would simply be divine. Having your toes look pretty and well-tended, even in your pambahay tsinelas can lift your spirits, especially after a trying day. Even better, throw in a couple of babysitting hours while we grateful SAHMs go for the pedicure.
Gift certificate or voucher for a massage. Carrying the baby, doing chores, running after the toddler--all these take toll on your body. A massage will be utterly orgasmic. Really. Again, add a couple of babysitting hours (or arrange for someone to do so) to make it perfect.
Gift certificate or voucher for a foot massage. This is a totally separate item from a body massage. Mommies' feet take a pounding all day. Enough said.
Home cleaning/organizing/decorating service. Especially for SAHMs with no helpers. Or if not a cleaning service, then some home organization or interior decorating service. I am not artistically inclined, so even after two years in this house, it still looks bland. And now that there's a baby to look after, prettifying the house is at the top of my want list but at the bottom of my to-do list. It's easy to look for someone to do the service these days, and people like Marilen Faustino-Montenegro of Color My Space even have an online store.
Ready made meals. Again, for moms with no help, prepared meals are a godsend. Whenever The Hubby brings home take-out, I melt. Even if it's just Chow King. It doesn't have to be fancy, or from a restaurant; even overruns (not week old leftovers though) from your kitchen will be fine. My sister-in-law, for example, sometimes sends over some of whatever she's cooking, and I totally adore her. What can I say, the way to my heart is really through my stomach!
Clothes. Not like SAHMs go anywhere much. But some nice stay-at-home clothes or more fashionable pambahay would be really appreciated. So when the husbands come home, we don't greet them in ratty shorts and t-shirts (the modern equivalent of the daster) covered with drool, spitup and crayon marks. And some going out clothes would be good too, since pre-preggy and and pre-SAHM outfits would probably not quite fit.
A joyride. I really appreciate it when people give me a lift to wherever. I don't drive (something I must remedy) and The Hubby has the car anyway. So if I have to get anywhere, I commute. And I bring the baby. So it's a big deal when I get to hitch a ride with someone. And an even bigger deal when someone offers to take me wherever I need to go.
A day-off. The Hubby lets me take a day-off once a week. We get our trusty old Aling Lourdes to watch Raine, I hitch out with The Hubby, and I wander around the mall to my heart's content. Alone. No baby. Pure bliss. And The Hubby gives me spending money too. In case a day off isn't feasible, then some alone time at home will suffice. Take the kids out for a walk and let the SAHM have extra time under the shower, or time to nap or just stare at the ceiling and contemplate life.
Decent conversation. There are only so many times you can say, "Where's the baby?" and keep sane. And in cases like mine when there's only you and the baby for the entire day, adult conversation is like manna. So drop by your favorite SAHM's house (check for a good time though) and be prepared to listen (even if it's all about the quality and quantity of poop for the day). Adult companionship is highly appreciated. Bring a treat if you like. Oh, it would also be great if you don't expect to be served and waited on like a guest. Roll up your sleeves and help out, even if it's just to pick up toys scattered around, or clear the table of breakfast, or entertain the baby while we wash the dishes.
A little hobby or project to indulge in. Be it a cross stitch sampler, a knitted scarf, a scrapbook or a decadent bobo book--any bit of free time doing something enjoyable and non-SAHM-related is a great break. Sure, it may not got done immediately (maybe when the last child turns 18). But it's nice to know that in case we do get time (and energy), it's there.
Something kikay. A few months after I had Raine, we had some guests over for dinner. One of them, Maricar, brought me a little kit from Ling Cosmetics, with a cleanser, toner, moisturizer and a couple of cleansing masks. "Most people bring something for the baby," she explained, "I thought that you could use something for yourself." I was so touched. Maricar is single with no kids, yet she was one of the very few who understands that yes, you are a mommy, and you adore anything for your baby. But you still want to be babied yourself, but you most likely will not get anything frivolous for yourself because you'd want to spend that money on your baby.

This Morning

2008-04-15T15:35:00.005+08:00

It's 4:20AM. I hear giggling. I pry an eye open. Raine's huge, three-tooth grin greets me, and she squeals in delight, as if saying, "Finally! Someone else is awake!"

She's standing beside the bed, her head level with mine. "Babababa," she says as she thrusts a furry, pink sequined-antennaed hairband at me. I sit up groggily. "Oh, you want to wear your bugaboo," I say. She emphatically nods a yes. I put the hairband on her (crookedly, I think) and lay back down. She giggles and babbles some more. Then she sits down and plays with her toys in the half dark. I drift off.

It's 4:43AM. I feel something hard on my hand. My eyes open to Raine's pleading ones. I look down at my hand. She wants me to hold on to her favorite garden-themed picture frame. I oblige. It feels as if I were in a dream, playing Point to the Object. "Where's the ladybug? Where's the butterfly? Where's the flower?" I mumble. I can barely keep my eyes open to check if she does point to the right thing.

4:49AM. I can hear Raine giggling. She's peeking over me, waving at her Daddy, who turns over in his sleep. I'm still holding on to the picture frame. "It's too early to be awake, Rainey," I tell her. She yawns and goes back to playing, her twinkling antennas bouncing on her head.

At 5AM I get up to go to the bathroom. Raine crawls after me a few moments later. She teeters at the border of the bathroom and the hallway, since she's not allowed inside the bathroom. She hands me my cellphone. I thank her. She sits in the hallway, patiently waiting as I finish my business. When I get out, she lifts her arms to be carried. She's taken off her bugaboo. I bring her back to bed and we snuggle down. In a few minutes, we're both asleep.

A Rock and a Hard Place -- More Party Planning Adventures

2008-04-04T17:18:00.007+08:00

Growing up, we always celebrated my birthday at home. After school, entire class would fall in line (there were less than 30 of us) and we would walk to my house (I lived like 5 minutes away, and when I was in Kinder, I used to go home every time the teacher told us to go to the bathroom). My mom, aunts and uncle would work for weeks before my party, making invitations, decorations and party favors. I recently chatted with a grade-school classmate, and she said they so looked forward to my parties every year.

My ultimate, all-time, absolutely most favorite party was my seventh. Since I was already a bookworm way back then, my mom decided to have books as a theme. My aunt wrote and illustrated a story that worked in all the party details; then they mimeographed copies (computers and printers and all that weren't used back then); then cut up each page and hand-colored each drawing; my uncle cut up illustration board to make a cover for each book invitation, which my aunt drew on again. Imagine making more than 30 pieces of that! The giveaways were candies and little toys in a 'book' box my mom made from cardboard, with the name of each guest written on the spine. During the party the giveaways were arranged on the shelf, like a library. They cooked all the food (yes, the usual spaghetti and hotdogs and barbecue), organized all the games and did all the hosting. Only when the party was done did the adults come to pick up their kids.

Anyway, that was a rather long intro to this post on planning and executing Raine's first party. I wanted her party to be like mine, and my sisters'. I didn't want store bought stuff, or party professionals. But given that 1) Raine's guest list was huge, since it was her dedication and birthday celebration; 2) our current house wouldn't fit all the guests; and 3) even if it did, I don't think I can cook that large scale. So I settled for having it in Mario's Kitchen in Tiendesitas instead.

Mario's offered to do balloon centerpieces for the tables (for an additional fee, of course) to make it more festive, but I declined. For one thing, what will you do with the balloons after the party? I don't think they're quite environment friendly as well. And also, I am such a cheapskate. I can't imagine spending P1,200 for balloons. So in the tradition of our Baguio parties, I decided to make my own centerpieces.

I liked the idea of some friends of ours, who had their photos at the wedding reception tables. I thought it was a good idea to let people see pictures of Raine as she grew up (and besides, it was good use, other than Multiply, for the thousands of pictures I had of Raine). So I decided to make a rock-and-wire photo holder. Theoretically, it's easy to make. You get a rock, paint it, let it dry, twist wire on and voila! Artsy-craftsy photo holder. Ha! Little did I know.

For one thing, did you know that these days you have to buy rocks? I remember being able to walk around Baguio and rocks were everywhere for the picking (I can imagine myself old and in the rocking chair, saying things like, "Rocks? Rocks? Bah! In my day we didn't need to buy rocks! Oh...you were talking about socks?")! Unless, of course, I went around the village going through the neighbors' landscaped yards, you apparently can no longer pick up rocks these days. Fortunately, my in laws had a nice collection of river stones that they used in a school project (the in laws run a school in San Pablo), so they hauled the rocks from the bukid over to our house for painting.

Now painting was a different thing entirely. I mean how difficult can it be to paint a rock? In my mind, it was such a duh task. And so I kept putting off painting the rocks. Until the day before the party. My friend Stef (Raine's Tishpy--or godmother) came over to help. I am so glad she did. Because I discovered painting rocks is not that easy, especially if you're as--ahem--artistically uninclined as I apparently am. My first rock looked like a bad case of chicken pox and zits. Taking pity on me (and the rocks), Stef said, "Paint stripes...no one can go wrong with stripes." And still Stef had to coach me on how to paint stripes! Ayayay. Putting the wire on wasn't easy either; I couldn't figure out how to use the long nose pliers at first, but I eventually got the hang of it. So long story short, I ended up with only 24 out of the originally planned 40 rock photo holders (I couldn't in good conscience hold Stef hostage until she finished all the rocks).

In the end, I think they came out rather nice. Thanks so much, Stef! You are such a blessing! Oh, and Fuji Film in Glorietta had a great printing promo, so I spent half of what I expected for the prints, so that was another blessing. As I mentioned in my previous post, we have experienced such blessings and favor since Raine came into our lives. And we are grateful.

Grace and Favor (And Why You Should Listen to Your Mom)

2008-03-31T10:49:00.006+08:00

Even before Raine was born, we were told that she would be a child of grace. And like most things of grace, Raine was definitely undeserved. I mean, how could two such grumpy people like The Hubby and myself produce such a happy, sunny child (though there are times when Raine is acting up that I scream inside my head--what did I do to deserve this? I'd scream it out loud but the neighbors might think I'm weird--and this is an entirely different topic, the stresses of motherhood)?

Aside from the grace, we've also experienced God's favor. The Hubby got a new, well-paying job that gives me the option not to work so I can focus on Raine. I also got several opportunities for my writing that still allowed me to work from home. Sort of. We discovered that The Great Aling Lourdes also makes a fantastic babysitter for Raine, so I can leave them together without worry. My mom visits us regularly, and so I get additional motherhood coaching, someone to have decent adult conversation with while The Hubby us at work, and another babysitter! The blessings go on and on.

So it's little wonder that when we celebrated Raine's first birthday and her dedication, it was filled with grace and favor. Take the venue and the food. When we started planning, my mom said in that cheerful, optimistic voice of hers, "Let's have it catered by Mario's!" And I just rolled my eyes and gave a snort. Like, hello,mom. Mario's is fine dining and expensive and we're working with a small budget...

I mean I love Mario's. Growing up in Baguio (where the original Mario's is), going to Mario's was such a treat. I remember my mom would save up so we could eat there on special occasions. And then she'd give us lessons on fine dining, like which fork to use, and how to tip the waiter (short side story: when I was about 10 years old, I got a summer job peeling potatoes at a french fry factory. With my pay, I treated my mom to lunch at Mario's. When I got the bill, my mom stopped me from counting out the exact amount and told me to give a larger bill so I had change to leave as tip). So I know the food is good. And I know that they're pricey. So I didn't even put Mario's on my list.

I started making the calls of different restaurants and caterers. It was frustrating. My main problem was I had grand visions and a small budget. And since it was March and I started party preparations late, the places with the reasonable prices were already booked (grad season!). Two and a half weeks before the party date, I finally asked my mom if we could try Mario's. "Ok," she said, "I'll call the owner." And she did. And we ended up in Mario's Kitchen, Tiendesitas. We had a fantastic brunch (they were fully booked in the afternoon), the food was great, the place looked classy, the service was good, and they worked with our budget. The churros were a hit. Lesson learned? Even when you're older and you have a kid of your own, mother knows best, oh me of little faith.

Then there's the cake. I've always loved Claycakes. Even way back when I was planning my wedding, I had my eye on Claycakes, but I never asked because they looked too expensive. Then during my Masigasig stint last year, I sort of met Karla Magbanua, the 'sugar artist' behind Claycakes. She was so nice and really down to earth. I really wanted a Claycake for Raine, because I wanted something unique (all Karla's cakes are unique--she interviews her clients so she can come up with a design that really reflects them!) and because I knew only Karla could make a Rainey cake topper the way I imagined it. But the budget held me back. Finally, my mom stepped in again. She told me that it can't hurt to ask. And so cringing with embarrassment, and prepared to be shot down, I called Karla. And God's favor was upon us again.

Karla was beyond accommodating. She was even enthusiastic! The design of the cake she created was based on Raine's giveaway book (a story I wrote--more on that later). It was perfect. The Rainey cake topper was really like Raine in her classic sitting-down-and-beaming pose. And it was scrumptious. I mean days after the party, it was still good! And the yummy, chewy icing was so mindblowing. But beyond the cake, I was really touched by her effort. She even went to Mario's to do an ocular, and explained to the staff how to serve the cake. So lesson learned? Again, listen to your mom. It doesn't hurt to ask.

Secret Passions

2008-03-08T16:56:00.002+08:00

I can't help it. Whenever I see perforated paper, I simply have to tear it. I do it slowly, making sure that it tears only along the dotted lines, savoring each little millimeter that daintily gives way, until I have two separate pieces with slightly ragged edges that match. I hate it when--due to faulty perforation or some wrong move of mine--I don't have perfectly ripped paper, when tiny chunks of paper mar the perforated edges. And folding over multiple pieces of paper so you can tear it in one go--sacrilege!

In public, I surreptitiously tear tickets. You're supposed to give in the entire piece, so I gently work the middle part, leaving the pieces of the ticket connected only by the last two perforated dot things at each side. I love those receipts generated by dot matrix printers--continuous forms are pure delight. And after I tear off the hole-y edges, I fold them into an origami chain. Each and every time. No matter where I am. Or whether I'm running late. I have to, otherwise some cosmic balance will be disturbed.

At home, I eagerly wait for my Readers Digest subscription. Not only because I read the magazine from cover to cover, but also because they are masters of perforated things and beyond.

If any of you subscribe to RD, then you'd know that they have this yearly raffle, and you have to send in some form that you tear off from their letter. Oh joy. More than that, you have to put stickers on the appropriate box to guarantee your raffle entry. Even better are the stickers that indicate your choice of BMW color, or whether you'd like to take your 15M in one go or over 5 years. Sometimes they have this rub-off portion, which reveals the secret number that will let you win an additional P250,000. Of course, most of the time they're also peddling something, like vegetable cookbooks and trivia books and the best romantic songs of the century all on one CD! And since I love reading brochures (and RD brochures are always well made), I enjoy that as well. It's nearly orgasmic.

The peddling I love best is when they send a whole catalogue, which comes with a sheet of product stickers and you have to tear off the product you choose and stick it on the order form. I tear the entire sheet and neatly lay out the stickers on the table as I contemplate which ones I'd like to order. Sometimes The Hubby helps me. If I'm feeling generous, I let him choose his own product (the order form is limited to maybe four items). Then we discuss our winning options, whether we'd like to receive the check privately or at a big party in a posh hotel (my choice--might as well get a free dinner out of it as well). Then I tear, sticker and scratch away. I put everything in the "Say Yes!" envelope, making sure all my documents are complete and I seal the envelope. Then I put it in my recycling bin.

I wonder why I never win in that RD raffle.

Snapshots of Raine

2008-02-21T15:54:00.004+08:00

While I fix up in the living room, Raine signs 'milk'. I tell her to wait, since Mommy is still cleaning. She crawls up the two steps into the bedroom, and as I follow her, attempts to climb up the bed. She looks back at me and signs milk again. I oblige. Some things are more important than chores.

***

We're in the guestroom. I put her down on the floor and hand her a book. I search through the shelves. When I turn back to her, she's sitting comfortably on the sofa bed, reading. As I look at her, amazed, she looks up at me, as if to say, "What, you never seen a kid reading before?"

***

Raine and The Hubby are lolling around in bed, on opposite sides. The Hubby reaches out with his hand. "Raine, come kiss Daddy," he says. She looks at him. "Come on, Raine. Please come kiss Daddy." With as little effort as possible, she rolls over a bit and kisses his hand. Who da bum now?

***

Raine loves going through my underwear drawer, ostensibly weeding out my ratty undies. One day, I find the drawer open and not much mess. Raine is playing nearby. "I see you threw out only one panty today," I tell her as I fold and put my poor does-not-meet-Raine's-standards underwear away. She looks at me, crawls back to the drawer, flings out the panty I just put back in plus one more. Then she crawls back to what she was doing.

***

It's getting hard to feed Raine in public, as loves acrobatic feeding. She's very good at it too. She can feed upside down; sitting and bent over double; on her tummy, coming up periodically to gasp for air; on her side, with legs and arms waving in the air. But the most adventurous so far are her yoga feeding poses--she can do the downward dog and feed with ease. I think she was a future in yoga.

***

Someone gave Raine a driving toy, which looks like an abbreviated van dashboard. I find her gleefully driving: turning the steering wheel like some maniac driver dead set on mowing down pedestrians, working the stick shift with her foot. I do not look forward to the day she offers to drive me around.

The Official Press Release

2008-02-21T13:40:00.005+08:00

The other day, 19 February, The Hubby and I have celebrated three years of being married. By November this year, we'd have been officially together eight years; by June, we'd have known each other 20 years. This is the story that I will tell Rainey.

We were batchmates in high school. The Hubby doesn't remember our first 'date'. But I do--it was traumatic. We both lived in the dorm. His good friend Al and my good friend Deanne, The Hubby and I had managed to score gate passes to SM City on a school day. This was in the first few weeks of our freshman year--we were all promdis excited to go malling. So as we were wandering around the hallowed halls of SM, our second home back in high school, in our tablecloth school uniform, we run into my dad. Busted on my first try at playing hooky.

We never really hung out in the same crowd. The Hubby was one of those limelight kids, always in the center of everything, in a huge barkada of the popular people. I, on the other hand, liked to stay in the background with my tight, small group of friends. Our last high school encounter--he was the date of one my two high school best friends, and we sat at the same table at the Grad Ball. Must dig up the picture of that.

College, we'd run into each other at the CASAA and he'd regale me with tales of his numerous panganays. Fast forward eight years post high school graduation. The Hubby organized a batch gimmick, which my mom forced me to attend (so we owe my mom big time). I walked into the now defunct Gensan on Jupiter, and the rest, as the cliche goes, is history.

The Hubby took one look at me and decided never to let me go (hey, this is MY version). He rigged the seating arrangement so that we'd sit next to each other. I didn't notice him or his machinations at first. I was telling an old friend that I had just quit my ad agency job and was now a freelance writer. Said friend advised me to get a rich boyfriend to drive me around on my assignments, and I said I needed a car more. Suddenly The Hubby piped in, "I have a car!" And I retorted, "But are you rich?" And he said, "I will be in five years." Talk about pick up lines that work!

At the start, we weren't really dating. We were ostensibly just keeping each other company till I found my rich boyfriend with a car, and he found his playthings (he had just decided to shed his choir boy image and be a playah). Yeah, right. About five weeks later, we were officially a couple. And thus began a tempestuous relationship, full of high drama, two major breakups, a lot of heartache but a lot of happiness as well. We were both ultra sensitive people who held grudges so our relationship was never easy.

What I've noticed among people we know--when you have a major breakup, you either stay apart and count your blessings, or you realize that you can't live without each other and you get married...

We chose the latter, obviously, and two years later we were blessed with our beautiful Erynne Isobel.

And three years later, we have less of the tempestuousness, more of the laughter. I guess after 20 years, we're finally growing up.

Acushla, here's to eight years and counting...

It's My Party

2008-02-14T11:39:00.000+08:00

I'll whine if I want to.

My head feels like it's in a vise grip. My nose is drippy (and the mucous is yellow so it's a real cold) but when I try to blow almost nothing comes out. All my teeth hurt. Yes, each and every one of them. My gums are tender. That thing at the roof of your mouth, by the back, is sore. My scalp is hyper sensitive; touching it makes my head hurt more. My eyes are dry and hot. I'm alternately hot and cold. My ears are blocked. My back is crampy. And I need a pedicure.

I have an article due. Two interviews. More research. An elaborate valentine dinner to prepare. A baby to take care of. Dishes to wash. A house to clean. Toys to put away.

I want my Mommy.

Urgent on the To-Do List

2008-02-05T10:46:00.000+08:00

This morning, as I was washing the dishes, I suddenly found myself belting out the chorus of Just Another Woman in Love, together with the neighbor and her YesFM. I can't believe I know the lyrics to that! I constantly amaze myself with the things I didn't know I know.

Man. Must get our sound system fixed.

Something New for Valentine

2008-02-04T14:14:00.000+08:00

Thinking of something new to do this season of luuuuuv? Why not spread the love? Adopt a pet!

Lots of cats and dogs are waiting for people to love them and take them home. This is much cheaper than buying a pet from the petshop, and the dogs and cats you adopt will love you undyingly for it.

I'm reposting the adoption guidelines:

"The steps in adopting from PAWS are generally as follows:

1. Print out and fill up the adoption application form found in this:

http://www.pitstopit.com/paws3/adoptionapplication.htm

2. Schedule an adoption consultation (to coincide with your visit to the shelter to meet the dogs / puppies / cats / kittens available for adoption) by calling 475-1688, open from Mondays through Saturdays from 10am to 5pm. Closed on holidays.The PAWS shelter is located at Aurora Blvd, Katipunan Valley, Loyola Heights, Quezon City (at the back of the Ateneo de Manila University). Detailed directions can be found here: http://parc.mefindhome.org/If the results of your adoption consultation indicate that adopting from the shelter is a good fit for you, we move on to steps 3 to 6 below:

3. "Meet-the-dog / cat" session ( we allow a few minutes for prospective adoptive parent and animal to check each other out & see if they are compatible). Our adoption counselors will help you find a dog / cat that best fits your personality, lifestyle, and level of pet ownership experience.

4. Payment of adoption fee. Depending on the choice of animal (some dogs or cats may still be undergoing treatment or are scheduled for shots, spay/neuter surgery, etc.), you can take home your new companion on your first, second, or third visit. Note: Adoption fee of P1000 per dog and P300 per cat is not really an "adoption fee" per se but to help us keep the rehabilitation and adoption program going. =)Please note that all animals adopted from PAWS are:1. spayed / neutered2. have rabies shots, and 5-in-1 shots (for dogs) or 3-in-1 shots (for cats)3. have been dewormed & groomed4. dogs have received monthly heartworm preventives and flea & tick preventives

5. come with a free adoption kit (free sample pet food)

6. may avail of free basic obedience training from our shelter manager (by appointment)7. may avail of free consultation and discounts on services from PAWS clinic (note: by appointment).8. excited to go to new homes and begin their second chance at a good life!"

Ode to a Faucet

2008-01-29T21:57:00.000+08:00

Raine's second absolute favorite thing in the world are faucets. Yup. Faucets. Source of her absolute favorite thing in the world: running water.

When she takes a bath in her tub, she reaches up to the faucet reverently. "Rrrrrrawwwwr," she says softly. "Babababababa mmmmmmaaa. Wwwwrooak." Then as her passion grows, she gets more effusive with her praise. "Yaaaaaaaa! Hakhrrrrkrrrrk! Eeeeeeeyaaaaahaaahaah!"

Finally, she gives the faucet a loving pat and pays it the ultimate compliment. "Tttthhhh," she says. "Thhhhh."

Faith and Fortune(r)

2008-01-22T12:12:00.000+08:00

Got a new car last Saturday; a Toyota Fortuner. The Hubby and I still can't believe that we have it; can't believe that we could afford it. But with God's abundant provisions, we have a huge SUV looming in our now-tight garage.

I didn't really think we needed a new car. The Altis was serving us perfectly well, though it was a tad beat up. But Rose, The Hubby's sister, wanted to buy it. But I was still resistant. I ran through our budget several times, coming up with scenarios from living it large to super tipid. I didn't agree that we could afford the monthly payments. I kept telling The Hubby that we would be living beyond our means; that the cash flow glitches would have us both stressed out; what would happen if something happened in the next six years; and so on. Finally, in exasperation, The Hubby told me, "You're thinking like you aren't a child of God!"

And that shut me up and got me thinking. I mean I have faith in God, that he will provide our daily needs. But what I need to work on is my faith that God also provides our wants (not to mean that we get everything we want). Like an indulgent father, he takes joy in giving us the unexpected, the non-essential, pleasurable things. Now that I have Raine, I am beginning to get an inkling of this, but still, I struggled with thoughts on whether or not The Hubby had great faith or suicidal faith.

But God's favor was on us. We were given a great financing deal; even the Toyota agent was amazed by the near-ridiculous payment scheme approved for us. Processing of the papers went smoothly. In less than a week since we decided to make the purchase, we got the Fortuner. And we realized that The Hubby's nightmares--jumping up and down to close the back door; not being able to reach the gas pedals; not being able to see out of the windshield--were unfounded.

The Fortuner drives like a dream, according to The Hubby (he won't even let me attempt to drive it!). And Raine gets her own window! More space for more people! Road trips! We actually went to Tagaytay to attend a friend's wedding (and we missed half the ceremony :() right after we picked up the car. When we arrived home near midnight, The Hubby still found the energy to vacuum and house down the car. Hope the enthusiasm lasts!

But back to faith. I'm glad that The Hubby has faith enough for both of us. I need to work on mine. As that father in Mark 9 said, I believe. Lord, help me overcome my disbelief.

All I Want for Christmas

2007-12-20T08:51:00.000+08:00

The Hubby and I have extremely low EQs. Over the past two weeks, we've been giving each other our unwrapped Christmas presents. Mainly because we can't wait to see the other's reaction to the gift. Now we have nothing left to open on Christmas day. Oh dear. I hope Raine's EQ soars way above ours.

So far, The Hubby's given me one of those memory foam pillows (because I always complain about neck pain when I wake up); an oven thermometer (because I always harp on about how am I supposed to know when the oven has reached its required temperature); a meat thermometer (because I once overcooked pot roast, and the other time I undercooked it); The Best Philippine Short Stories of the Twentieth Century (because I kept getting it and putting it back on the shelf at the bookstore); and The Poetry of Pablo Neruda (because The Hubby is a romantic, I've always wanted to try reading more poetry, and we both loved the poetry reading off Il Postino).

Me, I've given The Hubby Exceptional Breads (because he wants to move beyond bread machine bread), underwear, shirts and a dressier office jacket. These aren't my real gifts though, since they're stuff he really needs. I'm still waiting for something before I can get him the gift I've been planning to give. In case that doesn't push through, I still have Plan B. Now if only I can find it...

The Hubby has also been reminding me to list down all the stuff that we sort of need or want to get. So here's my list:

Vacuum cleaner - a wet & dry one, with the reversible blowing/sucking function. The heavy duty one, since we need to vacuum often (our bedroom is carpeted).
Mattress - we inherited a lovely antique narra bed, which came with a sort of antique mattress. The Hubby is attached to the mattress though; I think he grew up on it.
New sound system - I'd be very happy just to get our current one's CD player fixed. Then I can play all the CDs of Raine. And I can teach her about the classics. Like U2 and EBTG and Sting and Tchaikovsky.
DVD player - ours has been around even before we got married. It has gotten very picky in its old age, and we sometimes have to settle for watching movies on the laptop because the ornery old DVD player won't play.

Hmm. Wow. That's all I can think of at the moment. Isn't wonderful? We have everything we need! We really have to thank God for that. He's been such a faithful (and generous!) provider. And as we celebrate Rainey's first Christmas, I pray that we get the message across to her. That it isn't about the giving of gifts, but about the God who loved us so much that he gave us the greatest gift ever--the life of his son for ours.

Out the Window

2007-12-17T12:30:00.000+08:00

I recently asked my mom--who is one of the most patient, laid-back, slow-to-get-riled people I know--if she ever, ever felt like tossing me out the window when I was a kid. "Oh, many times," she cheerfully replied. It made me feel so much better.

For all her precociousness and cuteness, Raine can sure be one annoying baby. And if my near-saintly mom felt like tossing me--and according to my mom, I was "such a good kid" (I didn't say that!)--then I guess it's normal for me to feel that too. Well, given my impatience and low threshold for irritants, I may indulge in window throwing fantasies more often.

My fear is that I am raising exactly the kind of kid that I don't like: the whiny brat. Raine isn't a high-maintenance baby; she's very sweet and happy--if she gets her way. She wants to be carried when I'm cooking or washing the dishes. She likes to poke and touch and hold and fling and eat whatever I'm holding. And when she doesn't get to, she whines and whines and whines. Of course saying "no" to her elicits that trembling-lower-lip face, and sometimes wails worthy of Bantay Bata.

People tell me that this is normal, since babies can't quite communicate what they want, need or feel yet. But as her mom who is with her 24/7, I feel that I should be able to decipher her baby ramblings by now. I suppose I can tell what she's trying to say, it's just that sometimes I'm busy or too exhausted to really act on it. Most of the time her whining means, "Play with me, Mommy. Play with me now." Or she wants to go out and see Chloe, the grumpy old dog, or the birds, or the fish or her favorite bamboo chimes hanging out in the back. And me, I just want to stay in the room and read with my feet up. How do you balance being Mommy, the all-around entertainment center, the housekeeper, the chef (I am elevating myself from cook) and being just plain Ree?

I love my daughter. Every day I look at her, I am amazed by the perfection of her toes and fingers, by the joy in her smile, by her happy disposition (I am even more amazed how two such grumpy people like The Hubby and me produced such a cheerful baby!). I watch her roll up to sitting position, I watch her zip and zoom around the living area in her walker (taking great care that she doesn't run over my toes), I watch her as she sleeps. I savor her warmth when she feeds, and when she snuggles up to me. My heart still melts every time she lays her head on my shoulder, or when her eyes light up when I walk into the room.

I love being Raine's Mommy. But sometimes frustration and annoyance, even anger, is normal. I guess what I should chuck out the window is my preconceived notions of motherhood (it's an everyday process). I am Raine's mom, not the Perfect Mom. And with God's grace, I can try to be the best mom for Raine. And I think that's the best thing we can do for our kids.

Best Baby Things

2007-11-19T20:10:00.000+08:00

Gail tagged me ages and ages ago, but I really sat down to think what ten things have significantly helped Rainey and me. Now that Raine's napping and I'm waiting for The Hubby to get home so we can eat a sinful sisig dinner (with fresh salad greens to nullify the cholesterol), I'll make that list. In no particular order (and not exactly 10 items):

Avent Uno IQ Breastpump & Playtex Storage Bags - don't know how I would have survived without these. Raine is still completely breastfed, so when I leave the house, or leave her with someone else, she has to have an ample supply of milk. I also have enough milk to donate to others. I love the Avent pump since it's relatively painless, quick and very efficient, compared to the Amazing Chu-Chu pump I first used.

Juniors Sitter/Rocker - great place to put the baby! Raine got the hang of rocking herself right away. She's had her rocker since she was about two months old. She'd fall asleep in it, chew on it, scratch it (she loves the feel of the seat), and now uses it as a sort of walker and pushes it around. While we haven't gotten round to buying her a high chair yet, I also feed her in it.

RJellybean Sling - in the early days, this didn't work for us, because it was at the peak of summer heat. But when the weather got cooler, and Raine got used to being in the sling, this became very handy. I love how I can do things with two hands while still 'carrying' Raine, and my arms and back don't get too tired! It's also a great conversation starter. These days, though, Raine is getting too restless in the sling, because she loves twisting and turning and looking all around. Still have to figure out how to sling her in the back. Jen CC Tan, one of the owners of the brand, is also so nice. She let me drop by her house so she could personally show me how to use the sling.

ProKids Diapers & ProKids Wipes - this is the brand that works best for Raine. I love the velcro tabs on the diapers, and the wetness indicator. The wipes smells fantastic too (lavender).

Baby Milk Bath, Cliven Diaper Rash Cream, Cliven Baby Shampoo, J&J Top to Toe Wash & Petroleum Jelly - Raine's kikay kit is comprised of these. The Baby Milk Bath comes from our pedia. It's very mild, and keeps Raine's skin soft and smooth. You apply it while she's dry, then rinse off. When I'm in a rush though, I prefer the J&J. The Cliven stuff were a gift from Tishpy and we love, love, love the scent. The Diaper cream is so effective; I even use it for Raine's occasional neck rash. Petroleum jelly, of course, has a million and one uses (this deserves a separate post!) but we use it to help prevent rashes by the mouth due to Raine's non-stop drooling.

Sandra Boynton Board Books, Dr. Seuss, Guess How Much I Love You, I love You Forever and other books - Raine loves being read to; Sandra Boynton's Bellybutton Book and Dinosaur's Binkit are favorites. Raine will usually stop fussing when you start reading to her. Before she could reach out and eat her books, I also read Dr. Suess' Hop on Pop and The Foot Book to her. I Love You Forever always makes me cry when I read it aloud, so I've stopped for now. Guess How Much I Love You is my all-time favorite, but it's a bit too long to read aloud for now. I'm trying to build Raine her own library. I hope she'll love reading and books as much as I do.
Cedric, Sofia, Benny, Betty and her other chewable toys - these 'friends' of Raine can sure keep her busy. She loves chewing and sucking on them, even if she isn't teething yet. One thing we discovered about toys though. She can have really cute, expensive ones but she prefers playing with stuff like a plastic rice serving spoon, an empty ice cream can, the straps on her rocker or stroller, even her burp cloth! So we try to control ourselves and not buy toys. I'll buy books instead!
Car seat and stroller - we have a Graco system that The Hubby's cousin loaned us, and it's so beat up I'm ashamed to give it back. Been telling The Hubby to offer to buy it off them instead. I can't imagine carrying Raine the entire trip to Baguio or Laguna, so I'm glad for the car seat. We need to get a bigger one though--she's outgrowing this one! I find the stroller too bulky for commuting, especially when it's just Raine and I, but beggars can't be choosers. It's still helpful. Imagine carrying all 20lbs of Raine all the time!
What to Expect in the First Year - one of the most helpful and informative books I've read. It keeps me in check--I don't get overly paranoid or too ecstatic about things Raine-related.
Canon Powershot G3 Digital Camera - it's an old model, but still works fine for documenting Raine's amazing life :)

To all you moms out there--what are your favorite baby things?

Rainey Days and MomDays

2007-11-15T12:54:00.000+08:00

I wasn't built for rain. It stresses me out. I get obsessed looking for leaks (our house has several). When The Boo was still here, my stress levels were right through the roof, since rain, thunder and lightning terrified the poor guy. In fact, I lost The Boo during one such thunderstorm last August. (side story: last Saturday, we went to Tiendesitas, and I saw several Shih Tzus, I missed The Boo so much I got teary eyed). I also abhore getting my feet wet, so I avoid going out. Rainy days on end drive me crazy, sometimes even inspire me to write sort of morbid short stories. Too much rain gets me low.

This is also my first week of official SAHM-hood (Stay-At-Home-Mom). Though I still get a few calls on magazine-related stuff, I can see that tapering off by next week. It makes a real difference, not having deadlines hanging over my head. I don't get as stressed when Raine doesn't follow her nap schedule; we just play until she gets sleepy. Hmm. I don't know if that's good though, not having a firm schedule. I would like to train her to be more disciplined and consistent, to be much, much better than her Mommy.

I'm wondering what other SAHMs do, and how do they do it. Last Monday, Aling Lourdes was here, so I didn't have to do any chores, including breakfast and dinner. I just prepared The Hubby's packed lunch, told Aling Lourdes what to cook, and Raine and I kept each other company. Tuesday was just me and Raine. She was in a clingy mood in the evening, so I overcooked the dinner veggies, but I got the rest of the meals out fine, washed up, fixed up and cleaned a bit. Wednesday, Aling Lourdes was here again and she kicked us out so she could clean properly, so Raine and I went to visit my brother and sister in law. Then I prepared dinner in the evening. Today, I prepared breakfast, The Hubby's lunch, played with Raine, now that she's napping I'm blogging and thinking about what to cook for dinner. Is there something missing here? I feel that I should be doing so much more. Like baking cookies or making soap or writing a novel. Or organizing the finances. Hmm. Well. I could be doing those things if I weren't blogging...But let's say I didn't have Aling Lourdes, how do other SAHMs manage the entire household and a demanding baby? Makes me appreciate my mom even more.

I'm also wondering if I'm stimulating Raine enough. Isn't she getting bored with my company? We either play in bed, where she can stand holding onto her crib (and fall without really getting hurt); hang out in the living/dining room, where she commando crawls all over, or zips around in her psychedelic pink walker (she inherited it from her aunt!); or we go for a walk around the village (which we can't do when it rains). I would've wanted to make swimming a regular thing, but The Hubby is adamant that we don't go just the two of us. I read to her (Sandra Boynton's Bellybutton Book is her favorite), but mostly I just rough-stuff and harass her. Ehehe.

Raine's also in that phase that she wants me around all the time. And the later in the day it is, the nearer I have to be. In the morning I can leave her to play in the room while I do chores or take a quick shower. In the afternoons, I can be preparing dinner and she'll be hovering around, either crawling or in her walker. By early evening, she wants to be carried, or I have to be right beside her as she plays. So I'm learning that I have to prepare dinner early in the afternoon. And I guess that's the best time to do other things as well. Like my imaginary cookies, and the phantom gourmet spreads.

But back to SAHM-hood. I feel that I should be more productive somehow. The Hubby is out all day working so I can have this option to stay home. So I feel that he should be getting value for his money. Hmm. That doesn't sound quite right.

I remember what Louise, a SAHM with no nanny and no maid, said. She told me early on that at this point, I should focus on the baby. Anything else I get done beyond baby things is a bonus. Belle, another SAHM says that just because I don't go to an office, doesn't mean I'm not working. In fact, the home is my office, and I'm on call 24/7. She and her husband have agreed that she gets "off" times, when he takes charge of their two daughters while Belle reads or does whatever she wants for herself. I guess it's a balance that I still have to work out: Rainey, The Hubby and me. Right now, Raine takes most of my time and energy. Essentials like food and making sure that there's clean underwear in The Hubby's drawer come second. Me-and-Hubby time and me time--well, whatever we can sneak in.

I suppose I'll get better at this SAHM-hood. I'm sure that among the three of us, we can work out something that will make everyone happy and loved. Rainey Days and MomDays will not get me down.

Swimming on a High

2007-11-10T04:39:00.000+08:00

Exhilarated.

That's how I felt after Raine's first swim last Thursday. My first, too, after eight months or so of being landlocked (I swam till I was about 8.5 months pregnant). As soon as I stepped into the pool, holding Raine, I felt at home.

Swimming has always been something I could do well. Oh sure, not well enough to compete, but well enough to feel confident in the water; well enough for me to enjoy it. In fact, I'd even dare say that though I may not be the better swimmer compared to my excel-at-any-sport sister Rix, I am the stronger one. And that's saying a lot, given my total klutziness and lack of coordination on land.

In the water, while doing my laps, the world is reduced to a blurry hum. There's nothing else but me, my body, my rhythm, my heartbeat, my thoughts. Embraced by the water, surrounded by it, I feel free.

Sheer pleasure.

After our swim (my mom took Raine after her swim while I did a few laps), I couldn't stop grinning. I haven't felt so high in ages. It was an ear-to-ear-smile-laugh-out-loud-even-when-alone kind of high. I knew my body was going to kill me the next day--all those unused muscles complaining--but I didn't care. And it felt so good.

I haven't felt that kind of good in a long time. Sure, The Hubby makes me feel loved, Raine makes me laugh, my work has given me a sense of accomplishment. But this kind of good comes from being able to enjoy something that isn't essential, but pleasurable nonetheless (aren't the most pleasurable things non-essentials?). And being able to share it with Raine, having her enjoy being in the water, made it even better.

I hope that, someday, Raine will find something that will give her this kind of high. I pray that she learn to relish life's little pleasurable moments. And I thank God for mine.

Shining Through

2007-11-07T20:11:00.000+08:00

Rainey went to her first art exhibit yesterday. She was the youngest guest at the opening of Shining Through, by Dan Reventar.

Tito Dan is the dad of my good friend, Kelly. He recently retired from flying (he was a corporate pilot). He took up painting as a hobby because his wife, Tita Emy, was so into cross stitching that she wouldn't talk to him, so he decided to go do his own thing. After several paintings, he asked his friend, artist Lino Severino, to check out his work, to see if he should go on, or he was just wasting his time. So Lino took two of Tito Dan's paintings, and a few days later, came back and informed Tito Dan that he was booked for an exhibit at Ayala Museum.

Tito Dan's work is all landscapes. Serene, peaceful pictures of God's gorgeous creations. I think that's what drives his work: the desire to capture the beauty of God's own work. Tito Dan is also fantastic working light and shade into his paintings. In the title piece "Shining Through", it's as if you can actually feel the radiance of the light diffusing through the trees.

Shining Through will be at the 2F ArtistSpace of Ayala Museum until the 19th of November. If you want a taste of serenity, do drop by and enjoy his paintings.

Yardstones

2007-10-30T20:13:00.000+08:00

The greatest thing about being totally hands-on with your baby--no yaya or nanny--is that you get to see all the milestones yourself. Even the yardstones (not quite a milestone, but still something to be proud of). Or milepebbles, if you prefer.

I know, for example, exactly how Raine discovered her feet. She was sitting (technically she was on her butt and I was holding her up) on the footstool in front of the mirror, one of her favorite activities in her younger days, and she happened to look down at her wiggling toes. In the mirror, I could see her expression of fascination and wonder, as in, "What are these things down here?" And I've seen every little bit of progress till she finally got her foot in her mouth. That's one of the ultimate baby goals, apparently. A yardstone in itself, but not one they put in baby books.

It's also great knowing that one of Raine's favorite songs is Stand By Me, not Boom-Tarat-Tarat or Ocho-ocho. And if I do give in to the temptations of TV, I know she isn't soaking in the local (or local-dubbed Asian) soaps. Not that I'm above watching such--I confess to knowing who Carlos Miguel and Rosario, Rosemarie and that third triplet that Claudine Baretto played are. But it isn't mindless viewing all day. I'm thankful we didn't get cable, and that even our local channel reception sucks--it makes The Hubby and I keep the boob tube turned off more often (which is a big deal for The Hubby; he even used to sleep with the TV on). But I digress.

I know what Raine's crying about, though sometimes I'm just too impatient to really listen to and decode what she's trying to tell me. I was around the first time she did that trembling-lower-lip face when I said "no" to her. I know why she suddenly took to feeding from the bottle after the great battles (she saw me pumping milk into the bottle, and she touched the bottle, looked at me--and we never had much of a problem after that). I've seen her progress from rolling one way only to rolling all over, from scooting to commando crawling, from looking like a rickety table on her hands and knees to cruising. The first time she sat up, the first time she reached out, the first time she learned to spit--I was there.

When other SAHMs told me about the joy you get from staying home with the baby and witnessing these yardstones, I was skeptical. How can you be in a state of thrill all the time? But while I haven't reached that mommy nirvana yet, I can wax poetic about things like Raine's poop.

Of course, there are times when I feel overwhelmed by our uber joint-at-the-hip-ness, (sometimes literally). I don't think it's healthy to be with the baby 24/7. For me at least. So I'm glad I get to go out once in a while. Last Monday, I went for a mini pamper session at Rustan's with my cousin Randee, and left Raine and The Hubby alone the entire afternoon for some Daddy time. Both survived the experience.

If Raine were keeping track of her own parents' progress, I suppose she'd celebrate the yardstones too. "OK, can figure out I've been stewing in my nappy in less then 20 minutes--50% improvement since last time!" Or "Hmm, finally learned that the view from the floor is great and is now rolling around with me." Or "Breastmilk is still best for babies! No yucky solid stuff!" But that last one--our battle at solids feeding, when she refuses to open her mouth and expertly spits out anything I manage to spoon in--is a tactical retreat on my part. We'll try solids again next week. Maybe I should change the spoon...

I suppose I should join Raine too, celebrating my yardstones. Motherhood, like anything else, isn't done overnight. It happens little by little. I am slowly letting go of my expectations of myself--that absurd picture in my head of the perfect mom that I have to be. I thank God that babies, Rainey in particular, are a resilient lot. They can take the little blunderings of their fumbling parents. And as Raine learns to deal with our world, I learn to deal with hers. One yardstone at a time.

End of an Era

2007-10-24T13:14:00.000+08:00

This week and next, I'll be wrapping up the December issue of Masigasig, Globe's business magazine published by Summit. After that, it's full time wifey/mommyhood for me. And I'm scared.

Some women are born domestic goddesses; others like me have to try very hard. This doesn't mean that I don't know how to run a household or do the chores. It just means that--let me put it this way: I can write a 5,000 word essay on the wonders of all-natural household cleaners in less time than it will take me to apply said cleaners to the appropriate areas of the household.

It's not that I don't enjoy domesticity. I am rediscovering my love for cooking and baking. I used to find it therapeutic, cleaning the bathroom. And nothing can give me satisfaction the way a shiny, eat-off-it-clean expanse of floor can.

I guess what I'm scared of is whether I will enjoy the SAHM (stay at home mom) role for a long period of time, when it just isn't a break from the work that I do. When it will be, in fact, my work. The sheer repetitiveness of it all overwhelms me. Like I will have to bathe the baby everyday for the next five years at least. And I will have to plan menus and cook and all that till death do us part.

I know it sounds selfish. But I know myself. I have a very short attention span. I like trying out new things, and when I've satisfied my fix, I like moving on to the next. Then again, there's some hope. I've been together with The Hubby seven years, after all. So not everything is short term with me. I guess it's a matter of attitude and God's grace.

I guess I'm also scared that I will disappear; that I will just be The Hubby's wife, Rainey's mom. I've worked hard to see my name in print; people are beginning to know my work, my byline. But there are hundreds of new writers out there, lots of them good, some of them not, but all of them available. I'd be so easy to replace. Maybe in a year, no one will remember me. And if I don't use it, I might lose it--this skill for writing. Even the drive to publish. I might turn into the wifey with nothing to talk about other than Junior's scores and how I manage to haggle down the price of fish at the market.

The other week, I turned down what could've been a lucrative gig copy editing for a Hong Kong-based magazine. I'd work from my home, and they pay in dollars! My friend from the company said that they were impressed with my resume, and that it was regrettable that I declined. It was both hard and easy to do, turning down that gig. Easy, because based on the priorities--God, The Hubby, Rainey, work--it was way down the list. And besides, The Hubby and I have already discussed that I will take the supporting role at this point in our lives, because his career is really taking off, and one of us needs to be in charge of Raine and the home.

Yet it was hard to do, because it could've been a good gig, another impressive entry in my resume, an international client. It could have been a step to other international projects. The experience (not to mention the pay) would have been great, to say the least. And it was hard to turn down because my work has defined who I am for the longest time.

But things change. Priorities change. And I'm ready to make that change. So help me God.

Today

2007-09-24T15:19:00.000+08:00

I love my daughter's feet (my daughter--still sounds so unreal, like saying "my Pulitzer" or "my New York Times bestseller"). I love the way they look: like a misaligned stack of thickly cut Spam (well, just two pieces, actually), with Alaminos longganisa toes. I love the way they feel, so soft yet substantial. I love the way her toes flex and curl. I love how I know she's awake without her making a sound, when I see her feet up in the air, barely visible over the top of her crib. I laugh at the peremptory way she parks a foot on my breast when she's feeding, as if laying claim. I love the small spots of warmth when her feet rest on my thighs. Or when her tiny toes knead my arm. Strangely, I love the way they smell on a hot day: slightly sour, slightly pungent--baby catchichas! But only under the toes of her right foot. I love the strength in them, as she kicks, kicks, kicks away; stomps in her tub; or grasps her toys between them. I know someday these feet are going to walk away from me: as she goes to her classroom on her first day of school; as she stomps away when we fight; as she moves on to live her own life. But today, I hold her beautiful baby feet in my hands, saying, "Can Mommy have these feet?" And with a laugh, my daughter gives them to me.

Raine's First Pro Photos

2007-09-18T09:38:00.000+08:00

Check out Raine's pix done by her Tishi (Tita Shishi), professional photographer Sheila Juan. They are fabulous! Tishi and Tishpy came over to the house one afternoon, ate popcorn and played with Raine--and Tishi took these wonderful photos. Thanks, Tishi!

Check out her photos done by Mommy as well (not as fab, but taken with tons of love!).

The Hot Momma's Workout

2007-08-14T16:47:00.000+08:00

While at the pediatrician's clinic last Saturday (Raine's growth is apparently self-regulating already--she gained only 0.4kg from last checkup, but her over all weight and length is 17lbs and 24in, so still good) I decided to weigh myself. My pre-pregnancy clothes were starting to fit, and I felt thinner than I did before I got preggy, so I figured I had maybe 10lbs more to lose. To my horror, I still weighed 138lbs! Where is all that weight hiding? Or am I looking at myself through make-yourself-thinner glasses? Could the milk in the boobs and the smooshy marshmallow belly really weigh that much? I was flabbergasted. Or maybe flab-coated.

I suppose I should take it as a challenge, losing that weight and getting back into bikini-clad beach goddess/hot momma shape. It's somewhat difficult, since being a work-at-home-mom with no nanny and no fulltime help, I don't really have time for the gym (not that I'd really go anyway; I'm a bum). But with some creativity, I've found ways to work some exercise into my days with Raine.

Walking. This is one of the best ways to burn some calories. I strap Raine into her stroller and we go around the village. Since I'm from Baguio (where we walk everywhere), and I love looking at other people's houses (must have been an architect in a previous life, or a member of the akyat bahay gang), this is one of my favorite activities. Plus it keeps cabin fever at bay. There are different groups walking babies in the afternoon as well, sort of yaya cliques (I think I'm the only non-yaya who takes the baby out) hanging out in the park, at the corner of Montreal and Monterey, and by the Jewish part of town. Some walk their dogs.

Raine and I have racked up some pretty good mileage on our walks. We go for at least 30 minutes, but usually take an hour or so. My sister Rix taught me an efficient way to burn more calories in less time. You'll need a stop watch for this, though. First, walk briskly for two minutes. Then walk at a normal pace for the next two minutes. Then brisk for another two, normal for another two. Just keep doing this for 20 minutes. I forgot to ask why it burns more, but since she's a Sports Science major and licensed fitness instructor, I'll take her word for it.

Superman. Got this from Rix as well. I do this while Raine's doing her tummy time. I get on my tummy too, arms stretched before me, legs behind me, chin down. Then I alternately lift opposite arms and legs. Three sets of 15 pairs should do it (I started from 10 pairs). This works the lower back--good thing for carrying the baby!

Lifts. You need a cooperative baby for this one. Again, make sure that you didn't just feed the baby! I hold Raine under the armpits and just lift her up, ala Lion King. Best done with sound effects like "up, up, up!" Raine likes this a lot. There are a lot of variations to this, depending on what your baby likes. I guess the important thing is you're working out your arms. Other lifting--like the water-filled bathtub, laundry pail, etc--works too, I suppose.

Seesaw. Another of Raine's favorite games. Sit with your knees drawn up, and place baby tummy (hers) to shin (yours). Lie down (hold on to the baby!) and draw your legs up, knees still bent so the baby is horizontal, lying on your shins. Now you can raise and lower your legs, saying "seesaw, up and down" or "airplane" or whatever you feel like saying. You can also swing your legs side to side. Or for the more daring, stretch your legs up. I feel the pain in my thighs after this, so I guess the glutes are worked out here.

Abs. Rix made me a simple abs routine to turn my jello belly into abs of steel. Well not really. But anything is better than this puffy, flabby gut. First, do 15 crunches. Then do 15 pairs of Scissor Legs--legs straight up in the air, alternately lower each one. Finally do 15 pairs of V Legs--legs up in the air, opened wide, reach for the opposite foot. Then rest, and do two more sets. I let Raine sit on my tummy while doing this. She gets a kick seeing me grunt and all that, I suppose. Plus it's teaching her to count!

Rix said that ideally, I should do this at least three times a week. Let's hope I can keep it up. Goodbye marshmallow belly! Goodbye 18lbs!

Mommy Milkshake

2007-07-31T17:19:00.000+08:00

I never realized how deeply I'd feel about breastfeeding until I had Raine. From encouraging others to actually donating breastmilk, I'm trying to do my share to get other women and babies into breastfeeding.

Which is also why I'm joining the Mommy Milkshake Marathon at The Fort this Saturday, August 4, 7:30AM. It's a 2km fun run/walk/hop for breastfeeding awareness. The fact that my seester gave me new shoes for my birthday is entirely coincidental.

Joining is free. Plus you get a free shirt too. Daddies, kids and people with no kids can join too. Just call 780 9898 to preregister.

Hope to see familiar faces over there!

Supercow Unmasked

2007-07-26T22:35:00.000+08:00

Supercow is tired.

She goes to bed as early as she can, but when she wakes up the next day, she's still tired. She slugs through her morning chores--fill the water tank, cook breakfast, take out the trash, feed the pets, pump milk--and by the time Superbaby and Superdaddy are up, she's ready to go back to bed.

But she can't. She has to feed Superbaby and make sure that Superdaddy gets to the office at a reasonable time. Then it's time to bathe Superbaby and maybe another feed and a nap. Then it's time to clean up after breakfast and fix up after bath. And if she hasn't bathed yet, now's the time for a quick shower. Really quick. Gone are the days of two-hour baths with body scrub and all that. Then it's time to boot up and start working.

But these days, Superbaby doesn't nap for 3-hour stretches like she used to. Sometimes she's awake in 30 minutes. So Supercow has a hard time concentrating. I have to be more efficient, thinks Supercow. I have to be more disciplined and learn how to use my time wisely. She marvels at all those mothers without helpers, who manage to work and take care of the baby and the house and still look good.

Nap while Superbaby naps, Supercow, people say. But she can't. She tries to, but her mind is busy churning, churning, churning. Listing all the things that can be done in the time she spends tossing and turning on the bed. When she finally starts drifting off to sleep, Superbaby wakes up and it's another cycle. And it's also time to think about dinner. And breakfast for the next day. And Superbaby's evening bath. And the articles sitting in the Inbox, still unedited. And deadlines looming. And budgets and a million other little things.

Supercow is frustrated. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Other mothers can do it. Why can't I? She has time. Superbaby is a good little baby, pretty low-maintenance, Supercow has to admit. She has help--SuperAlingLourdes comes in three times a week and helps a lot with the chores and the breakfast and the washing up. What she doesn't have is the energy. And the drive. She just wants to curl up and read and sleep and not think about anything.

She feels bad because by the time Superdaddy comes home, she's too tired and grumpy to properly talk to him. She doesn't even get to cook a proper dinner most days, and she doesn't send him off with a packed lunch.

Supercow is scared. What if she can't shake off this lethargy? What if, even if she gets her energy back, she still can't get chores done, meals on the table, house fixed up, engaging conversation and then some with Superdaddy out, or inspire Superbaby? What if, the truth is that Supercow is just a whiny lazy bum?

What if she isn't super after all?

Raine Has a Friend--And She Isn't Imaginary!

2007-07-09T18:34:00.000+08:00

Last week, as Raine and I went to Marbella Cafe by the park to get a salad for dinner. When we arrived, Bobbie, the owner was there and she was utterly charmed by Raine (this is MY version), who of course was in her usual sociable, aren't-I-cute mood.

Apparently, Bobbie's daughter just had a baby too--a little girl a month younger than Raine. Bobbie wanted Raine and Monica, her granddaughter, to meet, but when she called the house, Monica was asleep, so she couldn't be brought over (their house was near the cafe). But I suppose Bobbie was thrilled at the idea of Monica and Raine meeting, so she invited us over for just a few minutes. And she had my order delivered to her house instead.

So off we went to Bobbie's house, just in time for Monica to wake up. Cat, Bobbie's daughter, who was reviewing for the medical boards, so kindly accommodated our barging in. We lay Monica and Raine side by side on the bed. Monica was still sleepy and hungry, but Raine was obviously delighted at something her size. It was funny--flailing hands with no idea I suppose of what they were holding or touching. And in a gesture of friendship, Raine ate Monica's hand.

"Oh, I can see them inviting each other to their birthday parties!" cooed Bobbie. And I'm thinking Raine's thinking, "what's a birthday?".

But Cat and I did make some vague plans to meet again. I do hope Raine and Monica become playmates, if not friends. It's lovely being able to meet other moms with babies Raine's age. And it's nice that Raine can have 'built in' friends in this village.

Here are a couple of pictures of Raine's first play date (Raine's the cutie on the right)!

Godspotting

2007-06-29T16:48:00.000+08:00

Inspired by Stef's post on how she spotted God while killing time in the airport, waiting to see if she could get a seat to the US, I decided to come up with my own list of places, people and things that I've spotted God in this week.

In that gorgeous baby as she lies in my arms, one hand on my breast, as if keeping it in place; one foot resting on my arm, tiny toes kneading my flesh; making contented sighs and grunts as she makes like a vacuum and feeds.
In the text messages from generous mommies who answered my call for donations for a sick little baby who can only take breastmilk.
Inside the refrigerator, where the Dole Mandarin Orange Fruit Cups are chilling--pasalubong from The Hubby who is learning my love language.
In the text messages from my mom, who continually encourages me and thinks I'm getting better at this mommy thing, even when I make Raine throw up like the Exorcist while playing seesaw.
Outside, in the garage where the Boo and Chloe, the dogs, delightedly sleep in the shade of huge plants The Hubby bought, thinking that they have their own private jungle.
In the kitchen, where the ever trustworthy Aling Lourdes is cooking spicy eggplants (only had to teach her once), giving me time to do other things like blog (and supposedly work).
In my Sent folder, where proof that I have finished and sent off edited articles and recommended lineup for the next three issues of my magazine lies.
And in me--a little more grace, a tiny bit more patience, a little less stress, a lot less worries. And a lot less weight :)

So where have you spotted God this week?

While I Was Sleeping

2007-06-06T12:52:00.000+08:00

The Hubby and I have never been a "romantic" couple, in the flowers-and-chocolates sense. The Hubby is more the practical type who would buy me an optical mouse rather than a bouquet of flowers. Most of the time I am delighted with his gifts, though I wouldn't mind the sweet, romantic gestures every now and then. Then I realized that The Hubby does do those sweet, romantic things. Only, he does them while I am sleeping:

Last night, he operated on my dearly departed laptop to retrieve my hard disk, and he transferred all my files to another hard disk. And he did this even if he had other projects to finish, which keep him up till 4AM.
The other night, I forgot to put on my bandage, and I semi woke up to him carefully wrapping the bandage around my hand.
When I was a very pregnant, very hot momma (literally), he'd have all the fans pointing at the bed, full force, then he'd go to sleep beside me, wrapped in a fluffy blanket.
When Raine cries (and he's still awake), he changes her diaper, soothes her, and wakes me up only if she needs to feed.
When I fall asleep in bed, reading, he puts away my book and takes off my glasses--and puts it somewhere I can easily grope for it.

Aww.

***

Yesterday, 5 June, was the third year anniversary of the day The Hubby proposed marriage inside the car in the middle of a muddy parking lot at Sonya's Garden, with an apathetic carabao as witness. I'm glad I said yes.

God Bless This Cow

2007-06-06T12:34:00.000+08:00

Yesterday, I donated 25oz of breastmilk to a total stranger. Her baby boy has been in the NICU the past two weeks, and breastmilk is all his poor little tummy can tolerate. His mommy has run out of milk, which is not surprising, considering all the stress that she's under. That little boy needs a continuous supply, about 20-24oz a day.

As I gave away Raine's entire stash, I was overwhelmed by how blessed I am. I have a beautiful, healthy baby. I have an overabundance of breastmilk, enough for my baby, and enough to bless others with. I have a great breastpump, which allows me to harvest quickly and painlessly. I have a supportive husband, who encourages me to pump, and was all for donating the milk.

I also realized how distant from God I've been. I haven't read my bible since I gave birth. I haven't attended cell, and I haven't gone to service. My prayers are more of "Lord, please let Raine stop crying," or "Lord, please, one more hour of sleep!" Yet through my inattention, God continues to be there for me, and even if I tend to be an ungrateful wretch, he still continues to bless me.

Isn't it amazing? Thank you, Lord.

***

For those who also want to donate breastmilk, let me know, so I can hook you up. Milk banks are out of milk, so as Weng said, every ounce counts. I'm really grateful to be able to give milk--I am now a Supercow with a purpose.

Other Tales - Part Three

2007-05-07T13:47:00.000+08:00

I. Am. Supercow!!!

So a couple of weeks after my traumatic first pumping experience (time flies so fast! Raine is about to hit her 7-week mark!), I decided to try it again. Raine was still asleep and my breasts were leaky, achy and rock hard. Good time as any to pump.

As my seesters ate taho at the breakfast table (warning: this is not something you do at, say, McDonalds while you get your hashbrown, or in front of unsympathetic people, or in front of people you don't know too well--they would not want to see a deformed breast squirting milk), I set up the amazing Chu Chu pump, whipped out a painful breast, started breathing ala Lamaze and turned on the pump. Wonders of wonders, I came up with about 6oz after maybe 20 minutes of Chu Chu-ing.

In about three days, I had built a stock of 17oz. And I had great incentive. My seester from Dubai was taking me out to paint the town red while our mom watched the baby. And since I hadn't been out since Raine and I came home from the hospital (other than OB and pedia visits), I was super cabin fevered. All I wanted was a haircut.

Oh, we did have a trial run Wednesday night, when The Hubby and I went to a baby shower for one of our cell mates. Raine decimated 6oz and she was raging mad when the bottles of milk ran out. Good thing we were on our way home; otherwise my mom would've given her formula. So for an afternoon of painting, I had to make sure I left enough milk (as it turned out, Raine slept most of the time we were out, so she didn't drink too much).

Building up my 17oz stock though, the Amazing Chu Chu finally gave up. Though I changed batteries, it was barely sucking. I was painfully overflowing with milk, and I pumped for 30 minutes, and all I came up with was 2oz.

Fortunately, The Hubby finally agreed to get an Avent pump. I would've settled for the manual one, but dear, dear Hubby got me the electric Avent that just pumps out your milk while you sit there. And with the Avent I discovered that pumping milk isn't painful at all! It was just that torture device Chu Chu that hurt (but give it credit, it helped me when I needed it. I think I will keep the Amazing Chu Chu for posterity's sake). And that petal massager isn't all hype. Thank God people actually took time and effort to study breastfeeding mechanics.

So now my new record is 7oz in 14 minutes--and I didn't empty the breasts, just took off enough to relieve them. I am such a supercow!

That makes Raine Superbaby. And to match, The Hubby gets to be Superdaddy. Superbaby, Superdaddy and Supercow don't exactly sound like the perfect family, but it works for me.

Raine's Here, My Feet Are Back and Other Tales -- Part Two

2007-05-02T16:27:00.000+08:00

My First Experience in Being a Cow
The first night home, my mom had to wake me up when Raine cried. Either I was dead tired, still too doped up or just not attuned to the baby yet. I'm so glad my mom was around. I had no breast milk yet, or at least not much. So Raine wasn't getting much and it made her cranky and fussy. So we were up most of the night, my mom and I.

But I'm really adamant that Raine be fully breastfed as long as possible. And, praise God, by Monday, my breasts were so engorged it hurt. Even my left armpit was so swollen--and I could feel the drag in my pit whenever Raine sucked! I've also been leaking milk like crazy. So thank you, Lord. He's answered my prayers for an abundance of breast milk.

It takes getting used to though, I guess it really takes time to adjust, both me and Raine. Things got better as the days went on, and my mom didn't have to get up every time Raine and I did. And the past nights, The Hubby gets up to do diaper duty, letting me sleep until it's time to feed.

I've also gotten used to whipping out a breast with no qualms, whether there are people around or not. Raine does not take any delay in her food lightly. What I still have to get used to though is Raine's enthusiastic feeding style--she can suck like we haven't fed her in days, and we have no intention of feeding her in days to come. Oww! I am so not looking forward to when she starts teething.

Funny thing Raine, she sometimes has this little ritual before she will actually start feeding. She opens her mouth wide, then shakes her head from side to side, before forcefully latching on. The Hubby says she looks like a little gremlin coming in for the kill. Sometimes, she will pause and seemingly contemplate my breast, as if thinking, "Hmmm...what shall I have today? Milk? Or maybe more milk? Then she'll daintily latch on, all wide-eyed and innocent looking--then she closes her eyes and makes like a vacuum cleaner. Other times, she uses my other boob as a personal footrest while she's feeding; or she uses either breast as a pillow as she falls asleep. It's amazing how I never realized how multi-purpose breasts can be.

The Hubby has been after me to start pumping and storing breast milk, so I can at least hand over feeding responsibilities once in awhile. But I'm sort of torn between wanting the freedom, and being sad that I won't be her sole source of nourishment anymore. Besides, I still have to psych myself up for another pumping session after my traumatic first experience, which my mom insists is my fault for not reading the pump instructions completely.

A friend of The Hubby lent us a pump, which I confess I didn't have much faith in. After all, how effective would you think a tiny battery operated pump with a brand name of "Chu Chu" will be? So the first half of the instructions said attach the bottle, turn on the pump and apply to the breast. Dutifully, I attached the newly sterilized 2oz bottle and switched on the thing. I tried sticking it on my palm to test the suction, but didn't feel a thing. So overflowing with cynicism that something named Chu Chu could really suck, I plunked the suction part on my poor unsuspecting nipple. And promptly screamed in pain, disbelief and shock as I watched my nipple elongate and get sucked down the tube. It took me a few seconds before I had the sense to turn the darn thing off--and I still couldn't get my nipple out. "Press the button," said my mom. "See --if you read the instructions from start to end..." Fine, fine. Mea culpa. The good thing was, I was quickly able to come up with 1oz per breast--which according to my sources, is a very good start for a first time pumper.

When The Hubby tried to give Raine the bottle though, it was like she was at war with it. She hated the thing. Though she managed a little more than an ounce, she cried every few sucks, poor thing. It almost broke my heart to see her cry like that, knowing that I could just lift my shirt and put her out of her misery. We finally gave up and did just that. But I know I have to pump soon, and teach her how to drink from the bottle. We're trying softer teats next time. I'm just worried that she'd start preferring the bottle. Oh well.

Raine's Here, My Feet Are Back and Other Tales of Birthing Joys and Pains

2007-04-11T11:39:00.000+08:00

Into our lives a little Raine has come.

Erynne Isobel Hermoso-Prudente arrived with a lusty cry of protest on Wednesday, 28 March, 10:27PM.

WARNING: may contain graphic details and words such as "vagina" and "blood". And this is going to be a long post. Possibly in several parts.

Raine, Please Come Out Already

I guess it's a real sign of a Daddy's Girl. On Monday night, The Hubby told Raine that she could finally come out, and Tuesday 1:30AM my bag of water started to leak, complete with bloody show.

I woke up The Hubby to tell him, and my mom woke up as well. Calmly, The Hubby asked if I was having contractions. At that point I didn't know what contractions felt like, so I reluctantly said no. Both my mom and The Hubby advised me to go back to sleep and call the doctor at a more decent time in the morning. I admit I was a little upset that they didn't seem to take me seriously (The Hubby even asked if I was sure I just didn't pee in my pants!). The Hubby and Da Mom went back to sleep, but I was too excited and sort of worried to sleep well.

Got to talk to my OB at about 8AM and she told me to go to the hospital for assessment. So we took our time--bath, light breakfast, The Hubby backed up files on his desktop, and Da Mom and the giant of a baby seester prepared for a go-see. Finally got to the hospital around lunch time, to find out that our OB's team had been waiting for us. Oops.

To cut a long, long, long tedious story short, we had to check in Cardinal already because I was leaking and about a centimeter dilated. At 1:30AM Wednesday, I lost the mucous plug and there was more blood--and I finally learned what a real contraction felt like. I was contracting every 10, 15 minutes throughout the night, so that didn't make for a good night's sleep. Plus they put me on a fast, so no water at all. Almost died of thirst. Finally, at a more decent time in the morning, they allowed me a light breakfast. Then at about 10AM they wheelchaired me to the delivery room, where I was given an enema. Now that is an experience that is beyond words--going through the after effects of an enema while getting contractions. It's enough to make you sweat blood!

When they finally let The Hubby into the labor room, I had already been given an epidural, so I lay there, comfortably contracting, sometimes drifting in and out of sleep. The Hubby and I also enjoyed the tiny cable TV in the labor room. We were thinking that by 10PM, Raine would be out and I'd be back on our room, and we could still catch the new episode of CSI on AXN. But alas. It wasn't meant to be. After two-and-a-half hours of pushing, Raine just wouldn't come down, so the OB called for a Cesarean. I was strapped onto the operating table, crucifixion style. The anesthesia they gave me made me chill terribly, as in there I was, like something out of exorcist, tied down and shaking and rattling the bed while they did their rituals. And so after everything, Raine finally arrived--huge, screaming and very, very beautiful.

Raine weighed in at 8lbs, 5oz and was nearly 21 inches long. Big baby just like her mommy (I was 7lbs, 15oz and 22 inches long). She was the biggest (and prettiest of course) baby in the nursery. I could only start breastfeeding her Friday, when they took off all my attachments--the IV, the epidural tube and the catheter. I got to walk to the nursery and she latched on and sucked enthusiastically. It was so surreal.

Oh, side story after they took off everything. I tried to stand and walk around the room, and suddenly, there was a strong gush of blood running down my legs. It was like one of those classic Pinoy flicks. The Hubby, who just woke up, was telling me to stay calm and not panic as he zipped around the room, essentially panicking in a calm way while I stood in a puddle of blood. Finally, a nurse came in, saw what had happened, called a couple of very pleasant (female) orderlies who cleaned me up. End of adventure.

We took Raine home Saturday afternoon.

I also want to say we had such a great birth experience in Cardinal Santos. The whole staff, from the interns to the residents to the nurses to the orderlies to the people who clean the rooms, were all so nice. Very pleasant, very professional. The facilities were clean, even the bathroom (I dread hospital bathrooms--they look like the very place you catch disease). My core doctors--the OB, the anesthesiologist and the pediatrician--were extremely competent, and they made me feel I was in very good hands. I'd choose them again if I were to go through this again (maybe in three years--have to really think about it).

Pregnant Pause

2007-03-26T15:49:00.000+08:00

This happened yesterday.

My Mom (on the phone with my sister in Dubai): No, we haven't given birth yet ... We're in Glorietta, walking Ate.

Hmph. Like walking the dog.

***

These last few days are a killer. Waiting is driving me nuts. Everyone keeps texting and calling--have you given birth yet? No. I haven't. Raine loves it too much in there, she hasn't even given notice of any plans to come out. No labor pains, no bags bursting, no mucous plugs, no bloody show. No bloody anything.

All the baby things are set up, even the crib with its carinderia-ulam-keep-the-flies-away-looking mosquito net. The tons of baby clothes are washed, linens out--all that's missing is the baby. Oh, just wanted to share: we are so, so blessed. The baby things are complete, and we haven't had to buy a single thing. Everything was lent, given or handed down. Isn't that amazing?

Anyway, I've been trying to walk around more, except it's been so hot! So we've been trying to go to the malls. Serendra/Bonifacio High Street is a great place to walk in the late afternoon. Not too many shops open yet, but the view is lovely and the breeze is nice. I love the Serendra area. If I had money, I wouldn't mind owning a unit there.

I'm really praying to give birth this week, before Friday. The Hubby says Thursday would be good--he'd be done with his projects by then. I think Raine is such a daddy's girl, listening to The Hubby instead of me. If I had my way, she would've been out Thursday last week!

It really is getting hard to sleep at night. Though I suppose I shouldn't complain, since when Raine gets here, I will hardly get any sleep! I'm always sleepy. Not like that's anything new. But I guess I should try to stock up on sleep, if possible.

I hate waking up with rheumatic hands though (or what I imagine rheumatic hands would feel like). It takes some time before I can grasp anything properly, because my finger joints hurt and can't bend properly. And my thumb/wrist really hurts! Sometimes hypochondriac me thinks it's de Quervain's syndrome or something. The Hubby is singularly unsympathetic.

I haven't seen my doctor in nearly a month. I guess she's really busy. When is peak season of births? I should be really glad and just take it as a sign that I am so ridiculously healthy and no-risk that she does not feel any urge to see me. The Hubby says I must have some Igorot blood in me (Igorots are a hardy mountain tribe--their women work in the fields even while pregnant, and at the proper time, go squat behind a bush, deliver the baby, clean up, rest a little, and go right back to the fields). I AM pretty sturdy. And tough. I like to whine, but I can take a lot. So thank you, Lord. And I mean it.

Obviously this post contains no real substance. Just a lot of whining from an impatient mother-to-be. And while we're on the topic of whining, might as well talk about my feet. Or these things that sort of resemble my feet. I seem to have solid but really fluffy-looking blocks of something; they don't even feel like flesh anymore. Putting them up doesn't help bring down the swelling. On bad days, even my legs and thighs seem swollen. Or it just be all that accumulated fat (oh the joy of eating!).

Oh well.

Frankenstein

2007-03-04T17:47:00.000+08:00

Sometimes I don't recognize myself.

I look down and I don't even see my feet. I can't even see my bellybutton, or the area below it, unless I look in the mirror. The jokes about me swallowing a basketball, or a watermelon don't feel like jokes to me. Add the sometimes creepy, mostly fascinating undulations of my belly, the way its shape transforms from perfectly round to pointed to some other asymmetrical form, and it's like some alien attachment.

I guess it's a good thing this huge belly hides my feet. Because I don't think those fluffy, puffy, red-mottled, took-a-beating painful things down there are really my feet. If they were, they'd be slender, gracefully attached to ankles, then calves. Those swollen things down there seem to have gobbled up my ankles, leaving a roll of flesh instead. They have a mind of their own, cramping up, and egging my calves to cramp up as well. Usually in the middle of the night.

Joining them in that midnight rebellion are these things that used to be my hands. I wake up in the middle of the night with arms and hands that don't respond to my mental urgings. Instead, they freeze, claw-like, then retract, shooting pins and needles up and down my arms. In the daytime, I can't fully command them either. I can't open small bottle caps and those pesky aluminum packs because my finger joints hurt.

My nose, which I have to admit, has always been on the round side, is bigger, rounder and bright red. Like I stood under the noon sun with SPF75 on every part of me except my nose. My thighs and butt have accepted boarders, and are now happily living in crowded quarters under the shade of my belly.

The only new body parts that I do like are the boobs. Now these, I can live with. But when I give birth and start to breastfeed, I feel like I'll be giving up ownership too.

I miss the old me. Where am I?

Our First Family Portrait...and Then Some

2007-02-20T06:47:00.000+08:00

This is one of those indulge-the-pregnant-wife moments with The Hubby (actually, more than a moment--half the day!). So thank you, Hubby.

I have a confession--I've always wanted to be a model. Really. But my attributes are not exactly what the modeling industry is looking for, so tough luck. But now I figured, why not make the most of the big belly? After all, this is the ONLY time that having a big belly will look good. I'm so glad maternity portraits are getting popular.

So thanks to my good friends Mich Lim, who made my bulbous red nose decent and transformed my dead straight hair into something pleasing to look at; and to Harvey Tapan whose lighting and composition actually made me look good on cam. These were shot at Harvey's Fuji Film studio at Mall of Asia.

Oh, and this is the debut of two pieces from our new Hot Momma Couture alpha collection--a maternity clothes line that my friends and I are working on: the white sleeveless V-neck top I was wearing and (don't laugh!) the white tee that The Hubby wore (you have to admit, it did look good on him, if you don't see the side stitching). These are still prototypes, but we hope to have them out soon. Hot Momma Couture's mission is to make maternity clothes that are comfy and will make you look and feel good. Wear your tummy proud!

Finally, I just want to say another thank you to Mich--she really made me look good. The Hubby hasn't seen me pretty in a long time. And another thank you to Harvey, who patiently coaxed us as we stood there under the klieg lights, like deer frozen before headlights. I learned that it ain't easy being a model!

More photos here.

Ang Aking Masigasig na Pagsusulat sa Wikang Pilipino

2007-02-18T18:19:00.000+08:00

My written Tagalog sucks. It's atrocious; it's terrible. I'm the first to admit it. I've always thought that my spoken Tagalog was adequate, but The Hubby informs me that my spoken Tagalog is "pang komiks". Whatever that means. He won't let me forget that I sometimes mix up words, like saying that I got my uber cool retro dress from my lola's ataul, instead of baul (for those who experience word confusion like me, ataul is a coffin; baul is a chest--they sound alike, don't they? And they both are sort of boxes where you keep things. Easy to get confused, I say). Or saying that I don't really go for balon-balon, instead of balun-balunan. I don't even know how to spell correctly most of the time! And those repeating syllables and letters! Like off the top of your head--how many "A"s are there in the word maalaala?

Which brings me to my newest career challenge. I am currently editor of a small business magazine for small and micro entrepreneurs. The magazine name is--tah-dan!--Masigasig (that didn't come from me; it's the client's choice). For those not in the know, masigasig describes someone who is persistent, with a set goal in mind. That's why you hear of guys who are masigasig na manliligaw. This magazine is actually a Globe in-house publication, and they are doing it together with Entrepreneur Magazine. The Entrepreneur/Summit people were the ones who got me on board. It's a good project; it's meant to be both inspirational and instructional. It's a monthly (it will be given out for free with Entrepreneur. I think). I think small biz people will find it useful.

My problem is, though, half is to be written in Tagalog, and the other half in English. The English part is a breeze. The mag's only 28 pages, so I have very short articles to deal with. Now the Tagalog--oh boy. When my first writer submitted her story, and I opened the Word file, all I could see were the red squiggly lines underneath 99% of the words. My eyes glazed over. I swear. Editing Tagalog articles take me three times longer, because I have to translate it mentally into English to see if it makes sense, then I have to call on my meager reserves of Tagalog grammar and spelling, and I have to continuously snap myself out of the red-squiggly-line-induced stupor.

Now writing Tagalog articles is a different story. I submitted one to the client, quite pleased with what I'd done. They gave it back with the comment, "please make more reader friendly". To my excruciating embarrassment, I read a mangled sentence that I had written: "Ang flip flops ay hindi lang comportable, kundi mura pa at pwedeng suotan ng kung sinong-sino." Ack! I cringe at the memory. Even I know that is such a wrong sentence!

The Hubby has suggested that I get a good English-Filipino dictionary. But my writer friend Inna says that it's my sentence composition that's the problem, and I should immerse myself in the language more. Hence I bought a copy of Hi! Magazine (after all we have a Celebrity Raket section, so might as well get up to speed on the latest showbiz tidbits). I was going to buy a Tagalog pocketbook--I mean, that should be masang Tagalog, right--but The Hubby told me all I'd get out of that would be super cheesy phrases like "ang kanyang tarugo ng kaligayahan na kinipkip (kinimkim? kinupkop? kinamkam? kinutkut?) sa kanyang karsonsilyo" or something.

Fortunately, I found this little book written by Bob Ong. And to my amazement, I'm actually enjoying it. I even find myself laughing out loud sometimes. Though I'm not too sure if I laugh because Bob Ong is genuinely funny, or out of sheer joy because I actually understand what I'm reading. Still, it's progress, though I am moving through it at a much slower pace.

I haven't given up on myself completely. After all, I did get one of my short stories published in Dyaryo Filipino--and that was pure Tagalog, not the conversational kind. I have to confess, though, that the original story was written in English, then translated with the help of my trusty dictionary and my beloved roommate and friend Leah (Leah has her own memories of my Tagalog boo-boos, but let's not get into that).

I guess it's a matter of practice. And exposure. What else should I read? Any suggestions?

The (Mis)Adventures of the Blob

2007-01-19T22:07:00.000+08:00

The Hubby and I spent New Year's eve with my dad and his family in Meycauayan. Nothing really spectacular goes on there; it's basically a dinner-and-do-your-own-thing kind of celebration, which is a nice change from the usual frenzy in Baguio or at The Hubby's. I was really looking forward to watching a movie on my dad's kick-ass home theatre system. As I was settling in on the lovely La-Z Boy (The Hubby put the delicious Boy Bawang far from my reach and would intermittently dole out a piece at a time), my dad came in. "Oh," he said, "Is The Blob getting sleepy?"

Hmph.

***

I have been getting big. I actually waddle when I walk. Really. It's so weird. But not as weird as seeing Raine move inside my tummy. I thought it was some exaggeration, when my mom and other mothers would tell how you could see a foot or a knee move around. But you actually can! It's so creepy. Like Aliens or that scene from Constantine. I'm just waiting for the day I see a face forming on the surface of my tummy, and tiny hands pushing my skin! Creepy, I tell you. But it still makes me laugh to feel her move.

I praise God that we have our birth money all saved up. I just continue to pray that we have a normal birth, with no complications. That's my faith goal this year, that and that I be able to fully breastfeed Raine (tons of savings! not to mention so much healthier). The Hubby and I actually are believing God for a lot this year, and we're excited to see how He answers prayers.

But going back to my weight, and chances for normal delivery, my doctor said (and everyone says) I have to slow down my weight gain. Imagine, I packed on 30 pounds in seven months--the average weight I should gain for the entire pregnancy! But it's such a joy to eat. Sniff. And the seester sent tons of chocolates. For some strange reason, I've suddenly developed a sweet tooth. It doesn't help she sent lots of mint chocolate. Oh, joy.

The Hubby and I have also been going to childbirth classes (with Rome Kanapi, who The Hubby calls Sally Fields). And one of the constant topics is, of course, weight gain. My anorexic classmates, who look mostly younger than me, gained an average of about 12 pounds. The most was 20. When I told them (yes, you have to share your poundage with the entire class!), I gained 3-0, at least Rome said, "Wow, you must have been skinny before you got pregnant!" I felt a little better.

I have to work in more exercise into my schedule. I have been trying to do the pre-natal moves from class, but sometimes I forget and when I remember, I'm on the verge of falling asleep. If only thinking of exercise burns calories and tones muscles! The seester said I need to get frog kicks into my swimming routine, to help with the thunder thighs syndrome. I didn't have the guts to tell her that I need to get swimming into my routine! I have about 10 weeks left, so I need to get serious exercise into my life. Argh. Inertia is the most dangerous thing.

The Hubby and I also have to discuss how we really want to fix the house, and how long we intend to stay here. We are praying for our dream house, but problem is, we haven't agreed on where we want our house to be. I don't mind settling down here in Merville for the meantime. After all, your dream house for this period in life isn't necessarily the dream house for the rest of your life. I don't know; we still have to talk about it.

We also have to finalize our career plans. Just last night, The Hubby was computing my income versus my expenses, and he declared that for what I'm earning, my PR gig isn't worth the time and effort. And he said I should ask for a raise, or leave. Then today, with a potential 10-month gig coming up, he recomputed my income with the PR gig and it seems that the PR gig is back inthe picture.

I've long been wanting to give up that PR gig, but I can't seem to let go. It's a love-hate thing. I feel so burnt out (been at it more than six years!), it doesn't pay enough, yet I don't want to abandon my client just like that. I'm praying that we get really good writers to take my place (in preparation for my maternity leave) and that after Raine comes, I can eventually segue out of there. But I'll miss it for sure. Then again, maybe not. I'm confused.

And I'm getting sleepy. So yes dad, The Blob is getting sleepy.

Enough for today.

Babymooning in Cebu!

2006-12-14T16:28:00.000+08:00

We're off to Cebu tomorrow early morning and I'm so excited! A friend of ours is getting married on Saturday, and The Hubby and I decided might as well make a vacation out of it. So we're leaving first thing tomorrow, and we'll be back on the last flight Sunday.

We're booked at the Tambuli Beach Resort on Mactan Island. A friend of ours said it's been sunny Cebu, and to bring sunblock and shades. Yes! There's a chance for me to be a sun-kissed hot momma beach goddess! The Hubby and I haven't gone anywhere at all this year, much less the beach, so I have faded to some washed-out non-color. And I figure this will be the last beach trip in a long time (what age can babies go to the beach?), so might as well make the most of it.

I haven't packed at all (and I haven't got a thing to wear to the wedding!) and there are tons of stuff to finish so we minimize backlog while we're gone. Argh! This is the part I hate--getting ready for the trip.

I hope it's sunny skies and balmy breezes all the way!

OK. Break over. Back to work.

My Christmas Wish List

2006-12-11T19:30:00.000+08:00

The Hubby has been asking what I want for Christmas. I actually don't know. But here's a list of things that have, at one time or another, crossed my mind as must-haves:

1. Digital voice recorder - for when I do interviews, or when I want to make notes to myself, or dictate a thought or an idea when I have no time to scrounge around for a pen and notebook. What's a good brand? And what features are desirable? Pardon my ignorance. But I still want one. Preferably before my big interview next Wednesday.

2. Starbucks planner - I do not really need this one. But I love planners like this. Such pretty paper! But I won't be able to coffee up for another year or so...oh well.

3. A glass pen - saw one in Landes at Podium a year ago. Been hinting to The Hubby about it, but he's far too practical to get me something like this. But it's so lovely. And it comes with a quaint little bottle of ink. A wax seal would be nice too.

4. Cell phone - mine has seen better days. And it's hell to charge. Been charging it in the car! It would be nice to have a PDA phone, but they're kinda clunky. Just something with a huge phonebook would do. Maybe a camera, though I haven't really been using mine. And something that properly displays the caller's name! Though The Hubby says I should clean up my phonebook--probably some double entries there.

5. Laptop - like my phone, this laptop has seen better days. But it's been so useful and handy, it's had a good life. It's just so slow and beat up. But I'll still be able to hobble along I guess.

6. Bikini - saw one in Speedo, the kind I like--the one that isn't just a display suit, but something you can actually swim in (yes, I still wear bikinis--I'm a hot momma!).

7. Shopping spree in National Bookstore - Powerbooks or Fully Booked would be good too, but I want to rack up more points on my Laking National card. What books shall I buy? Breastfeeding, baby care/parenting, more cookbooks, of course, my writing books, the latest Kellerman and Binchy novels, historical fiction (particularly about royalty--not romantic fiction, though I'd probably take a look at the latest bobo books), books on Christianity and faith (though they'd have a wider selection at the VCF bookstore or OMF or PCBS), children's books like Guess How Much I Love You, The Giving Tree, I Love You Forever and Dr. Seuss, more fiction, and magazines galore. Whew! No wonder I can stay the entire day in National!

8. Fountain pen - I suppose a fountain pen would be a tad more practical than a glass pen. I'd like one with a fine nib. The Parker I use at the moment still writes a bit too thick for me. Or it could be my ink...

9. New rubber shoes or sneakers - I haven't bought a new pair in years! And my sneakers are getting tight because my feet are growing :(

10. House makeover - I want someone to come over the house and just fix it up. Put up my paintings, rearrange furniture--whatever. I want my house to look good without compromising function. And if the makeover comes with free furniture and stuff, who am I to refuse?

11. Complete sessions with a professional organizer - if I get a house makeover, why not get someone to help us get and stay organized and efficient? I read about one in Real Living, a professional organizer I mean. I wonder how much she charges.

12. Childbirth classes - I really am determined to give birth naturally, using Lamaze. Didn't think these childbirth would be a bit expensive! Oh well.

13. A full day at a spa - with the works. From hair all the way down to my toes (especially my toes--been having a hard time cutting my toenails already!). A body massage, a scrub, a facial, a hand massage, a foot scrub and massage, oh oh and waxing!

Hmm. That's about all I can think of for now.

Must go make my gift list for others.

It's Official!

2006-12-11T15:27:00.000+08:00

Any time from March 25 to March 30, 2007, we can expect the arrival of Erynne Isobel Hermoso Prudente. I just knew this baby was a girl!

Raine is about a foot long now, and a little more than a pound. A different OB-Sonologist did the ultrasound, and she still had the same comment: ang likot! And she is, really. She has a variety of kicks and movements, I just have to shake my head and smile. I ask her all the time, "Just what are you doing in there?"

My family is excited, especially my seesters, who have been dying to go shopping. I haven't bought a single thing for the baby yet. I'm blessed to have friends and relatives who will hand me down stuff like a playpen, a stroller, baby carrier and stuff like that. We also have that heirloom crib from my dad's side. I know I have to make a list of baby stuff we need to get. Will work on that by New Year. Still have a lot of time anyway.

Gotta go back to work!

Baby Watch & House Dilemma

2006-12-07T15:52:00.000+08:00

As always, I have an article due tomorrow, and I am blogging to warm up my writing brain.

So what's been going on aside from my non-stop growing?

Well the baby's been moving--really kicking up a storm in there, making the rounds of my belly. Baby usually starts out mid-tummy, making me aware of its presence with a well-aimed kick (and to think these are just tiny, 5-month-old baby kicks! what more when baby's almost due?). Then baby starts trawling the bottom of my belly, moving side to side, nudging my bladder. I like that the least.

Funny thing is, at my last OB visit last month, I couldn't feel baby move at all. "You mean you can't feel anything, even a flicker?" asked my OB in disbelief. And instantly I felt like, what kind of mother am I, can't even feel my baby move! "Well, maybe she's shy," said the OB, with what I felt was doubt in her voice (but that's paranoid me talking). "Try playing faster music."

I'd been playing a lot of classical music lately (good thing I enjoy classical and the opera). But one day after my OB visit, I decided to play Everything But the Girl's Home Movies album. And all of a sudden, I felt a sort of weird gurgling, bubbly feeling in my belly. Baby finally moved! And hasn't stopped moving since. Apparently classical puts baby to sleep; she prefers EBTG (particularly Apron Strings), U2, a little Bob Marley, some Jars of Clay, Brazilian-percussion-heavy music. This is my kind of baby! The Hubby was excited to feel baby move. You can really feel the kicks when you put your hand over my belly!

We're going for an ultrasound this weekend, hopefully we'll know if baby is Trist or Raine. Would be great to finally refer to baby by name and correct pronoun. I'm excited!

We have to decide how to set up the house soon. Right now, our second bedroom is our office-cum-guestroom. It has its own bathroom, but it's weirdly cut up, so it seems to have less floorspace than the other room, which we currently use as our bedroom. We were thinking of converting the office into our bedroom, and our bedroom into the nursery-guestroom (it's usually my mom and sister who stays over anyway). But where to put the office? With the bed in here, there won't be space for much, let alone two desks with two desktops, two laptops and a plethora of peripherals.

It would look terrible to put the office in the living area, which is tiny as it is. Unless we totally cut down on hardware. Can we survive with a laptop each and a desktop as Hubby's server? Probably. But what about the printer, scanner, humongous fax? I am so terrible at space planning and interior decorating. Which is why more than five months after we've moved in, I still have several boxes of unpacked things!

I was thinking I'd probably have baby in our room till the sixth month, then move him into his own room after. So we could still stay in our current bedroom, which has more space for the crib (our crib is a huge heirloom one, which used to belong to my dad!). But wouldn't it be harder to move rooms and rearrange and all that when the baby is here already? I was hoping to have the nursery set up by February. Right now our walls are plain white. I want a colorful mural on the walls of baby's room. And we'd need some cabinets installed in there. I am also planning to put my ever-so-comfy-ever-so reliable sofa bed (desperately in need of a paint over and new upholstery though!) in the nursery. I suppose I can nap there once in awhile, and guests still can have some privacy. Hmm. What else does a nursery need? And how do we solve the displaced office dilemma?

Argh! Can anyone help me out here?

Hubby the Chef

2006-12-03T13:30:00.000+08:00

The Hubby's been able to cook more lately. Which is great because I don't really feel like cooking much these days, and my palate has been off--I can't get the taste right. Either too salty or too bland.

Of course, since The Hubby has been in charge, we've been having a lot of his type of food, the very Pinoy/Laguna dishes, which I've never really eaten too much of in my life. First off, we've been having a lot of seafood. I never got used to eating seafood; in Baguio seafood is rare and expensive. In Laguna, it's in abundance. While we're on his-province/my-province food, one thing I cannot get is how he does not consider plain vegetables a main dish. It's always a side kick to something else. In our Baguio house, veggies ruled. We can actually eat salad and consider that a full meal. I love stir-fried veggies, sometimes with the token pieces of meat, sometimes plain veggies. Often with chicken fillet or ground meat.

At any rate, I've enjoyed what The Hubby has been cooking. He has this amazing shrimp in coconut milk thing that makes me eat like there was no tomorrow (and I'm allergic to shrimp! or at least I was...haven't been getting my crustacean allergy lately). I was able to duplicate his recipe yesterday though, and The Hubby even said that I cooked it better than he did *ear-to-ear-grin*.

Then he had this galunggong dish--not your ordinary GG! It was his own version of this Italian fish dish with salomiglio sauce. Yum! I don't really like galunggong (or any bony fish for that matter, since I am lousy with getting the bones out and being the low EQ person that I am, I find the debone-as-you-eat process too tedious to be really worth the effort, which is why I love canned tuna, boneless bangus and big tilapia), but this one was really worth the effort:

The sauce is sort of sweet-salty-sour. It has capers, red wine vinegar, sugar and (in this case), lime. And the fish was grilled, not fried. Yummy!

Then again, as The Hubby says, "Good thing you're so easy to please." Hmm. I think I really am. Sometimes I wish The Hubby were as easy to please as I am.

Sometimes, I think, the reason why I don't feel like cooking too much is that The Hubby is such a food critic. Unlike me, he cannot just sit down and enjoy the food sometimes. He has to analyze everything. And he always has points for improvement. And when you're tired and not really in the mood to cook in the first place, or conversely, put your heart and soul into preparing that dish, it's disheartening. And now, with the yummy, yummy dishes he's been putting out, I feel like I cannot compete.

In fairness (a phrase that is so overused), The Hubby does appreciate my efforts, if not the results. His palate is just so different from mine, as is his idea of what 'good food' is. I'm trying to adjust--and actually like--his lowlander type of food; sometimes I wish he were more open to the upland foods. But I appreciate the fact that he appreciates what I do.

But back to the food topic. I think I have to curb my eating. My doctor said I was overweight at my last check up. And I feel I've already passed the 150-pound mark. Argh! When the baby is about a pound or so at most, and given that my -- ahem-- bosom added on about two pounds, and you have like four pounds for placenta and amniotic fluid, that means that the extra 15 pounds I packed on is all me! And I know exactly where they settled: on my arms, my butt, my thighs and my face. *grumble grumble*. And everyone says that I will pack on more pounds in the last three months. Oh no! That's going to be hell to lose after, given my aversion to exercise and my love for eating. Especially when The Hubby cooks.

I need to exercise more! Must walk more. And get in more swimming. Yes. Must do that. But let me go get a snack first.

Christmas Plugging

2006-11-03T14:20:00.000+08:00

I'm helping my mom sell really fantabulous Christmas decorations. These are export overruns, or imported items that you won't easily find anywhere else. And they're quite reasonably-priced too. And they are totally adorable. If I could, I'd keep all the stuffed animal decors. That's the theme I've decided on: stuffed Christmas animals. I figured when the baby comes next year, at least she (or he) can really enjoy and touch the Christmas decors. But must not get ahead of the profits! I restrained myself and only kept two Christmas stockings, a bear and a pair of moose (pair of meese?).

Will sadly give up the rest so that others can enjoy them as well.

The super vogue Santa (apparently in the north pole, cream is the new red!) above is waist high! Isn't it adorable?

I love this moose! Sniff. It's a counter-sitter.

To see more stuff, check out my Multiply album:
http://rheeya.multiply.com/photos/album/10

The prices are there, and more details. Support my mom's biz! Help me get the moose counter-sitter for free! Hehehe.

Labor of Love, Part Two

2006-09-22T12:47:00.000+08:00

Just noticed that my recent entries have been all food this, food that; baby this, baby that. Just to show the other things I've been laboring over:

I helped put this magazine together. *bows* It should be available wherever they sell magazines, National Bookstore included. IMAG PHOTOGRAPHY (or just IMAG) is the magazine for photography enthusiasts, those who want to up their skills, or even those who just like looking at pretty pictures. This mag has some of the country's best photographers' works (and tips!). We have travel photographer George Tapan; wedding photographer Patrick Uy; James Deakin of C! Mag, the guru of fast car photography; Remy Bautista, who does amazing baby shots (check out the twins in her article! super adorable) ... and photos from a lot more.

On the editorial team are Ibarra Deri (who shot our wedding. Ahem... plugging. That reminds me, haven't gotten around doing our wedding album yet. Hmm...And baby album coming up...) who is a well known portrait photographer; Jun Miranda, who runs that Philippine Center for Creative Imaging (and has a bi-weekly Photoshop column in Manila Bulletin); and graphic artist/art director/photographer Ed Yap.

IMAG will be a monthly, in fact the October issue is due out...well in October. It's going to be a glorious issue. The theme is weddings, so the best wedding photographers' works are going to be featured (more than a year after my wedding, I still like looking at other people's weddings and thinking how I could've done better. hahaha), plus all the tips you need to start shooting great wedding photos, straight from the mouths (and keyboards) of the wedding photographers themselves.

Of course, there are the usual Photoshop and digital imaging tips; equipment review; buyers' guide; and one of my favorite sections--Clinic, where you send in sick pictures. Hehe. Not--it's more of a (free!) critique of snapshots you send in. A guest photographer will give you the good, the bad and the ugly, plus tips on how you can improve your shots (if you want to send in your photos for critique, email them to photos@imagphoto.com with the subject "Clinic." Include a short description of your photo, camera used, settings, etc and your pertinent details, like name (duh) and contact info; favorite color and time of day not really needed).

Of course, as with any first issue, IMAG still needs some tweaking, but at least you know for sure that the magazine's going to get better and better. Oh, and one more great thing about IMAG is that it is proudly Filipino. I mean, we Pinoys are simply oozing with talent, why not showcase it? And the tips in the magazine are stuff you can actually use and relate to, because it's in the Philippine setting.

I'm really proud of this magazine, and of the Filipinos featured in it.

So grab a copy. It's a steal at 175 bucks.

Trist/Raine

2006-09-21T14:53:00.000+08:00

I know it's the middle of the day and I'm supposed to be working, but...I can't help it. I'm so happy-giddy. The Hubby was so excited too, he promptly took a nap.

This is either Tristan Gabriel or Erynne Isabel. We were praying for twins, but the doctor said it was a single baby. Doesn't it look huge? This is the baby's first close up shot, actually. It's only 6.48 cm long! Imagine that.

When the doctor was looking, Trist/Raine was squirming like crazy, waving a tiny little hand (with tiny little fingers!). It's amazing. I still can't fully absorb that there is something so wonderful growing inside me. The Hubby wasn't allowed in the ultrasound room, but there was a monitor outside, so he could see everything the doctor and I could see. He got a little teary eyed.

Oh, side story: last week, feeling totally haggard and ugly, I went fishing--probably dynamite fishing, for all my subtlety. I asked The Hubby, "Do you think I'm pretty?" All he said was "yup". Then probably seeing that I was unsatisfied with his answer, he added, "And you know your baby pictures in the [high school] yearbook? You were so pretty! So..." he did some gigil motion, "I hope our little girl looks like you." Aww...

Labor of Love

2006-09-20T09:17:00.000+08:00

Yesterday, the 19th, was our one-year-seventh-monthsary of being married (which means we've been together almost six years! Imagine that). And since The Hubby left for work in a rather dismal mood, I wanted to prepare dinner that was really worth coming home to.

When I finally sent off an article at 7PM--2 hours later than originally planned--I had to make a run for the grocery. What normally takes me 25 to 30 minutes (the walk from the house and back, plus shopping time), I did in 15 minutes flat.

And thus began my experimental meal. I didn't want to text The Hubby to say that I was making a special dinner because 1) I wanted it to be a surprise; and 2) if it didn't turn out the way it should, then at least he didn't get his hopes up.

On the menu was cumin-and-pepper seasoned pork chops with a white wine sauce, butter-fried apples, creamy garlic mashed potatoes and lightly seasoned corn-and carrots. Theoretically, it was only supposed to take me 45 minutes to prepare, but I'm not the most efficient cook in the world. The great thing about the main dish--the chops and apples and sauce--is it's cooked in just one pan (skillet). I'm such a fan of one pot/pan meals, so much easier to wash up after. Then
again, I had another pot for the mashed potatoes, another pan for the veggies. Oh well.

The Hubby arrived at about 8:45PM and I was only about halfway done, still mashing the potatoes, the veggie side dish not even started! But when I finally called him to dinner at 9:30PM, he sat down to this (as he picked up his knife and fork, The Hubby said, "You've been reading Selina's blog again, haven't you?") :

The Hubby's reaction when he bit into a piece of porkchop was worth the two hours of slaving over the hot stove. "This is the best I've had in ages," he said. Now that I think of it though, that seems to be a backhanded compliment. Does he mean the things I've been cooking lately haven't been good? Hmm. Must grill The Hubby (when he's in a better mood).

After the meal, it took me another hour to clean up and wash the dishes (I've been such a slowpoke these days--and this isn't the healthiest meal I've cooked, as the gunky butter and oil caking the dishes and pans can attest to) before totally zonking out in bed.

Ah, the things you do for love.

More Happy Food

2006-09-13T13:05:00.000+08:00

Oh joy! Just discovered another happy food: tomato sandwiches.

Slices of plump, juicy Baguio tomatoes on whole wheat bread, with mustard and blue cheese salad dressing, liberally sprinkled with grated parmesan cheese. Sublime!

I'm down to my last half-tomato though. Uh oh.

Happy Food

2006-09-12T07:30:00.000+08:00

People ask me what I'm making lihi (craving) to, and I can't really say. I eat the same things I usually eat, and I don't suddenly want weird stuff like peanut butter and bagoong sandwiches or sinigang with mayonnaise. While I can't stand the smell of cooking fish, I still eat it. I think I'm easy. I would also like to think that I'm not giving The Hubby a hard time; I don't send him out at 2AM in the pouring rain to look for things like pickled balut and sinkamas na itim.

There are foods that make me extremely happy though. When my mom was here a couple of weeks ago, she treated me to a CPK salad. I was beside myself with joy. Every bite was sheer pleasure. I get goosebumps thinking about that salad. I think that's the only thing I constantly ask The Hubby for. Salad. The more exotic, the better (though I'd settle for a Caesar's from Wendy's). I love CPK salads, which have stuff like cilantro and jicama (what ever is jicama?) and Monterey Jack cheese and walnuts and avocado. And the dressings! Blue cheese, honey mustard, raspberry vinaigrette! Just the thought makes me drool. Then my friend Selina comes up with a salad like this. Ooh la la.

The thing is, I don't like homemade salads (at least the usual lettuce-tomato-onions-thousand-island-dressing kind). One time I asked The Hubby to bring me home a salad, and he said he was passing by the grocery to buy greens instead. I was sooo disappointed. My hopes went up when he said the veggies were ugly (am so bad!), but he still didn't bring me salad. I enjoyed the fruits he got for me though. Homemade salads--or at least the common ones--don't turn me on. It just isn't happy food.

Another happy food for me is pasta. I am so grateful that my seester Rix, the OFW, sent me half a kilo of sundried tomatoes and a quarter kilo of parmesan cheese. Oh happy, happy, joy, joy! When I cook my pasta, I can splurge on the ingredients. Actually, the pasta I like eating, I can easily whip up at home. It's just lots of garlic sauteed in olive oil (I make my own flavored olive oil--adds lovely taste to almost anything), lots of fresh tomatoes, lots of basil and freshly cracked pepper, and thanks to Rix, lots of sundried tomatoes and parmesan cheese. Super quick, super yummy. I still enjoy other pastas, like the Quattro Formaggio at Cafe Puccini, or the El Telefono at Cibo. A good pesto anywhere is also such a treat. What I'm not into though, is the typical spaghetti, the regular tomato meat sauce, bolognese. In fact, at Cafe Puccini, I had to move the steaming plate of bolognese away from me--the aroma made me really queasy.

I also discovered another happy food yesterday--tuna (I've been eating the Century with calamansi) on whole wheat bread, sprinkled with parmesan cheese. Now this is so much easier to get and prepare. Just open the can, pour the tuna in a bowl, pop it in the micro for a few seconds, spoon it over the bread, add the cheese and viola! Happiness in a sandwich.

The funny thing is, it's The Hubby who's been looking for all sorts of things. The Hubby, who usually eats because he has to (unlike my clan, who eat for the joy of it), has turned into a serial muncher. After dinner, he will scrounge around for dessert, usually some chocolate (I haven't been into chocolate and sweets these days, so The Hubby feels 'obliged' to finish them). Then when we get into bed, he gets up to get a glass of milk, and maybe some crackers. Then maybe a bit more chocolate. Or a peanut butter sandwich. Or some juice. Or some of my super sour jelly tape (great discovery--jelly tape helps ward off queasiness!). He's constantly hungry and looking for food.

Just the other night, at about midnight, he turned to me and said, "I want balut." I'm just so glad he didn't send me out in the pouring rain to get it.

Oh the Games We Used to Play!

2006-08-28T12:15:00.000+08:00

Thinking about having my own kids makes me think about my childhood. Aside from angsty nobody-loves-me episodes (which I think have morphed into the adult funks), I had a pretty great childhood. Sure we never had much money, and I didn't have the latest toys, but we sure had a lot of fun.

I sort of pity the kids these days, oversheltered, artificially stimulated kids. They spend hours in front of the computer and TV and they miss out on the sheer joy of inventing games out of nothing at all (sounds like an Air Supply song).

Most of our favorite games involved no expensive gadgets or toys and we always had a blast. These are the ones I remember:

Rum Raisin
This game was named after our moms' favorite chocolate at that time. My cousin Nikki and I assumed that anything with "rum" in the name would definitely be intoxicating, hence the mechanics of the game. All we needed was an open space (the bigger the better) and at least two people. All you had to do was spin and spin and spin around till you were really dizzy. Then you drape your arms around each other's shoulders and try to walk in a straight line, saying "Rum Raisin". We could play this game endlessly. Well, not really--it did have a limit, also known as the puking point.

Terrible Tunnel
Terrible Tunnel was a special game played only during summer, when my brother was visiting from Manila. We'd need a mattress rolled out on the floor (the regular foam mattresses, not the spring box ones--this mattress was only brought out when we had guests sleeping over) and at least four people. The object of the game was to crawl through the 'terrible tunnel' (the mattress rolled into something like a brazo de mercedes) while the other people simulated a horrific storm, shaking the mattress, sitting on it, making howling wind noises. My brother, by virtue if being the biggest player, usually won at this. Many times I'd get so pikon I'd end up not talking to him for the entire day. We'd usually make up at night, just in time for another game of Terrible Tunnel.

Shark Shark
You'd need a double deck bed for this, as well as a lot of pillows, stuffed toys and other soft things you can use to make a barrier (once we used a toy robot and someone ended up crying). I guess it's obvious we watched a lot of Jaws and Orca back in those days. The 'shark' or the it would try to eat the people in the boat, protected by flimsy barriers also known as stuffed toys. Any body part the shark could reach was fair game. Whoever got eaten first would be the next shark. Of course my sister Rix was such a saling pusa back then she'd insist on joining and we'd always make her the shark. But since she was too short to reach anything back then, even when jumping, we'd eventually get bored and look for something else to play (side story--I don't know if Rix remembers this. Once we were playing on the top deck of the bed and something fell down. Rather than climb down to get it, I had the brilliant idea of holding Rix by her ankles and lowering her over the side of the bed. Too late did I realize that she was too heavy for me, and either we both fall off the bed or I drop her. Guess which option self-preserving me chose. Am so bad!).

House House
I don't know why we name our games double words. Maybe it's a literal translation of bahay-bahayan. House House could be played anywhere. But our favorite place was the garden of my best friend Rej's house. She had this fabulous poinsettia tree with amazing branches that you could comfortably sit on, even lie down (precariously) on. So we'd have our own 'rooms' (branches) and the rest of the garden would be the rest of the house. Of course tag-along Rix wanted in on the fun, and being the mean older sister that I was, we'd make her 'room' under this ugly tree on the far side of the garden.

On time Rej got a clay cooking set for her birthday, and we decided to cook real food. One of our friends brought a can of sardines and in the spirit of House House, I deigned to take a bite. I've been eating sardines ever since (not even my mom could make me do that before!).

Hot Iron
I think this was our hands-down, all-time favorite. Hot Iron honed our role-playing and impromptu dialogue skills. The very basic things this game needed was a balloon (the regular blow-up-till-you're-breathless kind, not the helium-filled ones) and a lot of imagination.

The bare bones scenario involved a talkative maid and her snooty senora. The maid would be ironing clothes with the balloon (miraculously transformed into a burning hot iron) and would somehow forget to turn the iron off. When the senora came home, she'd discover that the iron was burning down her house. She or the maid would try to grab the iron, which of course was extremely hot--and the entire game proceeded something like Hot Potato, and the whole point was to not let the balloon touch anything. Other players were easily assimilated into the game as the husband, the house guests, the kids, the nosy neighbors, the other house help. Now the excitement and fun came in the dialogue that you had to keep up as you tossed the balloon to and fro. For some reason, Tagalog was the preferred language for this game, and crooked as our Tagalog was, we'd speak it.

***

Of course, we had our share of computer games (I think we even started with Atari!) and Barbie dolls. But the games I remember and cherish the most are these silly, silly ones that gave us tons of fun. I only wish that my kids could have as much fun as we did.

What games did you used to play?

So There, Take Two

2006-08-26T15:45:00.000+08:00

As I've said before, people ask me, "Are you pregnant?"

Now I say, "Yup, 8 weeks and counting."

Exciting.

Scary.

We want twins.

I just wish I wasn't sleepy all the time.

Step Into My Subconscious

2006-07-29T11:33:00.000+08:00

They say that your dreams reflect what's going on in your subconscious mind, the dilemmas you're wrestling with.

This was my dream on our first night here in our new cozy little house:

The Hubby and I just moved into a new house. It was a log cabin on top of a mountain. The cabin was small, but cozy. It had a fireplace and chimney. I was wearing a dress ala "Little House on the Prairie". Lushly green grass covered the mountain slopes, purple flowers here and there. Somehow I got a bird's eyeview of our new home, just like those cinematic panning shots that circle around before zooming in. Ours was the only house there. At the bottom of one side of the mountain was a thickly wooded forest. The other side was a cliff, a vertical drop so high, you couldn't see the bottom.

The Hubby and I stood at the top of the mountain, right beside the cliff, arms around each other. As we happily surveyed all we owned, I turned to The Hubby. "So, what do you think?" I asked, "Should we throw the doggie crap over the cliff?"

And I woke up.

So There

2006-07-07T18:34:00.000+08:00

My dog, Chloe, and I often get the same question these days: are you pregnant?

No. Our perfect 10 bodies are merely well insulated under protective layers of all-natural padding.

As Always...

2006-06-27T17:03:00.000+08:00

...I have two articles due today, so I'm blogging.

Also, I'm sick. I spent the morning and afternoon sleeping and alternately sweating and chilling. I hurt all over. You know the kind that even touching your scalp hurts? This is the time that I miss having a maid--someone to wash the pots and pans from last Saturday's dinner party (it was The Beloved Hubby's birthday!) and do crap patrol and feed the pets and all that. I was about to prepare breakfast, but I became too woozy and took a nap on the couch instead. Lunch was Hot Onion Noodle Soup. Am so glad The Hubby prepared his own lunch. Then an attempt to work on my articles, but got too woozy, so slept on the couch again. Now I feel slightly better, but my brain cells are not working. *sigh*

On to the good news though. We finally found a house! After a month of searching and a couple of near-hits, we have a cute little house. I've always noticed that house when we pass by Main. It's painted yellow. I love yellow. When we finally saw the inside, it wasn't love at first sight the way it was with our current house here on Belvedere. But The Hubby and I could see the potential.

The new house is about a third of the size of our current house--but at half the rent! So that's a lot of savings. But that means we really have to get rid of a lot of stuff. I'm a packrat by nature, so I find it hard to get rid of stuff (you'll never know when you'll need to refer to that 1996 issue of Time magazine, and perhaps someday, I will still fit into my size 26 skinny jeans). So it's time for a garage sale. Now, what to sell? What to bring? I measured the new house, and I still don't know what to bring. I suppose I have to measure our current furniture and see what will fit.

A lot of the stuff I have are also of sentimental value. The very first couch and table that I bought. The TV cabinet that my papa made with his own hands more than 20 years ago. My wicker hope chest that I'm supposed to pass on to my daughter. And my books! All the books that I still keep going back to, that I'm saving for my reading room project.

***

The other semi-good news is, there's enough space to bring the dogs. But The Hubby is adamant about not letting them set paw in the house. I suppose they'll get used to it. And more importantly, I will get used to it. I like having the dogs underfoot, always ready for a cuddle break. Now I have to design a dog house that will meet my requirements. It has to be easy to clean--so maybe a tiled floor? Then the roof has to sort of insulated (correct term?) so when it's raining it doesn't sound like a drum inside (and terrify The Boo). And maybe it should have a ceiling so that it doesn't go into temperature extremes. Then maybe it has to look like a couch, since the dogs simply adore staying on the couch, and if the house looks like one, it will encourage them to stay there. Then it also has to look nice on the outside, so it won't be an eyesore from the road, since we're putting the dogs in the front. Hmm. Any architects or interior designers out there up to the challenge of creating the perfect dog house?

***

More on the house. I think our current house has spoiled us for anything else. The bathrooms here are beautifully tiled, with on-the-higher-end fixtures. The ground floor is marble, as is my kitchen counter. I have more than enough space (hence more than enough kalat), lots of cabinets and shelves and mirrors. The new house has vinyl floors, the kitchen counter is tiny and the bathrooms leave a lot to be desired. Only one nice cabinet to speak of, the one in the front bedroom that we will turn into an office. But the cut is nice, it's still bright and airy--and it's yellow! I suppose you can't go wrong with a yellow house.

Our contact starts on July 15, so we have a little more than two weeks to sort through stuff, to sell, give away or keep things, pack the stuff we'll keep, and start moving. I'm excited, and a bit overwhelmed. This isn't like when The Hubby and I moved in together after getting married, where we just hauled over our his-and-hers. Now it's a joint venture. It feels weird.

***

Uh oh. Getting woozy again. But really must work. Life goes on, even when you're sick. :(

8 Things

2006-06-16T22:21:00.000+08:00

Tagged by Stef. Might as well.

Eight things about me:

1. Sometimes I doubt if I can really write. Sure, I can string words together, sometimes prettily. But will it ever be worth anything, my writing? Will it ever make a dent somewhere?

2. I think of all things in the world, what I am most afraid of is humiliation. I don't like looking stupid. I don't like to fail (at least publicly). It's a pride thing.

3. I get attached. To people, to things, to places. Which is why I don't adapt to change quickly and with grace. Or why I sometimes have a hard time to forgive and forget.

4. My full name is Rita Angelita II. I prefer to be called by my nickname, Rheea (note the double "e"). I like my nick-nickname better, Ree (three letters only, no "h"). But what I liked best was what my older brother used to call me: Ee (hmm...that looks funny spelled out).

5. While we're on the topic of names, I like giving people nicknames. I like naming things. I like thinking of names for other people's kids. I like naming the pets (that's why most of our 30 fish had names). My plants used to have names. I bought a 30,000-entry baby name book, even when I had no intention of having babies.

6. And speaking of babies, The Hubby and I have been thinking about it. I'd like to have twins--a boy and a girl--so it's over in one go. We have the name for the boy already. The girl--The Hubby has vetoed several of my suggestions, and I've vetoed his. Maybe that's why we're not pregnant yet, we can't agree on a name (or it could be due to the raincoats ;p).

7. When I was growing up, my ultimate career goal was to be a salesgirl in National Bookstore. I mean--wow! You work surrounded by all those books! Then my mom dashed my dreams when she said that the salesgirls aren't allowed to read while on duty. If I had my own bookstore, I'd encourage my staff to read, even during work hours (of course, not to the point of ignoring their other duties), so they can discuss and recommend books to customers. In fact, I'd only hire people who can't live without reading.

8. And finally, there are times I like being alone. The Hubby has started a Friday night cell with his ex-officemates, and so I've been enjoying my Friday nights, with just the dogs for company. I can eat cornflakes for dinner or whip up pasta or even not eat at all! I can just curl up in bed with a book, or listen to myself think. I can visit my sister in law down the block. I can blog!

The possibilities are endless. To anyone who wants to be tagged, consider yourself tagged. Just let me know when you're doing this.

Funky Town

2006-06-09T19:07:00.000+08:00

I'm in a funk. A slump. A down cycle. A bad-hair-fat-ass-nothing-to-wear day.

Maybe it's my tummy--eating the usual amount of food makes me feel like throwing up, like I can feel the food just down my throat. But even if I feel like puking, I'm hungry. Argh. I rarely get tummy problems. I am blessed with a tummy of steel (heavily padded on the outside).

Or it could be the fact that it's mid-June and we haven't found a house to move to yet and we have to be out of here by the end of June.

Or it could be the fact that I am not that happy with my current money-generating gigs. In the perfect world, I would be sitting by my floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking the sea (yes, the window is attached to a house), and I would be typing away on my high tech laptop (at this point, I'll settle for a laptop that has batteries, and does not need to be plugged in all the time), effortlessly creating brilliant articles and stories that the publishing houses are bidding for. But nooooo. I must live in this world. Where somehow I have morphed from a PR writer into an all around something who does almost everything except be the model in one of these events that I am merely supposed to write about and not produce. Of course if I were the model then we would be back in the perfect world, and that's beside the point.

Or it could be the fact that The Hubby (thank you Lord for him) has said that I can resign from my PR gig, but I am hesitant to do so because I know The Hubby will have to pick up the financial slack and as it is he is way too stressed with our finances and I don't want to add to that. And how selfish can I be wanting to resign in the middle of a financial crisis just because I'm unhappy. But I have been wanting to quit this PR gig for the past three years and I never could because I need the money.

Or it could be the fact that The Hubby won't tolerate the dogs inside the house anymore, and I can't bear to see them outside. So I am torn between finding them a new home where they will be loved and allowed in the house, and keeping them and making sure they stay outside. And if I do keep them, then we'd have to find a house that has ample space outside for them because NO WAY am I going to tie them up or keep them in cages. And that means it would be a more expensive house. And if I decide to find homes for them, then who will take them? The Boo isn't a problem; several people want him. As my friend Juddy Baby said, The Boo gets by on charm and good looks. It's Chloe who will be hard to place. She's a bigger dog, and she's a needy one--she needs lots of love and attention. And she sometimes gets into trouble because she loves rummaging through trash and just this morning she ate The Hubby's omelette right off the table. Evil dog. But she's very malambing and loyal. My sister in law said she'd take them both in, with The Boo inside the house and Chloe outside, but free to roam. I'm OK with that but I don't know if they can handle Chloe. She doesn't get wild, but she is needy, so she whines for attention and I know my brother doesn't like her too much. Both Chloe and Boo are gentle dogs, great with kids and very tolerant (kids can even ride on Chloe). If I do give them away, who's going to love me unconditionally with all-out devotion, no matter what?

Or it could be the fact that we are moving house and I have to pack all over again, and then unpack. I don't like packing and unpacking. It means that we have to sort through all this stuff that we've accumulated. The Hubby wants to get rid of stuff. What do we get rid of?

Or it could be the fact that at the moment I have no money. I can't even treat myself to McNuggets with honey mustard sauce and Twister Fries if I wanted to. Or Holy Kettle Corn. Or books or magazines. Or even new shampoo-even-when-the-current-bottle-is-still-half-full because this one is making my scalp itch.

Or it could be the fact that I know that I am having myself a pity party and I don't feel like calling it off (the invitations have been sent) and I know I should.

Or maybe it's the fact that 60% of the population won't even know the song "Funky Town". Argh. I am getting grumpy in my old age.

Snippets

2006-05-12T10:35:00.000+08:00

I need to churn out a couple of articles before lunch, so I will jumpstart my brain by blogging (yes, Ree, tell yourself that). Since half my brain is processing the articles, the blogging part is a bit disjointed, hence a hodgepodge of whatever comes to mind.

***

Oh happy happy joy joy. Finally found my phone case, the one I've been looking for since March. It was buried under a pile of bills that I've been meaning to file. Ehehe.

***

When The Hubby and I got home a few days ago, only Chloe came to greet us. Almost flew into a Boo-induced panic again. Looked for him in the service area, in the front garden--only to find him inside the house. Apparently, he didn't go out when The Hubby was locking up, and The Hubby didn't see him (Boo sort of blends with the marble floor). Whew!

***

It's bed weather today. Wish The Hubby didn't have to go to the office. Yesterday, it was so hot and there was a brief downpour in the afternoon that only served to agitate the heat molecules, making it even hotter and muggy. But I'd take the scorching heat over rain or drizzle when I have to commute. Commuting in the rain sucks. I totally hate getting my feet wet.

***

I don't think I'm going to watch American Idol anymore. They kicked out Chris. Hmph.

***

The highlight of my week: Muay Thai! I am ecstatic that there are Muay Thai classes right here in the village, and so reasonably priced too. The Hubby is joining me (to make sure he can defend himself when we get into a fight mwahahaha); so far we've logged in three of the twenty sessions we've signed up for. Oh yeah. Kick-ass days are here again!

***

My best friend from Baguio (we've been friends since we were in diapers and I couldn't say her name properly--"Wehgie" instead of "Reggie") is getting married! To her on-off boyfriend of six years. I'm so happy for them. Rej is practically my sister. And I like Pol. They had a major breakup in 2005, and now they're getting married. Sounds so familiar. I think that really happens. Take me and The Hubby. We were on-off, and then we had a major breakup. Then we decided to get married. I know a lot of couples with that pattern too. I think after the major breakup, you either move on to other people, or you realize that you can't see yourself growing old with anyone else.

***

I really ought to be working.

***

Fine, fine. Back to work.

Cooking for Idiots Recipe #2: Chicken-Veggie Stir Fry

2006-04-29T14:19:00.000+08:00

It's been ages since my last recipe post. I have been cooking a lot more not-so-idiotic-incompetent-cook recipes since then (see, Hubby, I just needed to warm up--told you I liked to cook). But I still love these quick, easy recipes. Perfect for when you come home to a hungry husband after a long day at work.

Equipment
- a good wok (large frying pan will do)
- one of those flat turning things
- stove

Ingredients*
- chicken fillet pieces, chopped into cubes (I like only breast)
- assorted vegetables, chopped into bite sized pieces (the Baguio veggies work best--carrots, beans, wombok)
- garlic, crushed (I love garlic, so my recipes usually have a little more than usual)
- small onion, coarsely chopped
- oil (olive works best)
- oyster sauce
- soy sauce
- pepper

*NOTE: I cook by feel, rather than by quantity, so it's a matter of estimating how much you need to put (just realized if I were to put up a restaurant or go into the food business, must make my cooking method more exact :( )

Procedure
1. Heat the oil in the wok. When hot enough, add garlic.
2. When garlic starts to brown, add the onions.
3. When onions start to become transparent, add the chicken.
4. When chicken turns white add the veggies (if you are adding wombok or other leafy vegetables, add it last, when the rest of the vegetables are semi-cooked).
5. Over high heat, constantly stir or toss the whole mess in the wok. Don't stop, even to wipe the sweat off your brow (stir fry is hot, hot work)! The secret to keeping the crunch in the veggies is to not let them stay too long in a heap on the bottom of the pan.
6. Add soy sauce and oyster sauce (I use a 1:1 proportion).
7. Add pepper--best if freshly ground from a pepper mill.
8. Serve with a smile.

This stir fry thing is a very flexible recipe. You can change the soy/oyster sauce seasoning to butter and herbs (rosemary, thyme, marjoram, oregano, basil, etc) for something less Chinese. You can make the chicken into some other meat (or take it out completely for something totally vegetarian). You can add bean spouts and tofu (best with butter and kikoman). The best thing is, after cooking, you only have one pan, one turning cooking thing, one knife and one chopping board to wash. Amen to that!

Today I Was Super Woman

2006-04-18T22:17:00.000+08:00

Today I...

Woke up.
Took a bath in cold water.
Had my quiet time.
Cooked breakfast for The sound-asleep Hubby (tinapang bangus and garlic fried rice).
Washed the dishes.
Fed the dogs.
Fed the birds.
Fed the fish.
Checked my mail.
Kissed The still-sleeping Hubby goodbye.
Rode a tricycle.
Rode an FX.
Walked to the MRT.
Took the train.
Walked five minutes under the sun to my client's office in commuter-unfriendly Forbes.
Had a productive work day.
Walked back to the MRT.
Took the train.
Walked through SM, Glorietta and crossed to Park Square Terminal.
Rode a van.
Walked five minutes to the house.
Cooked dinner (rice and chicken-veggie stir-fry. Yummy!).
Prepared packed lunches for me and The Hubby tomorrow.
Washed the dishes.
Cleaned up.
Refilled the pitchers.
Served The Hubby ice cream...

...and it wasn't even 9:30PM yet.

Please, Lord. Let there be more days like this.

When I Grow Up

2006-03-26T14:12:00.000+08:00

We had a launch event in Greenbelt last Friday. I usually hate going to these things, but my client needed the support, so I went.

These high-end parties--with the gorgeous models, celebrities, personalities, head honchos, all dressed in the latest fashions, possibly all branded, laughing, smoking, sipping their drinks, flashing their new phones and gadgets, talking loudly, apparently knowing everyone, swaying to the music, jewelry sparkling, nails neatly manicured, shoes spiffy and new looking, uncaring of the flesh exposed, most with no fat to speak of, swirling conversation...and no one paying the least attention to me--I hate them.

I am shy by nature and I don't do well in social situations. I sometimes have a hard time talking to my relatives! These events bring out all my insecurities and make me feel so inadequate. After, I always have myself a pity party.

But that last event, I did fine. I was actually talking to people-I mingled!--and I hardly looked the pitiful wallflower I normally feel. And no, it had nothing to do with my outfit. I was dressed practically in jeans and sneakers (with a nice halter blouse). No makeup, no jewelry. Not at all fasyon. I chatted up CEOs and big bosses. I talked to famous photographers. I did the small talk thing with an artista. The models still paid me no mind, but no loss there.

I think my problem lies in what I think others think of me. Then I realized that they probably don't even think of me. I most likely don't even register in their mind at all! But that doesn't matter.

I realize that my self worth isn't tied up in their opinion. I know who I am, and I know what I can and cannot do. And even better, I have a God who can work magic, who can make all those things I can't do on my own possible. And this I know--my God thinks the world of me. He adores me. And that's what really matters.

I think I've finally grown up.

Baba

2006-03-12T10:55:00.000+08:00

You know that he's spent the past two months slowly dying, and when he finally goes, it's like you're too numb to react. You praise God that the suffering is finally over. You text close friends and relatives, and they text you back with the expected "we're sorry for your loss, we will pray for you."

Then it hits you at the weirdest moments: while you're watering the plants, pounding garlic for fried rice, sweeping up doggie crap. He's gone. And you suddenly you realize that tears have been pouring down and you didn't even notice.

Akward in the best social situations, you are frightfully inept with death. You think, how hard can it be to say the right words? He was your grandfather, these people left are your family. But you still don't know what to say.

What do you tell your grandmother, who for the past two months has been camping out in the hospital, always ready with delicious adobo and rice to feed visitors who come? Do you tell her that it's OK, at least the suffering is done? What do you answer when she says she says she doesn't know what to do now, when her life has revolved around your grandfather for almost 60 years?

What do you tell your dad, who is trapped between guilt and relief; who has been struggling with the dilemma of withdrawing or continuing life support? Do you say he did the right thing? Do you believe that he did the right thing?

What do you tell the people, the well-meaning but equally inept people? You agree that yes, he's had a full life, a good 82 years. Maybe the last five weren't too great because of his Parkinsons, yes, but really, before that things were great. You realize that their trite condolences are from not knowing what to say.

Sometimes people ask you if you were close to your grandfather. What can you answer to that? Do you reveal that sometimes you still feel hurt that it was your brother, not you, who was his favorite grandchild? Do you say that you adored him as a child--that he was so generous, kind and really funny--but as you grew up, things became awkward? Do you say that you longed to tell him a million things, but when you were with him, you became so shy--so shy with your grandfather! how silly is that!--that you just kissed him hello, mumbled a few generic how-are-you-doing phrases and fled the room?

Sometimes, you remember the funny things your grandfather used to do. Like putting that cut-off stocking on his head, so that his dead-straight hair wouldn't stand. Or wandering around the house in his jockeys and sando. You think of how really nice he was. Like that time your brother--in his college-kid-angst-filled days--deliberately drove off, knowing that he had to take you to your dental appointment and your grandfather drove you there instead. Or how he'd slip you money whenever you came to visit that sometimes you were reluctant to visit, because he might think that you came only for the money. And you remember how, wheelchair-bound and sometimes barely lucid because of all his medication, he insisted on coming to your wedding, despite the grueling trip from Bulacan to Batangas. And how on your wedding day, he insisted on wearing his brand new Florsheim leather shoes, despite the sand, and the fact that he would just be in his wheelchair anyway.

You try to think why he fought so hard, so hard, to stay alive, when he was in obvious pain. When he couldn't communicate anymore, when all you could hear were his moans of pain and frustration. Sometimes you think would it have been better if he had Alzhiemers instead of Parkinsons, since the latter leaves your mind intact, trapped in a body you no longer control. And it's heartbreaking to dwell on that because your grandfather was one of the most brilliant minds you know, full of humor and wit.

You think that maybe he chose today to let go because it's your grandmother's birthday, and he wanted to be with her for another celebration of her life. Instead, it's a celebration of his death.

Then you think it's not really a celebration of death, a celebration of the end of his suffering, but a celebration of the life he's led and all the good things he's left behind.

And you try to wipe away your tears and move on. You know that it will still catch you unaware sometimes, these waves of sadness that squeeze your chest and make you cry at the weirdest places, the weirdest moments. You know that you will always miss him, but you also know this too shall pass.

And you hope that he somehow knew that you loved him, even if you were to shy or proud to show it.

And then you pray for strength and grace and comfort, and you find peace knowing that God will grant you these.

Things You Can Do with Mighty-Bonded Hands

2006-02-17T12:10:00.000+08:00

Last night, in a moment of supreme duh-ness, I Mighty Bonded my fingers together.

I actually just wanted to repair my favorite pair of sandals. But the darn Mighty Bond wasn't coming out of the tube, so I squeezed harder and--shpleck--it overflowed, making the tube stick to the fingers of my right hand.

I yanked the tube off with my left hand, and yup, you guessed it. The tube stuck to my left hand. I tried to shake it off, and the tube went flying to the floor. But now my left thumb and index finger were glued together in a perpetual OK sign.

At that moment, I was overwhelmed by curiosity. Like how will it feel to have only three functioning fingers and no thumb? So I tried picking up various things, like the tube of Mighty Bond on the floor. Can't say last night was one of my more brilliant moments. More Mighty Bond spread around my other fingers, and yes, the tube got stuck to my hand once more.

With the tube stuck to me, I could easily read the warning: Eye and skin irritant. Instantly bonds skin. Like, wow. I didn't know that. It also said that in case of skin contact, remove with acetone. This does not work. I am now stuck with Mighty-Bonded hands (at least I managed to pry my thumb and finger apart with minimal pain--I figured that it would be more painful to pry them apart when the glue has completely dried).

Looking at the bright side, there are lots of useful things you can do with Mighty Bond coating your hands:

1. Exfoliate.
2. Really scratch that itch.
3. Sand down those rough edges on your table or stairs.
4. Remove lint from laundry, or even dog hair from the furniture.
5. Groom the dogs.
6. Commit a crime without leaving fingerprints (will double check with Grissom on this).

One thing that is hard to do, however, is shampoo. My hair kept getting caught on my fingers. And when that happens, the Mighty Bond coating tugs on the skin that it is firmly attached to, and it sort of hurts. So The Hubby shampooed my hair this morning.

I like The Hubby. I think I'll keep him Mighty Bonded to me forever.

Oh.

2006-02-03T13:48:00.000+08:00

The other week, as I was about to get into an FX bound for Makati, the barker (the guy who skillfully makes passengers into sardines inside every FX and van) said to me, "Misis, dyan na lang kayo sa harap."

Just as I was about to take umbrage and shoot him a laser beam look, it hit me. I AM a 'misis'.

Oh.

On Prayer & Fasting - For Chin

2006-01-21T12:22:00.000+08:00

Hi Chin. Sorry it took me quite a while to get back to you. I would have wanted to email you privately, but you didn't leave an address. So public it is and I hope others will be able to make use if this post as well.

Prayer and fasting doesn't have to follow a specific, standard process, although it helps to prepare for it. Physically, you have to ease your body into it. Like a few days before, start cutting down on the amount you eat. Then taper off to fruits and vegetables a couple of days before. Plan your schedule so you don't do anything taxing (and don't accept dinner dates!). Scale down your physical activities as well (though you can still exercise).

Then commit to a type of fast before you start, like if you will have a water fast (you take water only); a liquid fast (broth and fresh juices, no artificial stuff or sugar; definitely no blendered burgers and fries); or a one-meal a day only (no pigging out at buffets!). Commit also to how long you will fast. As I mentioned previously, at the start of the year, we have a 7-day fast, and throughout the year, once a month. Other people fast from other things; my pregnant friend who had to eat skipped TV the entire fasting period instead. Others give up chatting, smoking (which I believe everyone should give up anyway), reading--something that is important to them.

Preparing spiritually might be a bit harder. This is what differentiates fasting from dieting or going into martyr mode. One of the best books I've read on fasting was "The Mystery of the Empty Stomach" by Joey Bonifacio (it's available in Victory Christian Fellowship bookstores in the Fort and Galleria). Fasting is all about your relationship with God, and he (Joey) likens it to a relationship between a bride and a groom. Us girls, I think, can relate better to this than men ever can. Think of it like when you're preparing for your wedding (or to see your boyfriend), you get so caught up in the preparations, that before you realize it, a day has gone by and you haven't eaten, but you don't mind. The thrill of seeing your groom and preparing is enough to keep you going. As my brother would perhaps put it--food, shmood.

I guess the best way to prepare spiritually is to up your prayer life. After all, fasting is a way to get even closer to God, to be more sensitive to him. So even beforehand, you can get into the mood by reading the bible more, talking to him more, being more conscious of his grace. And have faith. Believe that you can get through the fast.

While you fast, really try to seek God. And when God pinpoints specific areas in your life, make a commitment to change. During the fast, for me at least, it helped that I had some prayer points and something to reflect on (let me know if you want one, I can email you a copy). It helps me keep focused and reminds me why I fast. Of course, it's also a great way to count down till the time I can eat again!

Breaking the fast is like the reverse--start with fruits and veggies again, with smaller portions, before you go back into full blown meals. Believe me, rushing into full meals will make you sick! Then after the fast, keep up the prayer life. And be expectant--believe that you will get the breakthroughs that you are praying for. It helps to write these down, so you have a record of what God has done. You'll be amazed (I still am, when I read my faith goals over the past years).

I do hope this helps you, Chin. I'll be praying for you as well. God bless you beyond your wildest imagination.

Denial, Desire, Devotion

2006-01-13T17:52:00.000+08:00

Yesterday evening, The Hubby and I (and probably more than a million people around the world) finally broke our seven-day fast. After four days of taking only water and three days of only liquids, the feel of actually chewing solid food was close to orgasmic.

This seven-day prayer and fasting is an annual habit--a great way to start the year. It's leaving off all personal, earthly desires and making yourself totally open to God's plans for you this year. It's a way of saying, "God, I rely only on you to sustain me." And man, it's amazing how he does.

Take note: I absolutely adore food; eating is one of my favorite things to do. Ask anyone--I get very grumpy when I'm hungry (isn't that like a man?). And The Hubby! Meals on time have often been the cause of our minor tiffs. His delicate tummy also can't handle absence of food for long. So you'd think that depriving ourselves of food would make us weak and very cross. On the contrary.

We were so perfectly fine. No hunger headaches, no wobbly legs, no cross-eyed stumbling around. I even was able to exercise a little, and my focus at work was superb. I tried this before--not eating in order to get thin. After several hours, I was sneaking in a few bites, which eventually evolved into an all-out pig out session. I can only say that it's the motivation--the desire to please God, to really open ourselves to him, to try to hear him--that made the difference.

They say that denying yourself earthly pleasures makes you more attuned to God, to what he has to say (of course it also makes you more attuned to the smell of the neighbors' cooking--kare-kare on the left side and ginisa on the right--as well as the very subtle smell of mangoes and very well-sealed packs of cookies). They're right. I find that God actually does have a lot to say to me.

One of the things that we talk about is my nasty habit of clinging to the past--past mistakes, past offenses, past decisions. I realized that I have this habit of living somewhere in between regret and what-ifs. He's getting me out of my comfort zones, and though I resist, he patiently coaxes me out. Though it sometimes feels like he upturns whatever box I've kept myself in.

Another thing we get into is my relationship with The Hubby. For the past year, I've been struggling to learn how to be a wife, and The Hubby are still feeling each other out (with the occasional feeling each other up--and that's allowed! We're married.). I just realized that I've been trying too hard, trying to be that perfect wifey that I have in my mind, without really considering what kind of wife The Hubby wants, what God wants. So it's a big change in perspective.

I also discovered that it really pays to keep God in the center of your marriage. For the first time, The Hubby and I started praying together. As in really praying, not the usual thank-you-Lord-for-the-food-and-other blessings quickie that we usually do at meals. But praying with passion and conviction, praying for others, praying for ourselves and our plans, praying for each other. It was amazing. Not only did I feel closer to God, but I never felt so close to The Hubby as I did after we prayed. And lighting spiritual passion lit up my other--ahem--passions too ;p I guess what they say is true: for women, you have to really be in synch mentally, emotionally and spiritually to get optimum physical in-synchness. And The Hubby says amen to that.

Prayer and fasting also gives us a chance to start fresh. It's breaking free of all things that hold us back, that bind us, that keep us from fulfilling our purpose here. After all, didn't Christ die to set us free? It's exhilirating to know that I am free. I. Am. Free!

Oh, and as a side effect to fasting and starting over, we lost some pounds and some flab here and there. It's like we get to start fresh with a semi-new body as well. The Hubby and I have committed to eat better and exercise more this year.

So here's to a year dedicated to God, overflowing with his abundance and grace!

***

After our first meal after the fast, The Hubby asked, "Do you know what I want right now?" I nodded. We were totally in synch. We gazed deeply into each other's eyes, slowly licked our lips... and lustfully tore open our packs of Boy Bawang cornick.

Pasta Queen!

2005-12-30T12:54:00.000+08:00

Yesterday, I made pasta from scratch.

Yup. Made my own noodles--mixed the flour and eggs. Kneaded the dough with my own hands (good workout!). Rolled out and cut the noodles. Cooked the noodles. Made pasta sauce from scratch. And it was GOOD.

Store bought pasta does not give you this satisfaction. It's amazing--almost the way I feel every time I finish making a batch of soap. Don't you just love the way you can see all these ingredients come together to form something else? Amazing.

Of course the pasta wasn't quite perfect. And it took me two hours to come up with enough noodles good enough for five people. And the sauce took me another 30 minutes (I cheated--I used canned tomatoes and fresh tomatoes). But the results were superb, if I must say so myself (although I cooked rice, in case of disaster).

I am doing the dance of joy. I am twisting in weird ways to give myself a pat on the back. I am beside myself in delight. I feel so gifted!

Now why did they have to make cleaning the pasta machine so difficult?

New Family Members

2005-12-30T12:27:00.000+08:00

We have new additions to our eclectic family, which currently consists of The Hubby, me, Chloe, The Boo, about 30 fish and the occasional sibling who sleeps over.

Yup, that's them in the corner, initially terrorized by The Boo. Not that Boo wants to eat them, he just wants to see. The Boo is like a kid. He's all "I wanna see! I wanna see! Please lemme see! Huh? Huh? Can I see?"

And so he found a way to get up on the table, and he just stayed there, sniffing the bird cage and sitting there, watching. Of course, The Hubby went ballistic when he saw The Boo on the table, and we had to take him down (but I secretly found it cute).

The birds belong to my sister Rix. We're keeping them here till she gets back. Since this picture, we've gotten them a bigger cage. And two more bird friends that The Hubby's mom got as a gift (note to people out there--do NOT give animals as gifts or giveaways, no matter how cute or sweet they look. Not everyone has the time, resources or personality for pets, and pets HAVE to be taken care of after they're given. So those new "pet party" things now? Poor animals! Don't. Take your kids to the zoo instead).

Sometimes I forget to feed them. Ehehe. Have to get used to having birds in the house. It's nice to hear chirping though; something different from barking and whining (fish don't say much).
I’ve never taken care of birds before. I’m thinking that there must be more exciting things for them to eat other than birdseed. Fruits or vegetables maybe? And where should we put them? Hang them up? The Hubby has named the birds Kimberly, Alcatraz, Bjorn and Natasha.

The Boo is still excited about them. When we go near the table, he rushes over and goes into his pick-me-up position (sitting up on his hind legs, with that adorable puppy-dog look) so he can see. And when he can, he still goes up on the table (yesterday, I caught Aling Lourdes, our beloved once-a-week housekeeper putting him up on the table; apparently I'm not the only one who finds The Boo's obsession with the birds cute). And I think that the birds are used to him, after the initial fright.

I wonder if, with a bigger cage, we will ever have eggs—for breakfast. Mwahaha. No really. Do these birds ever breed in captivity? I can’t wait to see.

Some Cheese with that Whine?

2005-12-08T01:07:00.000+08:00

The Hubby says I have an attitude problem. He says that I complain about everything. And that I always like to get my way. Now. And if I don't get my way, I resort to slamming doors and using brute force.

And I'm thinking, is that how he really sees me? How people see me?

Yes, I admit I like to rant--fine. I like to whine. I'm a whiner. And yes, I am short-tempered (but ask people who've known me; vast improvement in this area), and patience is not one of my virtues (I need to tend to the fruits of the spirit more. sigh). But that doesn't mean I'm not happy, or that I don't find joy in anything. In fact, if you ask me, I love my life. I've been blessed with so much. Sure, there are always things that I feel can be improved or can do better. But that doesn't mean I'm not content.

As for getting my way, yes, I like getting my way. I've been getting my way for 18 years. I've been away from family and basically on my own since I was 12. I'm used to getting my way. I'm used to being in charge. Nearly two decades of getting my way isn't easy to change.

But The Hubby has a point. I guess it isn't easy to live with me (I think I hear heartfelt agreement from the seester and the cuzins). I'm being selfish, self-centered.

Suddenly, I'm ashamed.

But is that going to change me?

Sonja

2005-12-07T23:11:00.000+08:00

Sonja is dead. She was Rix’s cat.

Rix, being Rix, can’t resist bringing home strays every so often. She once brought home a boxful of kittens, which she gave away to her cat-loving friends in school. She also wanted to buy and bring home three ducks she saw in Philoca, since she pitied them strung up on a pole by their webbed feet, but she couldn’t figure out how to commute home with them. So when Rix found Sonja, half-drowned in the canal near our street, Rix naturally took her home.

Sonja was the ugliest creature we had ever seen. She was so tiny, small enough to fit in your palm. She hardly had any fur, and what little she had was clumped together unattractively, standing on end. Her tail was cut off, and her eyes were crusted shut by pus. We didn’t think she’d make it through the night.

But she did. We kept her in a rag-lined shoebox, feeding her milk via dropper. A few days after, she was crawling out of the box, and insisted on sleeping on top my PC’s AVR. She couldn’t have been more than two weeks old.

Rix was supposed to give her away when she was old and strong enough to eat without a dropper. So for a month-and-a-half, we just called her The Cat, because if we named her, we’d have to keep her. But all her friends were already loaded with Rix’s previous rescues. So she stayed, and we decided to call her Sonja (pronounced with the “J” as in “jeep”).

Sonja eventually outgrew her ugliness and became a pretty black-and-white-spotted cat. In fact, there was a time that she became so fat that if you looked at her from above and behind when she was sitting, she looked like a soccer ball. And when she slimmed down a bit, she still resembled a cow of some sort. She was a massive cat.

We were mortified when we finally took Sonja to the vet, only to find out that she was actually supposed to be a Sanjo. The vet found a tiny pair of balls that we missed. Sonja had always been a “she” to us, and so that’s how we always referred to her. But I guess it explained why Sonja often snuck out of the house, and always managed to return home un-pregnant. The last thing we wanted was more kittens, given the fact that our circle of cat-lovers was saturated with cats.

From the start, The Boo was fascinated with Sonja (although in typical Boo fashion, when we first let him smell her, Boo put Sonja’s head right in his mouth. I suppose, just like a shark, having no opposable thumbs, that’s how he gets a feel of new things). He kept close watch over her, especially her first few days. He left the box only to eat and go to the bathroom. When she was walking around, he’d trail her around the house. Initially, Sonja would hiss at Boo and lash out. He once took a clawed swipe to his nose. But that didn’t keep him away. Eventually, Sonja learned to tolerate him, and I guess they became friends.

In months, Sonja was taller and much, much quicker than The Boo. And that’s when the fun began. She’d stalk him from behind the tables and from the top of the chairs. She’d pounce on him when he’d pass by. He’d chase her around the house, around and up and down the furniture. Of course, Sonja always had the upper hand. And she picked on him a lot, even when he was sleeping. She actually bullied him. But she was always Boo’s ally. Once, when The Boo and Chloe were having a spat, Sonja came out of nowhere, and for no apparent reason, took a swipe at Chloe.

Sonja, along with Rix’s birds, was supposed to move in with me and The Hubby. But then, she died. And it seemed to be a very horrible, painful death. Rix found her in the bathroom, lying in a pool of blood that ran from her mouth. Her eyes were wide open.

We still don’t know what happened. Maybe she ate something poisonous. Or in her jaunts to other neighbors’ yards, an irate homeowner kicked her and damaged some internal organs. Or maybe she got hit by something. It seems that she died of some internal hemorrhage.

When she was a baby, she refused to be touched by anyone. Maybe the trauma of her early days made her fearful of people. But eventually, she allowed us to hold her and pet her, but it was only Rix she loved. Only Rix could carry her, and she always slept with Rix. In her last days, she was more malambing than usual, wanting more attention from Rix. Maybe she sensed that Rix was leaving for a long time; or that she—Sonja—wouldn’t be around for long either.

Rix is devastated. She has sworn of pets for now.

We’ll all miss Sonja.

The Honeymooners are Back

2005-12-03T15:19:00.000+08:00

The Hubby and I are back from cavorting on the powder-fine shores of Boracay. Actually, we've been back since Tuesday night (we were in Bora from Tuesday to Tuesday), but the past few days have been spent settling back into reality.

Our long overdue honeymoon was fantastic. It was more a time to destress more than anything else, I guess. In fact, most of our first 24 hours on the island was spent in bed--sound asleep! No playing coy here. We were that tired. Our flight was at 7AM, so we had to be in the airport by 5:30AM, so we both decided to not sleep the night before, instead it was all work, checklists, packing and last minute panicking. We were checked in Pearl of the Pacific in Station 1 by about 9:30AM; walked to D'Mall to hunt down super cheap palenke food for brunch; back in the room by about 1:00PM; enjoyed cable TV (we don't have have cable here at home, mostly by choice); conked out by 2:00PM; woke up at 6:00AM the following day. The Hubby said I woke up at about 6:30PM, said I was hungry, then promptly went back to sleep.

We stayed a total of seven nights: three in Pearl, three in Fairways & Bluewater, and our last in Bans Beach Resort. Pearl was OK, it has potential for greatness, if only they refurbished and do better on the upkeep. They are building new units, but I wish they paid attention to the existing ones first. But service was great; everyone was nice and friendly. word of warning--food is OK, but overpriced for what you get. I wouldn't recommend eating there.

I wouldn't recommend eating at that El Toro restaurant near Crowne Plaza or Crowne Resort at Station 1. I don't know if they were having an off day since it was off season, but the seafood wasn't fresh, it wasn't cooked well, and their prices are deceptive. That was the lousiest meal we ever spent P600++ on. Never again.

But Bora has a lot of other great eating options. Paradiso Grill, for one. We had lobster and a huge kebab. Scrumptious (The Hubby felt bad when we got back, when he saw that in Market! Market! king crab was P380/kg; in Bora it was P180/100g!). And for me, the best ever tapsilog is from (strangely enough) the English Baker. They also have the yummiest lassi (yoghurt shakes) on the island. Coming in close second for the tapsi is Fairways & Bluewater's. Actually, food in Fairways is really good. They have a rather limited selection on their menu, but everything we had was a delight. Reasonably priced too. Oh, pasta does not seem to be their strength though (my arrabiata was sweet!!).

The Hubby and I walked a lot in Bora--had to burn off all the calories! We also tried to do laps every morning, either in the ocean or, when we were at Fairways, in the pool. Now that we're back, I feel bad we're settling back into our couch potato/mouse potato, sedentary lifestyle.

I loved Bora, but it's sad to see it becoming so commercialized. And the trash! How can people be so unconcerned where they drop wrappers, papers and bits and pieces, and then later wonder why the place is so dirty?

This isn't a very cohesive, interesting post, but I just wanted to get back into writing again.

This is us after a swim at Pearl's beachfront. One of the many headshots we have--the downside of being too shy and too lazy to ask someone else to take our picture. Oh well.

Objects of Desire

2005-11-18T16:02:00.000+08:00

I have been putting in 18 - 20 hour work days lately, since I need to close my magazine before The Hubby and I go off cavorting on the shores of Boracay next week. As anyone can tell, such work hours can take a toll on you. So I am sneaking in some bobo time for myself now. Pardon me if this post is a little brainless.

One of the nice things about this job is that I get first eye dibs on the latest high-end watches. If I had money to spare, I wouldn't mind getting myself a few of these babies. You don't have to be a watch person to admire the skill and genius that goes into these watches--and I'm not talking about your run-of-the-mill Swatches here. These are works of art.

Among the 50 or so watches that I had to look at, these two caught me:

The Audemars Piguet Edward Piguet Moss Agate Tourbillon and the Ulysse Nardin Royal Blue Tourbillon. Each time I look at them, my breath catches in my throat and I marvel at the brilliance of their creators. The tourbillon feature is quite an accomplishment in itself--it's one of the most complicated things you can add to a watch--but the way they executed their design. It leaves me speechless.

The Moss Agate Tourbillon, for example, is assembled on a base made from moss agate rock--and before they even start cutting the rock (takes them a week to cut for a single watch!), they look for the part with the best design (I guess they look for the prettiest moss things embedded in the rock). And this means that each watch will never look like anyone else's. Wow.

As for the Royal Blue, most of the watch parts are made out of sapphire, so you can see right through the watch. Then instead of numbers to mark the time, it uses diamonds and sapphires--a sapphire for each spot a number would be, with the space between the numbers filled in with diamonds. Totally decadent.

After I buy myself an island (Stef's idea), I will get myself an Edward Piguet Moss Agate Tourbillon and a Ulysse Nardin Royal Blue Tourbillon.

I must really lack sleep.

Soap

2005-11-11T18:12:00.000+08:00

This is for Ruby--and anyone else interested.

Yes, this Christmas, we will be making soaps and stuff. Terracotta Dreams will be in operation for a limited period only. We are also limiting our products to the popular ones: Honey Oatmeal, Rix Trix and Peppermint Jean soaps. As with last year, we can package them beautifully--perfect gifts for everyone.

I love making these soaps; I love coming up with the recipes and experimenting with ingredients. I don't scrimp on the ingredients. I wholeheartedly use everything I make (as I said before, we haven't bought soap for the past two years!). When we make soap, you can smell the wonderful fragrances from the street.

I love the way you start with oil and lye, and then mixing them together, you get something so totally different. It's like making magic.

Anyone want some magic?

Plump...Like a Chicken

2005-11-05T14:23:00.000+08:00

The Hubby and I have this thing we like to do. We like to lie in bed. Really. We loll around our bed and tell each other things like, "We aren't really fat" and "We still look OK" and "Hmm...my thighs seem to have lost cellulite". Talk about honesty in marriage!

But seriously. I have come to the painful realization that I am no longer fit. I am plump. Like a chicken. I am round in the wrong places (the belly area is always the wrong place to be round, unless you're pregnant, which I am not).

Yesterday, The Hubby's family had a swimming thing in Makiling, and preparing to go there, I couldn't find a single thing to wear. I looked fat in everything. Then it dawned on me that there was nothing wrong with the mirror, or the way the light hit it. And that my denim shorts weren't just newly-washed-tight. They were just plain tight. And I really look dumpy. Woe is me.

I have to face it. I NEED to exercise. The thing is, I'd rather sleep and eat and read and work and wash the dishes and do a million other things before I exercise. Bad.

I should get back into kickboxing and swimming. It's a decision that I have to stick to. Especially since The Hubby and I are finally going on our long-overdue honeymoon in Boracay at the end of this month. Which means that I have 16 days to get myself into bikini shape.

Argh.