Questions?

“Mama, I have a question.”

Although I was taken aback by this “a little too adult” approach by my two-year old, I pretended not to notice and said: “Ok, what’s your question?”

Qube: “Train!”
Me: “Uh, what’s the question?”
Qube: “Train!”
Me: “But that is not a question. When you say you have a question, it means you have to ask me something.”
Qube : (A little impatient by now) “Train, Mama. Si Pete!”

Of course, he was asking FOR something, I understood that pretty well. However, when he came to me with the “I have a question” statement, my immediate response was to try to elevate our level of conversation from the baby talk I am used to, to a conversation with an equal, and it includes expecting him to properly deliver a question.

Having had lots of practice arguing with the husband*, it occurs very rarely for me not to know what to say in a particular situation, and that day was one of those moments – I did not know how to explain to a two-year old the difference between a question and a statement.

These were the possible explanations running through my mind that day:

• A question is when you to pretend to give your parents the option to grant or not to grant your request:

Example: “Can I buy a train?”

This approach gives your parents the feeling of having power over you. And when you start feeding their ego, it would be easier to convince them to give in.

• A statement is when you cut all the crap and just say that you want something and expect that it will  be handed over to you.

Example: “I want a train!”

A big NO. You don’t want to appear arrogant and spoiled. Remember the first rule, parents like to believe that because they are your parents, they should be the ones laying out the rules. And if you think you are the only arrogant member of the family, think again.

And my dear Qube, “train” is a noun. Or the “object” of your desire. For it to become a sentence, you must supplement a subject and a verb to your object (train). It has exceptions though, but you are too young to learn those.

Okay, I held off telling him these. But really, should I already start reviewing sentence types and structures? Or more than that, should I begin to worry about my thought process and the possibility that Qube just may have taken after me?

On a more serious note, should I be concerned about the way I talk to him? Am I beginning to burden him with expectations way way beyond his age?

Well, in defense though, I don’t expect him to be able to write his full name at his age. That is just too much. However, I do expect that he knows his alphabet and numbers even when he is very sleepy or upon waking up. I expect that he knows how to read Qube whenever and wherever he sees it. Or type his iPad’s passcode because it’s just logical that he knows its passcode given that he doesn’t even let me borrow it.
I don’t expect him to be a good dancer. In fact, I don’t want him to. But he should be able to carry a tune.Sayang naman pagiging bokalista ng tatay nya. Ahem. Okay, maybe this is too much, given I still seriously doubt the authenticity of his dad’s claim.

h

 

Here’s one truth though, I need toddler parenting classes. Seriously.

The Chuggtastic effort to bring home Koko

I should have known that he was devising his grand scheme the moment he asked for breakfast and did not like any of the options presented to him.

“Mama, there’s no food here!”

By “no food here,” he means he did not like the egg, longanisa, and shanghai rolls offered to him.

Cookies?
No.
Sky Flakes?
No.
Milk?
He began crying and declared that he was hungry and wanted to eat.

In other words, he wanted to eat out.

No problem.

We went to Chow King and  I was told that my Congee order was not available. Great. Now I have to convince Qube to try to eat something else. Eventually, he agreed to Macaroni soup in Jollibee. I know. I have written in another blog post that I do not tolerate feeding children with fast food junk. Shame on the condescending other me. It is indeed much easier to write rules than implement them, especially with a hungry toddler.

While I was helping him eat his soup, he said: “Where’s my toy?”

“We came here to get breakfast, not to play. Go ahead and finish your food so we can go home already.” He did finish his food and did not bring up his “toy” question again.

I saw a man selling balloons outside and I immediately spotted Mickey Mouse. I told Qube that I will buy him one later because he was behaved and he did not have a hard time finishing his food. So on our way out, I led him to the direction of the balloons. He resisted. He said: “No balloons, Mama. I don’t want balloons.”

I was mighty proud and was even smiling to myself as I thought: “Wow, show me another toddler who refuses to buy a toy!”

So when he asked me “Mama, can we ride a taxi going home?” , it was an easy yes for me. Which must be my biggest mistake that day because, thirty minutes later, I found myself in Rustan’s Makati, paying for another Chuggington train. And beside me? A very happy toddler in sando and pambahay shorts.

Breaking in the new train.

Koko saying hi to the other Chuggers

How did this happen?

We boarded the taxi and I told the driver the direction going home. Then Qube said: “Akala ko we will buy a toy?”

No, we will not.
Akala ko we will buy a toy.
No, we will not.
Akala ko we will buy a toy.
No, we will not.
Let’s buy a toy, Mama.
No.

That’s Qube when he wants something so badly. He would keep on insisting and repeating himself until I give in. This time though, I did not yield. I won. We got off the cab.

And. Here. Come. His. Tears.

And with his tears went my resolve. Two minutes later, we were again inside the same taxi. I could not even look at the driver as he said: “O, pinagbigyan mo rin!”

As if forgetting the drama that just happened, Qube said: “Mama, pwede si Koko? I already told Papa I want to buy Koko.” I don’t know when that conversation with Papa was or if he really did tell his dad about his plan to buy a new train. Then it dawned on me that my toddler had been playing me all along.

To make matters worse, his train was not available in Rockwell. And that was how we found ourselves in Makati.

Did I already say that we were both fresh out of bed and looked exactly fresh out of bed when we went out to get breakfast?

you (don’t always) say it best, when you say nothing at all.

You were apologizing for not being able to update your blog anymore.

You said you are just happy and content. I know that already – although hearing you say it makes it more real than just me knowing and feeling it. I have to admit that your words made me a little bit happier and a little bit moreadequate. As a mother and a wife.

But this is not to say that I accept your excuse for not writing. On the contrary, your statement merely reinforces why you need to write: for me, for Qube. Sometimes, a simple validation spells the difference between real and imagined emotions. Not that I have doubts, it’s just that I want us to capture in words all that our hundreds and probably even thousands of photos (already) with Qube cannot show. I want us to be able to tell him his story as crisp as when we experienced them, and not as blurry recollections of two old people that we will eventually become.

I, too, am happy and content. And I have allowed a lot of Qube’s significant firsts to pass without writing about them because, whenever I start writing, my words always seem to diminish their meaning, how I felt about them and, hard as i try, they are simply too big to fit into one blog entry.

But i guess whatever I will come up with is still better than not having anything to tell at all.

So today, while I try to narrow down my list and write about each one of them, I need you to help me out.

Long overdue tribute to my father.

He wanted to be an engineer. But life was hard and he had two sons to support. Working as a tailor during the day, he went to night school and took up Education instead. He graduated and became a teacher when his eldest son finished primary school.

He had his life mapped out without room for errors, because he knew that one miscalculated step could break his dream of a decent future for his family.

He was uptight, he was strict, he seldom showed emotion because emotions cloud reason, and he did things with as much accuracy and perfection as possible, as much as he could.

This was my father.

He demanded a lot from us, especially from my brothers.

One anecdote that my eldest brother loves repeating to us was the time Papa talked to him when he was about to enter college. Papa asked him not to fail any subject, it did not matter if it was a major or minor subject, because if he failed a subject, he would extend school and it would, in turn, delay my other brother’s entry to college (My parents had spaced the birth of my brothers by five years because they could not send both children to college simultaneously).

And my brother did just that, and so did my other siblings.

With the very few resources that my parents had, they made sure that we did not lack on everything we need, and they were able to send and have all four of us graduate in the best schools in the province.

My siblings used to tell me that Papa was not as strict with me as he was with them when they were growing up. Still, there had been times in the past when I kept on wishing that he’d be like other fathers who give their children money as baon in school, who allow their kids to play with others in the neighborhood, who do not demand explanations for less than stellar grades in Math and English, who allow their teenage girls to party with no 11pm curfews.

He was strict, there was no mistaking that. He was the kind of father you do not want to disappoint. And although he used to censure us openly, he was also proudest whenever he talks to his friends about his children – about us.

He kept all of my medals, certificates, awards, from the time I started school and showed them to friends every opportunity that he gets. He saved copies of every single issue of our school paper where my name was mentioned – be it an article where I was cited in passing or one where I appeared in the byline – he saved them all. He even kept my high school poems which were so baduy I cringe just remembering how awful the quality of my writing was.

He cried when I passed the CPA Board Exams. I told him then that my grades weren’t that impressive. It did not matter though, he was still ecstatic.

It has been five years since he died, and this is the first time that I am writing about him.

I miss him.

Now that I am starting my own family, the totality and magnitude of all that my father had given and given up for us dawned on me. And I am scared that I won’t be able to measure up. I now have my own little boy who I hope to raise the same way we were raised. And I hope that, just like my parents moved heaven and earth to provide the best for us, I and the husband* would also be able to do the same for Qube and our future kids.

Back with a vengeance

It has been a crazy month for me at work, and an especially crazy couple of weeks of board meetings and report preparation. Plus the fact that i had been too lazy to write these past few weeks.And no, i am not pregnant. (I had to insert this statement because people at work have been joking around that i might be pregnant again due to my recent healthy food fad)

Now, move on to more important things.

Qube has already turned 11 months and I was not able to chronicle his 9-10 milestones. His social initiation officially started at 9 months and he’s been doing great in all parties that he has been into. I hope he’ll be as bubbly during his own party come December.

Here’s a list of Qube’s “big ticket” events that I was not able to write about:

• First Family Day at ALI (September 30) – This will be the first of (hopefully) many happy family days in ALI that I will celebrate with Qube and his dad. And the highlight of this day’s event? Qube winning the youngest male guest award! Nevernind that he was not really the youngest there, because as I was about to run up the stage to claim our prize, I saw several infant guests who, I am sure, are way way younger than my Qube. I therefore conclude that those kids were late for the registration.

• First birthday / costume party @ Uno (October 8 or 15) – First birthday party attendance and first time to meet Papa’s friends and their kids, Qube’s future drinking buddies, I suppose.

 

• First ever concert: LIBERA @ the Cultural Center of the Philippines (October 25) – Christmas began early as the family watched Libera’s Christmas concert. Our reason for watching? These kids’ songs serve as Qube’s lullabye even before he was born. He must have realized too that the sound seems familiar because he started shouting and singing along amid the stillness of the crowd. It was amusing, of course, but the ushers apparently weren’t as amused as I was because they later on came to tell us to hold Qube’s version of “Joy to the World” to some other time. Well, not exactly, but it was to that effect.

 

• First swimming party @ Tita Hershey’s chubhouse (October 31) – Maybe it was the prersence of other kids, maybe because Kuya Jigs was still there swimming and playing. Or maybe Qube is just a water person, because he did not want to leave the pool even when his fingers and toes had already shrunk from being submerged in water for quite a time. And this swimming proved to be just the first of other similar events. (However, no photo to show for this because we did not yet have the money to buy the high-end, high-powered camera that I want)

• First Halloween party at ALI (October 28) – My little devil donned in a little red devil costume. And he brought home a witch’s pot full of candies which he could not eat anyway.

 

• First movie in a cinema: HAPPY FEET in Glorietta 4 (November 26) – It would have been “Puss in Boots” in Greenbelt. But when we went there a few weeks ago to watch (because we did not check the schedule online), we were dismayed to know that we arrived past the last screening time on that Sunday night. So, when we decided to watch “Happy Feet 2”, we were at the malls as early as 11am to ensure that we would not miss the movie and to get the best possible seats. Everything was according to plan, except that when we were about to enter the cinema, the guards blocked us because we only have four tickets, and those tickets are for me, Papa, Tita Let and Yaya. They were asking us to purchase a ticket for Qube, who is 11months old and who was even asleep when we entered! To make the long story short, and because a queue is already forming outside, we gave in and just asked Tita Let to go to the booths to buy another ticket.

And because Qube paid for his ticket, he now had the right to shout to his heart’s content and enjoy the movie any way he wants! That he did, and neither I nor Papa made any effort to stop him. Afterall, there is an extra unoccupied seat that we were asked to pay for. Surely, Qube’s way of enjoying the movie would not inconvenience anyone.

You got me stranded (in your smile).

Reposted from my facebook notes. Dated May 22, 2011

Just this morning, you flashed me your beautiful toothless grin and there, I decided I want to spend another hour in bed with you – all the while knowing that by doing so, I’d have to cramp taking a bath, getting dressed, kissing you and your Papa goodbye into the 10-minute window I have left before heading to work, then returning from the door to give you another round of kisses.

And just this morning, while walking down the flight of stairs from 501, I thought of how much you’ve grown from the 4-pound little boy that we brought home from the hospital last December 24. You can now sit by yourself in your wheels (that is how your papa and I refer to your stroller) – a milestone that I proudly shared to my fellow moms at work – my Qube is becoming independent na.

I remembered how small and fragile you were when we brought you home. And you were yellow – as in jaundiced yellow.

Sunbathing to remove the yellow.

Qube at 8 days.

But being the little fighter that you are, you got over the jaundice, grown at the pace that your pedia has had a hard time believing, and turned into quite a looker. In fact, as early as now, girls already swoon over you. Of course, I am on top of the list. The English-speaking-pretty-five-or- something-little girl in BHS who came from nowhere and started kissing you the last time we were there,  the strangers who stop us in malls and at the airport to greet you and to ask if you are of foreign blood and not to be outdone are your Lolas and Titas who are understandably biased towards you.

There are many other small things about you that I should have written from day one. But I got so engrossed witnessing and marveling at your day to day growth that I couldn’t get myself to leave you, to write. Besides, we take photos of you every day… and if there’s any truth to the saying that a picture paints a thousand words, there would be several volumes of books about you by now.

But you see, I realized that it’s not enough. So while you are asleep beside me, I decided to start writing. And there will be separate stories about your first smile, your first turn, your refusal to do “close-open” until now and your papa’s insistence that it’s still too early to push you to “close-open” your hands, your first real laugh, your excitement when you want me to get/hold you, and many many others.

Happy fifth month Qube.

Eighth Highlights.

Technically, it’s still during the eighth month.

Went home last Friday with a not-so-good mood and a giant headache. I was greeted by a smiling Qube doing The “Close-Open.”

Was i happy? I was ecstatic and the giant headache suddenly vanished!

Before the eighth month ends, let me count the ways that Qube made me smile on this particular month:

1. Close – Open: When we had just about given up on him learning to do it.

Starting on his 3nd month, we had been trying to teach him this, but he always seemed oblivious to my and his dad’s efforts.

But last Friday, when I arrived and Yaya asked him to show me – he closed his fist tightly, then opened it to show his palm, then he did it two more times. There was no mistaking it; he was really doing The Close – Open!

The catch? He refuses to do it more than twice a day. Or twice to the same person. Stubborn little imp.

2. Dance, dance: Nobody taught him. Well, I am not sure if Yaya did, but since both I and his dad never learned how to dance properly, we simply did not include it in our agenda to teach Qube. Maybe his daily dose of Showtime is to blame.

We just noticed one night that each time the Dell Fabric Conditioner commercial comes up on TV, he would suddenly turn and stare intently at the TV. Then he would begin swaying his head and move his body in tune with the jingle. That is when we recognized that he was dancing. Several more of  “May one rinse na ang Dell, may one rince na ang Dell…” sang by yours truly, confirmed our theory that he was indeed dancing to the TV jingle.

Now, his repertoire includes: Gotta Feeling by the Black Eyed Peas, Pokerface by Lady Gaga, On the Floor by J. Lo, The Time (Dirty Bit) by Black Eyed Peas, The Sweet Escape by Gwen Stefani and Akon, and a selection of nursery rhymes and bedtime songs.

Oh, and yes, he dances when he likes his food.

3. Clap them softly 1, 2, 3: The first few times he did it should not be counted. Because they were so random and not connected with any particular emotion.

This time, he claps when he is happy, when he sees something on TV that delights him, when he sees Mama about to pick him up, when he is playing with Leopard (his Animaland stuffed bestfriend), when he is playing peek-a-boo with Papa, when he dances.

4. Alive, Awake, Alert, Enthusiastic: Whenever I arrive home from work, I always try to sneak to the bathroom, have a drink of water, change my clothes, before I show myself to Qube. Else, he would be jumping with outstretched arms and shouting “Mama”, and I would not be able to disengage myself from him until a few hours later.

And every day after work, at playtime, he’d start to babble animatedly, hold his breath, tense his body, and squeal. He always does this when he is excited or when he is very eager to talk. And always, I’d have to rub him on his back to make him relax and just try to talk slowly.

5. Crawling little pig everywhere: By now, I’m getting used to turning towards my back first before making any move, to be sure that I would not be stepping on a crawling Qube, because he now makes his presence known in every nook of our apartment.

At eight months, we could no longer just sit and watch TV peacefully. It would always be either me or Papa chasing Qube everywhere.

One of these days, I might just tie him on a leash. Promise.

6. Bedtime singing: I’ve already mentioned in another blog entry that whenever I sing him to sleep, he’s start to slap my face and take over my singing. He does it every night.

Last night, because I want to tease him and test his singing prowess, I started singing in a falsetto. And he did the same!

But because I do not want to make false claims when I boast this to friends, and especially when I write about it, I modified my singing to use my normal voice. And he hummed in his normal voice. Still, not contented because it might have been just a coincidence, I again sang in falsetto voice. And yes, my Qube also began humming in falsetto.

Well, picture me smiling smugly to the husband*. The baby took after me, afterall.

There are many more little things that Qube does to make us proud parents believe that he is the best eight-month old there is today. But of course, all proud parents think this too.

This ends our amazing – eight journey.

Welcome to nine months, Qube.

Bukol Survival Tips

Qube got his first bump in the head last night while playing with Papa. With how both father and son reacted, i cannot be sure who between them was more hurt.

Qube hardly cries whenever he tumbles to the floor, hit whatever part of his body with his toys, with the door, chairs, or even when he accidentally head butts me. But last night, he was fighting the urge, but let out a sniffle anyway. And it took several more minutes before he recovered to his usual self.

His usual self can be described by flashing back to 30 minutes before his minor accident:

I was singing “Are you lonesome tonight?” – this is his bedtime song – while feeding and trying to put Qube to sleep, when he pulled himself away from me, stood up, and sort of took over my singing (yes, he does that! I’ll probably have to cam cord it as proof.), prompting his Papa and kuya Jigz (who is on school break and came here for a visit) to come inside the bedroom and witness his little show.

Realizing that he had more than his usual audience, the singing turned to dancing and tumbling around while being held and restrained by his dad.

Then it happened.

Maybe I should still be thankful that Papa’s teeth didn’t fall as a result. Though he swears that it is really painful, which I totally believe because Qube once hit me with his head and my upper lip ruptured.

—

For similar future events, which I am told is inevitable, here’s my to do list:  

Stay calm. And tell the dad not to panic (because he has the tendency to overreact). I can tell from very limited experience that Qube’s reactions (crying, shock, etc.) are especially influenced by the expression of everyone else around him (e.g., the flower on his hair, the Ildefonso incident). 

Kiss, kiss. Both the bukol on Qube’s head or any other part which might have been hurt. When I was a child, a kiss from my mom always takes away 80% of the pain. I intend to pass on the tradition to my own kids.

Ice, ice, baby. This one is no myth. And I am copy/pasting my internet research as support: Applying an ice pack will decrease the eventual size of the bump. Apply the ice for 20 minutes and then take a 5-minute break, then 20 minutes again. Offer your child a treat to eat during the icing to console him.

Although for Qube, I did not need to offer anything else. The feel of the cold on his skin was enough to amaze him and stop him from squirming free of my embrace.    

Check for cuts, blood. Though if there is any, it would be hardly negligible. I was told though that cuts on the face, scalp area bleed much more than other areas of the body.  If there is bleeding, apply pressure to the cut using a clean washcloth with ice. The wash cloth, well, washes away the blood while the ice prevents the blood vessels from swelling. Basta, do it daw.  

Calpol. Whenever Qube has his monthly vaccine, his pedia always asks us to give him Calpol or Tempra every 4 hours to relieve the pain. Internet research suggests that this works as well for cuts, bruises, bumps and similar minor injuries.

But since the “kiss to the injured part” worked already, I saw no need to administer Calpol, though I’ve made it a point to have one handy, for emergency use which I am glad never happens. 

Go out for a stroll. To help erase the memory, the dad strongly advises taking Qube out for a walk. (Just like how the husband* goes out for a walk and a yosi whenever he is finding it hard to put up with yours truly)

True enough, after the walk and play outside, Qube was again jumping and kicking and screaming in delight, as if nothing happened just a few minutes earlier.

—

When I locked us inside the bedroom for another attempt to put him to sleep, Qube was humming with me to the tune of “Are you lonesome tonight?” while his mouth latched on my left breast to feed. And his left hand was alternating between pulling my other breast and slapping my chest in rhythm with our goodnight song.

the F-word

Last night, while we were trying to get Qube to sleep (picture this: my arms over his body to pin him on the bed, while he was shouting, squirming and squeezing himself out of my embrace), he did it. He said the F-word. Twice.

By now, Qube’s speech is comprised of the monosyllables Bee, Kii, Boo, Peee, Nee, and when he is super annoyed because i keep on ignoring him, he blurts out Mamamamamamama with this look on his face:

Don't Eff with me!

And last night, he said Eff to Mama and Papa for forcing him to sleep at 1:30 in the morning. And another Eff for taking the laptop away from him while he was still enjoying Garageband.

Here’s a photo of Qube at play:

Look how happy i am when you're not effing with me 😀

panic attack #758

This week has been full of decisions for me. Today, i am making a major one yet again.

Hi, my name is Che. I am 25 years old.

Yes, i have decided to keep my age at 25. I know, i know, you just shut up. This means no birthdays for me for the next few years (four, maybe – go figure.)

This means that when meeting new people, or when anybody asks about my age, i should not be with somebody who i went to school with in prep, grade school, or anybody i haveconsistently spent birthdays with for the past few years.

Meaning, i should totally forget about my birth certificate, buried somewhere inside the condo unit in pasong-tamo, where i used to live, abandoned, but is still under my name until now.

What triggered this? My boss. Who kept on telling us audit ladies that, unlike men, we are like ticking clocks.

Therefore, i have to do something to stop this clock from ticking so fast. So there, i choose a random age from the air, and settled for 25.

A few years ago, i said that 23 is the best age for any woman.

No pressures to have a stable career. that was the time that i can still choose to bum around and still not be ashamed to ask for a living allowance from my Dad.

I did not feel the need to earn my own money then. I live at my Dad’s house, i get free food,free cable TV, free internet, etc.. Each time he thinks that our househelp is beginning to look better than i do, i get shopping money too. Which, by the way, isn’t all spent on clothes. 75% always goes to booze.

At 23, i did not feel the need to explain to anybody why i was not in a relationship. Heck, if i fooled around then, that was because i was only 23.

Well, a decade before i was 23, i decided that i should get married at 23. I thought then that by the time i am 23, i’d have my first million pesos in my savings account already.

Also, at 13, i figured that i’d have graduated at 20 (with honors, of course!), then companieswill be killing each other to get my services, i’d be driving my own volvo by then, and yes, i’ll be with a gorgeous and rich boyfriend who i will eventually marry before i turn 24.

There was more to that, but it is getting to be depressing. 🙂

A decade and two years later (:P), none of my childhood dreams happened.

I had a hard time graduating in college, i shifted courses before finally deciding that i hate accountancy but am going to finish it anyway,

i almost choked when asked why i have 5, 6, wait… 8! failed subjects in an interview with an SGV Senior Director,

i have an okay job but not even one company begged me to choose them,

i don’t have even a hundred thousand in my bank account,

i have LOANS!,

i do not have a car (which is okay because i never learned to cross the street, anyway).

And, well, i am not married, not even close.

i am writing this to put on record that, today, i have officially declared myself 25 years old.