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.
4/27/11
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.
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