Confessions: This is not for the faint-hearted.

When you died, it was not like in the movies. It did not feel like how books would describe it. I did not play my part as perfectly as I should. I did not mourn you.

On the first day of your wake, I wore an orange dress and went to the beach with friends. That was, I think, the most effective way to earn the ire of old relatives. I actually didn’t care. But I went through the motions and acted out all the things normal people do, anyway. I knew they all meant well.

When you died, a part of me was even pleased in a distorted kind of way. I milked everybody’s sympathy the best way I could. These are perks that you don’t get to use often, and I made sure I maximized the benefits I got from it. When I failed to show up for my Business Law exams, I used your death as an excuse. When I stuttered through my thesis defense, the panel cannot help but throw me sympathetic glances (my thesis defense happened the morning before your funeral). When I was unsure about my performance in my departmental final exams, I shrugged it off as a side effect of mourning.

When you died, no matter how I tried, I could not feel guilty for the part of me that felt relieved. It was like a very heavy burden has been taken off my chest. I was thankful that I won’t have to see you go through another chemo. That I would not have to spend another day in the hospital. That we won’t have to worry about where to get the money for your treatment. It was not easy seeing you sick like that. Six years of cancer is not easy to deal with.

Contrary to what others feared, my life did not break to pieces. In fact, I held up pretty well. Things went on normally after your funeral.

You died in March. The first time I realized that something was wrong with me was in December. For the first time in my life, I was not excited about Christmas. I was not happy.

And then it hit me. I stopped being happy when you died. That part of me died with you.

But it wasn’t as horrible as it seemed. At times, it was even pretty convenient not to feel anything. Days became monotonous. A series of unhappy Christmases came one after another. To say that I endured these days isn’t exactly accurate. I did not care. I was okay. I made stupid life choices and chose to love the wrong people. But that was exactly the point. I wanted the fleeting satisfaction of making good of an otherwise hopeless situation. This gave me a temporary kind of high. It was all good until it lasted.

Two years ago, I gave birth a few days short of Christmas. It was the happiest I have been in a very very long time. Yes, motherhood changed everything. Each time I look at my son, I feel overwhelmed with love and happiness. For the first time in years, I started looking forward to Christmas and my son’s birthday.

But I would be lying if I say that I am complete now. I am better now, but what’s dead is dead and I am still in the process of growing a new heart. I still feel hollow. And I still miss you every day.

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.

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

Fight Club.

We had been fighting for as long as I could remember.

We fought about everything. It seemed then that the only way we knew how to interact with each other was to fight.

Heck, for the longest time, we could not even agree on the status of our relationship.  (I hear our friends chuckle in agreement!)

So when I got pregnant with Qube, I assumed people were happy. Well, at least the few people we usually bother with our petty fights. I could imagine them heaving a sigh of relief, saying “now the fighting stops.”

Surprise, surprise! It did not. Not that I had any illusions, to begin with. If anything changed, it’s the fact that we now have more things to fight about.

And during these fights, I swear I feel really happy and relieved that we have no marriage papers to keep us from leaving each other.

So, one day, I told you this: “I love you sometimes, when we are not fighting.”

And you said:

“I love you, even when we are fighting. That’s how we are different.”

I choked.

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?

Palusot.

I was watching Qube play with his trains a short distance from where I was having breakfast. He was again removing everything he sees on the couch. Whenever he wants to play, he does not want any obstruction blocking the path of his trains. This time, he was busy removing pillows and putting them on the floor.

Seeing that I was intently looking at him, he turned towards me and asked: “Mama, is that a giant electric fan?”

I thought for a moment and surmised that, well, he was saying that in reference to his size. I innocently replied: “Yes baby, that is a very big electric fan.”

With that, he smiled and said: “I know Mama. Look, na-blow kang electric fan ang pillows to the floor.”

Here comes my moral dilemma. Applaud the effort and get him off the hook? Or tell him that no, that is not the truth?

I did not see this as one of the things I should worry about a thousand days ago.

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.

Mondays are for remembering everything that makes everyday special.

Today I woke up and kissed my still sleeping Qube. Much as I wanted to wake him, I could not. Else, I’ll have a hard time trying to (physically) detach him from me as I prepare myself for work. So all I can do was look at him and marvel at how fast he is growing up, and smiled at the realization that he now exhibits the smarts to go with his good looks. Thank You God for these.

For perfect evenings that cap my days, and for a husband who is far from perfect but is trying soo so hard to be one, thank You.

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.

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.