Mothers & Daughters & Friends

 

Just five more soccer Sundays to go... 

A Celeste-al Friendship

There are friendships and there are friendships.

But every now and then, and likely when one is least expecting it, something can sprout up and grow and thrive into something pretty darn near close to perfection. For me, this is even more rare, since throughout my life, my experience of female friendships has not been without disappointment. My expectations, I've been told, are too high and I am destined for dismay in that area. And then, there was Celeste. Someone who is so different from me, and yet, our individual chemistries seem so very perfectly in synch. Sense of humor, shared interests, deep-down-at-the-heart-felt beliefs, there is all that but there's more. There is the complete acceptance, mutual generosity, and just plain old fashioned care and ...well, liking...for the lack of a better word. It doesn't happen every day for me, is all I can say.

Which makes it all the more difficult so say goodbye. Why why why do we have to?

Easter Thoughts

How is it that the child who fought to hi-fi tantrum levels not to go to Easter Sunday mass this morning ("We already went last Friday!" he yelled, thrashing his legs upon the bed), raised his hand when Fr. Colin asked the children to tell him what Easter meant, and said: "The tomb is open."? Now is that profound or what?

At breakfast, the family conversation found its way to wondering why the symbol of Easter is an egg. Kaylee said, "Maybe because an egg is good luck." And Coby said: "Maybe it's because the stone that covered the tomb was shaped like an egg."

There was also a long rather vocal discussion about whether or not there could have been a bunny rabbit near the tomb that could have possibly witnessed Christ himself, standing and walking out of it.

And after a long day involving mass, Easter lunch of Pot Roast Lamb and Lasagne at the Encarnacions, an Easter egg hunt involving 50 egg treats and five children, and of course, good conversation among friends, we said our bedtime prayers. As I am ending the prayer, Coby pipes up, "Thank you for giving us new life, Jesus."

Thank you, indeed.

Good Golly Friday

The day started with the wailing of my son refusing to go to Church for Good Friday service. I felt for him, I really did, recalling my own childhood holy weeks where I felt exactly as he did, but was better brought up than he and wouldn't actually say it out loud. My daughter was a trouper, and ready with her paper and pens and bible books. The rain began in earnest right in the middle of the service as our choir sang. I'm told by locals, that in Singapore, it always rains on Good Friday. Always, always, always. In Manila, Good Friday is hot and dry, even when a breeze blows - it's hot. I must say I prefer the rain.

We took them for fish sandwiches at McDo, and I succeeded in my fasting. Then it was home. We read the Cruxificion story again from the children's rather well-written, well-researched Bible. The people behind DK Dorsing Kinderly books really know what they are doing. Then we did homework, and read, and managed to make the kids forget that they couldn't turn on the television, play game boy, Xbox or computer. For awhile anyway. At a certain point, Coby succumbed to tears of frustration.

"I don't like Good Friday. It's not a Good Friday. It's a Bad Friday."
"Yes, it's a quiet, sad day because it's it's the day Jesus died," I said.
"No! It's a bad day because we can't play anything!" He yelled and he dissolved in tears on his bed, poor thing. I let him cry and he eventually got it out of his system. A minute later, he started reading Tin Tin. When I was a kid we weren't even allowed to read non-religious books. I let him be.

Our only concession to video was Jesus Christ Superstar. And the kids were rivetted. T told me to skip the leper scene and the flagellation scenes...and all in all, I think it was a good experience for them. You have to a hand it to Andrew Lloyd Weber and Tim Rice. The music still sounds great. (Sing it: Christ, you know I love you. Did you see I waved. I believe that you are God, so tell me that I'm saved! Jesus I am on your side, touch me touch me Jesus! - sabay sayaw).

For dinner,we had baked cod with olive sauce, cold asparagus and capsicum with dijon dressing, and delicous quinoa. The kids had macaroni and cheese with their fish. A good meal was had by all. They went to sleep early and obediently.

Then, at around 10pm, T dragged me out to Ministry of Sound against my will so he could hear this techno DJ spin. Not very Good Friday thing to do, but he argued, it's already Black Saturday anyway. To be wide-eyed and sober in a crowd of tipsy clubbers is a bracing experience. It was interesting just to observe the hoipoloi. Nevertheless, we were home by 11:45, and didn't even have a buzz from our heavily diluted free drinks. And so endeth Good Friday.

Sleep and Sensibilities

I used to be the "fall-asleep-the-minute-head-touches-pillow" kind of person. It used to come so easy. As a matter of fact, I never even knew the concept of bad sleep till I met T at age 18. We would have these conversations where at some point he would complain, "Masama kasi tulog ko." And I would look at him quizzically, honestly not comprehending what he meant. How can sleep not be good? Like Woody Allen, remarking on the quality of orgasms, for me, sleep was pretty much spot on, right on the money. Sleep was a breeze upon my dusky cheek, and all that jazz. Now waking up, that was tough. And the other item I failed to understand up until recently is the concept of a bad pillow or the wrong pillow. What's that?

Hello 38 1/2. Now seemingly tiny things can wreck the quality of my sleep. In fact, to paraphrase the bard, these days, the quality of my sleep is strained - even with the yoga. What's going on here. I am now a picky pillow person. And when the kids sneak into our bed, I will painstakingly get up and walk them back to their beds, much to the shock of my fellow moms ("Wow, strict!"). All this I do in order to safeguard my sleep. I will now say "Masama ang tulog ko," something I never said until the last couple of years. And it could be the pillow, the temperature, the way T sleeps, what is planned for the next day or what happened today.

It is likely that good sleep, like good sex, is a function of the brain. It's about chemistry and it's about letting go and perhaps, perhaps, not thinking too much about it, all of which are defeated by this entire discussion...and on that note, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Ain't it the greatest?

  

Huling Hirit

I vowed to myself: no more yoga blogs, but just one last thing. I did HOT 1 last Friday evening and somewhere in the middle, fell into a terrifying pool of fatigue. I thought I wouldn't make it. I thought I would pass out. What's happening. "Must be because I haven't done Hot in awhile." I thought to myself as I tried to follow Hanoi's instruction of taking in more "sips of oxygen." Sips! I needed a gallon of oxygen! And afterwards, I could barely be human for Rod and Celeste and Rod's sister at the movie we watched - THE INSIDE MAN by Spike Lee - and I even fell asleep for five minutes or so. Then today, I decide, let's try it again. This time it was HOT 1 with Catherine...and exactly the same thing happened. A frightening surge of exhaustion so overwhelming, I succumbed to child's pose, not just once but twice. Again, I dragged myself out of there and I looked at my watch and it was noon. The class started at 10:15am and I came out five minutes past noon. I'm like, wait a minute. I ask the desk: How long is Hot 1, and the answer is "90 minutes." Nyarks. The 30 minutes makes a huuuuuuuuuuuuuuge difference. Tomorrow, I go back to the safety of my 7AM hour long sessions. 90 minutes in a Hot room is apparently 30 minutes longer than I can take at at this stage of the game. No judgement.

To sum up the weekend

-rewatched Trainspotting after bringing Mom to the airport
-badminton training, and for the first time, T and I made it to 9 against C and Aman.
-rewarded ourselves with Turkish lunch
-attended catechists talk for preparing Kaylee for first confession which was unexpectedly valuable.
-choir practice as always spiritually rewarding
-finished Oppenheimer's Front Row Anna Wintour
-now can't wait to watch The Devil Wears Prada
-helped the kids with homework
-watched ICE AGE 2, and then ICE AGE 1 with them at home
-Crockpot beef stew dinner
Not a bad weekend, marred only by Kaylee's ear acting up again

As April begins, once more I face my resolute self. We shall see where this
month takes us.