Venom

My son wants to be Venom. At least for a day. This Halloween.

That's what you get from playing a lot of PS2. His favorite game is Marvel vs. Capcom 2. I know that it's a very old game, but he's acquired such a proficiency for it. And besides it was the only game we could play for the longest time when the left toggle button on both controllers were busted.

He's been deciding about his Halloween costume since last year - that's how excited he is about scaring people. And it seems to him that Venom's look would be the scariest.

So I've been checking up on Venom today, and this is what I've found:



Of course the hardest part is recreating the face. I was ready to put my UP College of Fine Arts skills to the test. I warned Miguel that he would have to wear a mask to get the tongue right, but he said, "why not a hat?" I thought to myself, "Aw, shucks. So much for the papier mache."

Oh well. The whole circus is for the kids anyway so a hat it will be.

As for the body, I found a solution when I saw this image on the net:


All right! So now I'm excited. With 2 weeks to go I'll have just enough time. I still haven't figured out the hat, but I'm sure Miguel and I could work something out.

My 2 favorite boys

The first picture was taken during Mike's birthday brunch; the second last Sunday after a trip to the arcade.

I can't resist taking a picture of the banana split. Miguel insists on sharing it with his tito. He thinks that it's more fun to have a contest as to who can eat most of the bananas. Guess who won.

Miguel has a new game

It's called "hit the monkey." Can anybody guess how it's played?

I haven't signed my name in 6 years

My aunt needed a wedding gift and wanted to know if I had any paintings left over from my old series. Not wanting to turn her down, I suggested that I make her a new one.

So after 3 almost-sleepless nights (not consecutive, thank God!) I'm done and quite tired but happy that I'm painting.

Some compositions are a piece of cake, but this one was a bit more complicated than my previous one. I remember sitting there in the middle of the night thinking how I was gonna mix pink and green without getting things muddy and still convey volume. Pardon me, I can't help it. Sometimes I just miss the shop talk.

In the end, when I finally got the effect that I wanted, I got that "hey, I did it" feeling all over again. I remembered what I told myself every day I was in art school: "The more I know, the more I realize that I don't know." No, that wasn't a tongue-twister. Trust me it makes sense. And do forgive my rambling on; my brain has been reduced to slush after only 3 hours' sleep.

Mom saw me through the process - she of the late nights at the computer. At half past 5 she passed by my room to see how I was doing. I mentioned that I was hungry and she got me some hopia on a tissue because my hands were stained with paint and linseed oil. Now who else can you count on to give you hopia at 5 AM? I thank God every day for the mom that I have.

I told my mom that I was planning to sign my name on the back since the painting was relatively small. She disagreed. "Of course you should sign it," she said. It got me thinking. I'm sure that my aunt would want her friend to know that I had done it. And after all, I've signed and sold scores of paintings.

So I chose a spot and mixed my color. And that's when I realized - I hadn't signed my name in a painting for 6 years! My last show was in November 1999. After so many years, I'd forgotten why I kept such tiny, fine-haired brushes! I thought they were just for irises in tiny portraits, or for baby's breath stems. Gee, it's been a long time.

Do pardon me; I really am so tired. Just wanted to share the good news. In spite of the late nights, painting does make me happy. I just have to figure out a better way to do it. Maybe I should stick to a smaller sized canvas. Or just use pastels. Whatever. I'm glad.

Kitchen insanity

Last Saturday I decided to cook for my family and friends. Just 2 dishes, since I really don't cook: our famous carbonara, and Lemon Chicken Caper, a recipe from my officemate.

Here's what I learned from the whole experience.

1. Women who can cook a delicious meal and still look good are goddesses.
How do they do it? I only had to cook 2 dishes, but I had help from my mom, my sis, and our kitchen helper. And don't forget other details like the salad, garlic bread, serving dishes, and ice.

2. Never cook a first-time dish for a big group.
It looks easy enough when you read the recipe - but it's a different story when you're doing it from beginning to end. First-time dishes are fine for a regular day, but you don't need the pressure when you have to entertain guests as well. Thank God that these people are all family to me.

3. Stick to the recipe.
Improvising is okay, but not for first-time recipes. Save the fine-tuning for later. No matter how much of a hurry you're in, resist the temptation to pour in the whole bottle of capers when the recipe calls for only 4 tablespoons. :D

4. Have mom in the kitchen.
Or someone like her, to build your confidence. Though she isn't a cook, my mom's always supportive, never puts anyone down and always helps out. I'm a lucky gal ain't I?

5. Taste the salad dressing first.
I just grabbed the first bottle I saw, assuming that it was the one my mom told me about. By the time I sat down to eat most of the guests had finished their salad - too late! My apologies to the unsuspecting victims, myself included.

6. Have at least one back-up.
One sure-fire dish that you didn't cook yourself. Grill Queen to the rescue!

7. Prepare post-meal snacks and/or activities.
Some love coffee; others like nuts. For us, Doritos and and Playstation 2 did the trick. Not to mention chocolate truffles (including take-home) for Gai.


But what I learned most was that my family loves me. Because my sister fussed over the carbonara. Because my mom stuck it out in the kitchen with me. Because nobody complained about the sub-standard salad dressing. (Fie Craving's Ceasar's salad dressing!) And because they ate everything that I served.

I didn't get a rave review that day but the fact that all that carbonara was wiped out the following day convinced me that it wasn't bad at all. In fact, it was quite good.

Well. Practice makes perfect. But I promise myself that I'll take up a cooking class someday. Fiiind.

INterRupted

Okay, so I was posting a new entry to this blog but then my officemate Mondo came in with a tray full of cold cuts and cheese - his birthday treat.


L-R: Lala a.k.a. Babes, Joaqui, Sonny a.k.a. Buboy, Ace a.k.a. H_ _ K _ E , the birthday boy, Bernice, and moi

Judith offered a bottle of cabernet suavignon and would you believe that after only 2 glasses (I mean, mugs) I already have a buzz. Suffice it to say that as far as I am concerned the workweek is done (at least until this happy-happy-joy-joy feeling wears off).

Long live MOnDo! Cheers!

The BWIs

I get together with my high school friends maybe six times a year. We used to be a bigger group, but as one after the other married or moved abroad, our group was whittled down to four.

We call ourselves the BWI, short for BWIset. In Tagalog, "bwiset" means to be ticked off. The meaning of those 3 letters changes according to our disposition. Various interpretations are: Beautiful Women In a Set, Bitchy Women In a Set, Bodacious Women In a Set. I forget the other meanings but they can get weird, depending on what we had for dinner.

My friends meet up a lot, but I don't always join them for various reasons. I know they don't always invite me out since I'm not always available, but it's no skin off me because I know that they're my friends.

Anyway, yesterday was Marmie's birthday so we had an impromptu night out. They're pretty much ladies of leisure, so they can easily meet up on a weekday afternoon at a moment's notice. So as my 3 girlfriends gorged on sinigang and crispy pata at Gerry's Grill, I rushed from Makati to meet them. When I finally joined them at Eastwood they were doing some late-night shopping. We all headed to Jack's Loft for dessert.

After salivating over the cake display, they made their orders while I dug into some pasta pomodoro, courtesy of Gai. The arrival of their chocolate and cheese cakes were greeted with the usual squeals of joy. But as they started eating the inevitable comments started coming in - the cake was too dry, there was too much gelatin in the cheesecake, yadda yadda yadda.

At the end of our meal (my first, their second) Gai remarked how we never learn; we just keep going back to Jack's Loft even if the food isn't good.

I couldn't help thinking about that. Habits die hard. But there is some comfort in things that don't change. Marmie hamming it up for the cam. Lisa dispersing her opinions on this and that. Gai bringing us up to speed on her lovelife. And always, always...the rest of us talking about anyone who isn't there. Beware the trips to the bathroom! :)

We wear each other like second skin. But it's like a favorite jacket you can put on and take off at will. Sometimes we are and sometimes we're not. Our lives touch and then go off in their separate directions. But our shared experiences, like the sun's gravity, always pull us back into our well-worn orbits, towards each other.

I could feel bad when I don't get to join them for a trip out of town, but I don't. As a working mom I've already defined my role and my priorities, and I've never looked back ever since Miguel was born. That, I must say, was when I grew up. And I'm still growing.

But what I like about them is that even though my life is different now, they never let me feel like I have changed. Once a BWI, always a BWI.

I just know that next year we'll find ourselves at Jack's Loft again, wondering why we never learn.

Therapy

Yesterday I was slumped on Miguel's bed, looking glum while he played nearby.

Me: I'm sorry Miguel, I don't feel so good right now.
Miguel: Why?
Me, thinking fast: Because I had a misunderstanding with my friend and it's bothering me.
Miguel: What's a misunderstanding?
Me: It's when you don't understand each other.

He comes over and kisses me. I smile.

Me: Aw, are you trying to cheer me up? (He nods) Thank you Miguel.

I go back to my thoughts. Miguel glances at me, gets a pad of paper from the drawer and asks if he can use it. Sure, I say. A few minutes later he comes to me with a drawing.

Me: What is it?
Miguel: It's a happy ship.

Sure enough instead of the usual jolly roger, there's a smiling face on the flag atop the mast. (jpeg to follow) I smile again and give him a hug. Then he starts writing some gibberish on the pad. He fills it up.

Miguel, handing me the pad: Read it.
Me: What does it say? (I try to hand it back) Tell me.
Miguel: No, you tell me. Just whatever you want it to say.

A bit flustered, I start.

Me: "Mommy, do not feel so sad. I am always here with you."
Miguel: Yes, yes!
Me, smiling: "I love you very much."
Miguel: That's right.
Me, grinning: "You are more beautiful than beautiful."
Miguel: Yes.
Me: "And... (getting ready to grab him) let's play wrestling!"
Miguel: Wrong!
Me: Huh?
Miguel: "Let's eat dinner!"
Me, laughing: Okay!

(For Monday, July 18, 2005, 11:12 AM)

Today I am a pig

At eleven Ellen texts us an invite to Amici, the Italian restaurant in Don Bosco Makati. So many people have been raving about the pizza and gelato in this resto run by Italian priests, but I never got the chance to go. I was never sure if it would be open for dinner since it's located in a school. Well Ellen's treating us to lunch, so we say...go!

We enter the quaint restaurant whose main door is located along Pasay Road, and the scent of baked bread and tomato sauce greets us. Mmmmm! I like this already. It seems that we are standing in what could have been an outdoor cafe area, except that the traffic at the Skyway entrance has forced the priests to enclose this space with glass windows and subdued skylights. Nice. Very Italianni's.

Most of us order pasta while 2 of our companions go for sinigang and lechon kawali on the other side of the restaurant. It seems that before Amici's was built, the site was a cafeteria. Walking to the rear you will find a glass case with the familiar stainless steel pans filled with pinakbet and rellenong bangus for those who hanker for Pinoy fare. It is noon and we easily find a table, but in a matter of minutes the place is bustling as the lunch crowd packs in - office workers, families, ladies who lunch, school kids with their folks, and several elderly, white-haired European gentlemen whom I presume to be Don Bosco priests.

Ellen orders Lasagne al Forno; Peachy chooses Spaghetti Vongole e Gamberetti; and I opt for Ravioli ai 4 Formaggi - home made ravioli with mixed Italian cheeses sauce. Yum! When the entrees arrive the aroma of cheese wafts up from my plate. Hungrily we all tuck in and I am instantly sated by the cheese-stuffed ravioli smothered with thick white sauce.

A pan of Sicilian pizza comes in as well and we try not to look like gluttons as each one timidly reaches out for an anchovy-laden slice. (Remember, one slice only! Ladies should not be so obvious when they're acting like pigs.)

To be honest the pasta was filling but not spectacular. The bread would have been good on its own but I could not even taste the garlic on the overly-generous dab of DariCreme. And at around P170 per plate it isn't really that cheap. The pizza? I've only tasted one, so I'll reserve judgement for that.

But the gelato was to die for.

The seven of us chose a scoop apiece. And being Filipino, we all shared flavors: dark chocolate, hazelnut, chocolate with nuts, mint chip, pistacchio, dark chocolate (again), and orange. All excellent, especially the dark chocolate. Oh - but I didn't like the orange, which is not a favorite flavor, but Peachy seemed in ecstasy about it anyway.

So now I have a new craving - gelato on a hot afternoon! I will look to my fellow chocolate fiends Alice and Weng to satisfy this new addiction. You guys should taste it out if you haven't tried it yet. It's open from Mondays to Saturdays, 10AM - 9PM. So there.

I'm soooo stuffed.

How do you say oink in Italian?

"You are invited to view an album"

So I open my email and see that I have another Yahoo!Photos invitation from my shutter-happy friends. Yipee, more pictures! I don't go to all of my friends' gimmicks, but who doesn't enjoy receiving photos? To be honest they meet up so often it's impossible for me to keep up. It's as if they were all joined at the hip - all 20-plus of them. But I knew that Gueli and I were present at my friend's garage sale-cum-ukay-ukay, also known as a "garukay." So I click on the link, and out of the 29 photos, Miguel has just this one close-up with his Tita Binky.



So now it's forever etched in their memories...and yours.

Today I am a painter

My officemate noticed my entry to the office painting contest and asked me to make him a small painting. Gladly, I obliged.

The weird thing is that these days, the only way that I can paint is if Miguel's asleep.

Flashback: one Saturday afternoon two years ago, when I was attempting to complete a portrait assignment for an artist's group. Miguel wakes up from his nap in the other room and is upset that I'm not around. I hear his footsteps going all over the house. The studio door is closed. "No, don't find me just yet," I say to myself.

Miguel, bursting into the studio: Mommy, what are you doing?

Me: I'm painting.

.

He watches silently. I breathe a sigh of relief and keep painting.

.

Miguel: Stop that, it's panget! (ugly)

Me: IT IS NOT!!

.

I guess that after the novelty wore off (in all of 3 minutes) he realized that I wouldn't stop painting soon.

.

I planned to work over 2 nights. I spent Sunday night prepping the canvas and doing my sketch. Monday night I planned to paint.

.

So I set my alarm for midnight before putting Miguel to sleep. A few hours later, after some struggle with the alarm, I got up at 2 am and started painting in the bathroom-cum-studio. It was a long time since I had painted, and I was really getting into the colors. But after an hour I heard a thud - tugudug!

.

I checked up on Miguel and saw that he was lying perpendicular to his bed, in danger of falling off. "Miguel," I said, "don't fall off." I adjusted his position, but by then he was awake so I decided to turn out the bathroom lights and lie down on my bed until he fell asleep. I listened in the darkness for about 30 minutes until he had stopped fidgeting. Then I got up, walked to the bathroom, closed the door, turned on the lights, and continued painting.

.

I was getting lost again in the artwork when I heard some footsteps outside the bathroom door. Ayayay! I couldn't let him see the painting now; it would just get him curious and I didn't want to have to answer questions until 6 am. I stood up immediately and blocked the view to my "studio" as I held the door ajar. Miguel stood there in his sando and jammies. "Mommy, why are you taking so long?" "Just cleaning up," I said as I turned out the light and led him back to his bed.

.

This time it seemed to take forever as he tossed and turned on his bed. I was itching to get back to my painting; I didn't want to finish it another day because I knew that I had to give it time to dry. When all seemed still I decided to use my cell phone light to check if Miguel was indeed asleep. I silently reached out for my phone, pressed the button and cast the light on my son - only to discover that he was staring right back at me. Darn! I quickly put out the light and resigned myself to a long wait.

.

It was 5 am by the time that Miguel was truly asleep. I got back to my "studio" and painted away for 2 more hours. I was almost done but had to clean up because I had to wake up Miguel, get him dressed, have him eat breakfast, and bring him to school. I must say that I cleaned up so fast and so well that nobody would know that I'd been painting - even the smell was absent.

...

.

During the drive back home from his school I was feeling so sleepy that I decided to crash on my bed rather than eat breakfast. My sis woke me up almost 2 hours later asking if I was going to work. Not in this mental state, I thought to myself. Finally I hauled my ass off the bed, realizing that I had to finish the painting before Miguel got back from school.

.

In about an hour I was done.

.

In all my years of painting this is the first time that I actually lost sleep because of a work in progress. I know that it sounds silly, sneaking off from my son to paint in the middle of the night, as if I was doing prohibited drugs. But I must say that I did enjoy painting again. When the office painting contest (which I didn't win, shame, shame, shame - but anyway you can't always win, can you?) was held, I realized that making 8x10 artworks was doable for somebody in my situation. I could even have an exhibit in 9 months. As long as Miguel stays asleep, that is :)

I love it

that he gave them for no other reason than that they were my favorite color :)

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 :)

Monsterpiece theater

Bedtime conversation:

MIGUEL, WITH DRAMATIC FLAIR: Once there was a prince and princess who lived in a castle full of monsters. Monsters in the closet! Ghosts under the bed! Bats in the school bus! Vampires coming out of the toilet! Then pirates and robbers attacked them.

ME: And then? Who won?

MIGUEL: The pirates and robbers and monsters and ghosts and bats and vampires.

ME: Aw, Migueli, you ought to end it better. I like the way it starts, but I don't think that people are going like a story where the prince and princess lose.

MIGUEL: Then the fairies came and attacked the monsters and ghosts and bats and vampires. The end.

The end indeed.

Action figure as art

Let me tell you about Miguel's latest art attack.

One night he comes into the bedroom with a bond-sized piece of cardboard.

"What are you doing?" I ask.
"I'm going to make an art attack."

He asks for the tape and colored glue.

"Where's Spiderman?" he adds.
"But hon, if you put him on the art attack you won't get to play
with him anymore!"

He rummages in the drawer for Spiderman anyway. Then he starts taping the action figure to a bond paper mounted on the cardboard. It looks like Spiderman is being strapped onto a gurney and is about to receive a lethal injection. I comment that it looks like a medieval torture device, like one used in the Inquisition. Should I be worried?

He starts singing a theme to himself. As if life were a movie, and he's just providing the soundtrack. He does this a lot when he plays, and more often than not the tune comes from our national anthem. No kidding.

After opening all the caps of the glue bottles, I decide to go for my shower, just as I planned. When I come out about 20 minutes later Spiderman is covered with tape and glue, with matching glue and marker drawings in the background - not to mention on Miguel's shirt. Thus ends Spiderman's long and colorful career as an action figure.

The following day the art attack is proudly displayed on our inside bedroom door:



If you look closely you will see a red marker drawing of someone "attacking" Spiderman on his left. So whaddya think- should I be worried?

The rose

Upon the prodding of my not-so-new seatmate Ace, I will tell you about the rose. (Sige na nga! Gusto ko na kasi mag-blog eh!)

Yesterday morning I came in and there was a red rose on my desk, with an anonymous note. Terse, succinct, anonymous. (Two months ago, I got a similar note that read "Hi!" - with smiley, but no rose - taped to my conputer.) I first suspected that it was a joke by Ronan, who came in earlier than me. When I asked him to 'fess up he said, "Ibibili ko na lang ng mineral water kasi ubos na tubig namin sa bahay no!" Taruz! My second suspect was Omie, who's capable of playing a joke on me as well. But Ronan pointed out that she was on leave for the past 2 days.

So. We have a rose. And 2 anonymous notes. In the afternoon the kids - that's what I call the new batch of employees, mostly new grads - got wind of it and had fun speculating. At one point I even said that I planted it myself - hehe. But Ace took the initiative to investigate whodunit. Wala lang, intrigero kasi sya. He suspected one of the practicumers, so showing exhibit A, asked pointblank if he gave it to me. At first he denied it, but on second thought said, "Pwede na rin!" Riiiight. Don't worry poNg, I know you didn't give it. Doesn't matter anyway.

So that's it.

Told Mike about it through text, and he responded, "that wasn't me hon." Of course I knew it wasn't him - that's not his style :)

Introducing...the bed

Yesterday I got Miguel his first bed. Well technically I just had Dennis's old trundle bed transferred from the "pink" room. It all started Sunday, when during his supposed naptime I told Miguel that he would have to get his own bed soon. I suggested that since he didn't have his own room yet, we could probably put in a separate bed for him, next to mine. To this he replied, "I want my own bed now!" I was pleased to hear him say that, but since we were all set to swim after the nap I promised to move in the bed that evening. But the day was quite busy, so at bedtime, around 10 pm, he still didn't have his own bed. And he reminded me, "Why didn't you keep your promise?" Oooh.

So the next morning, after I had sent him off to taekwondo class, I announced to my mum and bro that I was transferring the trundle bed to my room. "That's temporary, right?" my brother asked. "Of course," I said. I'd rather give him a decent bed in his own room, but that's not up to me at the moment. To be honest I jumped at the opportunity to get him his own bed. He does love me with a passion and I love him to pieces, but sometimes I pause to ask myself if our affection goes too far. No malice intended but I do suspect that he's already on his way to discovering his sexuality.

Questions about the marriage vs. family bed will come up in the future and I want to head them off as early as now. I moved out of my parents' bed in grade school and since then I've always believed that kids ought to have beds, and rooms, of their own. Besides, too many smells in one mattress or one pillow always bothered me. And while Miguel always smells nice at bedtime - well, I'll always accept him even if he doesn't smell so "fresh" - I do want him to learn to stand (or sleep) on his own.

It didn't take long for me to take out the 6-foot-long writing desk from my room. After a bit of sweeping Aida and Flor rolled in the trundle bed. Got rid of the rocking chair too. It was a vestige of his babyhood, but I kept it for so long because it was so comfortable to sit in while we talked. Did a bit of rearranging and then surveyed the room. Two beds. No more side table. No more lamp. No more rocking chair. Looks good. I was going to be an hour late for work but I think it was well worth it. I couldn't break my promise a second time, could I?

When I got home my sister had rearranged Miguel's bed so that the head was against my bed and one side against the wall. I was pleased to learn that he had already used it for his nap; he was so excited to be a big boy. That night we slept in our respective beds, but in the darkness he asked me to hold his hand while he drifted off to sleep. I was only too happy to reach my hand over the edge of my bed to do so. In fact he fell asleep much faster than he would if he had been beside me.

My baby's growing up so fast.

P.S. At around 3 am I woke up to a cluttering thud that I can only describe as "TUGUDUGDUG!" Miguel fell off his bed, got back on, and as I lay beside him, fell asleep. Then I went back to my bed, a smile on my face.

We're linked!

Hello all!

It's been a very busy 2 months, and yes I've been neglectful. But a post from May regarding her new site finally brought me back to my blog. While I was browsing through it I finally found out how to add a link, so now I'm sharing it with you. Just click on the link at right.

Now you can click your way to my friends' accounts at Livejournal, and find some great posts. May, I included your new site, but made an error in the URL until I get your permission to post this link. Happy browsing, everyone!

Almost married

Ha ha! Don't get excited just yet. No this isn't my wedding but a commercial shoot - my almost-15-minutes-of-fame as the bride. "Almost" because I was exposed for barely a second, and even so I was just a shadow in the background. By the way, the bridesmaid is Wengderwoman, a.k.a. Weng, my officemate and fellow talent. Oh well...at least I enjoyed the dressing up part.

With that I'd like to welcome the Santiagos to my blog. I posted this one for you - it's been a while since I posted pictures, and I did promise that I had some on this site. Happy reading and viewing, guys!

Moving experience

Check it out at inhale, exhale: just press # 6

Yep! My sister finally moved into her own room - after more than 2 decades of sharing a bed with my mom. Last week I saw a strange sight - my mom sleeping alone in her room, the TV off. I thought that my sis was having a late night out, but then it dawned on me - she's in her new room! WhhOW!

Okay so forgive me for going overboard, but for the longest time the joke in our house was that my sis's bedroom was just a storage place, so cluttered that you couldn't even sit on the bed. Heck, you couldn't even see it. Come to think of it, you still can't see it - for now. But at least her new bed in her new room really functions as one.

I used to share that room with my cousin Lina who moved in in the 70's. She came from Surigao and was in Manila to take up 7th grade, then high school. I must have been in 2nd grade at the time. I remember I was just so glad to move out of my mom's room and have a bed of my own. And I just adored Lina! I always looked up to her as my surrogate mother, because she always made me drink milk and take Clusivol syrup at night to fatten me up, to no avail.

My memories of that room were of Andy Gibb, Nancy Drew, stuffed toys, disco music, and of course Lina, who gave me a crash course in girly ways. I watched her try on dresses, tested her shampoos, assessed her red heels, observed her putting on eyeshadow. She was the one who watched out for my menarche and taught me how to use a sanitary pad. I still remember her first crush - his name was Chris Fautts - and how she couldn't sleep the night before her prom because she was so excited about her date with him.

Her mom came into town a lot, and they would take me along on their shopping sprees, buying the same shoe style in 3 different colors. And Tita Nep always treated me to 3M Pizza at Metrobank Arcade - a tradition, as it were.

Much, much later that room became my painting studio, and the balcony served as my private garden. Of course I had to pack away my easel when guests came into town. But I always enjoyed it when they admired my plants. I remember one summer in the late 90's when Lina and Tita Nep came for some business, which meant that they were going to Divisoria to buy stocks for Lina's store in Surigao - shopping again! Anyway I had an abundance of plumbago, in the plant box and in pots, and they were blooming like crazy all at the same time. The balcony was a riot of blue plumbago with touches of yellow margaritas. Tita Nep couldn't help but admire them, and I suspect she kept the balcony door open not just for the sunlight, but for the fantastic sight.

So many memories about that room. Can't help it, we've lived in this house for almost 30 years now.

Today it's my sister's room. I like the way the sunlight comes in through the windows in the early morning. The room is bright and airy, and I hope it doesn't get cluttered up so it can stay that way (attention barbiegirl!) Gueli has even parked his toys there, and enjoys playing blocks on the mat, or tic-tac-toe on the bed. We're making more memories even as I write.

Just the other day he woke up early, ran to my sis's room, clambered up the bed and said "wake up little rosebud." Then he kissed her. I know that she loved it.

Emergency instructions

Last Sunday I was paying for medicines and what-not in Watson's. I had instructed the nanny to get a pack of tissue, and as she came back with the item she asked, "Where's Miguel?" My heart skipped a beat, but then I realized that there was no way for him to leave the store unnoticed since I was near the entrance. After a quick scan around the store, we saw a flash of red - his shirt - running between the aisles, and nanny went to fetch him.

As he came back to me I squatted at his level and asked him what he would do if he lost me or nanny in the store. He said he didn't know, so I laid down a few ground rules.

1. Don't leave the store.
2. Look for a saleslady or guard.
3. Tell them that you've lost your mom and give them your name.
(He's already memorized his name, address, and phone number.)
4. Give your mommy's name and describe her.

"Can you describe your mom?" I asked him. He gave a naughty smile: "Peeling face." NOOOOO! That won't do. (Maybe sometime I'll tell you all about that glycolic peel I went through last week.) I paused for a while, decided on a spiel then drilled him. After about 10 minutes he got it down pat.

Me: Describe your mom. How tall is she?
Miguel: Five foot two. Plus heels!
Me: How much does she weigh?
Miguel: 110 pounds. (Really, I'm only 107)
Me: How long is her hair?
Miguel: Shoulder length.
Me: What color?
Miguel: Dark, and straight.
(And the clincher...)
Me: Looks like?
Miguel: Rita Avila!

That ought to do the trick.

Nothing

Overheard last night:

Miguel: Ninang, have you ever seen nothing?
Ninang: No.
Miguel: Close your eyes. (Ninang complies) What do you see?
Ninang: Nothing.
Miguel: HaHAhAhaHAHahA! :)

Don't believe in Santa Claus

On December 23, Miguel asked me to accompany him to the living room because he wanted to show me something. He got on the sofa and pointed at a quilted pillow with an image of Santa (yes, we have one of those).

Miguel, jabbing at the pillow: Don't believe at this thing.
Me: What do you mean?
Miguel: Don't believe in Santa Claus!
Me: Why?
Miguel: Because there's no...there's no such thing as a Santa Claus.
Me: So who gives all those gifts?
Miguel: Other people aside from Santa Claus!
Me: So you don't mind if you do not get a gift from Santa this year?
Miguel: Then I'll just get a gift from other people aside from this one. (points at pilow)
Me: You don't want to get a gift from Santa?
Miguel: I never saw what Santa Claus looks like.
Me: So you don't mind if you don't get a gift from Santa? That's okay with you?
Miguel: It's okay I'll just get a gift from other people besides Santa.
Me: Okay.

I caught it all on mpeg, so this is pretty much verbatim. I'm still amazed that he came to this conclusion on his own at the age of 4. And what's more, it doesn't bother him at all. So this year he didn't get a gift from Santa. And you know what, it is so okay.

La la, it's May!

My friend May got married last week. It was a very intimate wedding, with maybe about 120 guests. Breaking from tradition, the couple dispensed with the bouquet and garter toss - a decision that we all applauded. Then they gave a few remarks towards the end of the dinner, and I quote May gushing, "This is one of the best weddings I've ever attended!" To which her new hubby replied, "Maybe because it's yours, sweetie."

Sorry May I couldn't help it, but I took Marlon through your engagement blog the following day when we were back in the office. It's just that I'm so happy for you. As I read him the entry of how you met Alcuin, he said, "Nagkita muna sa utak!" So true. A very good match, and I hope it lasts forever.

So many things went through my head on the days immediately before and after the wedding. Things like, how happy I am for you - did I say that already? - and how honored I was to be your veil sponsor. During your little speech you said that you were so happy because half the room was filled with your most favorite people in the world. (The other half, we guessed, was Alcuin's.) And I couldn't help but agree, because you are one of my favorite people in the world.

At the reception, I was with those who had known you much longer. They talked about your being masungit, and I said, maybe three or four times, that I had never known you to be so. Finally Agnes said that you had mellowed down somewhat. I coudn't help thinking that she was making an excuse on my behalf. But then again, maybe you have "mellowed down." As if it matters to me!

Yet truth is, you really are my friend. It's easy to say that we met because of work, that we gel because we both write and paint, etc, etc, etc. But honestly, there doesn't have to be a reason.

May, you are a wondeful person, I'm so deliriously happy about you and Alcuin, and just count me into your fans' club, okay? 'Nuf said.

Reading

Miguel has been reading voraciously for the past few months. I remember how amazed I was when he first tookthe cut-out alphabet letters and said, "Let's spell pot." (M-A-R-I....nooooo!) He then pronounced each letter sound and spelled pot, cat, bat and a whole lot of other words.

Turns out that Ninang has been drilling him with letter sounds every morning as she brings him to school. So naturally she wasn't as surprised as I was when I told her that he was spelling on his own initiative. I excitedly got out the phonics books so that he can practice, but he quickly tired of them. It turns out that his tastes are more, uh, mature. (I once told a friend that Miguel liked adult books, and my friend raised an eyebrow. Apparently he thought that "adult" involved an "X".)

Miguel's favorite books now are those hardbound coffee table books from Reader's Digest (yes, my mom bought loads of them!) with titles like "How Did It Really Happen" and "Great Mysteries of the Past." I'd come out of the shower and he'd have a book in front of him, reading words no matter how long or complicated. Now he's an expert on the Titanic, Atalntis, Stonehenge, The Big Bang, Space Exploration, Mary Queen of Scots, the Taj Mahal, and not to mention Pompeii (see previous entry). Okay fine, he'll probably turn out to be a nerd just like me but at least he's got a sense of humor (again, see previous entry).

My bedside is starting to look like a library, with books piled so high that they obstruct the lamplight. Every night he insists that I read all the books until morning, or "until you run out of laway." Sweet little bugger isn't he, but how can I say no?

Pompeii

Let me tell you about the most ridiculous song Miguel has come up with so far. It has a pretty repetitive, uncomplicated tune and he sings all the lines in the same rhythm, except for the fourth line.

The ashes were falling
The children were dying
The people were exploding
Pompeii, happy Pompeii

Pompeii is exploding
Mount Vesuvius is erupting
And the children are dying

He sounds pretty cute when he sings it. I tell him it's a good thing that it happened a long time ago.

Show and tell

Let me tell you about the time that I forgot to get Miguel a show-and-tell item.

Well, what can I say? I forgot. Last Sunday I was asking my sis what object Miguel can bring for show-and-tell - it had to be from Korea. She suggested that I drop by the Korean store, and buy a snack. But on our usual trip to my uncle's house I just totally forgot.

Come Monday, the nanny tells me that Miguel went out of his classroom crying. He approached her and asked, whispering, if he had his assignment. She wasn't even aware that there was an assignment, because it was just texted to me - Miguel had left behind his assignment notebook the previous Friday.

The teacher's assistant tried to reassure him by getting some Korean chips from his classmate and saying that they were actually his. But Miguel knew that they we didn't buy them and wouldn't accept them.

Yes, there are days like that too. Broke my heart when I found out that night when I came home. Even these little things like Korean snacks for show and tell - you can't take them for granted.

Two nights later we were accompanying Ninang around the neighborhood and passed by the Korean store. I wanted to make it up to him by buying something, even though it was late. But by the time we had pulled into the parking lot, he strongly insisted that "we don't have to buy anything any more." I was really surprised, like I was wondering if I had scarred him for life or something.

Sigh.

Guilt.

You really can't take anything for granted with your kids. Remember that. He's just so precious to me, I don't want to disappoint him because of my stupidity.

Footnote:
Tried to make up for it by making him a bird costume for Jacob's birthday party today. Will find out later how that turned out. Will also take the day off tomorrow, to make up for all the shooting days and late nights. So ciao for now.

A message from limbo

Hi guys! Sorry I haven't been posting lately, but I know that you've been checking out this site. Muchas gracias! At least I know that I'm still getting your attention these days.

It's been the longest week for me. Three-day shoot on location, then continuous overtime the following week. Well, I did manage to sneak in some R&R here and there. But overall I'm pretty tired and sleep-deprived. All you moms there, you know what I mean.

Next week will be another long one, but I hope to make it up to Miguel by then. His teacher informed me that he will be the bida in his class's taekwondo exhibition next Friday. Attention, stage mothers! More stories when I come back, I promise.

I really need some sleep.

Riza, if you're reading this, send me a message won't you? Here or via email. :)

The life and loves of Gueli S

So went got into the elevator after church, and there's this pretty 2-year-old blonde in a stroller right in front of Miguel. He's babbbling and doesn't see her right away, but I know that it's just a matter of time.

Miguel, seeing the girl: You're so pretty (SINGING MODE) I loooove you!
Miguel, to me: I said I love you.

Amazingly the girl's mother and father are deaf to all this, while all the Pinoys in the elevator are smiling. The couple pulls out of the elevator as the doors open.

Me: Why did you say I love you?
Miguel: Because her hair is pretty. Her hair is blonde, just like Nessie.

At this point the other passengers in the elevator laugh. So do we. The doors open again and we get out.

See, that's my son. So amorous. I'm not so worried about his so-called love life because I know that he's put me on a pedestal and he says that he loves me better than cheese (oh, now it's piyaya). But then let's consider his past "girl friends," and remember that he's only four:

1. Claire Agaton, a latecomer to his Junior Nursery class last year. When she entered his pre-school in August 2003, his nanny told me about his newfound affection. I witnessed it later on when, as I was driving him to school one day, we came upon Claire walking to school with her nanny. So I offered them a ride, and Miguel was all kilig at the prospect of sitting beside her! He actually shook with excitement and proceeded to caress her arm. Later on he followed her into the waiting area of the school, and a couple of hugs and kisses ensued. We were all laughing our heads off.

Me: Why do you love Claire?
Miguel: Because she beautiful! And powerful.
Me: What's her power?
Miguel: Hugs and kisses and I love you!

2. Nessie Farrad, another latecomer to his Junior Nursery class. Barely three, Nessie has a beautiful Filipina mom and an Australian father. She was an instant favorite because of her dark blonde hair. Miguel's affection for her was well known, and Teacher Gwit made it a point to always seat them together. Nessie's mom and I even developed a friendly acquaintance. Miguel was invited to Nessie's 3rd birthday party last summer. Upon meeting him, Nessie's dad gave him a terse, "So you're Miguel." His fame precedes him.

Now that he's in Senior Nursery, he's getting the hang of having girl friends. Tops among them are Alexene and Inabang, but that changes from time to time. He has his taekwondo friends too, but the bonds are not yet that strong - as in, we don't do house visits just yet.

I have to say though, that of all the girls in his life, his most favorite is cousin Sarina. She's 2 years older than him, and she always tries to push him around. But since my son is a different kind of animal, he always manages to get her goat. Well, their love-hate relationship has mellowed of late, and they're slowly becoming best of friends.

So here's to love, and here's to friendship.

And by the way, I've already told Migueli that he can only have a girlfriend when he's ready to get married.

(Duh, so does that apply to me too? Gee.)

So-late

Last Friday I was late for work.

Well, my mom needed a ride to her meeting in Pandacan. Not along my route but not really out of the way to Makati either. I told her, if she ever needed a ride in the morning, I'd rather drive her than have her take a cab.

Maybe I just want to spoil her. Or maybe it's just a case of "do unto others...."

Flashback. One recurring image forever burned into my mind is of my mom rushing off to work in the morning. Day after day after day. From the time I was in grade school, until high school, I'd be sitting in the dining room having breakfast while she'd be hurrying out the door.

And I'd ask myself, "Why's she in such a hurry to get away from us?'' I guess as personnel director for a large university, she had to set an example by being always on time. But I did question her priorities. And I did feel rejected, even by as simple an act as going out the door.

Don't get me wrong; she is probably the best mother anyone can have. I actually have a couple of friends who would trade mine for theirs. My mom is so calm, so patient, so giving, so selfless, so prayerful. The best compliment I can ever give her is that she's a true Christian, a living saint. I even said that if I can have one-tenth of her goodness I would be happy. (If I had one-tenth of my dad's charm I'd be happy too.) All our past disagreements notwithstanding, she is my idol. I wouldn't know what I'd do without her now.

So what happened? How did I change from hate to love? I guess one day I finally realized that in spite of all her shortcomings, she is a good person, and she did what she believed was best in bringing us up. That she is who she is and that I could never change her. So I just changed my attitude towards her. It's amazing how much we clicked after that.

But about being late for work. There are several reasons why I might be late for work. Sometimes I want to blow-dry my hair. Sometimes I decide to change my outfit. Sometimes I just want to eat the champorado and tuyo rather then munch a sandwich in the car. So many trivial reasons for being late. (Usually 30 minutes, so I try to stay an extra 30 afterwards.) So in my hierarchy of reasons, driving her to gritty Pandacan is just so worth it.

Yeah, sometimes I'm late because when I'm on my way out, Miguel will ask me if I had breakfast. When I answer yes, he'd say "You have to eat 2 times, one on your own and one with me." So I go down with him, get him settled at the table, give him his vitamins, then wait for him to get started. By which time he'd be willing to kiss me and let me out the door. Don't worry, when I have a meeting I always make it clear to him, and he understands that I have to go. But I don't want him to feel rejected just because he remembers me always rushing out the door. I don't want him to have that same kind of memory. In my hierarchy of reasons that too is so worth it.

Well maybe someday I'll figure out a way to manage my time better. But for now you can sue me, 'cause I'm a mom.

Closet feminist

This morning I took down about 20 books from my son's shelf. Disney books. Actually they're hand-me-downs from my cousin, and I'm always glad to get free books cause Miguel devours them like crazy. But a few from the Disney series made me raise my eyebrows. Let me quote from one called "The Ugly Stepsisters":

The Prince watched them and wondered. How could his kind, beautiful Cinderella have such mean and ugly stepsisters?

And two pages later:

"I wonder how long they will stay," said the Prince. "They don't seem to be very happy, even here."
"If only they each had a husband as nice as you," said Cinderella. "Then they would be as happy as I am!"

Hello! Calling Margaret Sanger! Gloria Steinem!

Well what did I expect; it's based on a fairy tale, isn't it? But then this book has so many ridiculous stereotypes that I had to explain to Miguel that it wasn't the right thing to print in a book. I was actually bothered.

Of course, of course. Don't blame the cousin who gave the books. After all she did give the seemingly inexhaustible "365 Bedtime Stories," a lifesaver when your child negotiates for 5 stories before bedding down every night. And don't forget "Richard Scarry's Best Year Ever," everybody's all-time favorite, guaranteed to elicit more questions than answers because of the details in the illustration.

But because of a politically incorrect Disney book, circa 1986, this feminist is coming out of the closet. Uh, just for a while. Long enough to explain to my son that just because a woman is ugly, it doesn't mean that she's mean as well. Well the part about needing a husband to be happy I didn't even want to discuss.

So at 4 am there I was, closet feminist slash neurotic mom quietly stashing Disney books into a box, hoping to protect my son's mind from misguided thinking. Not to mention that it was a lot of bad writing.

Which leads me to the question: Do you know what your child is reading? Sometimes we're so quick to accept something because it has some "seal" of approval. So mommies and daddies, beware of Disney Corp, purveyors of wrong thinking and bad taste! What bugs me is that they had the cheek to call those books "educational." (Oh well, at least they've improved in the last 18 years.)

So does that mean that I don't intend bring Miguel to Hong Kong Disneyland someday? Oh hogwash, of course I'll bring him!

Ang saguise, banagnag

When Miguel was about 2 he made up his own lyrics to the song "London Bridge is Falling Down," and it goes like this:

Ang saguise banagnag,
banagnag, banagnag
Ang saguise banagnag
Bunda, banda!

Ang baleleng baleleng,
baleleng baleleng,
Ang baleleng baleleng,
Bunda, banda!

This song even came with matching actions, and I've already shared it with his Senior Nursery teacher.

Well last night he and Ninang were playing with the Busy Beetles set, an M.C. Escher type of click-and-lock toy. They made an elaborate design, after which he declared, "that's a banagnag!"

So ladies and gentlemen, we proudly present to you...banagnag!



Don't ask me what saguise and baleleng are, 'coz he hasn't decided yet.

Over breakfast

So this was how our morning conversation went.

Miguel: Mommy, when are we going to get a new monitor?
(for the computer)
Me: (Silent, coz it's supposed to be a birthday gift to me)
Ninang: We still have to order it. I think it costs (PhP thousands). Will you help us buy it?
Miguel: (Excited) I can buy it. I have lots of coins in my piggy bank!
Ninang: (Laughs)
Miguel: But I don't have enough.
PAUSE
Miguel: I only need one more coin.

I love this kid.

How to eat

Let me tell you the perfect way to end a food binge. It's called High and Mighty Pie, from Chili's:

"Heath candy pieces in creamy vanilla ice cream piled high
on a crushed Oreo cookie crust and drizzled with chocolate
and caramel sauce."

Must've been 6 inches high and 4 inches wide. Took four of us to finish it.

My binge started on Friday night and ended on Monday. Puttanesca, barbecue, hungarian sausage with blue cheese pasta, lengua, beef pastel, Uva salad, assorted cheeses, red wine, four kinds of chocolate cake, Becky's brownies, mandarin brownie-meringue, nachos with cheese dip, calamares, crispy chicken salad, corn dog, and of course my high and mighty pie. Nothing beats a four-day birthday celebration.

Have been eating a lot the past few weeks because of frequent overtime. (My theory is, if you have to work hard, you should at least eat well.) Gained 3 pounds in the process. Then yesterday I conveniently forgot to take my anti-thyroid pill and guess what, I'm down two pounds.

Life is sweet.

Frou

These are my new frou-frou slippers. Orange, sequined, and beaded. Given by Lisa. The last time I had flowery slippers I must have been 6 years old. So I felt out-of-character when I tried them on this morning. Miguel was watching.

Miguel: Cool.
Me: You like it?
Miguel, with feeling: I like it.
Me: Why do you like it?
Miguel: I prefer that for girls.

So my son has an opinion.

What gets me is that he has this concept of femininity, although I'm not so sure where he got it from. I may be kikay at times, but I'm certainly not feminine.

Like the time that I put on a dress so I that can have it altered. He said, "Mommy don't wear that, you look fat." Then I tried on a dress my size and he said, "Mommy, you look sexy." Bravo, anak, bravo!

Sometimes I wonder when it'll be time for me to put a bit of physical distance from him. Potential issues about sexuality, young as he is, also crop up now and then. Like when he hugs me just a bit too tight, or kisses me just a bit too long or too hard. And don't forget that he wakes up every morning with an erection. I don't know how many times I've explained heart rate and blood flow to my 4-year-old.

I asked other mums about these sort of things, and it seems that all their boys go through such an Oedipus complex. I guess I'm just more uptight about it since I'm a single mom.

Funny how a pair of frou-frou slippers can get you thinking.

Ode to instant noodles

Three-thirty in the morning I found myself in front of the stove. If you ever find me cooking at a time like this, it means that I'm pretty desperate. Only a hopeless case of hay fever can make me do this. It's something I've resorted to since I was a teenager.

I find comfort in this ritual. The house is dark and quiet, and ghosts could be lurking in the shadows. Everyone else is dead to my presence. I may as well be the ghost. But every inch of my sinuses is clogged and I'm totally miserable; I just need to get my fix. Antihistamines are a weak alternative to my stovetop solution: hot instant soup, and lots of it.

You can't make me eat additive-, preservative-, msg-laden instant noodles on an ordinary day. But this morning, I'd never opened a pack of instant soup with so much eagerness. I pore over every detail of the empty pack as if it were the front page of the newspaper while I wait for the water to boil. URC-Nissin, it says. May they live forever.

The water boils and I pour in the noodles. Add a packet of oil and dried flavorings. Then I count to 180, too impatient to look at the clock.

Finally I pour the steaming broth into a large bowl. There's so much anticipation as I breathe in the vapors, as though they were a mentholated mist from a humidifier. At that moment you can put me on that billboard for Lucky Me Instant Noodles. There's nothing else in this world except me and my soup. Talk about consumer insight.

The soup is warm and savory, and the noodles equally so - except that they're slippery-wet. Quite a pleasant feel on the mouth. Warm, wet, and slippery. Almost as pleasurable as kissing.

All too soon the pleasure is over; the bowl is empty. I sit back in the armchair and draw in a breath. I can taste beef mami all over my sinuses. The vapors cling to my face - I can even smell them. But again, I don't care. I just breathe in and savor the relief.

That, my friend, is comfort food.