The Seeds We Sow

One of the most obscure advice I've ever heard about parenting is, ""try to look ahead and then look back". It only made perfect sense to me when I saw my children perched up on a tree last Saturday. One day, they will be full grown trees (looking ahead); what could I have done differently (looking back)? Our answers will be different. Every set of parents will have their own unique list according to values, personalities, and priorities. And no one is absolutely more right than the other. In fact, not the same list will be applicable to every child. I have two children, 20 months apart, one would think I easily flip through the same notes when I find myself in a fork when dealing with the boys. I do not. In fact I learned what I needed to know more about motherhood with my second child. And perhaps I might approach things differently if another baby were to come. What is true for all is, there is something we can do now. Not later. When the plant has grown sturdy and harder to tend. After all sowing comes first. And that's where we are. Always. No matter what stage and age our children are in. We are always sowing seeds (of truth, of love, of hope...). And them reaping. So what will you do differently that you can change now?

“Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the present.” Master Ooguay from the movie Kung Fu Panda

G20, Pilates and a box of Wine

The dust has settled. The airspace is now clear. Those dignitaries who stayed at the hotel next door obviously preferred to jaunt in their helicopters to the summit venue than use the electronic buses to cross over the Han River. I wouldn't mind it so much it they didn't fly over my house at 6:30 in the morning. But all's well that ends well. For instance, Hyundai and Kia cars will be seen rolling down the roads of South Korea along with their European counterparts very soon. Hello BMWs and Minis! Diversity makes a great tapestry, so they say. Not for the Fords and Cadillacs yet, anyway. (SK and EU shook hands on an Foreign Trade Agreement (FTA) but not SK and USA) At least Obama was in the hood albeit shortly. That day we felt the ripples of his coming in our street, I checked if Stan knew the man, so I asked, "Stan, who is the most important American?", decisively he replied, "Baba!" (his father). How about Obama? I clarified, "Oh he's American too", said my (almost) 4 year old diplomat. That got it straightened out. 

Joseph Pilates. I think he is an important man in the world of fitness. I didn't dare verify with my son, but I do think the Pilates method of body conditioning is smart. I say this because when doing Pilates one engages the mind (a lot) to make the body work. Such was Joseph P.'s philosophy "training the mind and body to work together toward the goal of physical fitness", otherwise called "The Art of Contrology". A system he developed in Germany in the 1900s tested by WW1 internees. That claim would be hard to beat! Today may not be 1918, but the Pilates method remains to be the secret of athletes, models, dancers, and mothers who want to lose their stubborn post postpartum wobbly bellies. It is not easy in the beginning, but as dear old Joseph would say "Physical fitness can neither be achieved by wishful thinking nor outright purchase". I wish he was wrong! But two months into it, and struggling to be faithful, my pockets of doubt are starting to fade. I am starting to see results; I am beginning to stand straighter, my movements more controlled, and I am just happier to feel more energetic each day. The best part about it is, the soreness that I usually associate with working out is not there. At the end of the day, all I get is a good night's sleep.

Especially with a soothing nightcap, like Burgundy. Last Tuesday was an Ajumma (아줌마; meaning "mother" in Korean) Night for my girlfriends and I. It was not exactly your usual  Mother Butler Guild type of meeting nor was it quite the Tupperware party kind of gathering but like all those, it was what you'd expect of a slumber party/girl's night out/exclusively-estrogen-only sort of an event. We didn't really go out to a bar or restaurant or a noraebang (노래방; singing room) like we've done in the past year, instead we stayed in one of the homes (the Man of the house being out of the country). We had a box of finger-lickin' good fried chicken, boxes of pizza, immense blocks of chocolates and large bags of chips. To lubricate all of these, we had a 7L box of red wine. That night, no one was keeping track of calories. I did bring up Joseph Pilates at one point and we all got on the floor and attempted to do The Hundred, but that was as fleeting as the FTA discussions at the G20 Summit could get. We did represent some of the world: Azerbaijan, Philippines, Serbia, South Korea, Thailand and the United States. And if it were only up to us, we would have declared the end of war between women and food. Salud!



"When I hear somebody sigh, "Life is hard," I am always tempted to ask, "Compared to what?" -Sydney J. Harris

Holidays and Observance

I've always been fascinated with them. Not only because I associate them with no work or (when I was younger) no school but because of the celebration they conjure. Growing up in the Philippines there seems to be always a reason to declare a holiday. My favorite is the absolutely meaningless "sandwich" holidays i.e. when Tuesday falls as an official holiday, Monday becomes a sandwich holiday. I love it! When I worked for the French Embassy-Manila I enjoyed the celebration of Bastille. When I lived in America, I loved Thanksgiving best; I still vividly remember my first Thanksgiving with the Montforts in New Jersey. When I lived in Ghana, I especially liked the Farmer's Day on December 1st. It was special to me because I lived with a farmer and his family, the Havors. When I lived in Kenya, October 10th was unforgettable. Moi Day. Just reading it makes me feel like I am entitled to do as I please on that day - thinking of "moi" in French - the day of Daniel Toroitich arap Moi (pronounced /moy/), Kenyan President. In South Korea, there seem to be countless Independence Days. I really have not gotten to the bottom of it all, but I like it that there are so many. What tops it for me is the South Korean observance of Pepero Day or Stick Day, celebrated on November 11 (11/11 stands for four sticks) a day to give loved ones cookie sticks dipped in chocolate. Ah! no other holidays in the world, contrived or not, can out best a day of cookies! On Stick Day, you don't have to dress scary or funny to merit a stick cookie. You just have to be loved. If that is not the best holiday in the world, I don't know what is.


"The holiest of all holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart, the secret anniversaries of the heart." - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, American poet

Lessons from the Potty

A few months ago I wrote an article for Cradle Magazine's summer issue about potty training your child. Writing it was enjoyable and productive because the research I gathered was very useful to me. When I turned in the "Choose Your Own Adventure: A Diaper-free World" article, I thought I was ready to step into the ring for round two (first round was Stan); after all Oliver was then about 24 months. He must be ready. I was wrong. One of the things I keep on forgetting is that, when parents set out to potty train their child, they are the ones who end up potty trained. Not their child. We know when they need to go, but they don't. We impose, we cajole, we declare- "potty time!" Sans victoire. I tried to do all the 5 different adventures of potty training with Oliver but he never chose "to-go". He had given in to one successful trip but he preferred the accidents better. Cleaning up wasn't my favorite part. So I gave up. I thought, well, one day he will surely stop wetting his pants. At that point I was dearly hoping it wouldn't be when he's 10 or something. Lo and behold, last Saturday, he took off his diaper and said "mom, pee!". I rushed to grab a rag - in automatic mode - to wipe up the accident, but alas, there was no pool of pee to be found. Oliver ran to the bathroom, aimed at his potty, and then I heard the most beautiful trickling sound I'd been waiting for all these months. Oliver peed in the potty on his own. It happened! I was so dumbfounded that I didn't know what to do, should I congratulate him? Hug him perhaps? I held back tears in disbelief. When I finally got myself together I patted him on the shoulder and said, "Oliver you are such a big boy now", he looked at me straight in the eye and replied, "yeah!". And I nodded in agreement, bewildered how he could be so nonchalant about such a great milestone. It suddenly made me self-conscious, what if he thought I was so silly to do such an otiose undertaking as attempting to empty his very own bladder? It seems to me now that he had a perfect plan when to do it on his own, all along. That is, at 27 months. And perhaps one of these days he will decide to regress. I can already see how my blood will boil and ire will rise. But I shall try to hold my ground. Because what I ought to know is, when it comes to potty business, timing is golden.

Caliciviruses

I just self-diagnosed myself as having that. (In this age of Google, I can do anything!) Symptoms are diarrhea, vomiting and fatigue (all check). Usually common between the months of October through April (another check). So I got one of the Caliciviridae family of viruses, cool! Sounds very Romanesque but not nearly as pretty. Being confined in my  bed for three days straight concomitant with 2 très actif toddlers was a circus! You need to pay a fee to see it. How those three days went by without any fatalities was surreal. But we all got through it with flying colors (yes, I saw those too while I was sick!) and are now moving forward. The boys didn't get it, so I am not sure if that was in fact the virus (at least I am not in trouble for malpractice) or it was simply due to the stress of the past week. It was an overwrought week for me. Our babysitter told me she's going home to Russia (bad), my husband and I had successive night outs (good), I organized a Halloween party (good), there was Halloween (bad; sugar rush at all time high in my house), I landed a volunteer work with the Sisters of St. Paul of Chartres (very good), my dentist told me I have to have my left molar extracted (very bad) and this season's Mad Men came to an end (very bad). Looking back, it seemed enough to turn my stomach around. But then again, maybe it was the virus. Either way, it was the most reasonable façon to drop a dress size down. Hopefully that part won't recover as fast.

My 3 Favorite Saints

St. Thérèse of Lisieux is my beloved saint since I was a little girl. I found it easy to identify with her since I had bad asthma attacks when I was little, and she had her share of illness too as a child. She died at 24; lived 15 years of cloistered religious life. One would wonder how a young and recluse girl could become a Doctor of the Catholic Church. Her life was immensely inspiring to me, not because of the grandness of it, but rather of its simplicity. Her autobiography "Story of a Soul" fortified my longing for Love. In all its mystery, pain and glory.

Zaidee (to whom this blog is dedicated; she lives in Miami, Fl.) is also my favorite saint. Zaidee was my dormitory room mate while I was a university student more than 10 years ago. She taught me so much about prayer, not in words but by example. Watching her pray in our little dorm room was a powerful testimony of her faith and love for God. Zaidee is a Muslim who taught me how to be a good -or at least I try - Catholic. My desire to pray like she prays brought me closer to God. I remember the times when we would giggle in our room sharing stories of victories (mostly about exams barely passed, but passed anyway or cute guys we saw in the lobby who smiled our way) and thanking God! Because of Zaidee I learned that God is God of all. That He is so much bigger than what we could possibly conceive of Him. That God is Love. He loves not one, but every one.

Orion, my husband, is another favorite saint in my list. Orion was baptized, confirmed and received the Eucharist on the day of our wedding. It was 4 Sacraments rolled into one, on that beautiful February afternoon. He was first Baptized and then Confirmed before Matrimony and the Eucharist were ministered. So while I was seated there beside him, in my wedding gown, I couldn't contain my tears and my joy. I never truly understood what a "calling" was until that moment. I could almost feel the whole Cloud of Witnesses (my St. Therese included) right there watching over us, welcoming him with songs of praise and thanksgiving. What amazing grace it is for me, that from that very day onwards, Love came into my life. Orion made God real to me through Love. Everyday I see how my husband teaches me that "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres" (1 Corinthians 13: 4-7)


I am just glad there is a day to honor saints. And that I live around them or they are up there praying for me...

 -written on All Saints Day, 1st November 2010

Are you a Witch?

Do you have an affinity with black cats? (here I am about cats again!) Do you have a big cauldron? Are you fond of black pointy hats? Do you have a friendly relationship with spiders and toads? Do you use a broom for transport? Do you feel energetic when there's a full moon? If you said yes to all that, then fairytale has it, you are indeed a witch. Congratulations! or My apologies...Depends how you take it. Nowadays, witches aren't always portrayed as unsightful nor vile as they used to be. There's Sabrina, blond and pretty and look at Kiki (Kiki's Delivery Service created by Hayao Miyazaki; excellent movie, you can't miss!) so cute and adorable! And there is Glinda too, from the Wizard Oz. Glinda is the good witch with such a silvery voice, as opposed to her sister the Wicked Witch of the West, the mean grotesque looking one. And then there is a third kind of witch. Those who can easily kiss a booboo away, those who can scare the monsters under the bed, those who can make any little thing alright, those who can make an old green shirt into a Peter Pan costume (well alright, maybe into a Leprechaun!). That proves they have magical potential according to the witch's handbook, but in the real world, we call them Mothers. Mothers could be scary as witches, I couldn't agree more. So if you are a mother and you do not wish to fall into the bad witch category, follow these *two-hard-and-fast rules:
1. The Witch's Rede: "As it harms none, do what you will"
2. Threefold Law: "Whatever you do, returns to you threefold"
If you follow these rules, you might graduate with honors at Hogwarts. And maybe, motherhood will just be well nigh magical.  

Go witch!

*Source: The Witch's Handbook, A Field Guide to Magic  by Emily Dickenson