ENG ENG

Scene: Dining room. Miguel approaches my bro as he eats his dinner. My mom and my future sis-in-law look on.

Miguel, like he's up to no good: Mommy, stand here behind Ninong.
(As if Dennis doesn't hear. I oblige anyway, standing behind him with my index finger at the ready.)

Miguel, giggling: Ninong, close your eyes.
(Ninong closes his eyes.)

Miguel, singing a bit out of tune: Eng, eng eng eng eng eng eng eng...eng eng eng eng eng eng eng.
(Ninong starts to laugh; the ancient song brings back childhood memories.)

Miguel: Mommy, touch Ninong now!

Me: Miguel, he's not supposed to know.

Miguel, to Ninong: Ninong, close your eyes! Eng, eng eng eng eng eng eng eng...eng eng eng eng eng eng eng.

(We're all suppressing our laughter as Miguel grabs my arm so that I brush my finger on Ninong's shoulder.)

Miguel, squealing: Who touched you?

Ninong: YOU!

Miguel, collaspsing with laughter: No, it was mommy!
(My bro grabs him and hugs him.)

Epilogue: Miguel does the same Eng Eng Game to Essie and Lola, each time a helpless bundle of giggles. And you know what? NOBODY guesses that it was ME poking them in the back! What are the chances?

Disclaimer: Post might be incomprehensible if you are not a Sulit. For a free demo, see my son. Batteries not included.

This is how we play

If you weren't a parent you'd think that my son gets the most preposterous ideas. But honestly, last Saturday when he motioned towards my bed and said, "let's make a tent," who was I to say no? Shame on me as an artist if I say that it can't be done. And shame on me as a mom if I say that I' m too lazy. Therefore:

1 can of ribbons + Miguel's blanket + assorted plush toys =




Take note of the joey on top, but don't ask me what it's there for. In the bottom picture there's a can in front of him containing a paper with orange markings. That's the "campfire." We've already roasted and eaten Bugs Bunny - plus 4 beetles.

That's the nice thing about kids - you just don't know what to expect.

The next day, I left him playing with Ninang while I transferred files on the computer. 30 minutes later my sister calls me to "come quick!" because



My sister looked even funnier with 6 cards stuck on her face. They were playing "higher, higher," where you and an opponent each stick a card on your forehead and guess which of you has the higher card. Well it became a card-sticking contest. His face was so oily that...you know what I mean. I was kind enough to spare my sis from the cam :)

Chasing time

(Drama queen takes center stage)

This morning I was late for work.

This morning I was late for work because my 5-year-old had a crying spell.

What was supposed to be an uneventful morning with me heading off to work on time turned out to be a lecture session on how to take care of your toys. The nanny told me that my sis got mad at him the previous day because he had destroyed the Gundams that she had bought him just 2 weekends ago.

He loves robots! He already had 3 Gundams, but as a reward for making it to yellow belt, 2 weekends ago my sis took him out and bought him 2 more. She bought and assembled them. Afterwards I even took out my super glue and secured the non-movable parts, just to make sure that they won't get lost. But he has this way of playing with action figures that result in lost and broken limbs. And despite my warnings not to roughouse with his toys, that's exactly what he did. I looked inside the toy box this morning and found what could be the robot equivalent of the aftermath of a terrorist attack - broken sockets, severed joints - all beyond repair.

"No Gundams for one year!" I declared. At which he burst into tears.

Then the long lecture about nobody wanting to give him toys if he doesn't take care of them. I stole a glance at his Zoids, which have seen some injury but have thankfully survived after a session with my super glue. There is hope yet. At least if his Zoids survive, he might have more of those until the Gundam moratorium ends.

The crying didn't end for quite a while; in fact he was hyperventilating as I took him into my arms. I assured him - and he knows - that Ninang and I still love him, but he has to learn to take care of his toys before we give him even more.

Sigh.

And when I woke up this morning I thought that everything was just fine.

So why is this a piece about time? Because I don't know what goes on with him when I'm at work, or otherwise out. If the nanny didn't tell me I'd be clueless. Then my mind leaps forward and I wonder what would happen to him when he goes to big school next year. Would he tell me what happened during his day? Would I be there when he needed me? All this growing up and letting go is starting to worry me.

It's just that I'm realizing - for a long time now in fact - how our roads are diverging, be it ever so slowly. I tell my friends, we are like "one becoming two." Before I used to carry him in my womb wherever I went. Then out he popped into this world, but I was always at his side. Then came part-time work, then full-time work, then my office relocated, then he started attending preschool. And there are still more paths to tread, for him and for me.

Don't get me wrong; I realize that all these changes are necessary. It's part of our growing up - he as a child and me as a mom. And I do feel proud as I watch him walk away from me and into the classroom whenever I bring him to school.

But our bond is there, and it's strong. We share so many habits, so many mannerisms, so many experiences. We're connected in so many ways that sometimes I don't know where he begins and I end. But thankfully he's different from me - funny, playful, uninhibited - and don't forget all that testosterone.

I just love him so much it makes me sad that I can't share in some of the things that he goes through. Sometimes I just feel like I'm chasing time, trying to squeeze in everything I'd like to or have to do. Have to. Like to. Have to. Like to.

Two diverging paths. One becoming two.

Yeah, guess who's the one having a crying spell now.

P.S. This is so Robert Frost

Just in case you forget what it is

My genius of a son got stung by the spelling bee one day and grabbed his magnetic letters. He tried putting them on our wooden cabinet, but to no avail. "Where do I put them?" he asked. "On the ref," I said. Hence....





Unfortunately there are not many other smooth metal surfaces in our house, or else I would have a smattering of labels on this post. So I wonder, if he had spelled out D-O-G, would it make the ref a dog? As in, "Miguel, please close the door of the dog!" or "I put your juice in the dog." On the other hand, what if the dog had a smooth metal surface, and the ref was covered with fur? He'd have a field day with that one. Maybe I'm starting to sound absurd, but I'm sure this is the sort of thing that he'd enjoy.

He-yaa!

No, that's not a greeting. That's the shout of a yellow-belter.

Yes, Miguel is a "yellow belt" now! He informed me about it last Friday, and I knew then Ninang had gotten the word from Teacher Gina. He took the promotion test last May 29, along with 2,000 other students it seems. We were very confident, and Teacher Gina was so encouraging. He practiced his routine at home several times a day, with or without any prompting. Though he started taking taekwondo classes in July 2004, it was only during summer that the serious training kicked in - 3 times a week for 2 months.

It gave him a lot of self-esteem, especially since mommy, ninang, ninong and lola were always praising him every time he did a routine. Well, forget about the axe kick he did on mommy's face one night as she was about to go out on a date - it was an accident, sorta, and he didn't get away with it anyway.

So here are the pictures from the promotion test taken by the proud stage mommy. What can I say - kids really look cute in uniform :)