Yeah, yeah. It's been a while. And in that while, so much has taken place. A home became simply a house, filled with ten years' worth of memories and the shadows of things we cherished. A family was uprooted and spent a good three weeks in nomadic existence (which, I highly DO NOT recommend when with a baby a mere month and a half in age). A plane ride with tons of luggage to juggle and excited children to herd delivered us to the place we now call home.
I've packed and unpacked, cleaned the condo, searched for furniture, bought and cooked food, walked kids to the bus stop and picked them up at the end of school. I've met teachers and new neighbors, became familiar with the underground labyrinth of shops and stores that greet you when you alight from the MRT, and established the much-needed routines to settle my family.
I've stayed awake at night (and the wee hours of the morning) to feed Raul. I've brought the kids (one by one) to meet the new pediatrician, who, thankfully, is someone I can work with.
I've found the market and have heaved a sigh or relief that I can buy large cuts of meat and chicken at a fraction of what the groceries here command. I've spent S$20 on plants that I bought from the grocery because I miss my garden and green just brightens up a room. (And no, I don't believe in the fake stuff.) I hope that I can keep them alive.
The condo is slowly becoming a home. We've unpacked most of the boxes, and discarded things we do not need. We now have a dining set to have proper meals, and a sofa to rest our weary feet. And now the mothering begins, running after kids who are jumping on the sofa, complete with shoes or dirty feet. Getting the kids to sit still so they can eat properly. hay.
I've rediscovered my inner cook, having to make most of the meals. I've deboned chicken, made my own atcharra, marinated meats, and baked goodies for the kids. After the cooking, I've done the dishes, cleaned the floors, picked up after the kids (which, they are learning to start doing themselves).
My days (and nights) have been packed.
But, I am slowly finding my groove and am loving it here.
8/17/11
6/12/11
Things Forgotten, Missed, and (need to be) Remembered
It's true what they say about childbirth...you forget everything that happens, all the pain is erased, the moment you see your baby. It's as if someone has graciously snipped off that part of the ribbon of your memory to ensure that the process of life is not put to a dead halt for fear of the pain of delivery.
My experience, this time around, was rather strange. A few days before my delivery date, that part of the ribbon was suddenly returned to me. All of a sudden, I remembered the pain I went through giving birth to Enrique. I remembered the pain of the IV, the discomfort of the spinal tap, the almost violent pressure on my tummy for force Enrique out, and the sharp, sharp, unrelenting abdominal pain of the recovery after. So, you can't blame me for kind of freaking out as the delivery date grew closer. I was torn between relief that it was almost over, and fear for what was to come.
And so I braced myself. I expected the worst; at least I knew it couldn't be worse than the last time. But the universe works in mysterious ways, and there were other plans for me this time around. Like Enrique, I had some pretty strong contractions the night before, which threatened to move up my delivery date. I didn't have so much sleep. And I had to wait for my OB who was running late. I was a bundle of nerves by the time they wheeled me in.
And here begins my experience of Divine intervention. My anesthesiologist, whom I have been with for the last two births, changes his style. He gives me something to calm me down, and then I feel nothing. No pain of the spinal tap. There was no violent pushing on my belly. I see my son, I hear his lusty cry and I experience an overwhelming calm that everything was going to be all right. I regain consciousness as they are cleaning me up, and am awake in the recovery room. Still no pain. Of course, I credit this to the lovely morphine drip that's giving me the itches...but hey, itch or ouch? No contest there.
I am later wheeled into my room and I wait for the onset of the discomfort I have been expecting. It does not come. And when they remove the IV and catheter, and as I brace myself for the short, but seemingly forever, walk to the bathroom, I am greeted with surprisingly very littlepain discomfort. In fact, I could have walked by myself to the loo. Recovery is so quick that my doctor discharges me Saturday afternoon, a mere 2 days after surgery. I am astounded at my recovery; I wasn't aware that this was possible. But, don't get me wrong. I am truly grateful.
And while hubby and I were camping out at the hospital, my kids were making waves at lolo and lola's house. They were having a blast eating out; they were taking over Lolo's tv (much to his dismay); they were eating a loooot of pancakes. At some point, Hannah and Mateo were overheard to have this conversation:
Hannah: I'm not getting married. I don't want to give birth!
Mateo: You have to get married!!
Hannah: Mateo, don't force me. It's my decision to make!
My little girl is truly an old lady trapped in an 8 year old body.
Raul's presence has already begun to change us. Mateo has transformed into some super older brother. When Raul cries, asking to be fed, Mateo keeps telling him, "that's okay Raul, you're safe," or "Kuya's here Raul, you're okay." With matching super gentle stroking of Raul's feet (or head, if he can get away with it). Enrique has been coming in and out of the room, eternally asking "Where's baby Raul?" And peers over the crib. Hannah has been herding her brothers, making sure that they behave around Raul.
And as I am thrust into motherhood yet again; as I struggle with early morning feedings and diaper changes and burping and lack of sleep, I am gifted with the snuggles of an infant falling asleep on my chest. I am rewarded with the soft baby fuzz as I softly move my lips across his head. And I am intoxicated by the baby breath as he nestles and falls asleep.
Such are the experiences I never want to forget.
My experience, this time around, was rather strange. A few days before my delivery date, that part of the ribbon was suddenly returned to me. All of a sudden, I remembered the pain I went through giving birth to Enrique. I remembered the pain of the IV, the discomfort of the spinal tap, the almost violent pressure on my tummy for force Enrique out, and the sharp, sharp, unrelenting abdominal pain of the recovery after. So, you can't blame me for kind of freaking out as the delivery date grew closer. I was torn between relief that it was almost over, and fear for what was to come.
And so I braced myself. I expected the worst; at least I knew it couldn't be worse than the last time. But the universe works in mysterious ways, and there were other plans for me this time around. Like Enrique, I had some pretty strong contractions the night before, which threatened to move up my delivery date. I didn't have so much sleep. And I had to wait for my OB who was running late. I was a bundle of nerves by the time they wheeled me in.
And here begins my experience of Divine intervention. My anesthesiologist, whom I have been with for the last two births, changes his style. He gives me something to calm me down, and then I feel nothing. No pain of the spinal tap. There was no violent pushing on my belly. I see my son, I hear his lusty cry and I experience an overwhelming calm that everything was going to be all right. I regain consciousness as they are cleaning me up, and am awake in the recovery room. Still no pain. Of course, I credit this to the lovely morphine drip that's giving me the itches...but hey, itch or ouch? No contest there.
I am later wheeled into my room and I wait for the onset of the discomfort I have been expecting. It does not come. And when they remove the IV and catheter, and as I brace myself for the short, but seemingly forever, walk to the bathroom, I am greeted with surprisingly very little
And while hubby and I were camping out at the hospital, my kids were making waves at lolo and lola's house. They were having a blast eating out; they were taking over Lolo's tv (much to his dismay); they were eating a loooot of pancakes. At some point, Hannah and Mateo were overheard to have this conversation:
Hannah: I'm not getting married. I don't want to give birth!
Mateo: You have to get married!!
Hannah: Mateo, don't force me. It's my decision to make!
My little girl is truly an old lady trapped in an 8 year old body.
Raul's presence has already begun to change us. Mateo has transformed into some super older brother. When Raul cries, asking to be fed, Mateo keeps telling him, "that's okay Raul, you're safe," or "Kuya's here Raul, you're okay." With matching super gentle stroking of Raul's feet (or head, if he can get away with it). Enrique has been coming in and out of the room, eternally asking "Where's baby Raul?" And peers over the crib. Hannah has been herding her brothers, making sure that they behave around Raul.
And as I am thrust into motherhood yet again; as I struggle with early morning feedings and diaper changes and burping and lack of sleep, I am gifted with the snuggles of an infant falling asleep on my chest. I am rewarded with the soft baby fuzz as I softly move my lips across his head. And I am intoxicated by the baby breath as he nestles and falls asleep.
Such are the experiences I never want to forget.
6/1/11
Checking In
Am leaving for the hospital in an hour or so. My bags are semi-packed. The goodies I want to eat (when I finally can) have been set aside. The baby bag is full of the essentials (read: home bound outfits, bottles, wipes). I've snuggled with my kids, and inhaled their not-so-baby smells, a pabaon for the time that I will not be able to see them (or smell them) or hold them in my arms. I've got my books, my crochet threads and needles, and videos, all ready for the dead time I've got to spend while recuperating.
But all this while, I cannot shake my nerves. I guess its all part of knowing what awaits me. The darned spinal tap can be somewhat painful. And recuperating can be a b*&$%, especially if my OB has to cut through muscle, like the last time. Damn, I forgot to talk to her about that....
And so, my shout out to the universe: send us everything positive. Watch over Raul. Let me have a safe and uncomplicated delivery. Allow us to go home together. Let us be a family of six, and me a mother of four.
But all this while, I cannot shake my nerves. I guess its all part of knowing what awaits me. The darned spinal tap can be somewhat painful. And recuperating can be a b*&$%, especially if my OB has to cut through muscle, like the last time. Damn, I forgot to talk to her about that....
And so, my shout out to the universe: send us everything positive. Watch over Raul. Let me have a safe and uncomplicated delivery. Allow us to go home together. Let us be a family of six, and me a mother of four.
5/25/11
Countdown
I guess my first clue should have been the exclamations of "you're soo biiig!" by good friends, many of whom I have not seen in quite a while. Ah, no. Erase that. My first clue should have been when I measured my waistline about a week and a half ago and gasped at the sight of the number 40, in inches, burning itself in my eyes. I now have a 40 inch waistline! Ye gads. I knew I was big, but didn't realize I was that big.
But, then again, I have been ignoring the not so subtle signs of my ready-to-pop-ness. Random people have been drawn to my belly, and have been compelled to ask me when I was due. Today? Tomorrow? And I've had my share of concern thrown my way...be careful... stay in bed!...that's too heavy, ako na....
And, when my Beacon friends got together a few nights ago to celebrate a birthday and send off some peers, my belly got its fair share of attention. A rub or two. A sugar bowl balanced on top of it. Some pictures. And the question: when are you due? To which my reply of next week drew some shock.
Next week. I never thought I'd get to this point. June 2. On this day next week, I will be checking in the hospital, getting ready to welcome little Raul to the family. (And the way he's beentormenting
And once this happens, I know that the chain of events will start rolling, and there will be no stopping it. Until I find myself in settling Singapore in less than two months' time.
I can't wait.
Let the countdown begin.
But, then again, I have been ignoring the not so subtle signs of my ready-to-pop-ness. Random people have been drawn to my belly, and have been compelled to ask me when I was due. Today? Tomorrow? And I've had my share of concern thrown my way...be careful... stay in bed!...that's too heavy, ako na....
And, when my Beacon friends got together a few nights ago to celebrate a birthday and send off some peers, my belly got its fair share of attention. A rub or two. A sugar bowl balanced on top of it. Some pictures. And the question: when are you due? To which my reply of next week drew some shock.
Next week. I never thought I'd get to this point. June 2. On this day next week, I will be checking in the hospital, getting ready to welcome little Raul to the family. (And the way he's been
And once this happens, I know that the chain of events will start rolling, and there will be no stopping it. Until I find myself in settling Singapore in less than two months' time.
I can't wait.
Let the countdown begin.
5/17/11
A Day in the Life
Today, someone gave me, quite possibly, the fattest crabs I have ever seen (and will eat) in my life.
They are now happily merging with sotanghon, awaiting their fate on my dinner table.
Today, I helped Enrique crack open his "piggy pig."
And after seeing the contents on the floor, I realized that he so efficiently took coins from all possible sources (read: lolo's table, the emergency money jar by the kitchen counter, mommy's wallet, to name a few). He is now P750.00 richer. I must remember to deposit this the next time I get to the bank.
Today, Hannah and I tried our hand at making pan de sal.
Not bad for a first attempt. I think more kneading next time, more sugar with the flour, and maybe try a mixture of bread flour and APF.
Today, I made my first batch of calamansi marmalade.
I can't wait to try it tomorrow.
And now, I feel like this...
It has been a good and productive day.
They are now happily merging with sotanghon, awaiting their fate on my dinner table.
Today, I helped Enrique crack open his "piggy pig."
And after seeing the contents on the floor, I realized that he so efficiently took coins from all possible sources (read: lolo's table, the emergency money jar by the kitchen counter, mommy's wallet, to name a few). He is now P750.00 richer. I must remember to deposit this the next time I get to the bank.
Today, Hannah and I tried our hand at making pan de sal.
Not bad for a first attempt. I think more kneading next time, more sugar with the flour, and maybe try a mixture of bread flour and APF.
Today, I made my first batch of calamansi marmalade.
I can't wait to try it tomorrow.
And now, I feel like this...
It has been a good and productive day.
5/8/11
For Mateo
May 6, 2011
My dear Mateo,
Today, you are five years old. Five. I can hardly believe how fast time flies. And its amazing how much you've grown in the past year.
As a just-turned-five-year-old, you have such a range of interests. In the mornings, if you're not exhibiting tulog mantika symptoms, you like to put on your blue rain boots and help Ate Em sweep the front of the house and water the plants. And, if you're feeling especially helpful, you bug us to wash the car, even if its raining or about to rain.
Not content with outside chores, you fight us for the broom and mop,
and if you have your way, the Pledge. You'd rather do housework than eat breakfast. You eat and prepare for the day only because you need to go to school.
Your daddy and I always say that if we lived in the States, you would do all right. You'd find some form of employment because you're not one to shy away from hard work.
After school (and a forced nap), you engage in a range of activities. Tennis with Coach Arcie,
gardening with Ate Em and your sister, playing with Mikey, sneaking in a tv marathon (if you can get away with it), taking out and using your "builder toys," and baking with me are some of the things that keep you busy. Recently, you've enjoyed playing with your Nerf gun, the water guns your lolo bought for you, and the fire trucks you have at home.
Oh yes, from Bob the Builder,
you now have this immense fascination for firemen and fire trucks.
So much so that you want to be one, to Hannah's horror. She keeps explaining to you the dangers of becoming a fire fighter. I think she worries too much for an 8 year old.
You, my little boy, although amusing, have also been quite a challenge in the past year. You're my Mr. Picky Eater, and its only really now that you're starting to try new things.
And that's because I force them on you.
But I'm glad that you're being really cooperative about it. You give them a try, at the very least. And I'm glad to say that you've started eating rice, and have included an increasing variety of food to your previously oh-so-limited repertoire. Now only if I can get you to try eating some veggies...
You're also my Chief Negotiator. You negotiate everything. And I mean, everything. From your bed time, "please, last five minutes," to finishing the food on your plate, "only three more bites," or "how about this, I will eat only the banana and rice," to what snacks we're buying, "we can get this and that snackie," to getting what you want, "if you don't buy this, you're grounded." Let's just say all the negotiating keeps me on my toes. You've gotten away with many things with your daddy because he sometimes doesn't listen...but I've had to stay alert when it comes to your negotiations. Your dad thinks you'd make an excellent lawyer... or hostage negotiator. Maybe one day.
You are my Mr. Tenacious and my Mr. Impulsive. When you're fixated on something...hoo boy. You've had many a melt down because we didn't give you what you wanted at that moment. But I'm glad to see that recently, you've been more open to listen to reason, to the idea of delaying gratification. But of course, you still cannot resist asking us every day, "do you have a turprite?" (Yes, you still cannot pronounce the letter s.) In fact, you've come to dictate what kind of surprise you want, "I want a big turprite, not a tmall one."
And sometimes you fluctuate between my Mr. Wuss and my Brave Boy, again refusing to enter the sea because there are fish (naturally!), or telling Lola upon seeing the cow in the farm, "let's go home, the cow is freaking me out," to bravely walking in for x-rays and taking in the pain of a CBC needed for your dental procedure. You bravely marched in with your dad for your procedure,
and upon awakening from your general anesthesia, you calmly accepted the IV in your hand. Your bravery astounds me and your cowardice amuses me, Matt.
And when I think that you're just completely off the wall, that you're driving me nuts, your moments of tenderness catch me completely off guard. When you wake up in a funk, you still allow Enrique to hug you (and you hug back), and then everything seems all right again. You come to Enrique's aid and comfort him when he hurts himself. You give me kisses out of the blue, and you reach out for my hand when we're walking together. Although you hate hugging, you let me hug you, especially when I need one the most. And when I'm not feeling well, you check in on me to make sure I'm ok.
My little man, you're growing up. And as I see more of your personality, as I see you become, I can only hope and pray that I do you justice. That I am able to take your gusto, your charm, your passion, your strengths and weaknesses and help you become who you are meant to be.
I love you, my little man.
Happy birthday!
xoxo,
mommy
4/27/11
Impatient
There's no better word to describe me right now. I am a pregnant and highly impatient lady-in-waiting. It does not help that June is still so far away. It does not help that the summer heat has come in full blast. It doesn't help that I've been feeling extraordinarily hungry these past few days, craving for food I still can't eat. And it doesn't help that little Raul is being uber dooper alien-like, contorting my belly this way and that, suffocating me when I sleep and pressing on my bladder to ensure my maximum discomfort.
The thought of another month of all these bears down on me like a weight, choking me. I want this baby out. Now.
I'm trying to be patient. I know Raul needs to be where he is for another 5 weeks, discomforts being a part of it all. I know I there's nothing I can do about the summer heat, so I turn on the AC and fan and hide from it. And I know that every time little Raul moves, it is validation that all is well with him inside.
But I am tired. My back hurts. And I just want to get on with all the changes coming my way. I want to move on.
Wishful thinking never hurt anyone, right?
p.s. Raul, take all the time you need. Mommy's just venting.
The thought of another month of all these bears down on me like a weight, choking me. I want this baby out. Now.
I'm trying to be patient. I know Raul needs to be where he is for another 5 weeks, discomforts being a part of it all. I know I there's nothing I can do about the summer heat, so I turn on the AC and fan and hide from it. And I know that every time little Raul moves, it is validation that all is well with him inside.
But I am tired. My back hurts. And I just want to get on with all the changes coming my way. I want to move on.
Wishful thinking never hurt anyone, right?
p.s. Raul, take all the time you need. Mommy's just venting.
4/19/11
Mealtime Battles
As much as I love my little soon-to-be-five-year-old, I absolutely despise his being The Ultimate Picky Eater. And yes, if there was a picky eater contest, I would let him compete without batting an eyelash. Because I know he'd win. Hands down.
My little picky eater has such a limited list of approved food:
1. Bread. Normally smeared with butter, occasionally peanut butter, or better yet, his favorite, Nutella (when he is able to waggle a bottle from doting grandparents). Can be made into french toast that will eventually be smothered in syrup.
2. Pasta. The only pasta he puts in his mouth is pancit canton, his preference being the instant variety, much to my dismay. Spaghetti noodles need to be negotiated: with sauce or without?
3. Protein consists of the fried variety, battered or coated in flour or breadcrumbs, which provides that necessary crunch or "skin" that he neatly peels off and devours first. Whatever protein left, again, is subject to negotiation. How many bites? Only these pieces...
4. Milk. Has to be the chocolate variety, and this cannot be negotiated. White milk will be friends with chocolate syrup.
5. Fruit. Bananas only; saba not included.
6. Vegetables. What vegetables do you speak of? He'll only eat the kaki-age in japanese restos because they're fried. French fries are NOT vegetables.
7. Pancakes. He can live on these. Oh, and there must be chocolate chips in the batter.
8. Taho. He has this as a snack, or for breakfast if he's running late for school.
9. Snacks consist of chips, peanuts, chocolate, cookies and other sweet treats.
As I make this list, I am embarrassed and dismayed. How did I let these bad eating habits last for so long?? Oh, I know...its because I have let my fear of my kid losing weight and getting sick due to lack of sustenance get the better of me. I have allowed lapses in his meals to slide. I have let my little four year old dictate his eating patterns.
I've been remiss as a mommy.
So, tonight, hubby and I regrouped and had a hopefully not too late Mattie's Nutrition discussion. And now he's on new management. For a week (this is testing the waters), there will be no snacks coming his way. And no bread. He will have to eat rice and pasta, and try the food (and fruit) that's on the table. If he refuses to eat, then he goes hungry until the next meal. It's cold turkey time.
I don't know if I'm doing the right thing...if I'm being fair to a four year old who's so set in his ways. People tell me that he'll learn to eat when he's ready. Others say cold turkey is the way to go. I've waited for him to be ready, and I don't know if he'll ever be. But, I don't know if this cold turkey bit will traumatize him. I don't know who'll have it worse...Mattie or me.
I. Don't. Know.
So, consider this a shout out to the universe. A little wisdom and experience would be good right about now.
My little picky eater has such a limited list of approved food:
1. Bread. Normally smeared with butter, occasionally peanut butter, or better yet, his favorite, Nutella (when he is able to waggle a bottle from doting grandparents). Can be made into french toast that will eventually be smothered in syrup.
2. Pasta. The only pasta he puts in his mouth is pancit canton, his preference being the instant variety, much to my dismay. Spaghetti noodles need to be negotiated: with sauce or without?
3. Protein consists of the fried variety, battered or coated in flour or breadcrumbs, which provides that necessary crunch or "skin" that he neatly peels off and devours first. Whatever protein left, again, is subject to negotiation. How many bites? Only these pieces...
4. Milk. Has to be the chocolate variety, and this cannot be negotiated. White milk will be friends with chocolate syrup.
5. Fruit. Bananas only; saba not included.
6. Vegetables. What vegetables do you speak of? He'll only eat the kaki-age in japanese restos because they're fried. French fries are NOT vegetables.
7. Pancakes. He can live on these. Oh, and there must be chocolate chips in the batter.
8. Taho. He has this as a snack, or for breakfast if he's running late for school.
9. Snacks consist of chips, peanuts, chocolate, cookies and other sweet treats.
As I make this list, I am embarrassed and dismayed. How did I let these bad eating habits last for so long?? Oh, I know...its because I have let my fear of my kid losing weight and getting sick due to lack of sustenance get the better of me. I have allowed lapses in his meals to slide. I have let my little four year old dictate his eating patterns.
I've been remiss as a mommy.
So, tonight, hubby and I regrouped and had a hopefully not too late Mattie's Nutrition discussion. And now he's on new management. For a week (this is testing the waters), there will be no snacks coming his way. And no bread. He will have to eat rice and pasta, and try the food (and fruit) that's on the table. If he refuses to eat, then he goes hungry until the next meal. It's cold turkey time.
I don't know if I'm doing the right thing...if I'm being fair to a four year old who's so set in his ways. People tell me that he'll learn to eat when he's ready. Others say cold turkey is the way to go. I've waited for him to be ready, and I don't know if he'll ever be. But, I don't know if this cold turkey bit will traumatize him. I don't know who'll have it worse...Mattie or me.
I. Don't. Know.
So, consider this a shout out to the universe. A little wisdom and experience would be good right about now.
4/18/11
Reminicing
So the clean up continues. The sorting away, the filing, the discovery of (literally) forgotten treasures tucked away in drawers and envelopes. I hate the fact that I can be such a pack rat, unwilling to let go of things either for the sake of memories, or in the hope that one day all these will find their purpose.
With so short a span of time left before I am rendered useless, I've had to make difficult decisions. What can (should) I let go of? What should I bring? The limited time has forced me to open up envelopes, assess books, and go through my belongings that I have so conveniently put away for another day.
That day has come. And I'm glad to say that for the larger part of this whole clean- up-and-sort-it campaign, I have been clinical and unmerciful. I've never been prouder of myself. I've discovered t that I can simplify my life, that I can let go and move on.
Today, I found myself opening up a Sulu yearbook. I looked at the pictures of the events of a school that I found a home in, read the write ups of students who have moved on, and looked at the faces of the people who have shared my laughter and tears for a good 8 years. And I found myself rather sad. In the midst of all my excitement for the addition soon to join our family, and the changes that come with moving to a foreign place, I remembered who I was.
Was.
I was a teacher. For thirteen years, I interacted with kids of different ages. I laughed with them, joked with them, reprimanded them, and inspired them when they needed to learn something other than what was written in my lesson plan. I watched them grow. I watched them become. And I watched them move on, until it was my turn to do the same.
For the last school year, I contented myself with being a full time mommy. Don't get me wrong... I totally enjoy having the time to be with the kiddies. I love being able to watch their antics, and having the time and space to breathe. But as I leafed through the pages of the Sulu, I realized I also miss being who I was. I miss the planning and the learning. I miss the thrill of entering a classroom and the excitement as I watch the kids discover, and make sense of, their world. I miss the people, the camaraderie, the intellectual discussions. I miss being part of something other than my family.
I guess I haven't totally moved on.
With so short a span of time left before I am rendered useless, I've had to make difficult decisions. What can (should) I let go of? What should I bring? The limited time has forced me to open up envelopes, assess books, and go through my belongings that I have so conveniently put away for another day.
That day has come. And I'm glad to say that for the larger part of this whole clean- up-and-sort-it campaign, I have been clinical and unmerciful. I've never been prouder of myself. I've discovered t that I can simplify my life, that I can let go and move on.
Today, I found myself opening up a Sulu yearbook. I looked at the pictures of the events of a school that I found a home in, read the write ups of students who have moved on, and looked at the faces of the people who have shared my laughter and tears for a good 8 years. And I found myself rather sad. In the midst of all my excitement for the addition soon to join our family, and the changes that come with moving to a foreign place, I remembered who I was.
Was.
I was a teacher. For thirteen years, I interacted with kids of different ages. I laughed with them, joked with them, reprimanded them, and inspired them when they needed to learn something other than what was written in my lesson plan. I watched them grow. I watched them become. And I watched them move on, until it was my turn to do the same.
For the last school year, I contented myself with being a full time mommy. Don't get me wrong... I totally enjoy having the time to be with the kiddies. I love being able to watch their antics, and having the time and space to breathe. But as I leafed through the pages of the Sulu, I realized I also miss being who I was. I miss the planning and the learning. I miss the thrill of entering a classroom and the excitement as I watch the kids discover, and make sense of, their world. I miss the people, the camaraderie, the intellectual discussions. I miss being part of something other than my family.
I guess I haven't totally moved on.
4/15/11
All Grown Up
Yesterday, I bit the bullet and brought Enrique to his first day of summer school. Being the crazy mommy I am, I decided to enroll him over summer break to hopefully provide an easier transition for me for him when he goes to school this August.
Mateo, my little bundle of energy, swung into major kuya mode. He got Enrique into the car and basically walked Keats all the way into his classroom. It was so nice to see that side of my little boy.
And Keats? He proved to be quite the little trooper. Although quiet in the beginning, he quickly settled in to solve a puzzle, all the while observing what was going on in his new environment.
Upon picking him up from school, he proudly showed me his very first work that is now hanging on his cabinet door....
And Hannah couldn't help being the ate of the family. She brought both brothers to school and picked them up.
Yes, it's time to have another (and last) baby in the house. Hurry, Raul, your siblings are growing up!!
Mateo, my little bundle of energy, swung into major kuya mode. He got Enrique into the car and basically walked Keats all the way into his classroom. It was so nice to see that side of my little boy.
And Keats? He proved to be quite the little trooper. Although quiet in the beginning, he quickly settled in to solve a puzzle, all the while observing what was going on in his new environment.
Upon picking him up from school, he proudly showed me his very first work that is now hanging on his cabinet door....
And Hannah couldn't help being the ate of the family. She brought both brothers to school and picked them up.
Yes, it's time to have another (and last) baby in the house. Hurry, Raul, your siblings are growing up!!
4/13/11
A Foray in Fondant
Making fondant and decorating with it has always been on the back burner of my To Do list. I've cut out recipes, tagged photo ideas, and told myself that one day, one day, I will be able to make it (and create masterpieces with it).
And then came today. I don't know what's with me, but in spite of the scorching mid afternoon heat, my heavy7 month 8 month belly, my aching back, my fatigue, and the looong list of other more pressing things that need to be done, I decided to make fondant. AND I decided to decorate with it.
Mind you, although I used a cheat recipe involving a vast number of mini marshmallows doomed to be zapped and melted in the microwave, I still needed to literally grease my hands and knead the sticky mass into some pliable dough. I didn't think it would take all that muscle, but maybe it was because I couldn't get the right angle because my tummy was in the way of the table...or was it the table in the way of my tummy? After maybe 15 minutes of kneading (and looking for the right consistency while my baby fidgeted profusely in my belly), it was wrapped up and made to rest a couple of hours while this mommy had a nap.
Awake and somewhat refreshed, Hannah and I got to work. Out came the colors to be kneaded into the fondant, out came the cake which was to be covered with the icing, and out the window went my desire to decorate. It all just seemed a wee bit too much. Too much effort to color the icing. Too much effort to cover a cake. Too much effort create a masterpiece. Just too much effort. I had high hopes of being able to put something together as a dry run for the baptism of my little boy, but after seeing all the work that needed to go into creating those goodies that will be looked at for a while and eaten in a flash, I began to wonder if it was even worth all the hassle. And the thought that I would have to make those goodies MYSELF got me shaking my head in my own disbelief at how I managed to put myself in that you've-got-all-this-fondant-and-you're-now-stupid-if-you-don't-use-it situation.
So fine, I used the darned thing. I sliced it up, kneaded in the colors, rolled it out, and dressed ONE of the little cakes I had set aside for this purpose.
Let's just say fondant and I aren't friends...yet. Maybe another day will be more fruitful.
Oh, and the one thing that made me smile out of this whole experience? Upon his return from his afternoon outdoors, Enrique tried a little piece of the frosting and upon discovery that he could simply pluck the little fondant balls from my creation, would sneak back to eat my masterpiece.
Am glad someone approves.
And then came today. I don't know what's with me, but in spite of the scorching mid afternoon heat, my heavy
Mind you, although I used a cheat recipe involving a vast number of mini marshmallows doomed to be zapped and melted in the microwave, I still needed to literally grease my hands and knead the sticky mass into some pliable dough. I didn't think it would take all that muscle, but maybe it was because I couldn't get the right angle because my tummy was in the way of the table...or was it the table in the way of my tummy? After maybe 15 minutes of kneading (and looking for the right consistency while my baby fidgeted profusely in my belly), it was wrapped up and made to rest a couple of hours while this mommy had a nap.
Awake and somewhat refreshed, Hannah and I got to work. Out came the colors to be kneaded into the fondant, out came the cake which was to be covered with the icing, and out the window went my desire to decorate. It all just seemed a wee bit too much. Too much effort to color the icing. Too much effort to cover a cake. Too much effort create a masterpiece. Just too much effort. I had high hopes of being able to put something together as a dry run for the baptism of my little boy, but after seeing all the work that needed to go into creating those goodies that will be looked at for a while and eaten in a flash, I began to wonder if it was even worth all the hassle. And the thought that I would have to make those goodies MYSELF got me shaking my head in my own disbelief at how I managed to put myself in that you've-got-all-this-fondant-and-you're-now-stupid-if-you-don't-use-it situation.
So fine, I used the darned thing. I sliced it up, kneaded in the colors, rolled it out, and dressed ONE of the little cakes I had set aside for this purpose.
Let's just say fondant and I aren't friends...yet. Maybe another day will be more fruitful.
Oh, and the one thing that made me smile out of this whole experience? Upon his return from his afternoon outdoors, Enrique tried a little piece of the frosting and upon discovery that he could simply pluck the little fondant balls from my creation, would sneak back to eat my masterpiece.
Am glad someone approves.
4/9/11
An Adventure Begins...
...with checking out the lay of the land. That's what hubby and I have been up to the last 4 days. We arrived in Singapore under the cover of darkness, and the place remained blanketed in mystery to me. That is, until we hit Orchard Road, where the hotel was so neatly situated. Right smack in the center of all the action.I got that "I'm in Times Square" kind of feeling, and it made me want morning to come so I could begin my exploration of the lay of the land.
The days were spent in cars and taxis and trains. And on foot. A lot on foot. Every day gave me a (insert PatMo tone here) "well, hello there..." moment. The days allowed me to appreciate the structure and order that clearly defines this country, the foliage that softens the concrete jungle that is the metropolis, and the consistently clean air. My days were filled with meeting old friends and making surprising new ones, visiting apartments and schools, entering malls and finding shops, groceries and food courts. And as the days quickly turned into nights (it's bizarre how time quickly flies here), I feasted on the flavors which my diet allowed. I took in the lights of the city, and the hustle and bustle of the people going every which direction. And at the end of each day, hubby would help me limp back the the hotel so I could raise my aching feet and pray that my back would hold on for yet another day.
And as I wait to return to the arms of my kids, to smother them with kisses, and to cuddle in bed with them all day tomorrow, I can't help but think that it will be great to explore this place with them.
I can't wait.
The days were spent in cars and taxis and trains. And on foot. A lot on foot. Every day gave me a (insert PatMo tone here) "well, hello there..." moment. The days allowed me to appreciate the structure and order that clearly defines this country, the foliage that softens the concrete jungle that is the metropolis, and the consistently clean air. My days were filled with meeting old friends and making surprising new ones, visiting apartments and schools, entering malls and finding shops, groceries and food courts. And as the days quickly turned into nights (it's bizarre how time quickly flies here), I feasted on the flavors which my diet allowed. I took in the lights of the city, and the hustle and bustle of the people going every which direction. And at the end of each day, hubby would help me limp back the the hotel so I could raise my aching feet and pray that my back would hold on for yet another day.
And as I wait to return to the arms of my kids, to smother them with kisses, and to cuddle in bed with them all day tomorrow, I can't help but think that it will be great to explore this place with them.
I can't wait.
4/2/11
A Happy Place
Everyone has a happy place. You know, a place you can retreat to when life gets too crazy. A place where you can be yourself and just breathe. A place where you can find comfort after a maddening day. For many, its a favorite bookstore where one can explore new titles, settle into a comfy chair and leaf through crisp pages, undisturbed. For others, it's a favorite coffee shop, where the warmth of a cup, the aroma of the beans, and the buzz of caffeine ease the senses.
My happy place used to be the grocery. Yes, I found comfort among the rows of canned items, packages of pasta, and cookies and chips. I loved going through the produce section, checking out what's fresh, what's available, and what would be good thrown into a pot. I loved coming across a rare find at the grocery. (And if I were in S&R with a friend, I loved splitting a hot dog and digging into a humongous cup of butter pecan blue bunny ice cream.)
I have temporarily lost my happy place. No, the grocery stores I love haven't burned down to the ground. My GM (gestational diabetes) has just gotten in the way. There's no way to enjoy checking out cookies I can't eat, pasta I can't cook, and chips I can't smother with dip. Flavor of the month? Forget it. I can't have that until June. Juices? Ha. Can't have that too, not unless its unsweetened and less than 2 grams of sugar per serving. The grocery has now become a chore. I've lost my happy place and I needed to find a replacement fast.
Enter Mothercare in GB5. Ohwhatahappyplace you are! I remember entering it maybe a year ago, and found everything oh so cute, but oh so expensive. So being the kuripot I am, put it out of my mind and moved on. When I reentered it on a whim last week, in search of baby clothes for my little boy coming soon, I was pleasantly surprised to discover the great finds in that store. And I ab-so-lutely fell in love with the colors, the fabrics, and the adorable designs. Onesies in different sizes and colors and designs. Little jeans and shorts. Shirts and polos. Baby socks and shoes. Blankets. Did I mention the onesies?? I could stay in there for hours and be totally content just to be surrounded with such cuteness!! The place gets me every time. I leave with a purchase or two, and I swear, my little boy will be so cutely dressed beginning from the time I take him home.
My happy place used to be the grocery. Yes, I found comfort among the rows of canned items, packages of pasta, and cookies and chips. I loved going through the produce section, checking out what's fresh, what's available, and what would be good thrown into a pot. I loved coming across a rare find at the grocery. (And if I were in S&R with a friend, I loved splitting a hot dog and digging into a humongous cup of butter pecan blue bunny ice cream.)
I have temporarily lost my happy place. No, the grocery stores I love haven't burned down to the ground. My GM (gestational diabetes) has just gotten in the way. There's no way to enjoy checking out cookies I can't eat, pasta I can't cook, and chips I can't smother with dip. Flavor of the month? Forget it. I can't have that until June. Juices? Ha. Can't have that too, not unless its unsweetened and less than 2 grams of sugar per serving. The grocery has now become a chore. I've lost my happy place and I needed to find a replacement fast.
Enter Mothercare in GB5. Ohwhatahappyplace you are! I remember entering it maybe a year ago, and found everything oh so cute, but oh so expensive. So being the kuripot I am, put it out of my mind and moved on. When I reentered it on a whim last week, in search of baby clothes for my little boy coming soon, I was pleasantly surprised to discover the great finds in that store. And I ab-so-lutely fell in love with the colors, the fabrics, and the adorable designs. Onesies in different sizes and colors and designs. Little jeans and shorts. Shirts and polos. Baby socks and shoes. Blankets. Did I mention the onesies?? I could stay in there for hours and be totally content just to be surrounded with such cuteness!! The place gets me every time. I leave with a purchase or two, and I swear, my little boy will be so cutely dressed beginning from the time I take him home.
3/31/11
Survival Mode
My days are numbered.
Literally.
With my delivery date inching closer, and the impending move looming, every day is marked with lists that bear the tasks that need to be accomplished. I have gone through these lists like a crazed obsessive-compulsive woman, noting where I have lagged behind and ticking off what has been done.
The list only grows longer.
I have gone to the mall to buy baby items because I foolishly thought that I was done and sold practically everything my little boy would have needed. I have gone shoe shopping with Hannah, who's in between sizes so it's impossible to find her anything. I have emptied cabinets and drawers. Sorted through toys and clothing. Packed away non-essentials. Earmarked what is to be sold or donated. Bought items so I don't have to leave the apartment when we move (but I'm sure this can only be wishful thinking on my part). And, I have spent time visiting my doctors for my check ups.
My days have been crazy. And that's putting it mildly.
A major saving grace at this point is heading off to the kitchen to bake. There's nothing like taking butter and sugar and mixing it up with a range of ingredients to come up with a yummy treat. The sound of my Kitchen Aid is so comforting to me because I know that in time, I can sink my teeth into a reward of sorts. Of course, I have come to terms with the fact that I can't eat what I make at this point for the sake of regulating my blood sugar, but when I am most fatigued, I think I deserve a break and sneak a bite or two of what was baked (don't tell my endocrinologist!).
So, what have I nibbled on recently?
These crisp, orange chocolate chip oatmeal cookies are enough for me to survive another day.
Orange-Walnut Chippers
1/2c APF
1/4t b. soda
1/4t salt
1/2c butter
1c packed light b. sugar
1 large egg
1T orange peel
1 1/2c old fashioned oats
1c chocolate chips
1/2c walnuts
Preheat oven to 375F. Grease cookie sheets.
Combine flour, b. soda and salt in a bowl.
Beat butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add egg and orange peel. Add flour mixture. Scrape down bowl.
Stir in oats with a mixing spoon. Add chips and nuts.
Drop teaspoonfuls of dough 2 inches apart. Bake 10-12 minutes or until golden brown. Remove cookies and cool on a rack.
Literally.
With my delivery date inching closer, and the impending move looming, every day is marked with lists that bear the tasks that need to be accomplished. I have gone through these lists like a crazed obsessive-compulsive woman, noting where I have lagged behind and ticking off what has been done.
The list only grows longer.
I have gone to the mall to buy baby items because I foolishly thought that I was done and sold practically everything my little boy would have needed. I have gone shoe shopping with Hannah, who's in between sizes so it's impossible to find her anything. I have emptied cabinets and drawers. Sorted through toys and clothing. Packed away non-essentials. Earmarked what is to be sold or donated. Bought items so I don't have to leave the apartment when we move (but I'm sure this can only be wishful thinking on my part). And, I have spent time visiting my doctors for my check ups.
My days have been crazy. And that's putting it mildly.
A major saving grace at this point is heading off to the kitchen to bake. There's nothing like taking butter and sugar and mixing it up with a range of ingredients to come up with a yummy treat. The sound of my Kitchen Aid is so comforting to me because I know that in time, I can sink my teeth into a reward of sorts. Of course, I have come to terms with the fact that I can't eat what I make at this point for the sake of regulating my blood sugar, but when I am most fatigued, I think I deserve a break and sneak a bite or two of what was baked (don't tell my endocrinologist!).
So, what have I nibbled on recently?
These crisp, orange chocolate chip oatmeal cookies are enough for me to survive another day.
Orange-Walnut Chippers
1/2c APF
1/4t b. soda
1/4t salt
1/2c butter
1c packed light b. sugar
1 large egg
1T orange peel
1 1/2c old fashioned oats
1c chocolate chips
1/2c walnuts
Preheat oven to 375F. Grease cookie sheets.
Combine flour, b. soda and salt in a bowl.
Beat butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add egg and orange peel. Add flour mixture. Scrape down bowl.
Stir in oats with a mixing spoon. Add chips and nuts.
Drop teaspoonfuls of dough 2 inches apart. Bake 10-12 minutes or until golden brown. Remove cookies and cool on a rack.
3/29/11
Meex
Enrique can bully me into baking, even when I'm exhausted. He follows me around asking, "meex? Meex?" and my heart melts. And when he hears the okay, he springs into action. He pushes the chair against the kitchen counter, grabs a spatula, and waits. He will measure out the sugar, name the ingredients as you take them out, and peer into the mixing bowl as you put them in. And when you finally turn the mixer on, he rests his hand on the mixer and watches the butter and sugar turn light and fluffy. He waits for the eggs to get added, and laughs when a flour cloud appears because I put in too much flour too fast. And when the mixing is done, he retreats back into his room and leaves me with the clean up, only to return when the cookies are done.
Smart kid.
3/28/11
Black Hole
I have a black hole in my home.
It has everything-old books and notebooks, empty packaging, boxes, outgrown and over sized clothes. Cards written a good 7 years ago. There are balls of every size and color, broken trucks and runaway marbles. Letters that need to find their way to the rest of the alphabet. Dominoes and flash cards. Crayons of every shade, pencils of varying lengths, and a multitude of erasers. Little abubots that leave you wondering what the heck that mommy was thinking giving them in loot bags. Neglected stuffed animals in search of a loving home, yet unable to do so because their eight and four year old masters cannot bear to part with them. So into a box they go. Every imaginable art material necessary to create a masterpiece. And yet, they wait for genius to come and transform them into something other than paint, or glitter, or wax. Legos under the bed, inside a drawer, mixed with other game pieces. Shoes that have walked their last. And a little step stool to find things and mix them all up again.
Its amazing what I've found and sorted, stashed away, and discarded from the black hole in my home.
Its been 3 days counting.
And I'm still not done.
It has everything-old books and notebooks, empty packaging, boxes, outgrown and over sized clothes. Cards written a good 7 years ago. There are balls of every size and color, broken trucks and runaway marbles. Letters that need to find their way to the rest of the alphabet. Dominoes and flash cards. Crayons of every shade, pencils of varying lengths, and a multitude of erasers. Little abubots that leave you wondering what the heck that mommy was thinking giving them in loot bags. Neglected stuffed animals in search of a loving home, yet unable to do so because their eight and four year old masters cannot bear to part with them. So into a box they go. Every imaginable art material necessary to create a masterpiece. And yet, they wait for genius to come and transform them into something other than paint, or glitter, or wax. Legos under the bed, inside a drawer, mixed with other game pieces. Shoes that have walked their last. And a little step stool to find things and mix them all up again.
Its amazing what I've found and sorted, stashed away, and discarded from the black hole in my home.
Its been 3 days counting.
And I'm still not done.
3/27/11
Of Sanity and Apple Pie
Okay, I confess.
I'm not really a mother of four...yet. I'm about two months away from that title. But given that the bun in my oven is going to join our family really really soon, I might as well get used to the idea of being a Mother of Four.
Mother of Four. At this day and age. Sometimes the thought just scares me to absolute denial. No, this is not happening. No, I'm not going to go through the whole gestational diabetes shebang all over again. But, when I feel my baby kick and squirm and be a little alien inside, and think of the fun I have with my three other munchkins, I can't help but feel a little (no, a lot) excited. Never mind that I do have gestational diabetes (again!). Never mind that I have to prick myself before and after every meal. Never mind that I need to go on a strict diet to watch my sugar...no, wait...that, I DO mind. So let's just say I'm glad that I've got only two months to go before I pop this monkey out.
Which brings me to today. Because I cannot eat the food I want, I have subjected myself to reading about it online. Yes, it's the masochist in me. And today, I saw a luscious apple pie. And I knew that I just needed to bake it (if not eat it). So, I set off to the kitchen, grabbed the apples from my stash of fruit, and started peeling.
And my eight year old daughter walks in. And she wants to help. So, she gets the task of slicing all the apples. And while she's happily slicing away, I realize that she's growing up. She's changing. And all of a sudden, I'm extremely happy that I'm about to be a mother of four.
I'm not really a mother of four...yet. I'm about two months away from that title. But given that the bun in my oven is going to join our family really really soon, I might as well get used to the idea of being a Mother of Four.
Mother of Four. At this day and age. Sometimes the thought just scares me to absolute denial. No, this is not happening. No, I'm not going to go through the whole gestational diabetes shebang all over again. But, when I feel my baby kick and squirm and be a little alien inside, and think of the fun I have with my three other munchkins, I can't help but feel a little (no, a lot) excited. Never mind that I do have gestational diabetes (again!). Never mind that I have to prick myself before and after every meal. Never mind that I need to go on a strict diet to watch my sugar...no, wait...that, I DO mind. So let's just say I'm glad that I've got only two months to go before I pop this monkey out.
Which brings me to today. Because I cannot eat the food I want, I have subjected myself to reading about it online. Yes, it's the masochist in me. And today, I saw a luscious apple pie. And I knew that I just needed to bake it (if not eat it). So, I set off to the kitchen, grabbed the apples from my stash of fruit, and started peeling.
And my eight year old daughter walks in. And she wants to help. So, she gets the task of slicing all the apples. And while she's happily slicing away, I realize that she's growing up. She's changing. And all of a sudden, I'm extremely happy that I'm about to be a mother of four.
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