tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47467342950282735452024-02-18T19:07:49.653-08:00Postcards and GrievancesNever a quiet moment.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-15595263772778909722011-03-12T00:10:00.000-08:002012-09-21T22:03:02.065-07:00JapanIt takes a lot of energy from me to to scream in fear. The Philippines is in the "Ring of Fire." We are highly prone to earthquakes, volcanic erruptions and tsunamis. It terrifies me that what is happening to Japan may one day happen here. How can our little country survive something like that? Our sad, disorganized country.<br />
<br />
I've gotten in contact already with my former students who now are back in Japan and I'm happy to hear they are safe. One was stuck in a train during the earthquake, God bless her for her bravery.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-18775250936237816882010-12-06T00:22:00.001-08:002010-12-06T00:22:56.548-08:00Dear Santa,<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ty wrote his first letter to Santa the other day. He and I sat down, picked out the paper and color of marker. I gave him a sheet of paper to draw what he wanted. I'd post the picture, but it he used a yellow crayon on white paper. <br />
<br />
Ty's List:<br />
- A yellow remote controlled race car<br />
and<br />
-Boco the Train (From Thomas and Friends)<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Tomy-Thomas-Track-Master-Train/dp/B00020IQ0O"> </a><br />
<br />
I was impressed that he had such a short list, when I was his age, mine looked more like a shopping list.<br />
<br />
Things I want for Ty:<br />
-Tickets to the Little Big Show featuring Barney, Thomas, Angelina Ballerina, Bob the Builder, Pingu and Fireman Sam (we got these yesterday!)<br />
-New clothes. This kid outgrows pants like it's nobody's business.<br />
-Soccer lessons at the nearby park<br />
-Thomas and the Carnival set (It usually costs 4k but we got one second hand at only 1k)<br />
<br />
Hero's list:<br />
-Not really sure. </span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">She likes getting involved in whatever game t is playing, and that sometimes upsets Ty. But they get on well for the most part. We remind Ty to share and he usually finds something for Hero to play with. She does enjoy playing with any musical instruments. I guess I’ll look for that.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">My list for her would include:</span></span></div><ul style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><li><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">A cooking set</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">A dollhouse (I convinced my sister to get her this, yay!)</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">A soft doll (I gave her one that I found at a bazaar recently. It fits my requirements perfectly—It does not pee, poop, blink, drink, move, cry or make scary crying sounds. AND it is not blonde.)</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">A doll stroller (So maybe she can learn to love the doll, since she won't give it the time of day)</span></span></li>
</ul><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">Last year, I gave Hero a little toy to hold (she was only 6 months at the time) and helped her give the gift to Ty. I really want them to think of each other when doing things. This year, Ty’s started to get into Chuggington and we found some die cast toys in Market Market. I bought one and labeled it from Hero. I’m going to take Ty to shop for a present for her later today. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">As for me, I'd love to get any of these things (hint hint, hubby!)</span><span></span></span></div><ul style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">A small point and shoot camera that takes video too</span><span></span></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">A trip to the spa or parlor</span><span></span></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">Some pretty bracelets or necklaces, I've fallen out of the accessory habit since they'd always get in the way when nursing.</span><span></span></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> Craft materials (good needles, crochet lessons, more thread and TIME to craft!)</span></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Patience. Oh Santa, lots of patience please.</span></span></li>
</ul>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-77126973570907627332010-11-29T19:43:00.000-08:002010-11-29T19:43:32.473-08:00questions, questionsI'm a teacher. 1st grade to 5th. I love my job.<br />
<br />
But they often ask really, really dumb questions. I don't mind questions about the subject matter, but when they are in the midst of doing something like say... making a poster and I hear,<br />
<br />
"Can I draw a hat on the person?"<br />
<br />
or<br />
<br />
"Should the words be big enough to see?"<br />
<br />
I get frustrated.<br />
<br />
Especially since I was exactly like that when I was their age.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-59049924160939185062010-11-21T23:11:00.000-08:002010-11-21T23:11:34.014-08:00chickenpox<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghd2XtlaNzMj2Hr6m29HlWI7vfnPayxXsTIVUb4KlE23qO9mpAk6vdaB25TdHmN74U8JwGNPM0ydzxhtvZ2Pxet75fMmRrpE4ZghTVoJWOO_yNzWiePqSs9aRmiX5ZENcs2noXrxFYmfOP/s1600/100_6249.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghd2XtlaNzMj2Hr6m29HlWI7vfnPayxXsTIVUb4KlE23qO9mpAk6vdaB25TdHmN74U8JwGNPM0ydzxhtvZ2Pxet75fMmRrpE4ZghTVoJWOO_yNzWiePqSs9aRmiX5ZENcs2noXrxFYmfOP/s320/100_6249.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>My son gave himself the chickenpox. With a permanent marker. We realized this soon after he started making clucking sounds. Apparently, that's one of the symptoms, heheheh.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-88831612112816067262010-11-18T21:31:00.000-08:002010-11-18T21:31:55.064-08:00coffee crazinessWhy do I even bother drinking coffee? I have not had a cup in about 2 years and today, I decided I needed one. A grande a that. I hate how it makes me feel, nervous and jittery. Out of control. At the height of it this morning, I felt as if I were standing in the middle of a highway, cars whooshing to my left and right.<br />
<br />
I barely slept last night because both my kids are sick and I'm compelled to check on their temperatures and breathing. So when I tore myself from bed this morning, I felt like I'd collapse during work today. No choice, coffee. Now, my back hurts and I'm second guessing each thing I say as if I were a different person.<br />
<br />
As much as I love the taste and warmth, it must hate me. My chemistry rejects it.<br />
<br />
But it is delicious.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-37448319378491624852010-11-02T21:10:00.000-07:002010-11-02T21:10:52.257-07:003 days of Halloween<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<br />
This year, Halloween lands on a Sunday. Manila has found way to spread the holiday (is it really a holiday?) over the span of 3 days.<br />
<br />
<b>FRIDAY</b><br />
The village we live in had their Halloween parade in the park followed by trick-or-treating around the neighborhood. Since my dad's siblings all live in the same area (genius move by my grandparents to gift each of my uncles and aunts with a parcel of land near each other) we had a family merienda/dinner together. My cousin had her three kids there too and we all went around the village together. There were grand aunts and uncles who each came bearing pre-packed goodie bags, so the kids didn't have to walk all the way to their houses.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj7pYL5dtv5jNH_xygsRXAdlJS7-BpoiSN4JpR_bLymrCs3Y0TV5mzguZgkd9WKMORDbIJ81TZ0CscJ9SBvRWvXlcZaSUWFJDnbbDCaoqdLo7xpecqHAsWjpdbfwSB2wGprrfS-OV92Xfi/s320/100_6150.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hubby and Hero </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj7pYL5dtv5jNH_xygsRXAdlJS7-BpoiSN4JpR_bLymrCs3Y0TV5mzguZgkd9WKMORDbIJ81TZ0CscJ9SBvRWvXlcZaSUWFJDnbbDCaoqdLo7xpecqHAsWjpdbfwSB2wGprrfS-OV92Xfi/s1600/100_6150.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1XNOdLMxxuqZlyo8MVprCMAUa1BQMs0PoBvL1YDsq_OUN_8d2Nco3QnVEjRMdUxTsanN9saEnhfL20dNWyN9ftMcmCKtvDetBZeNqrz5syXj_HZFMy-i9UxMoNPPlenfkOtNiB7H8dRUW/s1600/100_6147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1XNOdLMxxuqZlyo8MVprCMAUa1BQMs0PoBvL1YDsq_OUN_8d2Nco3QnVEjRMdUxTsanN9saEnhfL20dNWyN9ftMcmCKtvDetBZeNqrz5syXj_HZFMy-i9UxMoNPPlenfkOtNiB7H8dRUW/s320/100_6147.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Ty wore the fish hoodie I made for his Christmas show in his school last year. It finally fit well enough that his tail didn't drag on the ground. Hero was dressed in a ladybug dress handed down from her cousin in the states. I wanted both of them in homemade costumes, but she is a difficult one to measure and fit!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6o8uXfDeKumpW3KOEinbPLuA97ctE7kbPaw6sqh9Mgff7FFkZ-emSDTbh_T864ivh7K2GIzpL-sR9aP-kZgChbAto9Ftn1yisMFmlBzVII3hQYWO9Q9WramUaUR1asdt4a_PPvTKGvG1F/s1600/100_6155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6o8uXfDeKumpW3KOEinbPLuA97ctE7kbPaw6sqh9Mgff7FFkZ-emSDTbh_T864ivh7K2GIzpL-sR9aP-kZgChbAto9Ftn1yisMFmlBzVII3hQYWO9Q9WramUaUR1asdt4a_PPvTKGvG1F/s320/100_6155.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<b>SATURDAY</b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>We stayed home to rest all morning, anticipating a frenzied and nap-less afternoon at my friends daughter's birthday. The party was autumn harvest themed and the kids were asked to come in costumes. Ty begged to be in the Woody (from Toy Story) costume I'd made him. I was originally planning to have him in his store-bought train costume, but decided against it. My friend is a crafty mom, and I thought it would be nice to have him in a home made outfit. As the kids had lunch, I realized that Hero only had cowgirl pants and a plaid shirt as a costume. I was sure she wouldn't wear her hat, so I whipped out the glue gun and made her a vest. I think it came out very well.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4sdKsnRqeQWNL-INuJb18g7Rk6CZupRCir_gk8_MRxNUPy8jhX2sB3UVKNydlXd2RzH8053FOdUHS57llhJABG_5TSHBub8g2f4C8oUHgvG1YtYNtPsGg7Z4NuxRbVy_kHiJ9srgxpYDh/s1600/100_6160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFVHjnUemF2X3UDwMjyLWJzITrIXys4bXafzwsTMwKlRsaRvdQFFUi7eO0mx3SnaMh17c7VRU0IjnAE6MRmqXlioFQfwr2ZmD9OFUwWyOA5Zym9__Blq1I18LNUHxn88YSIIkw2TfLDuTp/s320/100_6169.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Tita Yen at Marion's party</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFVHjnUemF2X3UDwMjyLWJzITrIXys4bXafzwsTMwKlRsaRvdQFFUi7eO0mx3SnaMh17c7VRU0IjnAE6MRmqXlioFQfwr2ZmD9OFUwWyOA5Zym9__Blq1I18LNUHxn88YSIIkw2TfLDuTp/s1600/100_6169.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br />
After making the vest, I ran off to Landmark Department Store (5 minute walk from the house) to get a shadowbox for little Marion's present. I had been working on this sampler on and off for a few weeks and was finally happy with it. I got home, cut up a sheet of scrapbooking paper for the background and it was done. Phew.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4sdKsnRqeQWNL-INuJb18g7Rk6CZupRCir_gk8_MRxNUPy8jhX2sB3UVKNydlXd2RzH8053FOdUHS57llhJABG_5TSHBub8g2f4C8oUHgvG1YtYNtPsGg7Z4NuxRbVy_kHiJ9srgxpYDh/s320/100_6160.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can't seem to rotate this...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The party was so much fun! They had old Charlie Brown cartoons playing on a big screen, coloring pages, and carnival games. I loved that there were fresh apples to snack on and a photobooth to goof around in. It was a simple, non-competitive, and not overly stimulating (for the kids) party. They played with soap bubbles, and danced with each other. There was a table of goodies (stickers, crayons, rubber ducks, and scratch-off leaves) that kept the kids entertained.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaBTxbl7cOL0s8RPwxTxVIfzYvLOdozCwNsZ74oVBZQiDE0V8HMqTydLtWkoK4z9QBJEKqoPeQRrNzBbj7_lIZ_O1Aw1FREiuRE2hRQcWislFj5HbWVlBOnmHEtWmJj51uISSBm264bQlo/s1600/100_6165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaBTxbl7cOL0s8RPwxTxVIfzYvLOdozCwNsZ74oVBZQiDE0V8HMqTydLtWkoK4z9QBJEKqoPeQRrNzBbj7_lIZ_O1Aw1FREiuRE2hRQcWislFj5HbWVlBOnmHEtWmJj51uISSBm264bQlo/s320/100_6165.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
After the party ended at around 5:30, we headed over to another friend's house where he was hosting our church group's costume party. The house had been decked out in the creepiest decorations. There was a casket in the front yard, horror movies projected onto the living room wall, spiderwebs everywhere, and the entryway was illuminated by black light. I was worried that the kids would be scared but after the kid's room filled with orange and black balloons, they forgot all about the creepy stuff.<br />
<br />
We didn't get to stay long because we were all tired. I miss partying like a single girl sometimes.<br />
<br />
<b>SUNDAY</b><br />
Needless to say, we were exhausted the next morning. We lazed around for a while and hubby and I forgot we'd promised to have lunch at his brother's house in Alabang... and that we'd cook quesadillas. So we rushed off to the grocery while the yayas bathed and dressed the kids. We got the ingredients and headed home to pick up the kids. When we got home, one of the yays told me that the kids didn't have costumes for that afternoon's round of trick-or-treat.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiEcjKLBCTcLrk4ImWlByHERa1ybZ9_Ea20ho2jnHxmnP-GybMPZ1mgl8R5hhNkWJkVsJbn78maAD8k-kubWdmaomAmBJEq6cZQfeYEI3ZQBmv4RjnmPqYA5Ceiovz3W3fw_akHM2_7mYs/s320/100_6173.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's really just a decorated apron.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiEcjKLBCTcLrk4ImWlByHERa1ybZ9_Ea20ho2jnHxmnP-GybMPZ1mgl8R5hhNkWJkVsJbn78maAD8k-kubWdmaomAmBJEq6cZQfeYEI3ZQBmv4RjnmPqYA5Ceiovz3W3fw_akHM2_7mYs/s1600/100_6173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>So I grabbed my ever-faithful glue gun, all my felt and a few other things, and we headed off to Alabang. We got there a bit before 1 and I started making Hero's costume first. The simplest thing I could come up with was a flower pot. I wanted to make something feminine because she'd been mistaken for a boy so many times the day before.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-D4eKv6SmieJHgm8wDfPSSqFa0_6wfud_Wh5S97oxbSMOH6iT6Aq8odMtG25A6tTLna5w5nBns421f2paMQ1-AD9fEm3oYNjm5eT23cPGfV4fmqEQyf1g5aTzucHENgOF0LZX2qHS4L4/s1600/100_6172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-D4eKv6SmieJHgm8wDfPSSqFa0_6wfud_Wh5S97oxbSMOH6iT6Aq8odMtG25A6tTLna5w5nBns421f2paMQ1-AD9fEm3oYNjm5eT23cPGfV4fmqEQyf1g5aTzucHENgOF0LZX2qHS4L4/s320/100_6172.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I'd originally made plans to make Ty a cookie jar, but when he saw the red felt, he insisted on being a car. Not bad for 30 minutes of rushing, I think.<br />
<br />
Since Alabang is such a gigantic village and the houses are pretty far apart, we hopped in my bro-in-law's van and picked houses where we knew the people, or less populated (with kids) areas. One of my BIL's neighbors is a movie producer so he usually gets props and decorated the front of his house witht hem. They had a big Alice in Wonderland setup this year.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaFF1Kwy3WPGGP3t-us94k5a-H-vF9QBbYZSFCplF8gnl3jHF5tCpV_xMcvyFWAZCJ8yyM3lZug7WOnmCMGXC-nNqo6o2thqgn1TR5obRz7zKbgS85ig-JDI2kbjzJiP7VbQfpGDFjSd99/s320/100_6176.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thi kids with their Achis (big sisters)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaFF1Kwy3WPGGP3t-us94k5a-H-vF9QBbYZSFCplF8gnl3jHF5tCpV_xMcvyFWAZCJ8yyM3lZug7WOnmCMGXC-nNqo6o2thqgn1TR5obRz7zKbgS85ig-JDI2kbjzJiP7VbQfpGDFjSd99/s1600/100_6176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>I loved the house with the 4 moms who were sipping wine as they gave bottles of soap bubbles to the kids with nicer costumes and Mentos to the kids without costumes. Hehe, my kids got bubbles. There was another house where the whole place had life-sized cutouts of horror movie baddies (Freddie, Jason, Chuckie and the Clown from It) peeking out from the bushes, and a huge "Bates Motel : vaccancy" sign over the garage. I wish I'd gotten a picture of it, it was obvious they'd put a lot of thought into it. There was a "We have candy, ring doorbell if you dare!" sign by the front gate. We didn't dare.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnrF-v-ZMrsf5_J5Ndr7RM9UbD7eRk49rOIjipY52T8IlWxYOMwZfWyT_PsQEzHQ0PDIWgltazLRhrbq9iY0uWOc53O-iOCUUHps5CKehSr0h5l9HgiXEmWkbZyw4D5x5cKhyphenhyphenKFe71SpI-/s1600/100_6179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnrF-v-ZMrsf5_J5Ndr7RM9UbD7eRk49rOIjipY52T8IlWxYOMwZfWyT_PsQEzHQ0PDIWgltazLRhrbq9iY0uWOc53O-iOCUUHps5CKehSr0h5l9HgiXEmWkbZyw4D5x5cKhyphenhyphenKFe71SpI-/s320/100_6179.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<br />
So now the long Halloween weekend is over. Ty hasn't quite gotten used to the idea of Christmas coming up next. Hero is just happy she gets to wear her ladybug outfit whenever she wants.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-66299122026368305382010-10-26T21:18:00.000-07:002010-10-26T21:18:50.074-07:00Customer surveys and true customer satisfaction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Whenever we go to restaurants nowadays, we always seem to be given customer survey cards. Now, I've noticed that not all the tables are given these surveys. I have to wonder why they give them to us. Is it obvious I'm that much of a complainer? I've been known to cry in frustration when a salesman at the hardware store talked down to me in his "little missy" voice. I'm a girl, I'm not stupid.<br />
<br />
So I complained. I told the manager how I'd been treated and then walked out, promising to buy from their direct competition even if I had to walk 2 blocks in the rain. I did.<br />
<br />
There was a span of time where I kept finding hair in my food. It became an awful joke. I'd dig through pastas, salads and cakes to see what my "prize" that day was. I sent back each plate and had the food replace. I'm terrified to think of what invisible things I've eaten.<br />
<br />
I'm usually very truthful on these cards, if I see a roach, I write it down. I find that very few of the cards have enough space for my comments.<br />
<br />
Last week, we were at a Chinese restaurant and I diligently filled out the card. My son seemed to disagree on how I graded them.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK00lisSQPDJZ8NMHwRnRYA2j_wsufa45UyEZTP27-Z2NQ1bN365kD8_wDhoieyKrQcujDSUEJkZHtWGJAWTd9QxUMIo8P7iXhJd9olM6ayvys38sbaQ1asklLDetIhx_6Yll9fd1Sz-lj/s1600/100_6085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK00lisSQPDJZ8NMHwRnRYA2j_wsufa45UyEZTP27-Z2NQ1bN365kD8_wDhoieyKrQcujDSUEJkZHtWGJAWTd9QxUMIo8P7iXhJd9olM6ayvys38sbaQ1asklLDetIhx_6Yll9fd1Sz-lj/s320/100_6085.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Here he is, erasing all my marks.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-314099612874152522010-10-22T18:50:00.000-07:002010-10-22T18:50:54.177-07:00Mother as translatorMy little Hero has been growing so quickly these past few weeks. She's a year and 5 months old and I can't believe how much she says! <br />
<br />
She enjoys putting big books on the floor and standing on them, like a little stage. As soon as she steps onto one, she says, "eeeh--- full!" (Trans: "Careful!") And then she busts out her own version of Eensy Weensy Spider.<br />
<br />
Even her brother understands what she's saying. He used to resist listening to her, insisting that whatever she was speaking was not English. "Maybe she's talking Chinese, Mama. I don't know that."<br />
<br />
Recently, she's been mimicing the last word of our sentences. So conversations go a bit like this:<br />
<br />
"Hero, do you want taho?"<br />
<br />
"Ta-ho!"<br />
<br />
"Eat?"<br />
<br />
"Eat!"<br />
<br />
And so on.<br />
<br />
Then there are moments when she repeats a word, pointing and emphatically gesturing towards nothing. This moring, I was carrying her out of the bedroom, telling her about what we'd have for breakfast and she began clucking like a chicken.<br />
<br />
"Bukbuk buk!"<br />
<br />
"No Hero, we're having pancakes! You can dip it in your yogurt, it's yummy!"<br />
<br />
"Keee- ken!" (That means chicken)<br />
<br />
"You want to have chicken for breakfast?"<br />
<br />
She then squirms out of my grasp and reaches for the stack of books by the door. I take them down and she moves some aside, pulling out a lift-the-flap book that we had read together the night before. On the cover, a group of animals. No chicken. But as she turns the book over, she points to the spine. A rooster. Content, she takes my hand, look up at me and says, "Ooohgut? Ummy."<br />
<br />
That means, "Yougurt, yummy."Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-44986712644665513082010-10-14T21:57:00.000-07:002010-10-14T21:57:10.578-07:00losing itLast night, I lost it. I mena, really really lost it.<br />
<br />
I am a fairly even-tempered and calm person. I don't shout too often and when I do, it is usually follwed by taking the person aside and calmly talking about it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Both kids are sick right now and I stayed up with them the previous night. My kids have a predisposition towards febrile seizures (convulsions when they get fevers) and my son has already had 3 in the past. Sleep-deprived, I trudged off to work. I wanted to get a coffee (I probably have only had 2 coffees in the past 2 years) because of the chance that I'd nod of while working with my 1st grade students. But the line was too long and I was going to be late. So I left the coffee shop and rushed to work... only to find out that my 1st period students were on a field trip and I didn't even have to be at school that early. Pisser.<br />
<br />
So I did some work and lost track of time. I was late to my 2nd period class. Grr.<br />
<br />
The rest of the day went ok, but my lunchmeat had spoiled and I only had dry toast for lunch. My hubby wasn't going to be home till almost 10 because he had class for his masters. <br />
<br />
When I got home, I find out that the kids had not been put own for naps and my son had been allowed to play on the computer for 3 hours. 3 hours! He'd even been given his breakfast in front of the computer.<br />
<br />
So my wired son and my feverish daughter were (needless to say really) very demanding in the afternoon. It was too late for naps, and the chocolate (chocolate!) that they'd been given while I was at work was not helping. (Ok, seriously, who gives a kid with a cold and cough frozen chocolate??)<br />
<br />
So after a fairly calm dinner, they had their medecines, baths, and milk, they went wild. My 1 year old was howling, inconsolable. My 3 year old was jumping on the bed, throwing pillows and running everywhere, refusing to listen. Bouts of coughing, noses wiped on my tshirt and one minute in his "quiet corner" came soon after. There was no quiet. They both wanted water, and when I brought them out to the icebox, my mom came out to see what the ruckus was about. Upon seeing that their audience had expanded to ever-doting grammy, the other antics came into play. Ty took all the pillows and blankets from my and my husband's bed, and tossed them onto his. He'd then jump into the pile, screaming, "Whee! I'm having so much FUUUNNN!!"<br />
<br />
Did I mention that it was almost 10pm? We'd been in the room from 8:20pm. And I'd only had 3 hours of sleep the night before?<br />
<br />
My mom laughed, saying that he was adooooorrrable! Not so much. Now the 1 year old wanted to join in and stumbled onto the pile... quickly followed by my son on top of her. Pain and screaming follow.<br />
<br />
I think that's where I snapped. The baby howled for her water bottle, and she didn't want me to open it for her. Howls of frustration, and I grabbed the top and threw it across the room. I shouted, "Stop it!"<br />
<br />
My mom was livid. She scolded me for shouting at the kids like that. I'd had it. I literally pushed my mom out of the room, but still politely saying that I'd got it covered ad she could go.<br />
<br />
I sat on the floor and broke down. In Tagalog, <i>hagulgol.</i> Cries game in coughs and gasps. I hit the back of my head against the closet door several times.<br />
<br />
And it was silent.<br />
<br />
My kids were watching me.<br />
<br />
Ty came from across the room and sat beside me. He took my hand and cooed, "It's ok Mama. Ty's here."<br />
<br />
Little Hero patted me on the head and said "Sowi, sowi." She wiped my tears. She used the hem of my night shirt, but still.<br />
<br />
I took them in my arms and apologied poured from my mouth. I promised to try harder, to be more patient.<br />
<br />
"Mama, I'll sing you a lullabye." said Ty.<br />
<br />
And as he sang Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, Hero swayed and hummed along.<br />
<br />
It was only when my hubby got home that the kids fell asleep. I was exhausted. But I learned something very important last night.<br />
<br />
No matter how crazy things get, my kids are tuned into what really matters.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-88199252857767789672010-10-12T22:14:00.000-07:002010-10-12T22:14:02.129-07:00sandboxes part 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7KhVIviPFql8lZIPj8q-vkgkNoASF86uWG-0tLu7Pgp62YOsUq7zoDNMp3geFo4H38Wd_QoC7FSE5CfwkKyeUm8qGFSPdKM9wU0I4WEVnRpuk7hqBdIvTyqJBlNtRg3YuWsjuast6Zkpf/s1600/100_5926.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7KhVIviPFql8lZIPj8q-vkgkNoASF86uWG-0tLu7Pgp62YOsUq7zoDNMp3geFo4H38Wd_QoC7FSE5CfwkKyeUm8qGFSPdKM9wU0I4WEVnRpuk7hqBdIvTyqJBlNtRg3YuWsjuast6Zkpf/s320/100_5926.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Here are the kids playing in a sandbox at their cousin's birthday party. The little kids had to use a sieve to find little jewels.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-90838833502090363512010-10-12T22:11:00.000-07:002010-10-12T22:11:31.888-07:00sandboxes<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLrCdDIn1Ap0Jr708doEUCm-HxJFZMobnbK1Uxz7Chy9v4prNhzyKS9wlpZjHZpSjSMjO2ouFURWoTpvf2K0OAJnRyZ-U0V7Jq3MRdnBS2WTebpNI_BDke-C0jQzqAm8BukfZ0wwpcT6XZ/s320/100_6050.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We found a huge sandbox at the mini-zoo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLrCdDIn1Ap0Jr708doEUCm-HxJFZMobnbK1Uxz7Chy9v4prNhzyKS9wlpZjHZpSjSMjO2ouFURWoTpvf2K0OAJnRyZ-U0V7Jq3MRdnBS2WTebpNI_BDke-C0jQzqAm8BukfZ0wwpcT6XZ/s1600/100_6050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>Every time Ty visits me at work, he runs into my classroom to give me a hug and then runs off to the pre-school area to play with their sandbox. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsfteKPfE5BKuoJp18m1wF9Gvi8sGHTtaKRc9ynb53QtWCeHtNS0BtPH3-mYxRkXqOi2b2y6NLDFFTz04_-_9mpmxc8NublnxTKRbcc_LgCMFq1oXjElAcsCiqcGhDDGASFG-F0MZ1e8zd/s1600/100_6051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsfteKPfE5BKuoJp18m1wF9Gvi8sGHTtaKRc9ynb53QtWCeHtNS0BtPH3-mYxRkXqOi2b2y6NLDFFTz04_-_9mpmxc8NublnxTKRbcc_LgCMFq1oXjElAcsCiqcGhDDGASFG-F0MZ1e8zd/s320/100_6051.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4034QFFPLWc4dMJDmJ92zy_OQlIr0knaP_BWOth5oI12OLjuT2RRqyuiFmLiVUlD93CLkmokIDHR_dDVh0TALGyYgO35qr9GrG80twtgp-eieugfrBehrkXxagSNbeSAu6IRuBKeRUBHn/s1600/100_6052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4034QFFPLWc4dMJDmJ92zy_OQlIr0knaP_BWOth5oI12OLjuT2RRqyuiFmLiVUlD93CLkmokIDHR_dDVh0TALGyYgO35qr9GrG80twtgp-eieugfrBehrkXxagSNbeSAu6IRuBKeRUBHn/s320/100_6052.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Hero wasn't quite sure what to do with the sand. We often call out, "eee, dirty!" when she touches things like the bottoms of shoes, the dog bowl or picks things up off of the floor. I think she was waiting for me to shout in these pictures.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9k-WOPWWXOhIXt_7On9FUgYzjK947AxSONSH4NocjzwhdHmykoQx4Y_ILKU-itSegjJQPwy_ehEc45iHf7nUQ2IN9raqcZOaXAdAT2MAbkooHHsv6a0B4ELC-W7GbkHlOsiXwJ-tBzbrQ/s1600/100_6056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9k-WOPWWXOhIXt_7On9FUgYzjK947AxSONSH4NocjzwhdHmykoQx4Y_ILKU-itSegjJQPwy_ehEc45iHf7nUQ2IN9raqcZOaXAdAT2MAbkooHHsv6a0B4ELC-W7GbkHlOsiXwJ-tBzbrQ/s320/100_6056.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
She got into it after a while.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUk9q5wFYQM5mDFXU-hEwZzPgKTPRitfxjaOZGQUxAVSYdt18GdwauyBNKHG4GnZE2xqeFWtty5Qc4Hq3gIC9_7OAj3GDK22F5pA4WkeMsuZV5lf80CBiFkfqTqsfYKyKo_UgGMC4HgODd/s1600/100_6055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUk9q5wFYQM5mDFXU-hEwZzPgKTPRitfxjaOZGQUxAVSYdt18GdwauyBNKHG4GnZE2xqeFWtty5Qc4Hq3gIC9_7OAj3GDK22F5pA4WkeMsuZV5lf80CBiFkfqTqsfYKyKo_UgGMC4HgODd/s320/100_6055.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Ty was an old hand at it.<br />
<br />
I like it when my kids get to experience new things. For years I've been begging my hubby to let me build a sandbox for Ty. His answer always is, "And what will we do with all the cat poop we collect?"<br />
<br />
He's right.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately because of the huge population of ferral cats in Manila, a sandbox is just an open invitation to COME, POOP HERE!<br />
<br />
Not a good place for kids to play.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-39256014635234937012010-10-07T21:03:00.001-07:002010-10-07T21:03:47.488-07:00sandboxes<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLrCdDIn1Ap0Jr708doEUCm-HxJFZMobnbK1Uxz7Chy9v4prNhzyKS9wlpZjHZpSjSMjO2ouFURWoTpvf2K0OAJnRyZ-U0V7Jq3MRdnBS2WTebpNI_BDke-C0jQzqAm8BukfZ0wwpcT6XZ/s320/100_6050.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We found a huge sandbox at the mini-zoo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLrCdDIn1Ap0Jr708doEUCm-HxJFZMobnbK1Uxz7Chy9v4prNhzyKS9wlpZjHZpSjSMjO2ouFURWoTpvf2K0OAJnRyZ-U0V7Jq3MRdnBS2WTebpNI_BDke-C0jQzqAm8BukfZ0wwpcT6XZ/s1600/100_6050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>Every time Ty visits me at work, he runs into my classroom to give me a hug and then runs off to the pre-school area to play with their sandbox. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsfteKPfE5BKuoJp18m1wF9Gvi8sGHTtaKRc9ynb53QtWCeHtNS0BtPH3-mYxRkXqOi2b2y6NLDFFTz04_-_9mpmxc8NublnxTKRbcc_LgCMFq1oXjElAcsCiqcGhDDGASFG-F0MZ1e8zd/s1600/100_6051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsfteKPfE5BKuoJp18m1wF9Gvi8sGHTtaKRc9ynb53QtWCeHtNS0BtPH3-mYxRkXqOi2b2y6NLDFFTz04_-_9mpmxc8NublnxTKRbcc_LgCMFq1oXjElAcsCiqcGhDDGASFG-F0MZ1e8zd/s320/100_6051.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4034QFFPLWc4dMJDmJ92zy_OQlIr0knaP_BWOth5oI12OLjuT2RRqyuiFmLiVUlD93CLkmokIDHR_dDVh0TALGyYgO35qr9GrG80twtgp-eieugfrBehrkXxagSNbeSAu6IRuBKeRUBHn/s1600/100_6052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4034QFFPLWc4dMJDmJ92zy_OQlIr0knaP_BWOth5oI12OLjuT2RRqyuiFmLiVUlD93CLkmokIDHR_dDVh0TALGyYgO35qr9GrG80twtgp-eieugfrBehrkXxagSNbeSAu6IRuBKeRUBHn/s320/100_6052.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Hero wasn't quite sure what to do with the sand. We often call out, "eee, dirty!" when she touches things like the bottoms of shoes, the dog bowl or picks things up off of the floor. I think she was waiting for me to shout in these pictures.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9k-WOPWWXOhIXt_7On9FUgYzjK947AxSONSH4NocjzwhdHmykoQx4Y_ILKU-itSegjJQPwy_ehEc45iHf7nUQ2IN9raqcZOaXAdAT2MAbkooHHsv6a0B4ELC-W7GbkHlOsiXwJ-tBzbrQ/s1600/100_6056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9k-WOPWWXOhIXt_7On9FUgYzjK947AxSONSH4NocjzwhdHmykoQx4Y_ILKU-itSegjJQPwy_ehEc45iHf7nUQ2IN9raqcZOaXAdAT2MAbkooHHsv6a0B4ELC-W7GbkHlOsiXwJ-tBzbrQ/s320/100_6056.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
She got into it after a while. I love it when they get messy.<br />
<br />
<span id="goog_74069113"></span><span id="goog_74069114"></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-22262076331784629502010-10-06T04:27:00.000-07:002010-10-06T04:27:07.015-07:00My birthday celebration at the petting zoo<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few days after my birthday, hubby and I took the kids out to the petting zoo. Not a typical celebration for a now-34 year old, but we had fun. Here is a pic of me with my little man and the carrot on a stick that we fed to the guinea pigs.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hero and I got some use of the carrot too. Or maybe Hero and I started with the carrot...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We moved on to goats and kangkong (water spinach). This ram had beautiful curved horns.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the vermin pen. I admit, I'm afraid of these little buggers.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hubby, not letting hte carrot go to waste.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ty and the goats.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXs5WtNZ8HPWqYGQUgl9lONFZxYbLinynIZYtt-OxjQESRcg03peXPC37NqlpPKPeARilb4CHOPJzW1ylDaxak8-9rPciSdeNLeeXBbr5fWQzzjTGelpFnj93ljIevrK_Q300z_XTKixSc/s1600/100_6057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-16727282357651172322010-09-27T03:53:00.000-07:002010-09-27T03:53:15.679-07:00spaceI guess I just needed some space. I was able to take a walk while the kids slept this afternoon and I'm coming to terms with the big 34. I don't really know why it is such a big deal, It isn't even one of those numbers that shout "milestone!"<br />
<br />
At 30, I didn't get to do a lot of celebrating as I was pregnant with our first. We had a quiet dinner in some restaurant I can't remember. I don't remember any presents, just that there was the big storm, Milenyo and there was hardly any place that had electricity. Hmm, I'm begining to remember it now... we ate at Masas. Reasonably priced Filipino food.<br />
<br />
See, all I needed was space.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-52990259552284415372010-09-26T19:42:00.000-07:002010-09-26T19:42:47.993-07:0034So I turn 34 in two days.<br />
<br />
I've been through a whole range of emotions in the past few days. I've just finished with sadness, dreading, fear and worry.<br />
<br />
Today, I'm just pissed.<br />
<br />
I'm pissed that I will be at work for an extended day. I'm pissed that my hubby won't be home til past 9pm. I'm pissed that I moved my family celebration from Sunday to Tuesday because in-laws couldn't make it on Sunday... then they inform us last night that they won't be around on Tuesday either. I'm pissed because hubby and I are buying a new car, so I'm pressured to pick a cheaper restaurant and not go to the one I really want to.<br />
<br />
It's just birthday blues, I tell myself. *sigh*Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-17075030958570730962010-09-17T21:03:00.000-07:002010-09-17T21:03:30.219-07:00candy at noon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWyJ7MKOboqbncGPar9IGVnLcbDW3PVyLPDSgvh_HRH8LZIR2BcPBDnpIQoPh1K7g2e1uP2lhyGDtsl-6sPvt6C0QuLbHj2vKOOGMXDaIx5OKWzN97h6amv-K4vm5MfiTlgV9tlmXbAce/s1600/orange.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" qx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWyJ7MKOboqbncGPar9IGVnLcbDW3PVyLPDSgvh_HRH8LZIR2BcPBDnpIQoPh1K7g2e1uP2lhyGDtsl-6sPvt6C0QuLbHj2vKOOGMXDaIx5OKWzN97h6amv-K4vm5MfiTlgV9tlmXbAce/s320/orange.bmp" width="320" /></a></div>My son was eating one of these orange candy slices for the first time today. He rushed into the room to show me what Ama (Grandmother) had given him. <br />
<br />
"Mommy, look! I have a (drops voice to a whisper) candy!"<br />
<br />
I don't allow him a lot of sugar.<br />
<br />
"It's orange and yummy and... has little yummy sands on it. Can I eat it?"<br />
<br />
Seeing as it was 10 minutes to noon and he hand't had his lunch yet.... I said yes. He rushed off taking little nibbles and licks.<br />
<br />
I overhear Ama asking him in the other room: "Did mommy say you could eat it?"<br />
"Yes, Ama."<br />
"Ok, what do you say to Ama?" (She must have been fishing for a thank you.)<br />
<br />
"Good job Ama, you make good candy!"Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-29703682317656653152010-09-17T06:54:00.000-07:002010-09-17T06:54:09.770-07:00fear<a href="http://notesonnurturing.blogspot.com/">My friend Yen </a> wrote about fears on her blog, and it got me thinking. I used to have a phobia of plugging things in after I blew off the skin from 3 fingers. That's why hubby calls me Sparky. I'm over it now, but my breath still catches when a spark pops out while I'm plugging. <br />
<br />
My son hasn't shown any prevalent fears yet, luckily. Maybe it's because he's a boy (I don't mean to be sexist, but they're REALLY different). I wish he'd be more afraid, really. Last week, he refused to leave the toy store so we left him there. I watched him through the window while Paul, Hero and the yayas went off to the restaurant. 20 mins later, he was still happily playing. I even had the salesman try to scare him, but no dice.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-42698030585836104482010-09-16T21:36:00.000-07:002010-09-16T21:36:17.344-07:00a little project<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZY90K4GH0uLrjRPVpZab2Mw9trcOM4DtYxg-3CJpAvlQ0X6YND1xpTM7aF10KlcC27iYv-qzOw1jN3nsjyC3K35N9E4SiNA3g96vpRfCPUZK3dxVYSmIdfM58jtPg3DW2i6rEv7Ho-LXv/s1600/100_6031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZY90K4GH0uLrjRPVpZab2Mw9trcOM4DtYxg-3CJpAvlQ0X6YND1xpTM7aF10KlcC27iYv-qzOw1jN3nsjyC3K35N9E4SiNA3g96vpRfCPUZK3dxVYSmIdfM58jtPg3DW2i6rEv7Ho-LXv/s320/100_6031.JPG" /><span id="goog_1218319281"></span><span id="goog_1218319282"></span></a></div>My son is a big fan of maps. He's got a terrific sense of direction and knows exactly where the toystore is in any mall we frequent. When we eat at a restaurant, I've always got a pack of crayons ready to draw him a map or set of train tracks on the back of the paper placemat (because the restaurants we like are classy like that). Hubby and I have drawn approximately 100 maps, we estimate. Each getting soggy and wet at the end of each meal.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8i2jIkZ6GjR1I6ItswKIxWQ_FMpNAEOtMkf9t2ShRi5wqIY-5DIw_WIzBN4pCrAdUhzYpYweql_PMcJWpCjBQp5b2ZUvxzowZU0XjF1hadkyBJHNEyZLSDypcrQJhd3W5d_c0odcWw6Ct/s1600/100_6034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8i2jIkZ6GjR1I6ItswKIxWQ_FMpNAEOtMkf9t2ShRi5wqIY-5DIw_WIzBN4pCrAdUhzYpYweql_PMcJWpCjBQp5b2ZUvxzowZU0XjF1hadkyBJHNEyZLSDypcrQJhd3W5d_c0odcWw6Ct/s320/100_6034.JPG" /></a></div>I recently found a scrap of tarpaulin (sp?) left over from our daughter's birthday party. We used it as the backdrop of her photo booth (a present from godparents). The tarp is really durable, we used it underneath a picnic blanket to keep our butts dry (but it was too slippery), underneath finger painting projects and it's final incarnation (or so I thought) was to cover the unsightly corkboard in my classroom. The scrap was from the bottom end that was longer than the board.<br />
<br />
So I took my handy permanent markers and drew him a map. The houses have numbers or letters (he's learning them now) and there is a gas station, bakery, bookshop, zoo, hospital, church and swimming pool in the neighborhood too. And a river runs through the town.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Yk78ilQSeoDfnNfXrAjjfYbx_BDIErtBg6h5MZZ2lp4fhhZB-nAJjoPWdIKuIAWHT1028Cc8d-TcwErUm0ccau1Hv0F3vKtqwpeo7IHza1OscWaJmhyphenhyphenJVE5FP_68dy977-TedBYyFfhP/s1600/100_6036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Yk78ilQSeoDfnNfXrAjjfYbx_BDIErtBg6h5MZZ2lp4fhhZB-nAJjoPWdIKuIAWHT1028Cc8d-TcwErUm0ccau1Hv0F3vKtqwpeo7IHza1OscWaJmhyphenhyphenJVE5FP_68dy977-TedBYyFfhP/s320/100_6036.JPG" /></a></div>I brought it home and he ran to the toy cabinet to find his cars. There was no talking to him for the rest of the afternoon.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-36218687400977796822010-09-12T22:30:00.001-07:002010-09-12T22:53:15.632-07:00church goingWe don't get to church as often as I'd like. With two little kids, it's pretty crazy to have them there and allow me to concentrate on what's going on.<br />
<br />
Living in a predominantly Catholic country, affords me some opportunities I would not get anywhere else. I can go to mass virtually anywhere I want to because there is mass EVERYWHERE. The hospital, all the malls, parks, you name it. And the churches in my city are only about a 5-7 minute drive away from each other. I really should not have an excuse. <br />
<br />
So we went to mass at the mall yesterday. We got there 30 minutes early (it gets full, fast) and had to be satisfied with 3 seats in one area and 2 seats in another.<br />
<br />
I has my hubby walk the kids around to get them a bit tired while the nanny and I saved our seats. I hoped it would keep them calm for at least PART of the mass.<br />
<br />
And it succeeded... for a while. My daughter hummed through most of the songs, even if she hadn't heard them before. and midway though the homily, my son heard (I know! He was listening!!!) the word "Bible" and he perked up, started squirming in his seat. I asked what was wrong and he burst out with his rendition of "God Made Me."<br />
<br />
After much shushing and laughing, he quieted down. He laughed at the mention of pigs (the gospel was the prodigal son) and and asked me what a fatted calf was. I whispered a quick explaination, followed by his aghast, "We eat cows?!"<br />
<br />
I must say, my three year old is pretty darned funny. But then again, I'm biased. :)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-36997650244331557372010-09-12T22:30:00.000-07:002010-09-12T22:30:23.452-07:00early morningsMonday morning after a 3 day weekend. I actually have Mondays off, being that I only work part-time, so this is a 4 day weekend for me.<br />
<br />
I had planned to go to a big bazaar this morning with some friends but one of the has started work and the other didn't plan on waking up in the morning AT ALL. Haha, the life of an unemployed single person. I don't think I miss it really. It looks like I'll be going to the bazaar with mom, sis an my daughter. We're all self-serving shoppers so I doubt I'll get any decent opinions on my "how do I look" queries.<br />
<br />
I enjoy the mornings, though I may complain about it often. The temperatures are cooler, my bed is snugglier and the kids are asleep. Hehehe. I quietly slipped out of bed and started preparing my son's snack and lunch for school. Today I boiled shrimp, peeled them and put them over his rice. His snack was cheese cubes, apple slices, cheerios and 3 foil wrapped chocolate coins.<br />
<br />
My daughter is "nagpapalaki" according to her nanny. Loosely translated that means she's growing. She sleeps much longer these past few mornings. I wake and breathe in the smell from the top of her head, letting the fine hair tickle my nose.<br />
<br />
Today is going to be wonderful. I can tell.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-21063032466493134872010-09-10T03:39:00.000-07:002010-09-10T03:39:32.208-07:00the events surrounding the birth of our little Hero 1<div style="text-align: left;"></div>Hubby and I were completely surprised that I was pregnant. We were sure we wanted a 2nd child, but didn't think it would happen so soon. We'd been having a few little fights here and there, and I guess it was "the honeymoon's over" kind of phase.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I was hesitant to tell my friends and family. Our son was 1, but he'd be 2 and 3 months when the baby was born. I wasn't sure I was ready to have two kids in diapers.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">But I took a deep breath, and a few days, and the nausea struck. Along with it was the thrill. A baby!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Our friends and family welcomed the news, some had even guessed before the announcement. Perhaps it was the eight shades of green I fluctuated between throughout the day. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Hubby and I took every teachable moment to tell our son that he's soon be an <i>ahia, </i>a big brother. We showed him the fun his cousins had together. we bought books with siblings in them. For the record, "The Bobsey Twins" are not for 2 year olds.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">But he somehow learned, and he loved the idea.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqbNifpc7wWEJ7GZJo7Xa-fwHXC_ShQrTD8he5WiIFf-BfyQ9sbCjHnYO37Is9N4pZyrxNGavyasjtyzOqHaWqk2pMTAMkwmJGiJdGreFm7hIDEsBPgM7n_51_BadFDLrc5YR0EEHms3f/s1600/Picture+0048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLARgNGIuMo3GsdU3HwUBp5I-32IYAkIC4NFeubLAtcAzcZ6__DWLh8weU9hcHggb2nWbBflFo561OP7QI5RoRksCRHYw3XhQhDS3LDTulsDnCbssNjvcrDqhJkNF-KtcO2ZSJ-FAWo4cs/s1600/portrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLARgNGIuMo3GsdU3HwUBp5I-32IYAkIC4NFeubLAtcAzcZ6__DWLh8weU9hcHggb2nWbBflFo561OP7QI5RoRksCRHYw3XhQhDS3LDTulsDnCbssNjvcrDqhJkNF-KtcO2ZSJ-FAWo4cs/s400/portrait.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our friend took this picture for a slideshow on how our church group is growing. (photo by Cres Yulo)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-27401099450069237052010-09-08T18:58:00.001-07:002010-09-08T18:58:54.309-07:00can't beat itI'm sitting in my classroom, taking a break. Having a chicken parmigiana roll and sea salt chips.<br />
<br />
Enjoying the quiet.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-3756820960759668642010-09-06T22:44:00.000-07:002010-09-06T22:44:03.861-07:00bad karmaI was really upset yesterday and lashed out by posting a mean (albeit nameless) status message on facebook.<br />
<br />
Today, I will try to rack up good karma. Things I have done so far:<br />
-bought chocolate pretzels for my 3rd grade students as an apology for letting them off late last time<br />
-sat by, and quietly explained a video to a "lost" 2nd grader<br />
-held my tongue when I wanted to say something snarky.<br />
<br />
I'll keep going God, but I still don't think the world would be a better place if that girl passed the bar exam.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-25413846835093325792010-09-06T19:26:00.001-07:002010-09-06T19:28:40.758-07:00Foxley and IsleyMy son has a toy fox that he loves. He named it Foxley. My daughter wants it. So, yesterday, I bought her a similar toy. She calls it Isley.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4746734295028273545.post-45663956586676744962010-09-05T20:20:00.000-07:002010-09-05T20:26:04.088-07:00On A WhimI was in the mall the other day and stepped into Lucky Brand. I love/hate that place. I love it because the clothes fit beautifully, they are just my style and the designs are just beautiful. And of course, I hate it because a t-shirt costs a third of my monthly salary.<br />
<br />
Yes, I live in the third world, and I'm used to foriegn brand name clothing to be pricey. But a a hoodie for Php 10,000? Jeans for Php 20,000? Really?<br />
<br />
The only reason I went in was the huge "50% OFF!" signs in the window.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVEo6IsUuDRJ_EulNePHPqDlApkb61iH2pPyL_OL4cKWAa1aRYtyrDBUrN5fxcydF0zsxx8Qyw4vl4mWK69Vd8lY3u-UM_OXdzhW11AgChMjI1IWgIuWzOV9dbptpCrXyZ1aA6Uoz74s_H/s1600/09062010211.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVEo6IsUuDRJ_EulNePHPqDlApkb61iH2pPyL_OL4cKWAa1aRYtyrDBUrN5fxcydF0zsxx8Qyw4vl4mWK69Vd8lY3u-UM_OXdzhW11AgChMjI1IWgIuWzOV9dbptpCrXyZ1aA6Uoz74s_H/s400/09062010211.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My "on a whim" project"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>*sigh*<br />
<br />
I saw a stack of hoodies laid out on the sale table, and the design interested me. It was an embroidered hamsa. Hippie, timeless. 10 thousand pesos. I can't afford that. But...<br />
<br />
I could MAKE that.<br />
<br />
And so I did. Well, I'm almost done.<br />
<br />
When I was at work the next day, the kids were quietly writing. I sketched out a hamsa and liked it. So I grabbed the washable markers I had for the students and proceeded to draw it onto my hoodie.<br />
<br />
At first, I embroidered the hood with a stylized sun, and now I'm working on the hand. I've got a mad urge to finish it quickly. I have to finish this soon, because those mad urges tend to fade quickly. I've got unfinished stuff lying around. *sigh*Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00313032006733018875noreply@blogger.com1