A R T S Y F A R T S Y

My daughter incessantly awes me with works beyond her mere five years.

Some time ago, she learned how to properly (take note of the description) clean dishes, although I discouraged her immediately as it may lead to accidents.

More recently, she conquered toilet time alone, having been left by her wonderful mother in her kindergarten class on the day that the principal requested for all parents to leave the kids to the teachers. Miss Potty Power then could no longer hold back her number two and hoped that her teachers would come to rescue her, so she ran to the girls' room. She told me she hollered for help, but seemingly destined to have her solve this alone, nobody responded. Miss Potty Power then mustered up all her courage (and balled up lots and lots and lots of toilet paper) until she got the job done.

I buy her crayons, markers and chalk for her creative explorations all because this is what I understand to be a pre-schooler's necessity. True enough, our refrigerator is just about ready to accommodate her drawings even on the inside. The real surprise for me a few months back was her capacity to make artworks even on the computer (using MSPaint). The work on top is called Sun Fla.

Here are some of Rocio's works and the titles she gave them herself.


The Rbatik MashinsRaker Kid
(I think she means rocker.)




My Mommy
(although I am not nor have I ever been a curly haired blonde.)
Canada
(and only God knows why she thought of Canada.)



Miss Universe 2007

H A P P Y M O T H E R ' S D A Y

Today, I will smile at my stretch marks--- which could have very well been a CS scar.

There will pobably be lesser chores to face (or more if we suddenly decide to have a picnic!)

My cellphone will flood with messages I must reply to. What's witty and sincere to text back?

And then I'll have to rethink how deserving I really am for those greetings... scary!

This is supposed to be a day for extra attention (at least until they greet me, sure.)

Who knows just what to do with that volatile surge of TLC?

I should get ready for my melt-down. The trademark Mama Boohoohoo. My hubby and kids will slobber all over my face, then snap my curved spine back into place with their wrestler hugs, then say something like, "You're the best Momma in the whole wide world, even if you don't allow me to sleep over in my cousin's house."

Hey, that's a great text-back idea... THANKS, FRIEND--- REMEMBER THAT YOU'RE ALSO A GREAT MOM EVEN IF YOUR LECHE FLAN LOOKS LIKE THE RUINS OF IRAQ.

Mothers have to be kind, honest and firm to be happy. A mother who can't handle the truth can't possibly be happy; so with one who is abusive and/or abused. If my kids don't like my rules, that shouldn't fail me as their Mom. Instead, that should make me feel empowered--- imagine, they can't do anything about the rules but obey. While they say that they are happy that I am their Mother, they have to be happy about my rough edges, too. The rough edges will stick around for a very long time, perhaps their whole lives even, and they have to be sincerely thankful even if they never show it. And that--- like the stubborn stretch marks running across my belly--- is so cool.

When the Medium is a Giant

No television until after the first hour of waking. This is my house rule, and I lead by example. My family--- much as we are all good looking (yea, right), has a terrible eye medical history that has left me with no choice but to consciously curb the viewing time of my kids. I suppose that when I insist on my family being so beautiful, that would be the imperfect vision talking.

My daughter, being the splendidly intelligent creature in the clan, sticks to the rule--- then rushes to my grandmother’s house as soon as the waking hour expires so that she can bask in the nonsense of Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network. Her house rule, therefore, is if Momma says no, ask Mamita.

She is lucky we live in a democracy and that I stand by the law of the land. If I were given the power, I would question many things about Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network--- things beyond destroying eyesight and bordering on corroding values. Do not wonder--- a dictator slew Voltes V when I was about five.

It is silly enough to have a squirrel swimming with an animated sponge in deep sea, and almost disturbing to have the starfish parade in his underwear. SpongeBob and all his unpretty friends do not contribute to better artwork from my child. I used to think nothing could get uglier than The Simpsons until Beavis & Butthead came along. Now, even marine life look like hustlers having names like Mr. Krabs, who happens to sell Krabby Patties. What is up with that?

It is also alarming to hear Chalkzone teach my daughter that Cleopatra wore braces. Worse, terminologies like “Idiot,” and “Shut up,” and “Loser,” are rampant in shows that are called My Gym Partner’s A Monkey. I have heard my daughter use these words with other kids. Not very cute.

Demassification is a system of organizing the right shows for the right targets. I should know, I used to be a media practitioner. So, to see shows for preschoolers get mixed up quite loosely with programming for young teens and degenerate adults (ok, I take the last 3 words back, Honey) is an issue for parents and educators. Suddenly, my 5 year old is talking crushes (the way the Unfabulous characters do) or is making fun of hillbillies (the way Amanda Bynes in All That does) when in fact we live in a rural area.

Given all the revenue these networks have, it would be a cinch for them to create entirely new channels devoted to very young children so that these delicate audiences are not prematurely tossed into the blurred realities of unrequited love, pointless wars, and futile attempts at making history funny. (Makes me wonder how Chalkzone would depict Hitler’s holocaust!)

Sure, I like High-5 (even if I get annoyed by the accent) and I am crazy about The Backyardigans! These shows I can leave my daughter watching, singing and dancing to, even re-living afterwards.

I forgive Justice League, Batman, Superfriends, and Teen Titans because these are remnants of the cartoon I used to hate, er, watch as a child. Winx and Totally Spies--- these make my daughter pixie-like yet cunning and strong, something like a mini Beyonce Knowles. Lazytown--- with exception to the spandex--- is also a wonderful show to see every now and then. If you watch it a lot, the hot pink will melt your retina.

But most other shows like Cow and Chicken (not a muslim cooking show)… the smartly titled Ed, Edd, and Eddy… Cat-Dog (which is most insane)… Johnny Bravo (which shows that 100-degree good looks make up for a below-zero IQ)… and all those other children’s shows that lack sophistication and respect for kids’ appreciation--- think twice about them before allowing your child to watch. The networks will not take responsibility for any action or reaction your child will have towards the shows.

I do not wish to dismantle Nickelodeon or Cartoon Network, I am too small (and too busy living) to do that. However, in behalf of those parents who get unfairly blamed for the ill behavior of their kids, and for those parents who are truly vigilant but also too preoccupied to organize a battle against a medium that is actually a giant--- I would like to ask these networks to consider segregating programs not through timeslots but through entire channels.

I would also like to request them to make more historically correct animation, culturally embracing programs (like Dora the Explorer), literacy-oriented shows (like Sesame Street), and to tone down the use of hot pink.

(Honey, I didn’t say anything bad about Tom and Jerry, okay? I hope that makes everything fine now.)

CRIB SAFETY

Moms (and other people who also love to take care of babies), please ead and follow the instructions of the cribs you buy or borrow.

There is usually a WEIGHT LIMIT for the bassinet that comes with the play pen. Don't risk a collapse of this crib--- remember, even if it breaks down, it is still steel or any similarly rigid material. You don't want your baby trapped under all that framing.

Use beddings made for the crib or are fitted perfectly to its dimensions. Loose sheets and too many pillows may be hazardous.

When you put in toys, it's not just enough for you select the soft kinds and not the ones your infant might hurt his head or tender limbs against. It's also a must that you oversee his or her playtime to ensure that the child does not choke or stumble over any of them.

And this last one may be against your interior designer's advise, but if you have no choice but to position your playpen near walls or furniture, make sure there are absolutely no electrical outlets within reach. Use baby-proofing safety plugs if there are. The furniture by the playpen should also be very sturdy and clear of things that might fall into the crib. Also, if the playpen has net sides as shown in the picture, it is best to put a safety cushion between the crib and the wall or furniture to keep the baby from hitting his or her head in case he or she falls from the crib-standing routine. Now, you thought side protection was just for sanitary pads?

Don't fret about having a bad-looking nursery (or even master bedroom) with all these baby-proofing precautions. Once you look inside the crib, that's where the beauty all lies. Or crawls, or sits, or stands, you know what I mean.

Strange Sandwiches

If you have 2 slices of bread and no idea what to slap on them before a serious chomp-down, here are some suggestions which I have tried with a few family members and close friends:

1. Peanut butter and banana

2. Butter and brown sugar

3. Mayo-mustard (sometimes with wasabi!)

4. Mayo and cucumber

5. Apple and cheese (I like edam)

6. Mayo and liver spread

7. Ice cream (from a pint or tub)

8. Ranch dressing and potato chips

9. Mashed sardines

10. Pancit canton (even the instant kind might work)

11. Pork and beans

12. Chicken and avocado

If any of these 12 strange sandwiches makes your mouth water, there’s a big chance you are pregnant. Congratulations!!!

Does Your PreSchooler Dislike Reading?

Most children do not read until first grade. Thanks to television, our kids have become dependent on moving images to explain everything they need to know.

If you are lucky enough to send your child to a tutor or school capable of making preschoolers actually read a string of 3 or more letters, then you probably have nothing to worry about. However, if your child is already in early elementary and still encounters difficulty in properly reading 5-or-more lettered words, consider this:

1. Limit television and play time. There should be enough time for these two things as well as training for academic skills.

2. Use labels around your house (i.e., ‘cupboard’ or ‘drapery drawer’ or ‘toxic agents’) so that your child could retain these words and develop a better liking for reading. This, of course, means that you have to involve your child in your house chores so that he or she may be forced to read the labels you have dutifully placed all over your house.

3. Take your child shopping for books. Perhaps he or she dislikes reading because the books you buy do not interest him or her? Ask your child about his or her interests, and don’t impose any reading that he or she admits is “too thick” for him or her.

4. Allow your child one hour of solo internet surfing a day. It does not even matter if your child only ends up playing on-line games. He or she will have to read everything alone just to get to the playing stage.

5. If it is your sort of thing, karaoke could guarantee you some family bonding time and lots of reading, although not exactly singing perfection, but that can be addressed later.

6. Play reading games where you child gets a prize each time he or she reads a challenging word correctly. The prize doesn’t have to be material, it can be a simple but relaxing 1-minute back rub. Now, if he or she can read 60 difficult words a day, I don’t think you’d mind doing an hour-long massage.

A normal child would find reading fun because “all the grown ups do it.” It is important that you share your time in developing your child’s reading. If you still detect much difficulty after giving these tips a run for a few weeks or even months, I suggest immediately consulting a doctor if in the worst case your child has reading disorders.

Le Big Dip

I have a hidden talent. I give a great bath.

Many moms, especially the first-timers, are very unsure about giving baths to their infants, to the point wherein the baby enjoys it sparingly! Poor, stinky baby!

Newborns are the trickiest because they are so fragile, and new moms are usually lethargic from all the labor pains and the sudden surge of new responsibility. For a step-by-step guide on bathing a newborn, click on the link. This is what I followed when I had my second baby.

I suppose all a new mom has to focus on would be ORGANIZATION (getting everything ready and in the proper place), TEMPERATURE (make sure the water is warm enough and there is no draft in the room or lavatory), and CARRYING TECHNIQUE (whichever way is more comfortable and most safe for you and your baby.)

Do you need to buy all those baby products? No!

I was lucky to have a tub lent to me, it looks just like the one in the picture. My mother also gave me an anti-slip mat for the baby in the tub, which I refuse to use because I know that these things could culture bacteria pretty quick in a humid setting. The pediatrician advised me to use Dove moisturing bar instead of those baby soaps in the market, and it is also what I use for the baby's hair until now.

My second baby is a record holder in terms of length, so he pretty much takes up the entire tub nowadays. He is about to turn 7 months in a couple of days, and he has graduated into bathing while standing up (with lots of support, of course!)

I am fortunate that he loves bath time and sometimes is the one who even suggests it with a grunt that he has trained me to recognize. I don't suggest bath toys at all--- they can be causes of accidents, and you wouldn't really want your baby to soak longer than 10 minutes, which is about the whole time it takes me to bathe my son.

I also suggest that new moms flex their arm muscles a lot, but still have that gentle grasp around their babies' limbs and chests. If they don't carry their babies a lot, they should at least lift weights during their spare time to get those arms in condition for any slippery experience with their little ones.

Most importantly, the babies should NEVER be left alone during baths. For any reason, do not look away from the child. It will also help for the new mom to have the assistance of another person, just in case the mom suddenly feels faint or worse.

New moms, don't be too scared to do this to your babies. They need it, first of all, and there are wonderful benefits for you as soons as you learn to do this right. Your babies will not only love baths and not give you a hard time, they will also fall asleep as soon as you tape on their fresh diapers--- I guarantee you!

You Gave Who a Bad Name?

When I was about 10, we got a kitty from somewhere or someone that we actually burdened ourselves with when it came to naming. No name was cute enough for the kitten, so we postponed the ‘baptism’ until… until it became a full-grown cat.

The whole time, we called it “Pusa”, which is Filipino for what else?

It is a tough job to name a kitten, what more your own kid?

Some people take this with a grain of salt, maybe they are blessed enough to have an arsenal of names to choose from. Others really wreck their brains creating anagrams of hunting for meaningful names (guilty as charged). Idols, close relatives, pop icons--- anything goes for us, liberty is fully expressed, and the carnival opens its doors.

My firstborn is a girl: Rocio (Marian name because she was born in October) Camille (her Dad’s choice) Helena (the royal name, after all, she is a queen.) She was born in the year of the 9-11 attacks, 2001.

The boy in the room next to ours, born on the same day as Rocio, was named Osama (yes, like Bin Laden.)

From my internet readings, some people even name their kids after nature, like the folks of Joaquin Phoenix, whose siblings are Rain, Leaf--- and of course, the late River. I also came across a nature-name combination: Rainbow Sunshine. If I were ever forced to bestow a nature-name, it would be Thunder, and it would be for a big dog. By the way, one of my neighbors is named Xyclone, and I have mistakenly called him Cyclops once, so this is clearly not for me.

Back to my net readings, there was even this example of twins named Tadea (today) and Tamarra (tomorrow.) This is quite witty, but actually tackier in the long run. Names are not very favorable when they are difficult to spell or pronounce. For instance, my childhood friend Fleurbelle was often called Doorbell. My name is Gisele, just like the supermodel, but growing up before Miss Bundchen’s influence put me in situations where I was easily dismissed as Liezel, Michelle, Diesel (yes, the crude oil), and for some odd reason, Janice. As you can see, the name game is more complicated than you think.

Don’t get me wrong, though, I am so in love with my name. It’s just that many people are, for lack of a better description, lacking in sophistication.

Some are too sophisticated for ordinary names, though, that they have to make up their own. Rumer Glenn is one of Demi Moore’s daughters. Pilot Inspector is somebody’s child, I don’t know who, and maybe I don’t want to know anyway. Usually, you have rockstars adapting new names for themselves like Slash, Sting, Axl Rose, Eminem… but to have a baby being called Ludacris or Puff Daddy or Notorious B-I-G is just insane. These are not real names; people should not be called by names that are not really for people.

It’s cool if you just like the sound of a name and don’t even bother researching about it, but think about what your kid would go through with your choice. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that a kid named Jingle or Twinkie would have a hard time with childhood jeers and, eventually, corporate disrespect.

Here are some of my picks for the worst ‘real’ names parents could actually pick for their kids.

Boys:

Gaylord
Thank you, Ben Stiller.

I love the gay community,

but I know even they wouldn't use this name.
Bubba
This name always comes with the accent.
It’s like d-uh. with a B.
d’Artagnan
We love the musketeers,
but this name should really be left
in the golden times.
Dorcus
Sounds European. European dork.
Dick
Oh… you are such a--- bleep!
Judas
I bet you’ll never name your own kid Judas.


Girls:

Blandina
I’ve been using this name in my
jokes as a stupid teenager.
Bertha
Always sounds big, old, and giving birth-a.
Talulah
Sexy to some, but just ridiculous to me.
Latrina
Research proves that this name is derived
from latrine. That’s a toilet.
Bo
This is not even a name.
Are you trying to scare anyone?
Candida
Very popular among the elderly;
thank God Albans is not a popular Pinoy surname.

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Simplicity and Perfection

There is a simple rule to having in-laws, and that rule is “everything is complicated.”

Even in the most hospitable nations, there is a bruised side of growing up in a totally new community of people who were not related to you some time ago but are now--- and will forever be, as you wisely wished--- as cherished as your own blood relatives.

If you were raised in a family that says nobody is more important than your own, then you will have some trouble putting a new family in that very same number 2 spot--- number 1 being the family you and your spouse formed.

Seemingly a rite of passage, all married or cohabiting couples go through some sort of relationship exercise. It’s not an easy test. It’s either you win and your spouse feels bad about it (those are his/her parents that you somehow dissed anyway), or you lose and you spouse could be simply okay with that.

Who believes in perfect in-laws? I don’t think I will get a perfect son-in-law or daughter-in-law when my kids’ times come. I don’t think I’m a perfect daughter-in-law, and I don’t think I have perfect in-laws.

I once heard my mother-in-law say that she had the perfect mother-in-law, and that she wanted to be just like her. Well, I’m not anything close to my mother-in-law, and although it’s good for her that she seemed to like her own mother-in-law, I don’t want to impose anything on anyone. Not on her, not on me, not on my husband …most importantly, not on my kids.

Somebody close to me is going through some bumpy times with her in-law invasion. The couple is back from abroad to spend several weeks with their son, his wife (my friend), their toddler son… yup, that’s it. From what has reached me, the entire affair excludes my friend’s school-age daughter from a previous relationship.

It has come to a point wherein the daughter is back with her real grandparents while her stepbrother’s are still in the country.

Some would argue--- if the husband really wanted to take this wife who already had a child before his own, then he should also enkindle the child for good. Some would also say--- the wife should have picked a husband who would enkindle her firstborn.

It is useless to have pingpong views now; they’re already married.

Some would also (although tactlessly) declare, “Love me, love my dog!” Ergo, love the kid or kids, love all the in-laws, just love, love, love. However you make that possible is a totally new blog entry all together… which I cannot write because I am not a believer of it.

This is a situation where you don’t want to blame anyone. I give my friend a countdown every now and then, as if this were a challenge on a reality show she joined which has the grand prize of 12 peaceful, in-law-free months. I avoid judging the in-laws, no matter what stories I hear, because I know very little about them, and that little exposure I have to them showed they are actually educated folk with good manners! I give her husband the benefit of the doubt that he is supportive of his spouse more than anyone, and that he at least feels for the child that should already be his own regardless of genetics.

If my friend ever reads this anytime soon, here are some more things I am asking her to consider aside from the countdown:

1) Don’t expect anybody else to adore your kids except yourself. Husbands, in-laws, even our own relatives and closest pals--- they are not your kids’ mothers. You are. Do not make them expect to be loved at all times then.

2) If people show their love to your kids, show gratitude whatever way is comfy for you. If they show their hate, however, don’t even get comfy at all. But remember, hate is a very strong word. Before you unleash any wrath, make sure there is really that very strong incident in history, and also double check if it was all your imagination.

3) You may not always be by your child’s side when he or she needs you, so it is very advisable that you make the most effort to be together even if he/she doesn’t need you so much on the time you are available. You’re not alone in this--- so many working mothers, job-driven or simply cursed to be away. Some even across seas and beyond broadband.

4) When you are with your child, know what issues and how best to explain them. Do not badmouth anyone because that would not destroy your enemy… it would only destroy your child. Focus on the positive aspects in the issues; as a mother, it is your job to excavate the positive aspects. (Say what? All negative? Please read the last sentence until you get the positive.)

5) Cliché goes time heals all wounds… so if you are in a crossfire, give it some time until the peace talks kick in. This does not happen overnight. You should have a support group to remind you that it could take even decades of waiting, and this support group must wait with you until it finally happens.

And before I sleep this dawn, I pray that it happens soon enough for my friend and her daughter. I pray that the complicated deconstructs and show that the simplicity of patience, courageous choices, and motherly tenacity pays off all the time.

Surely Not My Best Friday

It is Good Friday.

One of the most take for granted roles in our lives is that of spiritual leadership. The differences among the many religions do not necessarily contribute to the weakness of instruction in this aspect. In fact, because there are so many faiths, they have become quite specific. And because they are now specific, it should be easier to profess and practice. However, the best scripture quoters barely make any sense during their past-midnight broadcasts; the most popular charismatic icons seem to be intensely politically inclined more than anything; and the so-called devout leave the entire burden of thei children's religious exploration to the so-called 'pros' of the educational system--- sometimes comprised of violent (if not malicious) members of the church.

It could be scary for parents to teach religion to their kids because we, as members of a particular faith, strongly believe that this faith should be treated with utmost respect and expertise even! I am a Catholic, and just recently, I was asked by my daughter who Salome was. I have very little knowledge about Salome, one being she was a dancer who asked for the head of John the Baptist. Put the entire conversation together and you'll get questions like, "What's bad about dancing...? They cut off heads of people...?!"

Honestly, I am the worst person to ask about religion. I laughed at Rex Navarete when he said that the Santo Niño was a Pinoy superhero action figure, complete with a cape and a small globe in its hand that was used as a weapon.

My daughter, on the other hand, has a natural penchance for religion. She asked me to buy her bible stories and she also fancies our yearly Holy Week activities such as the processions of bultos (huge scupltures of Jesus' passion and death) and the visita iglesia (visitation of 7 churches). Every now and then, she thanks me for naming her Helena, her 2nd Catholic name (the first being Rocio), although I named her that not because Helena found the holy cross but because she was a queen! It is clear: I am not a religion teacher, and I never pretended to be one. It would be fair for God to strike me down with lightning if I ruined my daughter's good, practically unaided faith.

So, here is another Good Friday, which I described to Rocio as the day they killed Jesus. She will ask me what is good about that, and I will attempt to answer with the generic salvation speech. She will not understand it. She will ask me about flagellation, which is absurdly popular in the Philippines, and I will probably admit to her that it is sometimes just for show. I will not lie to her about some people's dishonesty, especially during lent. I have the option of letting her watch my uber favorite Jesus Christ Superstar, but she will most certainly look at the passion and death of Christ as a circus immediately after. All other movies related to lent will make her sleep.

Here is another Good Friday and there is really nothing good about it.

Our family bultos: Salome and Jesus (scourging at the pillar)

MYSTIC CHILDHOOD

My dear friend Katie called me up this evening and shared that her jolie bebe Erin finally had a tooth coming out. Apparently, this new mom got quite impatient about this development, and our chat soon included the Filipino folklore saying that a baby should not be propped up until his or her first tooth has emerged. If you do not follow this, much delay in teething will happen.

* * *

Definition of a propped-up baby: to be in a sitting position, i.e., for feeding purposes, especially with the introduction of solids. (Okay, you try eating on your back. Let's see how much you enjoy that.) Logically, an infant that can already have solid food should already be able to sit, and should already have started the process of teething--- which basically is signified by excessive drooling, meaning to say very soon after the baby's birth. We are not sue why ome babies take less time in jutting those biters out than others, but we are sure that seating may have nothing to do with that.

* * *

You are not Pinoy if you do not know any of these folk ideas... eat conjoined bananas and you'll have twins... eat balut and your baby will be feathery, er, hairy... walk over your hubby as he lays down so that you transfer all pregnancy discomfort to him... You know, he would have still gotten all the discomfort even if I didn't walk over him. Which means I did. Sorry, Honey.

* * *

For infants, here are some common beliefs:

1. Always put a talisman (anting-anting) on your child when going outdoors. Talismans include: rock salt, dried twigs, a bracelet with alternating red and black beads, religious patches or medallions, and believe it or not--- bullets.
2. Never let strangers touch your baby. If they do, 'give back' the touch. In other words, tap the stranger back. Sounds silly, but a lot of people do this.
3. When leaving a place, 'call back' the spirit of your child by saying, "Umay-kan (come now), __________..." or when a guest is leaving your place, it should be, "Bati-bati (stay, stay)..."
4. When the child displays signs of being unwell, recall the person who most probably fancied him or her. Go to this person and ask this person to annoint your child with their (brace yourself) spit. This is what Pinoys popularly refer to as usog (binding spell).

I come from a family of scientific and logical people: nurses, doctors, lawyers, mathematicians, military officers. Somehow, my family members still abide by these folklore for some reason. No harm in believing, right? Well, except for the saliva lotion, I am fine with everything listed above and even more.

* * *

What I am careful about is how we integrate the cultural belief with reality. Some individuals would have strong disregard for these and would openly call them foolishness or irrationalities or plain and simple nonsense. Before we let the little knowledge we have balloon to the size of the Cordillera Region, let us first qualify the value system that is at risk of damage when confronted by elderly folk who insist on some unconventional procedure.

* * *

If you name-call those who fervently obey these beliefs infront of others, particularly kids, then it is tantamount to degrading the entire culture. You would then put down no less than our heritage in acclaim of the foreign culture that sneers at traditions of others. So, even if I consider myself a modern person, part of my modernity accepts mysticism and more importantly finds links between these folk beliefs and modern science.

* * *

Let's give an example. It is folklore that pregnant women (being the most dangerous hot-headed sweatbags on this planet) should not bathe or take showers in the afternoon no matter how high the temperature is. This folk belief stems from circa 1800's when the lavatories of families were located outside the houses. During this time, the climate was also much cooler (as there was much less pollution and structures blocking airways), so it was very harmful for pregnant women then to wash up in the afternoon or night.

* * *

Folklore is not nonsense, but you are if you don't study them. Now, you do have to go out of your way to learn about them. The example above was explained to me by my first OB-Gynecologist, Mary Lu Magno, MD. I instantly believed her because it was a ticket to my unlimited showers when I was pregnant the first time! Kidding aside, it was a doctor talking, then the head of the whole MMSU-Batac hospital and not just any doctor. She did warn me about varicosities, too, which reinforces the statement that some folklore may be more true than you expected.

* * *

My recommendation for you therefore is to select the beliefs that you feel comfortable with, and prepare polite excuses for those that you feel unnecessary just for the sake of respecting Pinoys who still value the culture. And remember, if you or your child ever offends a strange old woman with many dried plants and rocks in her handbag, just head straight to the nearest tree, stand under its shade on one foot and cluck like a chicken for 30 seconds.

HOW MUCH SHOULD YOU PAY YOUR MOTHER?

In elementary, I came across an article (I think from Reader's Digest) accounting for all the labor cost a mother could actually file for if she only could. This may have been the basis of my own mother's frequent ranting about how hard it was to raise 3 "mongoloids" (her term of endermeant for us), as well as he expected remuneration or counter-blessing--- that may be a kinder word--- from whoever owes it to her. Well... would that be us kids...?

This is an example of my teacher's warning: you should not believe everything you read!

What rotten soul would even apply the rules of salary for a job that should only be done through pure, charitable, MOTHERLY love? The author may have been kidding, but the readers sure didn't read the ha-ha-ha. Instead, self pity in mothers broke out in hu-hu-hu and this resulted to the notion that yes, you should all be aware what mothers are worth in currency!

I am a mother, and for me, mothers are monetarily worth nothing. It's not that you can't afford to pay us, it's just that you should never think that way. Our worth as your mothers does not depend on what we have done from your birth till God knows when. For this reason then, your worth as children do not depend on how we have mothered you. No mother nor child is more expensive than the next one.

You are lucky if you have a mother, but if you do not--- you are not a lesser child. If you don't consider your own mother a good one, then good for you, your eyes are open--- but in this sad case, I pray you are right as well as respectful still.

Do not bother computing for the future gifts you will give us, your moms. You were never indebted; it was primordially our duty to bring you into this world and help you become the best persons you could possibly be. We have never been entitled to any payment; although countless times we have been generously tipped by your glowing smiles, your various achievements, and the moments you cried out for us--- "Mama!!!"

If I were to price those times my children made me so happy to be their mother, it would be just as futile as billing them for anything I've ever done for them.

The Threat

Situation: ROCIO INSISTS ON READING HER SPEECH
INSTEAD OF MEMORIZING



Grandma Marilyn: (in an angry voice)

If you do not recite your speech on your
graduation, I will walk out. I will go away.



Rocio: (in a calm demeanor)

You want me to give you a rocket ship?

Surviving The Modern Playtime

Many of us have the habit of contrasting our experiences against those that our kids have. We say, "In our time, the toys were not as sophisticated... we had to be resourceful and imaginative... blah-blah-blah." Our kids don't want to hear that; you know why?

When our kids play, the toys they hold logically stand for the real things: having a plastic stove with a pan means that your child is cooking, and that you are expected to taste it very, very soon after. A couple of spring-action Porsches in your son's hands show that he will probably experiment with the racing culture, and that you are expected to oppose vehemently, and that he is also expected to take that with a grain of salt (but not from his sister's playthings.)

Your refusal to play with them could push them into thinking any of the following: a) you're a heartless, good-for-nothing snob; b) you are probably a lousy playmate (and hold on--- this is a very bad thing, don't go assuming this is ok); c) you want to play with them, but you're just too busy, and they're not just worth your time.

Let us admit, first of all, that we are indeed ignorant about many of their new gadgets. Those toys from the fastfood meals, I honestly don't know how to assemble myself. To think that I handled the advertising and some marketing of the McDonald's Happy Meal for almost 2 of my singlehood years, that is quite embarrassing. Becoming a parent somehow made me detached from my natural skill and interest in toys.

Second, if you are even reading this blog, this possibly means that you are a caring parent (no, not heartless or snobbish), but sometimes really good-for-nothing! You don't know the trends among kids, you think a toy iPod has something to do with pirates, and you can't tell Jimmy Neutron from Danny Phantom. Guilty?

Third, you have a gut-wrench when you see that collector's item Barbie is having a bubble bath with the dishes or when you realize that the 1,000 piece Lego set has been divided among 4 neighbors you don't even like. Had you done this as a kid, you'd have been punished to kneel on mongo seeds (uncooked, of course) for 10 minutes with arms in the air.

Here are a few things you might want to consider the next time your kids ask you to play with them:

1. YOU CAN ALWAYS IMPOSE YOUR TASTE. We are talking about your kids, your genes. If in case they are not biologically your own, it is still your culture that they are immersed in. They are very open to what you like, they would very much like to try them--- granted that these kids look up to you and not away from you. I couldn't take Nickelodeon's goo-baths or Cartoon Network's slapstick-ally painful comedy, so I introduced my daughter to the 60's Disney version of Sleeping Beauty, and she totally went nuts. She used to view it around 4 times weekly. Now, she watches other things, too, but we sometimes recite the parts we have memorized from Princess Aurora's fairy tale just for the heck of it.

So, if you really love certain sports like badminton or capoeira, then teach your child a little. He or she will follow through, and you'll be back to your spectator spot sooner than you wish. (Oh, you better--- shame on you for doing capoeira on your own kid!)

This, however, also means that you must be observant about your kids' tastes also. Try to watch their teevee shows and see if you might enjoy them, too. These shows come in handy when trying to tutor them for lessons or social etiquette. You can closely monitor which shows you should discourage them from viewing, and you can also win some popularity points for knowing what's hip in the realm of the kids.

2. SET A TIME LIMIT If you are really tight with your free time, it's still not a reason to ignore your kids. Negotiate with them in terms of minutes. When you're a kid, 5 minutes is a lifetime.

3. LIKEN PLAYTIME TO REAL LIFE I would disagree even with professionals who want a clear delineation between play and reality when it comes to kids. This is a contributing reason for child abuse: maniacs use the word 'play' and stress that it is not the same as reality, i.e., it is only play. That alone should raise your goosebumps! If you also do not want your hard-earned moolah in the form of branded toys to go to waste, then you should explain to your kids that these toys represent reality. These toys, if used and kept properly, could help hem be a chef someday, or a race car driver, or a soldier in Iraq, and so on. Personally though, I prefer not to indulge my kids in toys promoting violence.

No human has ever skipped the fantastic stage of playtime. Naturally, we will have different toys, styles of play, situations, and mentalities about the matter as more generations spring out. Please do not think about the child in you when you play now--- think about the child right before you. And the next time you are asked to put on Robin's cape and mask, don't complicate things. No, you cannot be Batman or Catwoman. And no, you cannot say no, at least for the next 5 minutes. Remember that you really have no right to take away the magic from playing just because you're no longer a child.

Waiting at the Shed

I took this photo on a whim--- I suppose it was even an accident. I was stuck in the car while my hubby was delivering sterile medical equipment to one of our orthopedic surgeons in this area. These are school kids; they probably know each other, but they don't care to chat. They are looking at another kid who also does not care to talk to them.

At this time of day and with nothing at hand, so many things can go through a child's mind. Don't even discount politics; they, too, have their share of raves and rants--- although it could all just boil down to the worst election campaign jingle or that sort of thing. Still, these youngsters are not blank slates like some would assume. They were never blank to begin with.

You would be scared to say, but they also may be thinking about romance this early. The many telenovelas foster this kind of attitude: love blooms in the oddest of places, in the earliest of ages. They could be wondering how true advertising is--- and planning on how to save up for a mother's surprise such as a few Xenical tablets or a tiny jar of Pond's Age Defying formula.

No, I don't think they still dwell in the torture of academics during their free time. Much more possible that they are figuring out which chores to do at home, or which hobby (of the 12 million that they have) to enjoy, or what meryenda and dinner are. Oh, I am so sure of that, of course, based on experience.

Lastly, they could be worrying about why their parents or guardians are late in fetching them. Did something happen on their way? Did they forget it was their turn to pick them up fom school? Or did they just get swept off their senses in whatever probably illicit activity they got tangled in before going to the shed---oh yes, kids understand these arrangements.

How did that happen when you never teach them anything bad? Well, try sitting at a waiting shed one afternoon, just about when you border hazy consciousness and upright sleep, and I guarantee that the answer will come to you.

The Shy and The Strong

I am still baffled at the outcome of my daughter's graduation.

This year, it was a breeze landing that valedictory for Rocio, who was only salutatorian last year. The nursery top spot then was tipped over to her bestfriend because of 2 measly points. The bestfriend, since he was of age, accelerated to preparatory class. Rocio was not allowed to do that because no decent school in the region would accept a 5 year-old first-grader.

Without the bestfriend, Rocio consistently stayed on top of everybody--- perfecting periodical exams and reciting even a bit too much during class. This comes with little surprise as she has always been a show-off, just like Mommy, haha! At 5, she has already amazed crowds for dancing, modeling, and yes--- pageantry. So, with experience being more than her years alive, with her unstoppable (and highly evolved) gab, and with her natural comfort in the spotlight, it was a real fainting spell for me when she suddenly refused to continue her welcome address after barely delivering the opening sentence.

The bestfriend, whose speech I also drafted, read from a folder. That was forgivable. Rocio, who memorized her entire speech but clammed up 3 seconds within blast off, may have wanted to read just like her bestfriend--- something which her teacher Ms. Bugnosen and I (needful to mention am a speech teacher) did not allow because it was beneath her!

I could have swallowed the whole thing as a phase Rocio must go through... although being overnight, it was rather bleak there was no impactful trigger. I was ready to say, "My hubby's side can get awfully shy." It is good that I did not settle for that reason.

Further investigation on my part yielded that the bestfriend was always defended during the few graduation practices by his guardian. This came to a point where the guardian even openly objected to Ms. Bugnosen's strict directives. A witness described this confrontation to me as 'scandalous'.

It could be possible that I really overworked my daughter into understanding, memorizing, and delivering that welcome address, but it is also my nature and her capacity to go as far as we can and then run 5 miles more. This is my style of teaching; I do not patronize losers. It is unfortunate, however, that I now have to rehabilitate my daughter's frame of mind just because of a ward who could not respect the teacher enough or even take on necessary challenges.

Sometimes, we think our parenting is so strong that we could leave our kids in a trustworthy environment and have them come home the way they were when they left. Not all of our expectations materialize, however, and our kids come home as different people. It could be a genetic bomb, it could be trauma from or influence of others, it could even be your kid's way of testing your limit. Whatever it is (and trust me, it's possible we'll never really know for sure), the strength of our parenthood now shifts on how we pull back our kids to the right track.

The weakness of our parenthood would be our tendency to shrug and throw it all to the wind, saying, this is how kids are or kids will be kids. Kids are smarter than we think; it's just that they still need us to find out how to use that smartness to their best advantage.

The Wrong Kind of Forgiveness

This afternoon was my firstborn's kindergarten moving up ceremony. When we were still at home (and I was still practicing how to walk in 3-inch heels more than a year after getting pregnant with my second child), I caught an unusual news update: HOSTAGE DRAMA AT THE LIWASANG BONIFACIO.

The victims: a busload of young students. How annoying when the news stated that this hostage taker was practially a veteran in this, his first stage in 1989 being inside the San Roque de Manila Church where he tied up a couple of priests. It became ridiculous, however, when the demands of his 2007 movement seemed heavier on the pizza and ice cream rather than his so-called protest against corruption, particularly in the education sector.

Hours past my daughter's austere dinner party (for receiving the 1st Honors, if I may just add), I soothed my aching feet and turned on the boobtube. Voila, there was that reality show again--- getting more suspicious with the involvement of politicians, and very twilight-zonish with the kissing scenes between the children and Mr. Hostage Taker.

Parents interviewed on-cam said they planned no lawsuit because "mabait naman sila... nilaro naman nila ang mga bata..." (They were good... they played with the kids.)

Hospital workers who de-stressed the victims of a 10-hour detention in a very closed space added to this frenzy of bad judgement by declaring, "Okay naman, wala namang humagulgol sa kanila." (They are okay; none of them were wailing.)

Malacanang Palace released a statement about the news. It had something to do about embarrassment, and I suppose it is similar to my take. This is allegedly an issue about the educational system, yet Mr. Hostage Taker, a certain Jun Ducat--- ironically close to dukot (which means 'to nab')--- taught his hostages that what he did is justifiable. So soon, some parents and hospital workers seem to already understand this man and justify his actions!

I cannot understand why Ducat's children are so touchy about the rumors in 1989 regarding their father's insanity. If Ducat has done this with little reward, if any, once--- then doing it a second time indeed sounds crazy. I also cannot understand why Ducat, after that forgotten siege over the construction funds of a church, thought that his passions could be used better if he won a political seat in his area. If we are allowing people like Ducat to run for office, then Malacanang is right--- that IS very embarrassing!

Somebody with enough power has to give sanctions on this man. It is not enough that the children 'do not seem harmed', because there is yet an invention to immediately detect any human malfunction brought about by this abnormal detention. This experience instills in those kids that it is okay to take hostages, that they could be forgiven if only they gave a cause that has any semblance to general welfare. This experience teaches the wrong kind of forgiveness. Who's to say right now that none of those kids will have nightmares? Who's to say that none of the parents will become even just slightly more paranoid? Would you allow yourself or anyone you love to be more paranoid just because of the deranged Mr. Hostage Taker?

Tell you what--- maybe I should not flush my kids' poo and pee in my small loo at home, then tie up Mr. Hostage Taker, then slam him face down on the tiles, then make him feel my collection of 3-inch heels--- all of which are size 10--- against his skull for (realistically) 3 hours?

Don't worry... I won't ask for a kiss.

Rocio's Welcome Address

Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I am happy to welcome you to the 2007 Moving Up Ceremony of the UCCP Learning Center, Laoag City. Your presence in this momentous event gives me and my fellow graduates a rainbow of emotions. Let me tell you how important each of you truly is through different colors.

BLACK is for the formality we show our guest of honor. Welcome, honorable speaker Adaza.

VIOLET is for Principal Jose and the administration of the UCCP, who serve in the name of wisdom. Welcome, Sir Jose and council.

BLUE is for the learning, patience and support our second mothers provided the whole year. Welcom,e Ma'am Shiela. Welcome, Ma'am Judy.

ORANGE is for the overwhelming energy our parents feel today. Welcome, stand proud, and we love you very much, our wonderful moms and dads.

BROWN is for the industriousness of the UCCP staff. Welcome, Tito Mulo and Tia Marina.

YELLOW is for the enthusiasm of our kith and kin in attendance today. Welcome, our dear relatives and friends.

GREEN is for the hope all the movers up promise our country. We are the stars of the show. Welcome and congratulations, my fellow movers up.

And last because it is the greatest... RED is for the love of God, the love that guides us all regardless of the faith we have: protestant, catholic, or moslem. The love that makes all of us do well and come here today.

Because we did well, we have all come; and that is the meaning of welcome.

Good afternoon and welcome!!!

I Hate Exam Week

I used to hate exam week. Certainly, those who didn’t share this feeling with me was challenged in some way. Exam week was the verification that I was still unprepared to move on even after several long weeks of lectures. Exam week was the manifestation of teachers’ ire for those like me who refused to believe them in their seemingly lost monologues. Exam week was a string of sleepless nights, and it was not because of partying. So, I used to hate exam week.

Now that I have graduated from college (actually, since a decade ago!), I still hate exam week. I hate it even more. It still tells me that I am unprepared, that I would be sleepless, and that being a teacher myself--- there are still teachers out there who hate me and who are laughing at my unfinished penitence. So, fine, laugh at me. Laugh at me until you get a stroke (just kidding… or not.)

I hate exam week now because my 5 year old daughter seems to master the routine already. Of course, being kindergarten in March, it means that she has gone through this testing phase 7 times already, making her a veteran and even more as she hits the 8th time. She knows that the teacher will give her a list of review items which Mommy will tutor her on. She knows that Mommy will have all these silly rules like sleep early--- but don’t sleep until you’re done studying. She knows that she’ll only have to take a small bag with her to class, and that the whole meeting will just be for answering plenty of papers.

In the end, she knows that her scores will oddly translate to a bunch of letters like O, VS, S, F, and NI--- things that only Mommy will understand, as if it is a secret between Mommy and the teacher.

I hate exam week because this time, it’s not me taking the test; it’s not me going through the stress. I hate exam week because she’s only allowed to bring home her books on the weekend before the big day. How is she supposed to absorb tens of pages from 5 textbooks in a span of a weekend?

I hate exam week because it shocks me that I don’t know what the caudal fin on a fish is. I also do not know what the health benefits of blueberries are. I think I know what the stamen and the pistil are on plants, but I don’t know how to properly explain them without inserting any perversion. I hate exam week because I have to teach her things I am legally not supposed to teach anyone. It helps however that she already knows most of her lessons and seems ready to take the tests.

Still, I hate exam week because I have to stop her from seeing SpongeBert Whatever, or Dora and that little monkey that tags along--- those characters who make her smile warmly in a heartbeat. I have to stop her from logging on to her kiddie websites that feature make-up application and boyfriends (yes, check out Barbie.com if you don’t believe me.) I hate exam week because I have to take away so much from her day, and I know there is no way to ever replace that. Well, there is one way… it’s called Disneyland, but… uh… enough about that.

I hate exam week because when I ask her how the tests were, all she tells me is, “It was okay.” Okay, when she spills her milk or breaks something, I tell her it’s okay. When the monsters come out at night and make her cry, I tell her it’s okay. When our elderly friends die and she gets upset, I tell her it’s okay. So, it’s okay. The exams were okay. Why could I just not understand what that means?

Most of all, I hate exam week because even after the last test, I still have to hold my breath until the teacher completes the checking and computes for the scores and periodic grades. I would still think about that for a few more nights and hope that by some divine intervention, the teacher will pardon bad handwriting or be lenient with neglected instructions. In the middle of the day, when she comes back home from school, and my eyebags are large enough to fit her 5 books, I discover that she is once again top of her class, and that all my worries were not because of her ignorance but mine.

So, I hate exam week.