Day 2

Yesterday making breakfast of toasted English muffins, butter, jam and cheese caused us to be late for badminton. The last training session before Celeste and her kids leave next week. Sad sad sad. The only way to keep from getting all sniffy and sobby is to just plain pretend she isn't leaving, which has, of course, its own difficulties.

Then we dropped K off at her party and took C to dimsum lunch, at first against his will, until he tasted the luscious soup-filled pork dumplings. A bit of window shopping, it's sale season in Singapore, and then back to fetch K then home. Nap was disrupted first by K then by a tantrum C-style. And lickety split it was time for choir mass. A wondrous moment in Kiko's Prayer Of St. Ignatius. What a difference a conductor makes is all I can say, plus Kiko is such a gifted one. He makes you want to please him. And then Celeste's valedictory prayer. What will we do without her...

Went to dinner at Pepper Lunch with kids, Celeste and Yayo. Realising Dennis' absence yet again and a gathering with the two families isn't going to be happening again anytime soon. Borders then home for a major temper tantrum from K who didn't want C to sleep in her room. Finally got them both peacefully in bed.

Day 2, we get up exactly at 9am, meaning we miss soccer. C'est la vie. Veto going out for breakfast and instead whip up some cheese quesadillas and make good use of four squishy bananas for a peanut butter banana roll-up dessert. Today it's another goodbye lunch and then a Zafra party. Once the kids are asleep, have to do three advertorials if I'm to stay ahead of the game. That and then get up before it's even light out for the kids...

Ten days to go without Melin.

Midlife Crisis

Five years ago, I had an epiphany about people who have gone through the Maria Montessori educational system and are now adults, which become a kind of personal life thesis. I believe that this educational philosophy, which prioritises the individual, the scientific method and learning for learning's sake, creates people with entreprenuerial zeal, unlimited creativity, and an almost renegade attitude toward formal authority.

I look at most of my former classmates and hardly anyone is working for a large company as an employee. There's a smattering of architects, doctors and lawyers, for sure. There are educators and there are entreprenuers, and lots and lots of artists - freelance writers, designers, directors, musicians, producers - what the media refers to as the creative class. They, or I should say, we, are happy to call our time our own. We are happy to make time in our lives to make money, but not have that be the end all or be all. I attribute my wandering eye, my restless, antsy feet and my penchant for scouring the classifieds to this background. Or maybe it's just an excuse for sheer boredom. The inability to focus and concentrate? Or is it...the conviction that there is something else out there better than this. The constant needling, nagging doubt that all that I am able to do is not necessarily what I am meant to do? And here we are again...

Non-sequitur: puttering in the evenings to the noise of the third season of Ally McBeal. It's also very clearly the season where it all went to the most inane pot imaginable.

Maybe I just need a vacation...

  

Stuff Of My Dreams

And when I say this, I'm referring to what my dreams have been about these past three days, as opposed to goals, ambitions or fantasies.

- I dreamt I was vacuuming my bed with one of those mini-dustbusters and I could make out millions of tiny little microscopic creatures running away from the vacuum nozzle.

- I dreamt of the joyous pain of zits being injected by good old Dr. Romero.

- I dreamt of not just one but a series of haunted houses.

T says houses in dreams are symbols for health. And the two other dreams are also health related, so he chalks everything up as my subconscious' overall concern for my health. Feel like he is not too far off the mark.

Tomorrow...yoga again. This evening, going for a run, if I can manage it.

Father & Son

  

Sunday On Our Own

Why does the weekend fly by so quickly, almost as though it has wings of its own?

The good news was we closed the nightmare project within an hair's length past its deadline, at a approximately 5:15pm Friday. The production manager and I hugged each other with relief. The bad news? There's another one right behind it with the same client scheduled for July. I flat out refuse to do it, because there's just no time to get it done right.

I ran off to pick up Tanny and see MI3 with Timi and the Floros. It was great. Fun to watch, great pacing, a wonderful villain and lots of eye candy, now that Cruise is a bit on the blah side - Jonathan Rhys Meier and Maggie Q. Despite having no badminton, it was jampacked Saturday - a lot of it had to do with catechism, choir practice and Monique Wilson's Aspects Of Love, which, while well-performed (Wilson still has her Saigon pipes), is a rather strange, curiously empty piece of theatre. Sitting and trying to dissect it with T, I came upon a wierd coincidence. Not that there's any way to prove it, but my feeling is that Andrew Lloyd Webber wanted to do a small intimate exploration of love and sexual mores ala Sondheim. The coincidence is that all the characters have counterparts in Sondheim's A Little Night Music. Now isn't that odd? Except that Sondheim's piece is a lovely, witty triumph that actually says something about human relationships. ALW's Aspects just went through the motions to no legitimate or substantial conclusion. At least we discovered Phin's Steaks on Liang Seah Street. Another brilliant discovery. Now at least we know of a place to eat after a theatrical performance - last call for the kitchen is at 4am!

Sunday morning, Tanny left for Hong Kong, and I took the kids to soccer. Ended up
chatting with batch mate Munding...mostly about those old college days. Celeste didn't make it; she just couldn't get up. Coby got tackled by a team mate and ended up with gash on his knee. It must have hurt because he actually cried. Coach Matt exclaimed in genuine shock, "Wait a minute!?! I've never seen you cry before!!??!!"
Then it was off to Great World to lunch with the Solivens and swim and play in the kiddie land of their serviced apartments. By the time it all started to slow down at 4, I knew I would be too bushed to keep my movie date with her the same night.

So it was just me and the kids and Melin's picadillo and fried fish. A TV-Brush teeth tantrum ensued and a major fight between me and my son transpired. Huge. My daughter just shrugged and went to bed. It took about a half an hour to sort out through tearful apologies and promises to be better.

May wind down with Frasier...and collapse into bed. Will try to catch yoga this week as last week was so pathetic. At least, it's just a four day week. And Cam is in town...

Cycling Break!

  

Weekend Highlights

  

Playing Tourist

Just when we'd started to think that we had fallen into a rut with our Singapore routine, T gets the brilliant notion to play tourist over the labour day weekend. We hied ourselves over to Faber Park to survey the city at sunset and ride the cable cars to Sentosa and back. The sky high, hilltop Altivo bar looks like a nice place for a tipple, but with the kids in tow, we thought, next time. There's also a rather lovely koi pond. I screwed up my courage and denied my fear of heights to show an example for Kaylee mostly. But it did not stop my hands from sweating nor my heart leaping up to my throat each time Coby stood or leaned to one side. It was nice to see the cruise ship taking off for Phuket, and to know that someone we knew was actually on it. More on the mayor of Valencia, Negros later. Lots of picture taking and lots of exclamations from the kids. After that, we drove to Holland Village for Cha cha cha Mexican food dinner and Haagen Daz.

Monday was even more ambitious. T pushed us all out the door to go to an island. Shame on us, none of us wanted to go really, but we ended up being glad he succeeded in dragging us against our will. We drove to the end of the island, specifically: Changi Village and caught a bumboat for 2$ a piece to the small olden day Pulau Ubin. Just a ten minute ride, across the straits. We landed on the island and immediately, Kaylee pointed out the old-style housees on stilts that she had learned about in Social Studies. We rented two tandem-style bikes, and with one kid each, cycled along the trails to the beach, discovering that both Kaylee and Coby have very powerful legs. The kids raved about the great fun they had and T looked completely satisfied. Coby even apologised to his father for making such a fuss. We ended up having Mickeedees on East Coast Park and then home for a swim. Kaylee and I skipped the swim and watched Little House On The Prairie instead.

A wonderful time was had by all. Pictures to come.

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.

Flash-forward

The other day I woke my son for school.

I leaned in and whispered, wake up baby, time for school. And he sleepily put both his arms around me and pulled me in close to him. He said nothing, but I almost felt him saying, "Not yet." The experience gave me a sudden flash-forward vision about how my son would be fifteen years from now, as a man...with a woman.

Oh my goodness.

Yogamad

I am a freak. I know it. I spent my day off doing what most people would consider to be altogether too much yoga. Hatha with Kumaran at 9:15am. A 75 minute Yin class with Catherine, which was almost hypnotic...and then, after a light lunch and some book hunting at Kino, back to do Hot Flow with Ross at 4:00. Total time: three hours and fifteen minutes. At a certain point in Hot Flow my body gave a little twinge of tama na...so I faked my chatarangas...and stayed longer in the downward facing dogs. I managed to do the wheel for the first time since I was 15...which was crazy exhilerating. But still no sign of the crow. Why I care is a mystery. But I do so want to do the crow. Uwak uwak uwak. T says I'm insane. Maybe.

Major personality change

Apparently, it happens more often than you think. Or maybe, it's just what you call a midlife crisis of a sort. What do you do when the the things you used to be able to do you find you just can't manage to do, anymore? And we're not talking here about physical feats like no longer being able to do a bridge stand or a split (both things I was able to do at age 15). I'm referring to certain kinds of conversations that have lost their allure to the extent that the effort to participate in them can no longer be mustered without disagreeable discomfort.

It appears I have morphed into some kind of introvert, no longer endowed with the ability to gracefully flit and flutter into connections that do not at once engage. It is rather frightening to discover this in one's self. And it is difficult not to wonder whether it is some kind of temporary madness or something that has lodged into the character, for good. How strange to suddenly encounter yourself on the proverbial street in your mind and have no absolutely no recognition of what you have become, so much so that you feel you need an extended introduction.