The American President

We recently got Charly a children's book on famous American Presidents.

I realize that at three years of age, she is a tad too young to fully understand what it means to be a president, much less the American President. But as I watch this historic Inauguration live, it hits me that when it does, Charly will come into that knowledge with President Obama in office.

And while our generation can appreciate what a big step it is to have the first African-American U.S. president, Charly's generation will wake up with one already in office.

And for them, it won't be such a big deal because the Obama years will be all they'll know when they are old enough to be discussing the American President in school.

I think about it and realize that that's a really, really good thing.

And I'm so glad that though Charly was born during the Bush years, the Obama administration is the first one that she will truly experience.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

'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.

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