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 been tormenting kicking me recently, its as if he feels the urgency to join us as well.) Just a few more days of holding on. A few more days of discomfort. A few more days to get my act together before I am rendered completely useless by my family, except for a little boy to whom I will be at his beck and call.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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!!