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.