Dreaming of a White Christmas

"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire..." so "The Christmas Song" goes.

Now here's a random thought. "The Christmas Song" was written by Mel Torme in the middle of a heat wave, in an attempt to stay cool, by thinking cool.

Wishful thinking, really.

Here's our version - AKA the door to our kitchen.

Wishful thinking for a family in Asia whose favorite season is winter.

Although it's been said, many times, many ways - MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU!!!

Favorite Body Parts

No, it's not what you think.

Charly's latest comfort thing, after having outgrown her beloved 'wubbie', is drinking her bedtime milk and either running her hand along my arm or David's beard (well, he doesn't really have one, but she seems to like his stubble or five o'clock shadow).

In her words, it's either "Mom's arm" or "Dad's beard". She looked indignant one time when she rubbed a hand against David's chin only to discover it smooth and stubble-free.

Last night, she actually said "Good night, Dad's beard. Good night, Mom's arm".

It's a good excuse for David and I to snuggle up next to her. She drinks her milk, while scooting up close and rubbing a hand on my arm or David's cheek.

I hope she doesn't outgrow her favorite body parts too soon.

Metal Lunch Boxes

...whatever happened to them?

As Charly begins to go to a more structured nursery school where the kids are required to pack their own snacks and juices, David and I feel a little frisson of excitement over the thought of....lunch box shopping!

One of the coolest things about being a parent is that we can unapologetically get excited over going shopping for things that we had left behind in our childhood. Muppet Show characters, Paddington Bear books, Legos, Mr. Potatohead, Tonka trucks, Playdough...

But I digress. Back to the lunch boxes at hand.

As we headed for the houseware section of Rustan's and SM, we were disappointed to find lame looking lunch boxes for kids. There were utilitarian looking Rubbermaids, the solid - but old looking - Thermos bags and bottles that I have opted to pack my lunch to work in, and some flimsy looking plastic lunch pails featuring today's more popular cartoon characters. And let's not forget the expensive Japanese lunch bags whose insides are so stuffed with little microwaveable food containers that they would need a Tetris expert to fit them all in.

None were deemed cool enough to merit the honor of being Charly's first lunch box.

David and I reminisced about our own metal lunch boxes during our grammar school days. Most Gen-X'ers probably don't have an affinity for metal lunchboxes. You would have to be old enough to be carrying a lunch box to school in the 70's to feel nostalgic about these metal lunch carriers. Needless to say, we were.

I had a dome-shaped Peanuts tin lunch box with an Alladin water bottle inside. When the Bionic Woman became popular, I went off to school with Lindsay Wagner on my lunch box. The year after that, I had Jill, Kelly and Sabrina - Charlie's Angels! As a kid, I seriously looked forward to the lunch box of the year. I would even dent it a bit towards the year's end, just to make sure my mom would buy me a new one for the next school year.

Like an old song, thinking about our old metal lunch boxes took us back in time, bringing to mind school days, a favorite food, or an old friend.

So when I think about picking the lunch box that will eventually find its way to Charly's memory box, I hesitate to pick just any old generic lunch container. After all, I have such vivid memories of mine.

And so the search goes on...

Makin My List and Checking It Twice, Thrice...

Last year around the first week of December, I put in an order to the Baguio Country Club for 100 loaves of their famously yummy raisin bread.

By the third week of December, our family driver, Arnel, was making scheduled trips around town delivering the abovementioned loaves to various friends, an assortment of cousins, aunts and uncles, and former co-workers.

I was also in a frenzy, combing bazaars and malls for last-minute gifts for my immediate family and godchildren.

And that didn't even include the number of presents I had to buy for my current co-workers.

Our dining room table had morphed into Santa's worktable, strewn with gift wrapping paper, cards, and various gift-wrapping accessories like scissors, ribbons, and tape.

It was Gift Giving Gone Wild.

This year, I look back and think. I have not seen or hung out with 100+ people during the year.

You might say I'm a Scrooge, but this year, I am going to throw caution into the wind and apply the rule of Christmas Presence. Meaning, if I don't see you or your family during the month of December - when the Christmas parties, reunions, get-togethers start rolling in - then we must not be that close that we haven't managed to make the time to so much as catch up for coffee or a quick dessert to exchange presents. Busy schedules be damned. The holidays are supposed to be meant for people who matter to us. And making life better for others. And giving of yourself. Not 100 gifts sent out by routine to people who you haven't seen, probably will not be seeing for some time - because they are too busy, you are too busy, or you just plain don't want to make time for each other.

After all, if you matter to me, I sure as hell will be making the time to catch up with you during the holidays (and vice versa). I will even make a concession and consider the latter part of November or early part of January (for a post New Year celebration) as within the gift giving period.

But if we haven't made the time to meet up at all for the last quarter of the year, let alone the entire 2008, then it doesn't matter whether you've been good or bad. I'm not Santa Claus. So, me...I'm going for simplicity and crossing one more person off my gift list.

It just doesn't make sense to give presents mechanically and out of habit, does it? And all that spare change - or money that would have gone to buying gifts out of routine...I will make sure they find their way to a good cause and help some other people who are in need of something more than the obligatory fruit cake.

Happy Birthday, Lola

Today would have been my Lola Juliana's 105th birthday. Sadly, she died almost 18 years ago. Her husband and my lolo, Gregorio Zamuco, lived for another 17 years, only finally saying goodbye to all of us last year just a couple months shy of his 107th birthday.

Charly's middle name - Julianne - is after her great-grandmother. Even in the ultra-sound pictures, I could see that Charly had inherited my lola's chin.

It doesn't feel like 18 years since lola passed away. I still remember how her face used to light up when the whole family would come over to Los Banos, as well as her home-cooked dishes and the fruits she used to make 'pabaon' to us on the way back to Manila from Los Banos. How she used to tut-tut and shake her head when my dad always arrived late (thus also making the whole family late) to yet another of our reunions. Most of all, I can still see how she would sit on the front porch, her hand tucked into lolo's hand.

On one of our visits, she gave my dad a small grafting that he planted in our backyard. That grafting is now a big, solid tree that doesn't flower much year round.

But every year, around her birthday (and mine - for my birthday is only 6 days away from hers), that tree comes in full bloom.

A sure reminder that she is still watching over us from somewhere up there.

Happy Birthday, Lola. We miss you guys.

Hopefully Not A Sign of Things To Come

Earlier this evening, I was on the phone with my mom while the hubby was reading Charly a bedtime story.

15 minutes later, Charly comes out of the room looking for me.

Charly (plaintively): "Mom, Dad is asleep."

Me: "What do you mean? He fell asleep while reading to you?"

Charly: "Yeah. He's asleep. Mom, please come inside with me."

I quickly got off the phone, just as the hubby comes out shaking his head at Charly and - come to think of it, at me too for having fallen for Charly's latest scam.

David: "Charly, you said you were just going to give mom a goodnight kiss."

Charly (looking caught): "Oh. haha. I want mom to go inside the room too."

Did she just do what I think she did? She actually conned both parents to get them to do what she wanted.

She knew David would not let her go out of the room just to bug me to come in. And she knew I would not go in without a good reason because she was already supposed to be in bed.

It was cute. We had a good laugh at her sneaky mind and tactics.

A sense of foreboding however tells me that a few years from now we will not be laughing if she pulls something like this on us as a teenager.

Birthday Girl

One of the most satisfying, heartwarming things about blogging is having your friends (and even people you haven't met) leave little comments.

Knowing that some of my posts strike a chord, make someone laugh, or just make someone else feel that they aren't alone in the ups and downs that are unique to motherhood is more than enough to make my day. And gives me the inspiration to keep on noticing the little everyday things that tell you life is good. Very good.

This one goes out to my dear friend, Jackie. Thanks for all the comments that give me the fuzzies.

Happy Birthday! May you and Brian soon be blessed with little ones that warm your heart the way Charly does mine.

The Missing Leaf

I recently discovered the Market Manila site and I seriously recommend this to anyone who has lamented over the lack of ingredients available in our local supermarkets. In this site, I've discovered fellow foodies in search for the missing ingredient to make their home cooked dishes taste oh so much better. 

Take, for example, the kaffir lime. I cannot say the words without a smile flitting across my face. For David and me, it is like the holy grail of Thai cuisine.

A few years ago, we loaded 6 lbs. (yes SIX POUNDS) of assorted curry pastes and dried kaffir lime leaves onto our carry on bags coming home from Thailand. We were very fortunate that no one took an interest in our stash and confiscated them. I would have put up a fight, let me tell you.

But despite the dried kaffir lime leaves, our Thai dishes were still missing that oomph that we longed for. Dried just wasn't enough.

Then one day, sometime in June, we chanced upon a lone kaffir lime plant in Tiendesitas. We looked at it in hushed reverence. As David rubbed the leaf to take a whiff, we almost could not believe our good fortune. We rushed home with the plant, rustled up some Thai red curry and closed our eyes in delight as the missing pieces of the puzzle (or in this case, missing ingredient) fell into place.

And now, thanks to Market Manila, I've hooked up with some fellow kaffir lime enthusiasts who can sell us both the plants and the fruit. It's still not easy, but there are plants to be had. And since the leaves sell for about P10-15 each, having a plant is a smart move.

For those of you who have not heard about kaffir lime, it is the ingredient that adds an unmistakable refreshing taste that is characteristic of many Thai soups and curries.  The leaves have a strong, fragrant flavor that cannot be replicated easily. Without the kaffir lime leaves, your tom yum soup or red or green thai curry will not be the same.

So, if you're into spicy food, let me know. I've just about perfected my Thai curry.

This One Falls Under My List of Things I Wish I'd Taken A Picture of But Didn't...

This seen on a black sleeveless t-shirt worn by an older male guest at a wedding I attended recently:

"If you think sex is a pain in the ass, you're doing it wrong."

I so wanted to take a picture of that man. Preferably beside the newly wedded couple because that has got to be advice for the honeymoon night if I ever saw one.

But propriety won and my camera stayed politely shut. 

You just have to take my word for it.

I Heart D

They say that a good part of a photographer's artistry comes from the ability to see the extraordinary out of everyday things. To see things that others may have overlooked.

In an attempt to achieve this, I went around Greenbelt Park and discovered a "D" that Mother Nature had carved on a tree trunk.

I didn't add a heart on it, nor carve out David's name, lest the guards chase me out of the area. 

But I did take a photo while resisting the urge to hug that tree.

A Fish By Any Other Name

Going through a picture book, Charly spots a picture of a fish.

She points to it and says "Fish".

"Pescado".

And for good measure, "Isda".

Our multi-lingual baby. 

Thursday Night

I've always loved Thursdays. Not quite Friday, yet close enough to the weekend.

And I had the perfect Thursday night last night.

I put Charly to bed, where we had a good old girls' snuggle. She patted my cheek and said "Mom, you ok?" (she always asks this when I'm sick, and last night, I had a cough). She's very thoughtful, that kid.

I said "Yes, bear, I'm ok."

"Mom?"

"Yes?" I asked, hugging her close.

"I love you, Mom" she said patting my cheek again and smiling, before drifting off to sleep.

"I love you too, bear, all the way to the moon. And back."

I crept out of her room and joined the hubby and snuggled in bed to catch the new season of Heroes. 

Back to back snuggles with my favorite girl and best guy.

This is what life's all about.

The Nanny

By now, most of you know that our nanny hunt has introduced us to a cast of colorful characters.

My mom, out of desperation, called the Parish Office at San Antonio Church in Forbes Park, asking to be referred to the agency that most expats use.

Her call yielded 3 biodatas of nanny wannabes with "experience as caregiver" listed as accomplishments.

One had barely a year experience in caring for children.

The other was an X-ray technician (the last time I looked we didn't have any equipment in the house, I wonder how this would contribute to caring for Charly).

The last one was the winner of the lot.

Proudly attached to her caregiving certificates was a document from the Philippine Overseas Employment Agency (POEA) and a Japanese Employment agency listing her previous salary at USD $1,500 / month.

Past work experience: Dancer / Entertainer. Read: Japayuki.

Perhaps they thought her dancing skills would help rock Charly to sleep?

Excuse me while I put a garbage bin over my head and start banging against a wall.

Tits

Charly was tucked in for the night and ready for her bedtime story (did I say story? More like stories as we usually have at least half a dozen runs).

"Tits, mom" she says "I want tits".

Flabbergasted, I said "What did you say?"

Charly giggles and pushes a big book of stories at me. "Tits" she repeated clearly as if I was a bit weak in the head. 

I played along, "Well, bear, seeing as how I'm not short in that department, you'll get yours soon enough." Ok, now I was just talking to myself and just tripping out over the funny things kids can sometimes say. But then most new moms have these moments in abundance.

"Dad dad reads tits" she calmly explained to me, making me wonder what they read when I'm away.

I flipped through the big children's stories collection book as she was eagerly grabbing at it. She finally zeroed in on a short story entitled "TITCH". She always did have trouble with her s and tch's. Laughing again, she looked relieved and said "Please read Titch".

Oh. 

Bad mom.

Mom-nesia

I used to have a frighteningly good memory. Better than an elephant's.

Seriously. 

I could sit in meetings and whip out minutes without taking much notes. I could remember who said what and when and quote them on it. It drove my office staff crazy.

But ever since my C-section operation where I had this wonderful thing called anesthesia (or is it amnesia), I have said goodbye to a lot of things. My waistline, boobs that didn't need underwire support, and most of all, my remarkable memory.

I always used to remember names. I was good at connecting a face to a name and was never stumped for an impromptu introduction.

But these past few weeks, I have had people add me as their friend on Facebook (see, I'm not so old after all), and I could not for the life of me recall who they were. It was horibble. Even after staring at their pictures, I could not muster up enough memory to remember where I met them.

One time, I had to actually ASK. It was embarrassing, I tell you.

I recall an old Erma Bombeck strip saying, "Of all the things I lost, I miss my mind the most".

Funny, yes. But as far as new moms go, with everything we juggle on a daily basis, coupled with the lingering after-effects of c-section anesthesia, it sometimes strikes me as frighteningly true.

Lists and memo pads are now my best friends.

Shutterbuggin'

After almost 2 years in hibernation (a sign that corporate stress had surely taken over parts of my life), I finally dug out my Canon EOS 400D and got to know her better outside of (gasp!) auto mode.

Going around Greenbelt Park, I zoomed in on interesting things that never caught my attention sans camera.

Do I now literally have time to stop and smell the flowers? Most definitely.

My Baby Can Read

Charly has a number of bedtime stories that she likes us to read to her over and over again. Among her all-time favorites are her Mini Masters board books. 

There are times that David and I read them to her over and over that we can practically memorize them.

However, I was still surprised when she actually started "reading" aloud a "A Magical Day with Matisse" to me. Word for word. The entire small book.

David has been teaching her how to read and I know that babies have a tendency to remember what they hear. Still nothing had prepared me to actually have Charly reading - mostly from memory, some from remembering how certain words look like - an entire book to me.

It was like role reversal. My baby reading to me, instead of me reading to her, as we snuggled up in bed.

Very P.C.

Me:  "Who's mom's baby?"

Charly:  "Toddler, mom. I'm a toddler."

Sniff. She's no longer a baby, and she knows it. 

She's now officially a toddler. And a very politically correct one at that.

Monday Mornings

Nice sunny weather. Cool breeze by the pool. 

Just me and my favorite girl.

Monday Blues? NOT.

Wedding Crashers

With most of my friends either eloping, getting married abroad, or opting for civil weddings and springing their newly married status on us with wedding announcements or souvenirs like condoms and Jiffy Lube, it was a refreshing change for me when our good friends, Jackie and Brian, went the more conventional route with a pamamanhikan and traditional Chinese engagement party (ting hun).

We were happy to receive the invitations, but needless to say, I did not know what to expect. 

Apparently neither did Barbie, with whom I hitched a ride to Jackie and Brian's ting hun. 

So there we were, literally Dumb and Dumber, standing outside Gloria Maris in Greenhills not knowing where to go.

We saw a couple of well-dressed women going in and Barbie decided that they must be heading for Jackie and Brian's. 

"Aren't we underdressed for this thing?" I hissed. After all, the women were all wearing evening gowns. My misgivings grew as we entered a big hall where everyone it seemed, except us, was wearing fairly formal attire. 

Costume crisis notwithstanding, I marched up to the reception table and gave the woman our names so we could find out which table we were seated. To our surprise, our names were not on the list.

"Liselle and Barbie? Sorry, I can't find your names," the woman told us. "Bride or groom?"

"Uh, bride I guess," I said, finding it strange that Jackie would already be called a bride and the engagement party had not even begun. 

So the woman scans down the list and looks at us disapprovingly (or maybe it was because I was wearing pants and everyone else seemed to be dressed formally). "No, I can't find your names".

"We're former co-workers of hers," Barbie snaps (she was never one for patience). "Look under S.C.Johnson (the name of the company where Barbie, Jackie and I were all co-workers)."

"Sy Johnson?" the woman scans her list "Ah, here it is. Johnson Sy?"

Barbie was about to look at the list, when I grasped what had happened. 

We weren't at Jackie and Brian's ting hun. We were at some other couple's wedding reception where there was a guest named Johnson Sy. 

And we were about to meet him, it seemed, as the woman was leading us to his table.

I quickly mumbled something about a mistake and pulled Barbie along with me. 

We finally found our way to Jackie and Brian's, laughing at our mistake. It was one for the books.

When Jackie and Brian finally get married in December, I may just look up Johnson Sy.

You know, for old times' sake.

(Note: Jackie, this one's for you!)

B.Y.O.B

A friend of mine mistakenly sent me an SMS on a Thursday night, "Dude, where's the party later? Are you going?"

Minutes later followed by, "can you bring some drinks?"

I looked down at my pink pajamas (the one with the big bunnies on them that Charly likes) and laughed to myself.

I texted my friend back, "is this BYOB?"

"Yup" was the quick SMS reply.

I promptly texted back, "Charly says the only bottles she has are filled with infant formula...sorry dude, the only parties we go to these days are kids' parties and it's way past our bedtime".

Of course my friend quickly realized that he had gotten the numbers in his phone book mixed up and we had a good laugh over it.

Which brings me to another realization of just how much my life has changed.  Just barely 3 years ago, all it took was a couple of impromptu text messages and me and my friends had a quick get-together or bar hop.

Nowadays, despite a number of exclusive invites to private parties at Embassy or Nuvo, the hubby and I have stayed at home or at most, out to dinner at our favorite restaurants. I mean we do meet up with friends, have them over at our place, do brunch with my folks but they are mostly quiet, peaceful get-togethers where we actually catch up as opposed to just hanging out. 

To put it bluntly, these days, I would rather be clubbed than go clubbing.  Okay, so I can't use being a mommy as an excuse for my reluctance to stand in smoky bars, getting more than my share of second-hand smoke while I spend enough money on drinks that would have covered a month's worth of Gymboree playtime for Charly. Or hanging around while ridiculously skinny young things in unwearable clothes go traipsing about acting as if they know everything. What they don't know is that in less than a decade, they will soon be standing in the supermarket aisle seriously debating with themselves, their husbands or their friends about the merits of toilet cleaners and kitchen aids. You just see if I'm wrong.

But I digress.

Whereas I used to sit and let time pass by while introspecting with friends -or at times, really just because I didn't feel like going home yet - I now look at time as something I have to make full use of. When you're a work-at-home mom who tries to be as hands-on as she can, you don't have the luxury to just hang around. Much less have time to waste.  Especially not in dark places where you really don't know what the point of things are since you can't even have a conversation for the loud music. I gues what Im saying is that if I'm going to be doing nothing, it better well be in a spa where I get pampered. After all, doing nothing doesn't happen too often

Oh, I don't mean that David and I have gotten boring. Well, maybe to our single friends we have. Actually, we probably pursue more meaningful interests and activities these days. We still enjoy a good round of drinks with friends, but it now comes with conversations that matter as opposed to empty talk. 

I also think it has less to do with Charly and more to do with feeling more content and stable and centered. After all, even before she came around, when it was just David and me, I already quite enjoyed staying at home.  The main difference is that we used to wake up on a Saturday and think "Cool, it's still early, let's walk over to the Salcedo Street Market and see if we can get some fresh bread and then sleep some more."

These days, we think "Great, it's still early, Charly seems to be in a good mood. We can get in an hour of playtime and maybe do some food shopping and laundry before it's time for her nap".

Some people may say its because we are getting older.

I like to think of it as a shift in priorities.

Fries by Association

For the first two and a half years of her life, Charly's taste buds were never tainted with junk food. No candy, no chocolates, no cakes and no soda. Certainly nothing from McDonald's.

Until a couple months ago when, out of desperation over her not eating, my mom had given her a french fry.

David and I told ourselves that a fry now and then never killed anyone. 

We never realized just how much she had enjoyed her french fry experience when, just this weekend, while driving to my mom's Charly suddenly said "french fries, french fries".

Since there were no fries around, I asked her where they were.

She pointed across the street to the Golden Arches and said "'donalds...fries...I want some fries".

I'm pretty sure I could hear Ronald McDonald chuckling in the background.

Christmas in September

It's true what they say about the 'BER' months (you know, months that end in 'ber', that is September, October, November, December).

Once you hit September, it's only a matter of moments before the holidays come around. Especially in a country where Christmas is a big quarter-long production.

This weekend, as I walked into Shangri-la Mall, the site of faux christmas trees and other ornaments greeted me. Some shops were already putting them out on display for sale.

So, boys and girls, you'd better watch out. It seems Santa is on his way.

And Manila is his first stop.

Reconnecting with Myself

It's a funny thing, this exit of mine from the corporate world.

Chalk it up to the lack of corporate stress. Or maybe the fact that I now have more time to be in the moment. But it's hit me that for at least 20 years of my life, I have been more or less defined by the people I meet on the basis of either which school I go to or which company I work for.

Which college did you go to? La Salle. Ah. Sometimes a discussion then follows about which basketball team should have won the UAAP or a lively argument over which school is better (La Salle or Ateneo. Personally, I am indifferent. I believe your high school is what defines you and shapes you. So where did I go? I attended International Schools in Singapore and Indonesia. You see how one thing can lead to another when talking about schools?)

Where do you work? Oh this was interesting when I took a hiatus after a short stint at Citibank when I was 19 yrs old and concentrated on competitive powerlifting and mountain-biking. I could sometimes practically see people filing me under the "jock with no brains slash rich kid who doesn't want to work and hangs around expensive gyms" category. There were times I wanted to slap them with a copy of "Pride & Prejudice" or maybe launch a discussion on Shakespeare's comedies (in case you're interested, "Twelfth Night" and "Much Ado About Nothing" are my favorites, and yes I have read practially ALL of Shakespeare's comedies, if anyone under the age of 40 wants to start a Shakespeare or Jane Austen book club, let me know). Yet another of my greatest hits from this period was when an ex-boyfriend who was climbing the corporate ladder at the time apparently decided that having a 20-year-old girlfriend who was a full-time athlete was reason to be embarrassed and chucked me behind a pillar in Glorietta mall when we ran into his bosses. After all, if I was a corporate type, I wouldn't be in sweats and trainers during lunch hour on a weekday. 

Where do you work slash what's your position slash do you know so and so? This is the stage where, in your late twenties, people start to equate what you do and what position you have with a lot of things that should never really add up to what kind of person you are. Nevertheless, I always got a bit more mileage talking to people I probably wouldn't have had anything in common with when I got into the type of work I did for Nestle or S.C.Johnson or Colgate-Palmolive or the countries I worked with while doing a regional marketing stint at Kimberly-Clark. I have to say, I got a bit of a rush from talking about work. Sometimes, too much. Sometimes I now look back on that former self and think how boring or one dimensional I may have sounded to an outsider while I was prattling on about work. 

I realize, looking back, that people never talk about what's in their souls or what they are passionate about too much these days. I don't mean talking randomly about what moves you to people you've just met. But really to friends you care about. Sadly, even with closer friends, most discussions have focused on how work has been going, how stressed you are (some even wear stress like a badge of honor), your latest nightmare boss (and aren't there just loads of those going around these days) or your most recent job offer. Worse, some friends talk about their investments and financial coups without concern for some less fortunate friends who happen to be around. How sad that some people make themselves feel good and proud of themselves at the expense of others. Or are sometimes indifferent to how their ego trips make others feel bad.

Do all those things really define a person? I imagine all those things would be poor comfort on a day where you get a bad prognosis off your annual physical or lose a loved one.

Yet, we talk about them more than we do about the things that really make us feel warm, happy, and fuzzy inside. Let alone offer us comfort on times where we may feel incredibly down.

You can hug a child, but I daresay you can't hug your resume. Well maybe you can, but it sure as hell won't hug you back.

So after getting myself more degrees than a thermometer (AB, MBA, Executive Education Certificates from schools here and abroad), and 13 years of solid marketing experience, I now find myself at the peculiar point where I can neither give the name of a school or a corporation when asked what I do.

Yes, I freelance on a regular basis for a design agency and am on my way to co-owning my own business, but I am so much more than that. So much more than the design projects we do for really big brands or the crazy ideas I come up with that keep me awake at night.

Here's who I am.

I'm a wife to David. We may have had an unconventional start, but how we met always makes for a good story. I have never told that story without people ending up believing in serendipity. We're best friends and that counts for a lot. He's my partner in clumsy but devoted parenting to Charly. And even with her, we lucked out. She's a fairly easygoing little girl with a great sense of humor. I love them more than anything in this world. And there are no two other people I would rather spend my day with than them. 

I'm a daughter to parents I am finally having the time to really get to know and become incredibly good friends with. I'm a big sister to a brother finding his way in the crazy world of marketing and advertising - a world I have navigated for over a decade - and am strangely protective over, knowing precisely how machiavellian some industry insiders can be.

Unlike David, I don't have a green thumb, but am discovering an interest for growing herbs. I'm loving how I can have them fresh for cooking. I never thought I'd ever be the type who grows herbs. I like that I am now more in the moment and am able to wake up in the morning and take the time to look out the window and into our little herb garden.

I enjoy cooking and making meals for my family and friends. I enjoy actually having the time to sit down and savor a meal as opposed to sneaking in a bowl of Cerelac in between meetings because that was the only sustenance I could fit in in a few minutes.

I enjoy entertaining at home and feeding my friends. I treasure the fact that we have time to be together.

I'm a good friend to those close to me and are there for them whenever they need me. 

I love books more than ever, and am tickled pink that I now have the time to hang out in bookstores and actually finish reading all the books I have bought.

I love good advertising, and even better design. I love how I can now research more on these passions and apply them to what I do.

I've discovered a love for blogging and am glad I can write down my thoughts, ideas and document Charly's special moments so that she has more memories to build on when she gets older.

When I go to the salon, I can actually enjoy my treatments without looking at my watch ever few minutes, afraid that I may be running late for something work-related.

I love the fact that I now no longer have to keep proving myself to one boss after another. Yes, being a mom-preneur has its challenges. But I know that at the end of the day, I am responsible for my own success. Success now lies more in how hard I work, how strong my character is, than whether I do things a certain way or rub someone's back the right (or wrong) way.

Despite our crazy younger days and a tendency to be sarcastic, David and I are actually a couple of do-gooders who want nothing more than to make this world a better place for Charly to grow up in.

I could probably go on and on about all the things that I love. The bottom line is that I am in the moment more. It hasn't been easy, this big leap of faith. It's never easy leaving your comfort zone. But each time I weight the pros and cons, I always come back to the same decision.

I'm glad I made the change.

Desperately Seeking Nanny

This goes out to all our dear friends who read this blog.

As most of you know, we've been yaya-less for almost a year now. (Note to my non-Pinoy friends, 'yaya' is what we call nannies in the Philippines.)While this deserves at least a couple of high fives, especially in a country where having 2 or 3 yayas trailing after a family and hefting shopping bags of different sizes are the norm, it can be quite nerve wracking at times. Especially when you're a work-at-home mommy.

We've tried out / auditioned 3 yayas or so but have had to let them go after the initial 2 week trial period for several reasons that read like a cross between Stephen King and a script out of Comedy Central:

1. They can't understand a word of English - not a good thing as David cannot speak Tagalog.

2. They don't care much for kids. One yaya preferred stick to housework (something unnecessary as David and I do this on our own), and more or less ignored Charly. You had to see this to believe it, but when Charly tried to be friendly or play with her, she would mostly just stare back. I know this sounds scary, but it's true. I always wondered if this particular yaya was quite right in the head.

3. They are tied to their cellphones. One would-be yaya accompanied us shopping in the houseware section and I barely turned my back for 5 minutes as I paid for some items and the next time I turned around, Charly was doing a pretty good imitation of Norman Bates and Jason, running around with a huge kitchen knife she had pulled out of the display. And where was the yaya? Why, she was standing around oblivious and texting away! Scary, but true. It would have served the yaya right if Charly had dropped the knife on her foot.

4. Another one did not use toilet paper (Now that's just wrong - if she can't clean her own butt properly, how will she clean Charly's? The word 'rotavirus' comes to mind).

5. Yet another one was afraid of heights. Not good, we live on the 18th floor. She also did not like airconditioning (Charly sweats a lot, more often than not she needs airconditioning, especially during the summer).

6. Our latest candidate went into Essences with us this weekend and instead of making sure Charly was entertained, David ended up carrying her and when we looked around for the yaya, she was at the Murad counter asking for a demo and catalogue of their skin care products. So much for keeping an eye on the baby. By the way, this yaya also asked us for an advance on her salary and took a day off within a week of joining us. Supposedly the advance was for her to be able to send money back to her parents. I'm not sure exactly how much of that advance she sent, but she did come back with a cellphone nicer than the one I am currently using.

The thing is, David and I are pretty hands-on parents. Definitely more hands-on than the average Pinoy family. Being yaya-less doesn't really faze us, nor does the fact that we don't have any maids. In fact, most of the problem probably is that these yayas and helpers are used to their employers being quite dependent on them. We have our own way of doing things and operate like a fairly well-oiled tag team when it comes to the baby. So we never just let the yaya 'do her thing'. After all, Charly is our one and only baby. Letting someone raise her in their own way is not an option. We are looking for someone proactive, who will take instructions well and work with us as a team in taking care of Charly. After all is said and done, we also want a bit of time to ourselves.

So. If any of you know of any yaya who fits that description, understands English, likes kids (and of course can take reasonably good care of them), is not glued to her cellphone, with fairly good hygiene (read: use toilet paper and take showers everyday) and are ok to live on the 18th floor, and likes dogs and is over 35 years of age (the ones younger tend to be attached to their cellphones or boyfriends or girl friends) or isn't a shopaholic who will ditch the kid the minute she enters the mall...please, please let us know!

We're not looking for Mary Poppins or Nanny McPhee. Just their distant cousins.

An Impromptu Love Letter

Charly has a habit of knocking on the door to our room, closing it behind her, saying "oh, hi guys". Most times, she does this just to make sure that mom and dad are safely home, then she goes back to her room or goes about her own business playing elsewhere in the apartment.

Sometime last week, David and I left to do some food shopping and left our place while Charly was asleep. When she woke up, she tried to check up on us and was incredibly distraught to discover that the door to our room had been locked.

My mom, who stayed behind with her, sent me frantic SMS messages that Charly was hysterically banging on the door. For some reason, she was convinced that we were in there and were sick or something. Ever the quick-thinking and improvisational grandma, my mom quickly scribbled a short note that read:

Dear CHARLY (her name in bold letters since she can recognize how it's spelled),

We went to the bookstore to pick up some books for you. We will be back in awhile.

Love, Mom and Dad

She read the letter to Charly, who promptly brightened up and kissed the letter. She clutched it in her hand and when we came back home, she had fallen asleep and was still holding the letter some 2-3 hours later.

Something about seeing her asleep with the letter clutched in her chubby fist just made a little 'ping' at my heart.

Coming from a week where David and I were frazzled with errands, chores, and keeping up with the baby, this took all the fatigue away.

The universe is a wonderful thing. Just when you feel rundown, it sends you a little chuck to the chin. Almost like a yo, mama, chin up.

Take my word on this, parenthood may have its trials and tears, but nothing beats being a mommy or daddy when it comes to having surprisingly little feel-good blessings come beaming down your way, uncalled for.

'Pasalubong'

The ubiquitous Baguio Walis.

Can anyone tell me why they remain to be the most hardy and effective of all? Do the Baguio folk put some secret material in them? Anyone? Because to this day whenever I go up to Baguio, without fail, someone asks for these brooms as 'pasalubong'.

David, being American, had to be educated on the concept of 'pasalubong' - the sweet, but mostly bothersome, Pinoy tradition of bringing a little something for everyone in the home or office when coming back from an out of country or out of town trip. He is still trying to come to terms (or should I say, grips) with it. I see his point though. Especially in the case of the aforementioned brooms. I'm pretty sure in most Western cultures, the idea of someone bringing back a broom as a present from a relative coming in from out of town would be considered odd. I mean, snowglobes, yes. Mugs and t-shirts too. And those stickers that clutter up your fridge.

But brooms?

Only in the Philippines.

i heart lomo

I love Lomo cameras.

Yes, they are just about the biggest marketing gimmick on earth (major snaps to the lomographic society for that). But in my opinion, anything that brings film photography back to life is a good thing. Call it a marketer's karma, but I've fallen head over heels, hook, line, and sinker, absolutely in love with these little plastic lo-fi wonders!

In this age of digital cameras where just about anything can be re-touched and edited with the push of a button, these lomo cameras are refreshingly unpredictable. And incredibly human.

Just like Forrest Gump's box of chocolates, you literally never know what you're gonna get when you pick up your pictures from the film lab.

It's liberating, in a way. You can just shoot, shoot, and shoot. Without seeing the images right away the way you would with a digital camera, you feel freer to swing around and shoot away. Little accidents like double exposures show life as you're living it.

The cameras may be clunky and I may get funny looks when I whip out my Fisheye2 or Holga or the funny little Oktomat that doesn't even have a proper viewfinder and operates without batteries, but they take quirky photos that remind me of a time gone by.

And I really do like it that way.

My Entourage

When I was single and used to wake up in the middle of the night - sometimes peckish for a midnight snack, other times just because I couldn't go back to sleep - I would often feel spooked at being alone in the dark.

These days, it doesn't happen anymore.

When I stand up and head for the bathroom or kitchen in the middle of the night, I usually hear Pepe and Riggs shuffling and shifting. Pepe follows me wherever I am headed. Riggs keeps an eye open so he doesn't miss anything. Most times, I have not even finished making the midnight peanut butter and jelly sandwich and I see Charly's little head pop out of the room, calling me "Mom, please come back".

I settle back into bed and sometimes find my whole troop awake, including the hubby.

Sometimes, we all fall back to sleep right away. And sometimes, it turns into an impromptu little family gathering.

Come to think of it, I haven't felt spooked in a long time.

Aah. The little blessings of having your own family.

Olympic Dreams

Charly is at that age where she likes to mimick grown up things. Sometimes she plays 'doctor' to Pepe and Riggs with a plastic stethoscope or plays pretend 'chef' while I cook.

But she has never actually said "I want to be just like that".

Today, David noticed her glued to the TV watching the Olympic games. She was avidly observing Michael Phelps. After seeing him swim, she turned to say "I want to learn to swim just like that, dad".

"I'm going to swim just like that".

And we had never even told her who Michael Phelps was.

The kid sure has an eye for talent.

Let Me Count The Ways

How Do I Love My Blog, Let Me Count The Ways:

1. It's a good way to document all those little thoughts floating around my head. You see, my mind is a very interesting place (you should come by and visit some time!).

2. It's a GREAT way to document Charly's little and not so little to GINORMOUS milestones. Without me having to bore anyone to tears (hey, if you're not interested, you don't need to hear all about it.)

3. First time moms are notorious for acting like the first time their baby did something was the first time ANY baby ever did that thing. Ditto for new wives. I love this blog for letting me regale its pages with all my newfound awe on all things wife and mommy related (and other things too!).

4. It gets a little crazy adjusting to being a wife and mommy and living with a toddler and two crazy dogs. This blog is pure therapy.

5. Our world changes so fast that I want to be able to paint a picture for Chary of the good, and yes even the not-so-good things, that were happening in the world as she grew up.

6. I SUCK at writing things down in her baby book. This is a much better way to keep things down.

7. I get cute little comments from my friends and it gives me a warm feeling that they are somehow connected to me through this fascinating journey.

Mostly, it's made me notice the little moments more. Moments that, were it not for this blog waiting for me at home, I may have not been sensitive enough to catch. But that little bit of pressure (in the nicest way possible) of wanting to come back and write and share and document make me just a bit more aware of things. It's so easy to get caught up in the routine of work, household chores, managing the baby that we sometimes forget to see the blessings, the good stuff, the funny side of what's right in front of us. On my good days, I manage to do this on my own, especially with the hubby's help. On not-so-good days, I am glad that this blog is here, waiting for me to fill it with good things that happened. And helping me always see that there is a good (if not funny) side to most things that happen in life.

I love you, my blog.

We're (not really) All in This Together

More than the refrain from the High School Musical song that every 'tween knows the dance steps to, "we're all in this together" is the underlying message throughout all Olympic games, past and present.

For the 2008 games, "One world, One Dream" is the motto plastered all over China. A phrase that is sadly beginning to crystalize into an oxymoron.

The games hadn't even begun and US speedskating champ, Joey Cheek, already had his visa revoked. With no explanations.

What is even more bothersome is that the U.S. Olympic Committee did not speak up on his behalf.

Could the fact that Chicago is bidding for 2016 have anything to do with this? It's a case of governments, politicians wanting to look good and currying favor from each other. You scratch my back, I'l scratch yours.

It also shows an overwhelming paranoia on the powers that be. Joey Cheek may have organized Team Dafur, but its members are far more influential than the speedskating champ. Is George Clooney attending the Olympic games? Will his visa be revoked too? I imagine that he would draw more media attention rallying for its cause, as he has been known to support in the past than Joey Cheek.

The gods of Mount Olympus must be shaking their heads to see what a muddled up political circus the Olympic Games have become.

It's sad to know that, even for a short while, the countries of this world cannot even really come together as one, putting differences aside.

"One World, One Dream".  So far, it's only just that. A dream.

Sigh.

Before Everything Else...

...there was us.

I love this picture of David and me. Much as we love Charly and the boys, it reminds me that before there was Pepe, before Riggs, and yes way before Charly - there was us.

And 'we' are and should always be each other's number one priority. So long as we're good, everyone else is good :)

Sometimes it's easy to forget that with all the craziness of raising a family and all the adjustments and life changes newlyweds and new parents go through.

But I only have to look at this picture and go back to that happy, sunny day in Cambodia and feel all over again blessed to be married to my best friend. My favorite travel buddy, where even roach infested hotels and running out of gas on a road trip become a reason to laugh (ok, a bit of a stretch, but yes we still laugh about it to this day). Because we can explore strange cities on foot, discovering places that have become special to us, and sharing the same level of excitement finding little 'treasures' in flea markets and off-the-beaten-path stores. My other half whom I need to consult before I feel good about any significant purchase. Who lugged a 6 foot canvass painting all the way from Chatuchak back to Manila (and it is now the envy of all our friends).The guy who turned into Mr. Mom faster than I did. Who loves bookstores just as much as I do, and sniffs the pages of new books and balikbayan boxes as avidly as I do. Who enjoys burning our mouths silly with the spiciest Indian and Thai dishes. And loves experimenting with cooking as much as I do. Who cleans out and organizes my bags despite my many protests. And a million reasons more.

Truly a picture worth a thousand memories, with the promise of more to come.

'Our Song'

I still remember those first few nights when we first brought Charly home from the hospital as a newborn. David took over the night shift like a pro, rocking Charly to sleep and changing her. His song repertoire (an interesting choice ranging from" The Theme from the Greatest American Hero" to the "Mighty Quinn" to "Maniac" from Flashdance which he would sing while changing Charly's nappies and moving her chubby legs up and down in an imitation of Jennifer Beals' leg-warmer clad legs dancing) was definitely more interesting than mine. I mostly drew a blank.

One night, when David was too exhausted to get up and Charly woke up, I couldn't call to mind the lyrics of any infant-appropriate songs. So I winged it. I made up a song that began "You are my bear, my baby bear, my little little baby bear...".

For some reason, it stuck. Everytime I was sleep-deprived and Charly was inconsolable, out popped that song.

These days, thanks to watching Barney and Hi-Five, I have a much wider repertoire of children's songs. But for some reason, whenever Charly is sick or having a nightmare, out pops that little song.

Earlier today when I was sick in bed, Charly woke me up "my baby bear, my little little baby bear..."

She was singing me 'our song' to make me feel better.

Improv Lessons

Scene One

Me (in a singsong voice): It's time to eat!

Charly (predictably): NO!

Me (dangling some noodles from a fork and singing and talking to the noodles): Hi, hello, my name is noodle, would you like to sit and talk today?

Charly (moving forward with a smile and singing too): Hewooo, noodle! Me want some noodles! Hi, hewoo, my name is Charly, would you like to be my friend?

Me (bringing the noodles close to Charly's mouth): Hello, Charly!

Charly (opens mouth wide and munches on noodles): Thank you mom, more noodles pleeeaaaasssseee!

Scene Two

David: It's time for bathie!

Charly: NO!

David: Look, look, the Duckie is swimming in bubbles with Froggie.

Charly: Want to see the duck, the duck...old macdonald had a farm ei-ei-yooowww and on his farm he had a duck!

And in she goes to the tub. The splashing sound of success.

In the immortal words of the Little Einsteins: "mission completion". The hubby and I resist giving each other a high five.

Now who says only actors are good at improvisation?

Fish Spa?!

While in Singapore last year, I saw fish in an outdoor tank and some women dipping their hands in it. Because I was in a rush, I didn't even realize it was what is now known as a 'fish spa'.

I do remember thinking, those poor fish. Since the hubby is a fish lover, I know that fish can be highly sensitive and unnecessary shaking around of their environment can cause stress ( anyone remember "Finding Nemo"?).

Little did I know that those women were literally feeding the fish out of their own hands (well, the skin off their hands anyway).

And I thought I'd seen it all. Apparently these are doctor fish, types of fish that eat off the dead skin and leave your hands and feet (I certainly hope that's all the skin they are targetting) nice and smooth. If you don't know what I mean by now, google it.

While I admit to some curiosity about 'fish spas', I'm not sure I want a living thing eating away at any part of me (dead skin or not). Doesn't that sound a bit like what piranhas do? I know the fish are supposed to want to eat only the flaking, dead skin, but what if one of them decides they like it a little too much and decide to not just stop at the appetizer but go for the full meal?

On a more rational level, wouldn't scouring dead skin, calluses, etc have the same effect? Why have fish do what a few scrapes of Dr. Scholl's filing block can do for you? Isn't that supposed to be bad and encourage more growth of calluses?

What people will do to make a new spin on an old trick. Or more to the point, what some people will be willing to experiment on for the sake of beauty.

Channeling My Inner Groupie

David: Did you know that Kathleen got married to that guy from Savage Garden and left in 2006?

Me: She did? No wonder I saw a new girl, Sun, the other day. I didn't like her too much.

David: Oh, and apparently Tim got in a motorcycle accident

Me: Oh, what happened? Let me google it.

No, we weren't talking about cast members of our favorite soap (I think the last time David or I followed the soaps with any regularity was when John Stamos and Demi Moore were in General Hospital. Ok, that just gave away how old we are.).

We were talking about cast members of Charly's beloved show "Hi-5", the Australian children's pop group that had her singing and dancing even before she could walk.

As I googled what's happened with Charly's favorite Hi-5 members (hey, she even mentions Kathlene, Nathan, Kellie, Charli, and Tim in her evening prayer lineup!), I got another one of those OMG, I'm such a mommy moments.

I was googling celebrities.

While I admit to watching the occasional ET weekly and going through People magazine during mani-pedi sessions at Dashing Diva, the last time I actively sought out updates on celebrities was during my Tiger Beat years. Those were the days when Rob Lowe (before the sex scandal) and Andrew McCarthy updates were enough reason for me and my girlfriends to meet up. Common crushes were definitely reasons for girl bonding ( I actually hear that grown women these days still meet up to talk about their favorite Korean pop stars, what's up with that.) I just thought those years were gone.

However, now when we meet other parents who seem to know one Hi-Five video from another, it's like meeting someone who knows a common secret handshake. Almost like an I know you. And if they know the words to the songs in Hi-5 Hits, well then I REALLY want to bond with them and get the kids together for a playdate. Maybe even swap some CDs.

I'm learning that this parenthood thing is like a brotherhood (or sisterhood) in many, many ways.

It Wasn't Happening

David and I have always been Shyamalan fans, so when we got a copy of "The Happening", we eagerly prepped ourselves for a chilling good time. We even made sure Charly wasn't around to see anything visually gruesome.

Sadly, the only thing that was happening about the movie was its title (yeah, pun).

The message, though grounded on shaky premises, was interesting enough, but the acting was painful. I almost wanted Mark Wahlberg to die.

Maybe that's why John Leguizamo slashed his wrists in the first half of the movie because he saw how bad things were going and no longer wanted any part of it.

This is one script that should have been left alone.

I have this theory that the number of times a toddler says "NO" from 2-4 years of age will nowhere go near the amount of times she will utter that word for the remainder of her life.

Well, maybe if she lives to be 107 years old like my grandfather, but that's still debatable.

These days, Charly is asserting her independence so much that David and I have barely finished our questions and she's already shooting back a "NO".

On days when her sense of humor is up, she will even do a little dance, singing "No, no, no-no-no...." to the tune of Chaka Khan's "whoa, whoa, wo-wo-woah..." refrain from "I'm Every Woman" (yes, I plead guilty, I taught her that refrain while watching 'Bridget Jones' for the nth time).

We so want her to say "YES". Life would be so much easier. Maybe we would even get to places on time.

Ironically, I know the tables will be turned on us when she hits puberty. Then, David and I will be telling her it's alright to say "NO". No to drugs, no to alcohol, no to sex, no to playing hooky from classes...you get the picture.

Why can't kids just be cooperative and do what we want. OMG, I sound like my mother.

Excuse me while I check my head for graying hair.charl

Dark Knight

Ok, I have to put it out here that I loved, loved, loved The Dark Knight.

Thanks to our no-nanny state since late last year, David and I have managed not to step foot inside a movie theater for the first half of 2008. This is a feat considering that we used to watch practically every movie that came out in either Powerplant or Greenbelt 3.

Anyway.

When Dark Knight came out, we bundled Charly off and left her with my folks.

It was totally worth it. I have to say that this is the best Batman film ever. Only a genius like Chris Nolan (and an even better actor like Heath Ledger) could pull of turning Batman into practically a sidekick of the Joker. I've seriously never liked a villain so much. Incredible acting.

And the reviews were right. It was totally chilling how the Joker tells Batman, "we'll be doing this forever". How we wish.

Heath, wherever you are, fist to the heart, man. We loved you in this one. You sure went out in a fireball of glory.

Just one teeny complaint. Christian Bale fills Bruce Wayne's shoes perfectly. But why does the voice of Batman sound like a raspy, tech-ed up version of Clint Eastwood? And why does Gotham look more like downtown Chicago than Manhattan?

Nevertheless, it was still an amazing ride, thanks to the Joker.

I'm going out and getting myself a DVD copy (original!) for Charly to watch when she grows up.

Head, shoulders, knees and toes...

After a child learns to identify their head, shoulders, knees, and toes...what next?

Well of course their curiosity progresses to other body parts.

Charly now knows that girls have vaginas and boys have penises. Yes, we refused to succumb to calling it pee-pee or wee-wee or some other name that may lead to confusion.

She now proudly tells my mom over the phone that Pepe and Riggs have penises. And, like most kids her age are wont to do, repeats it over and over just to make sure her listener got what she was saying the first time around.

Charly: Pepe has penis, penis, penis.

My mom: What?

Me: She's just saying her dog has a penis.

My mom: Why does she need to say that?

Me: I don't know. Why do kids say anything really? Maybe in case we didn't notice?

Is this listed as an official milestone in the baby books?

Mommy Migraine

"What's the best way to get rid of a mommy migraine?"

"Follow the instructions on a Tylenol bottle. Take two and keep away from children"

Funny, yet so true.

Show me a mom of a toddler who doesn't know what I mean, and I'll show you a mom who is so hands-off she likely doesn't know her own child.

Here's the thing about toddlerhood. There are so many adorable aspects about them. The way their little bodies are so warm and cuddly with feet that look like little porkchops. The way they throw themselves so completely into things. The way they tell you exactly what they're feeling, when they're feeling it - no holding back of emotions here ("i WUV you, mom!" yes sometimes even while you're holding their hands while sitting at the potty, waiting for the poo to come out. Theirs, not yours.). How they can pick out the most atrocious color combinations and manage to still make clothes look cute on them. How they actually stop crying and give you a huge smile when you plant a little kiss on their boo-boos. How, even if you're gone for just a few hours, they come running towards you and give you big hugs like they haven't seen you in ages. How they can look like the happiest little things on earth, just by you reading them a bedtime story.

The flipside? They run on their own schedule (the hairs on the back of my neck stand up just looking at the clock turn 1:00pm, Charly's nap time when she begins to morph into stressed-and-sleepy-toddler-who-doesn't-want-to-go-to-bed. I kid you not, there have been days when I have bundled her into the car and strapped her in the car seat to go for a ride, the surefire way to get her to sleep right away). They are like little neanderthals when it comes to feelings (yes, the same spontaneity which makes them throw chubby arms around you and say "i WUV you, mom" is the same spontaneity that makes them throw things on the floor when they get frustrated and can't explain what they want or as Mr. Rogers says "they don't know what to do with the 'mad' that they feel"). The upside is that they have the attention span of a flea (if they fixate on something, so long as mommy is creative enough to distract them, the tantrums can stop justlikethat) . The way they manage to come up with a toddler crisis just as you are running late and trying to get out that door (yes, it has driven me to tears of frustration that I have been late several times although I started getting ready three hours earlier because Charly has either decided she wants to go potty just as I head out the door, or she has rolled around with the dogs and managed to look all grubby and dirty or has decided she doesn't want to go and stays stubbornly glued to her books...the list of reasons are endless).

Mother Nature was wise to hand out our kids in little infant forms. If she'd plopped down toddlers on us, without giving us time to bond with them first, there probably wouldn't be so many takers.

I think I'll pop two more Tylenol. The little one just woke up.

I Miss You

It still amazes me how fast toddlers develop. Every day, you get something new out of the little dynamos.

Charly's latest thing, when she sees my mom and dad, is to run to them with open arms and say "I missed you, I missed you".

I was very glad to be around when she first said this phrase, but even more glad that she was not saying it to me.

Because now, I am around her most of the time. And the few times that she does say "I missed you" is only when I have been away a couple of hours to work on some projects. I know that she says it then only out of affection, more than actually missing me a great deal.

I look back and think about how I would have felt if I was still working long hours at the office only to come home to Charly saying "I missed you". It would have poked a hole right through my heart.

More and more, every day, I know I made the right decision in choosing family over career at this point in Charly's life.

Mamma Mia!

Funny how the same movie, seen at different stages in your life, can affect you in two completely different ways.

When I saw Mamma Mia! on stage in London in 2002, I remember dancing in the aisle to 'Dancing Queen'. Great fun! I remember thinking I must book that ticket to the Greek islands that I had always planned with my girl friends.

Last night, I saw Mamma Mia, the movie, I still had fun, Pierce Brosnan's terrible singing voice notwithstanding. But more than wanting to get up and dance to 'Dancing Queen', much to my chagrin, I got teary-eyed when Meryll Streep sang 'slipping through my fingers' as she prepared her daughter for her wedding.

Damnit. I hate being 'such a woman'. I thought those teary-eyed moments ended when the baby was born and the pregnancy hormones let up.

I was wrong, though. Those moments were just the beginning. As my little baby has moved into toddlerhood and now looks more like a little kid than the toddler she still is, I really realize that motherhood is a series of celebrations and goodbyes. Of holding on tight, and letting go.

When she was a little baby, I used to dream of the day she would hold her head up. All too soon, she did. Just as I was enjoying having a little doll of a baby just bouncing on my lap, she started crawling and wanting to be free. Although her lower lip still quivers at times when I say goodbye, there are also just as many moments when she tucks her wubbie and favorite little pink bag under her arms and confidently waves, "bye mom!" as she goes off with other relatives. She runs head on into pet shops now, not even looking back to see if I am following behind. Her love, which used to be focused solely on David and me, is now getting spread around. It's not that she loves us less, it's that she has more and more to give.

Everyday is full of new milestones, and of saying goodbye to the stages gone past. Stages that she will never be at again. A little reminder that I had better enjoy what I have right here, right now, rather than worry about the future, for this moment will never come back again.

I can only take a deep breath, pray, and enjoy the ride, keeping in mind that this parenthood thing is all about the journey, not the destination.

An Unlisted Milestone

While running across the mall to meet my mom this afternoon, Charly stopped and pointed to an aqua blue t-shirt with KungFu Panda on it. She dragged me into the store, stopping only at the display rack.

"Mom, please pay. Please pay." This was said with big wide eyes, and the cutest smile.

"You want this?" I asked her.

"Please pay. Want to wear now" and she actually started taking off the t-shirt she was wearing.

Finding this very cute, the first time she has ever spotted an article of clothing and specifically asked me to buy it for her, I paid for the t-shirt and let her wear it.

A milestone, I thought to myself. Although not one officially listed in the baby books.

And then it hit me.

Just two years old, and she's already joined the ranks of female shoppers.

Generation Gap

One of my godsons is at that age where they like to repeat the same thing over and over and over again.

After listening to him repeat something for what seemed like the 27th time, I sighed, "you sound like a broken record."

The little guy stopped mid-sentence, "Tita, what's a record?"

It hit me then that, having been born in a generation of CDs and DVDs, he had no idea what a record is.

"It's like a CD, honey. Only bigger."

To which he replied with all the authority of a 4 year old, "Why didn't you just say CD, then? My CDs keep repeating themselves once they get all scratched."

Why indeed.

Now even our favorite expressions need an upgrade. Someone get on that, please.

My day so far...

I was going to write about toilet paper in our fish tank, scratches across my beloved bookshelf, and almost hurting my already-injured hip sliding across doggie drool on the floor.

And that was just this morning.

Deep breaths, deep breaths.

Just as I was about to start talking to Charly like the adult she isn't ("Why would you do that???" and all other such questions that I have no business posing to a toddler since I imagine if she did answer me logically, " Why, mom, I believe I did that because I needed an outlet for my frustration over not being able to catch the fish", I would actually run screaming for surely an alien had taken over her body)... I stumbled upon this cartoon online.

Truly worth a thousand words.

Not So Kiddie Prices

It's great how they now have kids' versions of just about everything from yoga pants from Gap to cute little Converse sneakers.

Now, kids can look just as cool as their parents (I imagine when I hit midlife, it will then be the reverse and I will be wanting to look as cool as my kids, but let's save that for another post!).

When I saw the adorable little Crocs out in the market, I jumped to get Charly one in the exact same style as the ones I have (not the same color, that would be too cheesy).

Now, it's one thing to drop $30-40 on a pair of casual shoes that you may wear a year or two. Quite another if the little owner outgrows them in a couple months.

Why are those little Crocs (and those little yoga pants and little sneakers, and come to think of it, practically everything that are mini versions of cool stuff that adults wear) priced practically the same as the adult version? They most likely come out of a mold created for each size, and they require less material to make...is it that there are special little people who have higher wages making them?

No, most likely it's a scheme from the marketing guys.

They've gotten into our heads and know that parents are willing to drop a ridiculous amount of money to make our kids look cool.

That "Stateside" Scent

I used to work in fragrancing so I know my top notes from my bottom notes. I also know that the most loved scents are the ones you can't capture in a can or a bottle.

The smell of new books. A newborn baby. A new car. That indescribable mix of sun, seaspray, sand and suntan oil that screams "beach".

And one of my personal favorites, the smell when you open your luggage after a trip from the States. Yes, it even comes from 'balikbayan' boxes.

David is American so I had some trouble explaining this to him in the beginning. Now that he has been in Manila for over 4 years, his nose has gotten acclimated to Manila pollution and is better able to discern that fresh air from the USA that manages to sneak in enclosed luggage spaces and 'balikbayan' boxes.

Now, when his mom sends 'balikbayan' boxes filled with goodies for Charly, we all gather around for the 'grand opening' and collectively get a whiff of that 'stateside' scent.

Ahh. Now if only we could bottle that scent and sell it.

Best Friends

When I was single, I used to scoff at Barney. And when Charly was born, I told David that there was no way we would turn into parents who would sing along with a crazy purple dinosaur who looked like a lump of clay.

Then one day Charly grabbed my legs, and hugging me to her, sang "I love you, you love me. We're best friends like friends should be, with a great big hug and a kiss from me to you, won't you say you love me too?"

She placed an emphasis on the "We're best friends" part as she hugged my legs. Hit me straight in the heart.

From that day on, I've been a fan.

Barney, I love you.

A Rat No More

After 13 years in marketing, I am officially saying goodbye to being a full-time corporate citizen today.

It's a first for me. After getting my MBM degree from AIM, I went straight into Selecta, then I took my post-graduate executive education certificates from the Wharton Business School and Columbia University. Brand management posts in Colgate-Palmolive, S.C.Johnson & Son, Kimberly-Clark and Nestle all followed in back-to-back succession.

But something happened to me 2 years ago that made me re-evaluate my priorities. Charly was born.

All of a sudden, the late nights at work meant time away from my young family. It was manageable in the first year. It got harder as she developed her own unique personality and I noticed her character, sense of humor, intelligence, and independence developing at warp-speed.

In the past, staying at the office until midnight simply meant I would end up missing a pilates class or not going to that much-awaited movie premier. Now, it means missing out on milestones. The first time Charly spoke her first full sentence. The first time she sang the 'itsy bitsy spider' all on her own. Not being there to give her a hug of pride the first time she asked to go to the potty all on her own. Failing to tuck her in bed at night while saying her evening prayers. Not having enough time to spend with the hubby, catching up on each other's lives.

In a nutshell, it meant that I was spending more time growing someone else's business than developing my baby's heart and mind. It meant I was spending more time on understanding how consumers relate to my brands than how I could better relate to my family.

It meant missing so many opportunities when I could show her right from wrong, boost her confidence by giving her big hugs. Wipe the tears brought about by the latest boo boo.

Several studies have shown that a child's intelligence and social skills are cemented within the first 4-6 years of life. That means that what I do for Charly now will set her up with a good start for the rest of her life. Those 4-6 years have a high possibility of doing a lifetime of good for my little one.

Do I spend the next few years focusing on work, work, work and miss out on my child's critical years.

It was a no brainer. Still, it was a difficult decision to make. Work has always been a huge part of my life. Slowing down would also mean a bit of a lifestyle change and adjusting to a smaller income.

But sometimes the universe gives you a big club over the head when you just don't get it. For me, it all came to a head last month when I realized that there were weeks when the only time I would see Charly awake during the weekdays was when David would bring her over and meet me at lunchtime for a quick lunch and baby bonding session.

I knew then that something had to give.

I'm not saying I will start wearing frilly aprons and baking my own bread (although I do make a mean meatloaf from scratch and have a favorite Dean & DeLuca apron!). Thanks to friends in advertising, I am still able to nurture my creative side by working freelance on design projects and conceptualizing events and writing on the side (hey, throw some work my way in a few months!) as well as helping out with the family business. I may even eventually take on a job that won't command 12-15 hours a day of work, once Charly is in school. But I have made a decision that I won't let my profession get in the way of family. Charly will have her mommy when she needs her. The hubby will have a wife who is not so frazzled with work, and whose mobile phone does not beep even as they enjoy the sunset off the Angkor Wat on their vacation.

I'm not saying that women who choose to balance career and child-rearing are in the wrong. Some of my mommy idols are women who excel in their career and still manage to raise children who win spelling bees and athletic meets. I'm just saying that for me, it wasn't a good, comfortable fit. The tug of war between demands of career and family that surely plague every working-mom pulled at my heartstrings a little too much for comfort.

A senior executive at the office gave me the most heartwarming and inspiring advice a new mom contemplating on a career hiatus could receive. She shared with me that, at the height of her career, she too had taken a hiatus to spend time with her children. Years later, and now back in the corporate world, she is still at the peak of her game and so are her children in theirs. She said that if you work hard enough, you could manage to pick up where you left off in your career. But miss out on those critical years, and you can never make that up to your children.

One of my favorite writers, Anna Quindlen, advices us in "A Short Guide to A Happy Life" never to confuse your life and your work. The second is only a part of the first.

I've never forgotten the classic saying "No man on his deathbed ever said 'I wish I had spent more time at the office'."

One of my favorite coffee mugs shows a mouse saying "If you win the rat race, you're still a rat."

And of course, the great John Lennon wrote, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."

So, from today onwards, the corporate world will have to take a backseat. It's family first for me now.

Big 'ug

This morning, Charly woke me up with a big smile saying, "big 'ug, mom, big 'ug".

Through my bleary eyed daze, I realized she had her arms open wide. She wanted a big hug.

I gave her one and she settled in my arms comfortably and went back to sleep.

Ahh. Heaven on earth.

Mornings should all be so nice and warm and snuggly.

"Why don't you..."

I was lucky enough to be one of those rare women who didn't start 'showing' their pregnancies until practically the 8th month.

Meaning I had less than 4 weeks of unwanted attention. People patting your stomach (anyone ever heard of the word ' personal space'?), asking whether I was having a boy or a girl, and numerous unsolicited horror stories about childbirth that would have made Stephen King proud.

All this, however, did not prepare me for the barrage of well-meaning, but mostly ill-timed, advice that came in all forms from the mildly-irritating to the downright-lunatic.

If I'd been given $1 for every single time I heard "Why don't you...", I would be a rich woman now.

When David and I decided that Pepe and Riggs would sleep in the room with Charly, there were more raised eyebrows directed at me than I would have gotten wearing last season's Manolos at an art gallery opening in Chelsea. The dogs would bite her, she would bite the dogs (germs!), she would get all sorts of diseases, it was irresponsible....etc, etc, etc. The ones who stayed politely mum had such a huge thought bubble over their heads that I wanted to tell them to just come out and say it.

This was just the beginning of the barrage of comments and yes, even criticism, that I've discovered gets directed at you with all the subtlety of Typhoon Frank the moment you become a parent.

Why is it that the moment you have a child everyone thinks they know better than you? During the first quarter of Charly's life, I was told that the baby was too fat (where was her neck? wasn't she becoming a little too tubby?), her male-sounding name would give her a complex and cause gender-confusion, did we want a boy - was that why she was not in pink 24/7?, she needed socks the minute the temperature dropped below room temperature (try this on a baby who hated wearing socks and mittens)...and on and on it went. In my recovering-from-a-c-section haze, along with the pressure of planning the baptismal party in less than 3 weeks to the day we brought the baby home, I soon developed a way of zoning out (think of your favorite peaceful place and transport yourself there) which soon became a hardened mask to protect me from buckling under the weight of all the advice.

Two years later, I am still getting hit with it, but I've now developed a sense of humor (and this blog) to keep my wits about me.

I've learned that parenting is something which everyone will always have an opinion on. Best of all, I've learned to keep my mouth shut and not argue back and defend my parenting style. After all, Charly is healthy, happy, knows her Matisse from Van Gogh, her Gucci from Hermes, hiphop from jazz, and most of all, loves, loves, loves to read. Pepe and Riggs are her best friends and they have not bitten each other. Despite her guy-sounding name, she is a girly girl who says 'yuck' when handling wet clay. Yet she is also rugged enough to put on her favorite baseball cap backside forward.

The bottom line: we all know our children best. And because no two children are alike, you can only take what you think will work and screen out the rest. And pray, pray, pray.

Yes, I do give mommy advice, but only when asked or when comparing notes.

And yes, I do resist the urge to pat pregnant women's tummies and ask if it's a girl or boy.

Baby Spice

When I was pregnant with Charly, we lived within a block of New Bombay Foods (one of my favorite Indian restaurants!) in Salcedo Village. I craved the paneer and the chicken tikka massala and the kebabs which I always asked the owners to make extra spicy. Those dishes, plus the warm roti or nan, and I was one happy preggy mommy-to-be. Never mind the fact that my OB always warned me that spicy foods meant even more hyperacidity. I figured my bottle of Maalox and Tums were already my best friends, what's one more spicy dish.

They say that the baby becomes pre-disposed to whatever the pregnant mom eats.

This must be true, because Charly LOVES spicy food.

We had our usual family Sunday lunch at People's Palace this weekend and it warmed my heart to see Charly eating the spicy Thai fishcakes, the red prawn and pumpkin curry, and even chewing on fresh peppercorns like a pro.

I'm proud to say my baby is not a wimp when it comes to spicy food!

My Baby likes Rock

They say Mozart is brain food for babies. Dutifully, the hubby and I loaded up her iPod with everything Mozart, Bach, Beethoven, Vivaldi...till even I was getting classical overload.

But now that she's requesting for songs on demand (thank you to iPod for the repeat play function!), she is asking for John Mayer, Billy Joel, and Bob Marley. Sometimes old-school rap. Miles Davis is her favorite going-to-sleep music (yes, she knows her jazz). She's developed a liking for Elton John ever since she saw him banging on the keyboards with Kermit and the gang in an old Muppet Show episode. And although I've played the Blue Danube more than Bennie & the Jets, guess which song she requests by name.

Yes, just like most kids she loves the gang from Hi-Five and Barney songs but it warms my heart (and my ears) to know she's got an ear for good music too.

Maybe Mozart wired her brain early on to make that distinction. Thank God she doesn't like those songs they play on Pinoy noontime shows. I would rather hear Bennie & The Jets for the nth time than have my baby requesting for yet another round of the Papaya Song. I would rather see her bobbing her little head to Chaka Khan (yes, she's loved "I'm Every Woman" since catching me watching "Bridget Jones's Diary") than breaking into inane dance moves after hearing the Ocho-Ocho.

Thanks, Mozart.