"What would happen if I pricked this balloon...

...and it popped..."

Does anyone remember that priceless Sesame Street animated sketch? I'm finding it very useful as I talk to K and C about conscious decision-making. You know how it goes...

A little girl says in cause and effect steps, "What would happen if I pricked this balloon and it popped. That would scare my sister and she would drop the vase and then tell mother, and my mother would be mad and she would send me to bed without any supper...I would miss the chocolate pie Mother's making for dessert..." And there's this really funny audio "Pop! Whahahahah...Mommy!...tong tong tong tong tong Sally!" And then she ends..."Who wants to pop a nice balloon like this, anyway!"

I have told my kids about this as I come from an impulsive lot and while being impulsive has its joys and advantages, children need to be taught that an impulse is still very much in their control. Clearly, I have also spawned an impulsive lot.

We have been talking to K and C about impulses - about how there is in everyone a set of urges, triggers, knee-jerk reactions in the face of any specific set of circumstances. But as human beings, we must, in many cases, make the conscious act of choosing to follow the impulse or not. This means suspending the action for a moment and becoming aware, asking yourself - 'should I do this or not?'. It means thinking, 'If I do this, what would happen?', 'What would my mommy and daddy say?', 'What are the possible negatives that could happen and is there a chance that these would outwiegh the positives?'

I just wish I could actually show them the clip...maybe it's on YOUTUBE?

New favourite things

-Tennis lessons at night
-Reading non-fiction
-Recreating childhood comfort food
-Facials and massages
-Power walking first thing in the morning
-Doing weights in a class
-Staying home all day and not talking to anyone
-The Sun With Moon salad
-Ginger ale
-My new CD of assorted Woody Allen flick soundtracks
-Chopped cabbage,carrots, and beets mixed with dressed with olive oil and apple cider vinegar (don't knock it till you try it!)
-An apple, a pear, three dried apricots, a nectarine, all chopped up and dressed with lemon, a dollop of honey and grated ginger (ditto!)
-Magic miking after American Idol (a woman can dream, can't she?)
-Turning in early

Realisation

Not having seen any of the Oscar-nominated movies really takes the buzz out of watching the Oscars.

Bitten by the performance bug

Made my way to the school to watch the Arts performances the children put up for Arts' Week. K's class had put up a play about Mother Theresa and she was going to be the narrator. She had to memorise a long speech that included dates.Up until last night, she was worried about not being able to commit it to memory. There was also the fact that she left the speech in school. I suggested she rewrite it from memory on the computer and memorise that - which she did. I did not check up on her or test her or drill her. Whatever it was, she could handle it herself - I just said she should do her best.

And she did.

She was an excellent narrator - speaking slowly and clearly and making eye contact, when she could. Unlike the narrators in the other performances, she had no piece of paper. It was just her and the mike. She did a brilliant job.

Afterwards, she sat in the audience and I went to sit beside her. I hugged her and congratulated her and she hardly reacted. Her hands were cold. It seemed she didn't even see me. Could not even muster a hi for her Mom. In fact, she looked forlorn and woebegone.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She didn't answer. Just stared straight ahead at the performers onstage.

"What's wrong, tell me." I persisted, feeling anxious.

She was silent. Then she turned to me...

"After play blues" she whispered.

I laughed in relief.

"What am I going to do now?" she said like it was the end of the world.

A star is born.

What's going on

*K and I have started reading Elizabeth Enright's The Saturdays, which I still vividly recall borrowing from the Maria Montessori School Library in Pasay when I was 11. It's a wonderful story about these brothers and sisters who live in a brownstone in New York city in the 1930s. They each only get 50 cents pocket money a week, but they have the idea of pooling all their money together and taking turns to have an independent Saturday afternoon adventure.

*C is doing well in his handwriting therapy. For some reason, his cursive is much more legible than his print. Having therapy after soccer works. He's tired and in the mood to do quiet work.

*After the glory that was Ian McEwan's On Chesil Beach, I have allowed myself the guilty pleasure of Hotel Babylon by Anonymous and Imogen Edwards-Jones. It occurs to me if that much pilfering can happen in a luxury hotel, we should not be surprised that it happens in a government.

*Today I returned to hot yoga. This, after I tried (unsuccesfully) to get out of my still a year-to-go membership. It wasn't bad. Today's instructor was a far cry though from the instructors I had in 2005 who delved into the spiritual with their language, while facilitating the physical with their bodies. Today's instructor was all physical. There was no inspiring lecture about the spirit and the mind-body connection, which I sorely missed.

*We are planning for holidays and booking tickets. To my surprise there is a two week break in the last week of March and a gaping eight week hole for the kids in June. Perhaps it is time to go to the US.

*I am in a love-hate relationship with Facebook.

From a distance

After almost a decade of living outside the country in which you grew up, it is very easy to fall completely out of touch with what has been going on. Either that, or you slip into the pattern where recent political events serve merely as touchpoints in amusing cocktail conversations. It is sufficient merely to scan the headlines and
gather just enough of the facts to enable you to go through the motions of a debate that everyone acknowledges to be endless, even pointless. Eventually, you come to that predictably pat conclusion that things are "tough" or "complicated" or "not likely to be resolved in the near future." Living in Singapore, the distance is emotional and psychological and that breadth of space is so much more than the three and a half hours it takes to fly back to Manila.

It makes me wonder what people think...or if they think at all about the recent political problems in the Philippines (as opposed to thinking about those political problems that are not so recent). As a storyteller, I find it fascinating for its plot points - this story about a mouse ( a country mouse, by all accounts) caught in a trap that forces him to let his captors know where the bigger rats are. There are sexcapades in Hong Kong and "personal relations" and bribery at golf clubs, and more...

I am certainly far from the best person to explain what has been going on - for that, turn to The man with the mike under other Planes of Reality - who not only relates the situation more or less but also coolly comments on it, even while his reactive audience toss in their two-peso or two-hundred-peso views for all they're worth. She Rules also has a interesting take, an indictment on what people power has become. And this morning, I received a copy of the homily that was given at yesterday's mass for Lozada. Before reading it, I tried to predict its overall gist, and find I was not far off in my prediction. Once more, there is condemnation and a call to change. But from a distance, it sounds too familiar and unfortunately, rings as hollowly as a derivative pop song especially to someone who came of age during the first people power in 1986. It has made me ponder however. If I were at home now, would I have been at that mass? Very likely. Would I have been at that rally? It is possible. Would I be calling for change? And that is a question, to be sure.

Those in or out of the country who refuse to get drawn in, those who throw up their hands in exasperation or remain silent because they can propose no strategy or solution for what happens next, I feel give themeselves a convenient excuse. They say, it's a mess. What's the alternative? Who will take over? Corruption, especially excessive corruption, may make you feel outrage, but how can throwing out the regime be the plan, if the system itself is corrupt? How do we know that this won't happen again? And how are you sure that these tides of change the people are calling for won't be surfed upon or used and subverted by similarly corrupt elements?

All valid, to be sure, but these arguments ought not blind people from seeing the truth and condemning the wrong. It is very wrong. At the very least, shouldn't we be able to do that...condemn the wrong and uphold the truth?

Not to do so seems to me, to be just the same as saying, "It's complicated..." and letting those words trail off in silence. Some of us will refrain from taking a stance and leave it at that because we are fortunate enough to be in a position to do so, and from a distance to boot.

Mad wives

Every now and then, you get a chance to revive some long lost skill - it could be writing or scrapbooking or gardening or cooking. It might be badminton. Or tennis. But whatever it is, may you be so fortunate as to be able to find a small group of people who are already doing it. May they be vastly different from you in as many different ways as possible because difference spells excitement. May they have a measure of maturity as well as a measure of kindness, or at least sympathy. May they be funny and interesting and spirited in their achievements. They might be crazy but they are in a good way. They might hold this skill as important beyond all else or perhaps not that important in the larger scheme of things, but at least for that hour or morning or section of time, they focus and concentrate and the practice of that skill, whatever it is, is all that matters.

And may they accept your need and welcome you with open arms as I have been by my MWF mad wives...

Forgot to say

it was a happy valentine's day - an evening best spent at home with those you love - and if you're luck - great gifts!

More about reading

Growing up, I considered myself very fortunate to have at my relative disposal, the extensive girlhood library of my mother and her three sisters, assiduously maintained by my Tita G on the dark wood shelves in my grandmother's house on Espana extension. My Lola, so I've been told, would buy books by the boxful from school libraries and take them up to Baguio for her children's summer reading. (Something always struck me as wrong about that - why were libraries selling their books?). The books were like no books you can find today - Grosset & Dunlap editions of various series' - Nancy Drew, The Bobbsey Twins, The Dana Girls, Honey Bunch, and various one-off titles like Nobody's Girl and Understood Betsy and Family Shoes.

I recall spending Sunday afternoons among the dusty, yellowed volumes along with my cousins, trying to decide what I would "borrow" for the week. Sometimes, Tita G, who seemed to know her shelves like the back of her hand, would make a recommendation, sometimes she would leave us to our own devices. One of her most fervent recommendations was the Maida series.

She had three volumes in a dark blue green hardcover. Maida's Little Shop, Maida's Little House and Maida's Little School.

Despite their coy, cutesy titles, the novels were rich, graceful narrations about children who, it is very likely, no longer exist in this world. And that first story of the lonely little invalid rich girl, the daughter of a Wallstreet maverick, who decides that what will make her happy would be to keep a little shop and befriends the children of the town has lingered in my mind, even now that I am 40, as I am certain it lingers in Tita G's mind.

When it became evident that our K loved reading, we started doing what my cousins and I would do as girls led back then by Tita G. We started book hunts. What I found, however, was that many of today's books for girls, even little girls exhibit a certain precociousness and preciousness that I found myself resisting. I was uneasy about the inclusion of brands in the plots, the overly flippant, overly matter-of-fact characters and their excessively easy and accessible language. I also resented some of the characters themselves - seeming to be almost like imitations of characters on television. And I wanted K to experience the pleasures of rich, complex sentences. I wanted her to read about children who did not watch tv or play video games when they were bored. In fact, I wanted her to read about children who didn't get bored - whether it was because they worked or because they had so many activities of their own making, they had no time to be bored. I wanted her to learn about children who chose to be good, to be just, to be kind, to be generous not because it is right to be these things, but because these were the kind of children they were. So I thought back to the books I loved as a girl - and I remembered the Maida series.

We had already found reissues of Understood Betsy but Maida was more difficult to come by. Finally, I found it on Amazon under the imprint Biblio Bazaar, it was a 2007 reissue of a 1909 book. A month ago, we read it together, chapter by chapter. I would not let her go off and finish it by herself. I wanted us to savour it together. It still reads like a dream.

Now she has gone back to rereading Harry Potter and Anne of Green Gables, but I have already ordered Maida's Little House. I am also in the process of buying Maida's Little School second-hand. Perhaps it might even be that old grosset and dunlap edition that Tita G has. And we wait till we can once again escape into that lush, charming, innocent yet wise world of children who are able to spend their days occupied by nothing more than the green nature that surrounded them as well as the fertile fields of their own imagination.

First Sunday of Lent

The kids were especially good in mass today. Even C. Maybe it was the readings. The first reading in which the serpent tempts the woman and she succumbs - aren't children always fascinated by that? And then the gospel where the Devil tempts Jesus in the desert. C seemed absolutely rapt with attention. And then there was the music. Great songs were sung by the 12noon choir, one after another, in waves of comforting melody. The last song You are Mine by David Haas, always moves me. Today, it seemed that the children were also, similarly moved.

After all, who wouldn't be moved by the verse that reads, "Do not be afraid, I am with you. I have called you each by name. Come and follow me. I will bring you home. I love you and you are mine."

K's voice was soaring and while C didn't sing, he read every verse along with the music, quietly and it seemed to me, reflectively. I have to confess seeing him like that sent a joyful thrill down my spine.

After mass, he leaned toward me and whispered, "Mom...that last song..."
"Yes?" I half-said, half-asked, waiting for what, I don't know.

Some kind of insight? A thoughtful epiphany straight from the innocence of a child's heart?

"That last song...
...It sounded like the song sung by Kermit the Frog."

I must not complain

when a job that was supposed to last a week, lasts two. I should be thankful instead that I can make a living in this manner, fairly easy enough. And it's not like I missed a huge lunar new year family reunion the way the graphic designers did. Nor did I keep excessively late hours. But yes, I am glad it is finished. I am glad to have a free week to look forward to and that tomorrow, I can have a massage. I am thanful and I am grateful. It is all good.

All of a sudden...

both my children are at ages that I clearly remember myself being. It has been giving me long and drawn out moments of disquiet, which I guess is to be expected at the age of 40.

For K's 10th birthday, she had two school friends over one Saturday. She had us make special strawberry smoothies to serve by the pool. Afterwards, they sat talking, listening to CDs and giving each other French manicures.

French manicures.

Today, C turned 9. Today, the second day of the lunar new year of the rat. It was auspicious.

Nine.

We celebrated as a family and took both kids to the Forest Adventure course in Bedok. It was a beautiful morning, sunny but cool and breezy, and the park by the reservoir was invitingly green everywhere you looked. The Adventure course cost 1M to build, so its website claims. They strung a series of rope obstacles high above the ground, each one connecting two huge trees in a grove, so children could make their way, while safely chained to cables and do a triumphant finish on a flying fox to the ground. C was very game, lithe and sure-footed as a goat, with a very strange fearlessness...as though there was absolutely nothing wrong with being up that high, walking tightropes from tree to tree. K, unfortunately, backed out pretty much at the get-set go and was in tears more due to the embarrassment and humiliation of the experience rather than any actual discomfort. Poor thing. I could relate.

Afterwards we drove back to Holland Village for a Mexican lunch at El Patio and then shopping for what is ultimately a joint birthday present to both - a wii. Back at home, there was a Spongebob sponge Cake(ha) with chocolate frosting and 9 candles. There was also a screening of Singing in the Rain which the birthday boy opted out of. Dinner was late - Black pepper crab, steamed shrimp and fried noodles and the tossing of good fortune Chinese New Year salad.

All in all, it was a good day. C's actual celebration takes place next week - a combat skirmish involving 15 boys and laser guns.

Laser guns.

I saw Singing in the Rain when I was ten.

Nothing like the wisdom of a child

"Being an older sister is like being an amatuer parent, except you don't have the job and the bills."
-K

Less than ideal circumstances

I had not planned on working at all through the Chinese New Year break, let alone this intensively. But as this is how things fell, I am making the best of it. Apart from CNY, there's also C's birthday to see to. The hope is I will be able to clear everything from my plate by midnight later this evening to be free to do fun, outdoor activities tomorrow. The other hope is that said food and entertainment establishments are open. We shall see.

It occurs to me to reflect that while much is made of the flexibility of the freelance life, there remains something to be said for leaving your work at the office.

At last a movie in an actual theatre

After nearly six days of working 12 hours each, I finally allowed myself a movie with T, just because we hadn't seen one in two months. This, after a steady diet of boxed TV series rented from the nieghborhood store, including Aaron Sorkin's now defunct Sports Night (which is actually pretty good), JJ Abrams' Felicity and one night riveted to Notes on A Scandal - a film you don't think you want to see, but when you finally do, you're glad you did.

Unfortunately, I lost the coin toss, and instead of Atonement, we saw Cloverfield. Fortunately, it was pretty good.