The Lumenarias

They're beautiful inside and out. They're sweet, charming, and caring. They're lovable, loving, and beloved. Always supportive, shoulders to cry on or simply lean on, hands to hold. They'd readily stand up and fight for each other's cause and dish on anyone who'd make their sisters cry. They would, however, also be honest enough to say if our concerns are silly or or if one of us is becoming solipsistic. They keep each other real.

These are the Lumenarias. The "enlightened" women who met each other virtually back when they were just newlyweds and have bonded through time. How they met? Through the newlywedsatwork@yahoogroup.com, where they shared new wifey roles and woes, cleaning and other household keeping tips and tricks, pregnancy concerns, milestones of their children, anniversary celebrations, problems with co-workers, neighbours, and in-laws. After nine + years, they figured they could no longer relate to the much younger newlyweds nor want to share their most intimate thoughts, concerns, and experiences with women they didn't really know. And so Lumenarias was born.

Despite having only reunited for only a little over a month, the Lumenarias welcomed the new pregnancies of a few and sympathised with the loss of one; prayed for the safety of those affected by the Ketsana typhoon and donated what they could for one who was gravely affected by it; swap tried and tested recipes; and continue to make everyone feel good about themselves, while still keeping things real.

I've never had a sister and despite having studied in an all-girl school from preschool to high school, I had difficulty getting close to other women most of my life. Well, that is, save for my mom. But I call these Lumenarias my sisters and I'm glad to be one of them.

Not So Ripped After All

I couldn't help it. There was no stopping those tears from falling. I felt real bad and yes, it was self-pity, but there it was.

My one and only good pair of jeans got ripped. Why? I sat down the sofa, but hubby had not yet fixed the broken arm rest and somehow, there was a nail exposed that snagged my jeans. I screamed an "ouch" since it hit my skin, too. Minor flesh wound. But the big hole on my pants stung more. I quickly went down to our bedroom, took off the jeans, and opened my sewing kit. I had no thread that was near the dark blue shade of my trousers. I decided to go with the royal blue. After I stitched the hole up, that was when I could no longer see clearly, because tears welled up in my eyes. It has been more than a decade since I last bought a pair of jeans. This one pair was one I was quite happy about, mainly because they fit me well and they cost half of what I would have paid in a store. I bought them from a favorite eBay seller who was based in Dubai and would frequently ship fab plus sized clothing to the Philippines for reselling. How was I going to buy again from her and have it sent here in New Zealand without paying for the shipping cost? No way was I going to be able to do that. At least not in the near future. Worse, I was jobless and trying hard to be frugal, especially since I had to not only curb, but put an end to my former shopaholic life. So there I was struggling to overcome a weakness and that incident had to happen. Thus, the downpour of tears.

After I calmed down, I turned to God. I normally visit http://wau.org for daily Mass reading meditations and articles for reflection. By chance, that afternoon when I went to the site, it was earlier than I usually would, and thus, the meditation was for the previous day, which focused on God's Holy Cross and how we should let go of material things. It struck me. I was truly meant to read it. How silly it was of me to have been so attached to a pair of jeans and get so affected by it getting torn. It was just a pair of jeans. I stitched it up and it still looked good. It wasn't perfect, but it suits the owner.

It had to happen so I would learn from it. And I did.

"Lord, give me the courage and conviction to let go of the things that are blocking the flow of love in my life, so that I can receive a generous helping from you."

Taking a Time Out

Stuck. That's exactly what I've been for almost a whole week. Stuck at home, that is. Not that I can really do anything much about it.

I sprained both my right and left ankles, after all. Yes, you read right. Both ankles. I was babysitting my 3-year-old nephew and 4-year-old niece Friday afternoon last week, you see. Well, hubby picked up our kids and six other nieces and nephews from school and when they arrived, the kids all pounded on our front door, excitedly knocking and shouting. The two tots then ran all the way down to greet them and I ran to follow them. Unfortunately, in my haste, I twisted my left foot on the second to the last step and knew I was going to skip the last step down, but couldn't stop myself anymore from falling. And so I did.

A good thing hubby was outside already. I was in so much pain. I landed on the floor hard and knew both ankles were sprained. I couldn't get up, but had to let him help me get to our bed. A good thing I landed just a couple of feet away from our bedroom door. Feet elevated and iced, hubby dear had to leave me for a few hours, though, since he had a class he couldn't miss. My sister-in-law and her husband came to my rescue an hour later. Not that I really needed anymore rescuing, but I badly needed to go to the toilet and it was up on the second floor. If that wasn't an emergency, I don't know what is. So, with one arm over my brother-in-law's shoulder and my other arm over my sister-in-law's, we made it upstairs one step at a time. Literally. We decided then that it would be to my best interest to stay upstairs. So they got me a pillow and propped me up on the sofa (after I did my thing, of course), made sure I was comfortable enough. Hubby left me a ham sandwich and some chips for dinner, and my sister-in-law left me a glass of water so I can sip some and won't get dehydrated. I really didn't want to drink any water lest I would have to go to bathroom again and wouldn't have any help for at least two more hours that night. Oh well... I could always crawl, I joked. Seriously, I didn't think that was possible, so I just slept after dinner.

Since that day, I've been mostly lying on the sofa, sleeping, reading, eating, Twittering, playing games on Facebook, with intermittent trips to the bathroom aided by my husband. I've been blessed with one of the best husbands ever, who just did all the household chores with some assistance from our two kids, helped me wash up and get dressed, and even slept on the adjacent sofa to keep me company at night.

I can't wait to wash my hair, though. It's getting oilier by the day, but I don't think I can stand inside the bathroom long enough to wash them. Yet.

Through all the pain and what should have been boredom, what has made things easier were my prayers. I never had so much time to pray, to talk to God. I offered my so-called suffering to all the dying souls, adopting one each day in the hope of that soul's conversion. I think of this time as His way of making me stop, slow down, and take a time out. So to speak.

I do hope I can be up and about in a few days, though, on time for my son's birthday party.

Start of Something New

Novelty has charms that make it all worthwhile. Well, maybe not all the time, but in our case, starting a new life in New Zealand does.

It all began with the New Year, when we consciously made effort to collect our documents for our application for migration to NZ. Our departure from the Philippines followed suit, which was coined by friends as having brought “new definition” to the term “independence” since we flew out of the country on 12 June. Winter was then a new experience for our kids, who inadvertently missed the heat of Cebu’s summer after the first few weeks of our arrival. New school, new jobs, new friends, new way of living. Out of our comfort zones and yet all quite thrilling.

After less than two months, we moved into our new flat: a two-bedroom, two-storey unit that’s just right for us, easy to maintain, and within short walking distance to the train station and to my sister-in-law’s house (quite important since our kids ride with them to and fro school, as well as stay there until we can pick them up after work and bring them home). On our own, we’re enjoying our new-found independence from household helpers and privacy. We’ve got new and sort-of-new appliances and furniture, to boot; some we bought and others given by relatives and KBNZ friends. We’ve recently bought a new (second-hand) car, too.

What is truly wonderful about starting anew is redefining the way we live so we would have a unity of life. That is, that our spiritual life is one with our social life, one with our professional life, one with our family life. We have but one life, after all. An ordinary life. As St. Josemaria Escriva once said, "There is something holy, something divine, hidden in the most ordinary situations, and it is up to each of you to discover it."

Having recently celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary, this is truly the perfect way to start a new decade of our married life.

Now, if we can only find new jobs…

Parenting Beyond Two

“Who’s clearing,” you’d often hear me ask a few minutes after dinner and get varied replies each day. Varied, because there would be three to four possible kids who’d be tasked for the chore, or a team of two. Each of the ten kids in the house has a chore, you see. That is, save for the youngest, who is only three years of age.

Yes, there are ten children in the house where we currently live. Two of which are our own, and the eight are those of my sister-in-law’s. She and her husband (and yes, their brood of eight) have welcomed us with open arms into their home when we decided to migrate to New Zealand.

People who discover this fact usually react with eyes almost popping out, raised eyebrows, and jaws dropped down. True, it may not be the common scenario for any family, Filipino or otherwise, but it used to be back in parents and grandparents’ days. My mom had 11 siblings, my mother-in-law has eight, and my father-in-law has 11.

It’s a challenge for any parent to raise children and to raise them well. Hubby and I have only been blessed so far with two, and they can test our parenting skills to the limit. Thus, I take my hats off to my sister-in-law and her husband, who, despite the trials they may face in rearing their kids, continue to do so quite admirably.

So when my sister-in-law went to the Philippines with one of her children for two weeks, we didn’t have any problem running the household without her. Of course, it helped a whole lot that she prepared a two-week schedule of tasks for each one, printed it out, and posted it on the fridge as our guide. I sat down with my eldest niece and planned the menu, as well as shared the cooking responsibility with her for lunch and dinner. My husband took care of buying groceries with the assistance of our five-year-old daughter and other times with one of our nieces. Watching over the younger ones during the holiday break was managed by the two eldest kids, who also took turns baking cookies and brownies; our son and his best friend-cousin cleared the dining area after mid-afternoon snacks; our daughter and her playmate-cousin set the table for dinner. The true challenge lied on getting the young kids to take a bath on time to make sure there would be enough hot water for everyone. When kids play, they put their whole heart and mind to it and getting them to stop to take a bath can be quite a feat.

There would be rough play, quiet time, accidents, spats, but generally a whole lot of fun. With ten kids in the house, they all share, take turns, help each one out, and look after one another.

And though it may seem like the inside of the house perennially gets hit by a typhoon, the abundance of love, fun, and laughter provide us peace.

Kiwikiwihan

It’s uncanny, the way we Filipinos have the innate ability to blend in: adapt a culture, copy an accent, adjust to a climate, and if necessary, reinvent ourselves.

A couple of days after we arrived in Auckland,

my husband and two kids started school and had little or no problem making friends and fitting in. A few days later, hubby and I both got hired for part time jobs and were to start work immediately (same job, different shifts). Among the many blessing we received, reinforcing our resolve to migrate to the land of the long white cloud.

Walking almost a kilometer to the train station each weekday is a good form of exercise and can be considered a leisure stroll. Same goes for the half kilometer walk from Britomart to the building where the office is located. That is, except when I have to literally run and catch the train on days that household chores took longer than I expected them to get done. Or when the rain suddenly pours down. But like most Kiwis, Asians, Islanders, and others who’ve made NZ their home, who walk to and fro anywhere in the city, I brave the rain sans an umbrella and oftentimes without a hood, too.

I told my husband that one of my conditions to our move to NZ would be that my sense of style would not be compromised. But even as we were packing our clothes and accessories, I had to give up, give away, and leave behind heavy clogs, 3-inch wedges, kitten heels that I knew wouldn’t be able to wear, walking the streets of Auckland. I bid goodbye, too, to beloved handbags and purses of pink, orange, red, green, and blue hues. And there’s that half of my collection of fashion accessories that I had to let go of, as well.

I stuck to my fashion conviction, defying the winter wind with nary a cover for my head, simply because none of my beanies and berets matched my dark brown winter coat. Suffering sinusitis and colds as a consequence. And yet, I find myself after five weeks, bidding and winning a pair of trainers at an online auction, because I’ve decided to ape the Kiwis who wear comfortable footwear whilst traveling to and fro work, with their actual preferred shoes in tow. Practicality has won me over.

Working in a call centre, I’ve acquired a semi-British, semi-Kiwi accent. When talking to my British boss and when seated beside British co-workers, I pick their accent up unintentionally. When speaking to Kiwis on the phone, I automatically pick their accent up. When speaking to Asians or other nationalities, I automatically switch back to my natural, American English accent. Ah, but nothing beats speaking in Filipino or Cebuano to fellow Pinoys. I forget I’m in another country altogether.

Speaking of fellow Filipinos, I am amazed at how everyone almost automatically warms up to one another, and the instantaneous desire to assist the one in need. A week after we arrived, hubby and I immediately joined our uni alumni in an evening get-together. The following day, with other Cebuanos to help organise Sinulog in NZ. And when the KBNZ invite came a few weeks later, we didn’t hesitate to sign up and take part in the organisation’s planned activities, too. As for our new friends, they immediately offer to help us keep our jobs and possibly get better ones.

We are, after all, all migrants and try as we might to be like Kiwis, we will always be Pinoys and will forever share a bond with one another.

A League of His Own

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He may not be the top of his class, but he has the intelligence, wit, charm, and character that makes him a great leader, despite his very young age.

He may not be patient all the time with his sister, but he is quite protective of her and dotes on her as big brothers should.

He may often question and complain about what is asked of him, but always chooses to follow us, his parents, teachers, and elders, anyway.

He may not at times have tempter tantrums, but for most he has a cheerful and amiable disposition.

He may be fantasizing he's a superhero or that he will be someday, but who is to say that he won't be in his own little way?

He may not be the most handsome or cutest boy in town, but to my eyes he will forever be so.

He is, after all, the best son I could ever have.

Life Began and I Turned 40

So much hoopla has been made by almost everyone I know about turning 40. Big deal. Not much difference, really.

Okay, so maybe I'm not yet experiencing that mid-life crisis people talk about. Or maybe I've already been through it. Really, I think it's a matter of attitude, perspective, and faith. A lot of faith. That all is according to God's plan and that I should simply use my freedom to choose what do with my life with responsibility.

Anyway, I have to admit I looked forward to my 40th birthday starting a couple of years ago, thinking of possible ways to celebrate, including planning a big celebration. When D Day was near, I backed out, but still wanted a celebration, albeit a smaller one. One that I would enjoy and not be reckless of.

The day went by fast but productively. Bacon and eggs for breakfast courtesy of my husband and kids; Mass intended for me at my daughter's school, attended by my whole family; pizza (one of my favorite food in the world) for lunch; work; a couple of hours at the salon (my treat to myself); back to work; and coffee and dessert with hubby and our closest friends at La Marea. All in all it was a really good day.

I've been contradicting since that day that the saying "Life Begins at 40" doesn't apply to me, because life already began and I just turned 40. But if there is any truth that adage, then bring it on. I'm ready for life.

A Mom's Pride

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Isn't it every parent's pride to see their kids perform on stage, especially if they do it well? Or when a child excels in school or sports?

I've had my share of those and only most recently. My eldest son, Raj, came up behind me last 1 September in the oratory while I was doing my afternoon prayers and loudly whispered (yes, it can be done!), "Guess what, Mom? I went up the stage ten times today (students general assembly)!"

"Ten times," I asked with a puzzled look on my face.

"No, Mom," Raj said and explained further, "I was top ten for the CEM tests in math, science, and English. Then I went up again for sports for winning all my games."

We immediately thanked God for such blessings and after a big hug and kiss from me, he whisked off to play and allow me to hear Mass.

My daughter, Elle, who is in junior kinder, has a different personality and temperament. My husband and I often wondered how she would be like in school, if she would have enough self-esteem. She has always been more reserved, bashful, as compared to her brother (and parents).

First day of school, we were taken aback when she just confidently walked into her classroom, went up to a classmate she knew, and made friends with others she didn't. And two hours later, came out and played with them without looking for me.

Last 6 September, her school celebrated Mothers Day (held annually near or on the Blessed Mother's birthday, which is today) and her class presented a dance to the tune of "Reaching for the Stars" by S Club 7. I simply could not take my eyes off her -- she didn't only dance confidently, but she did so quite well (albeit talking to whomever was beside her at the same time, almost all the time). She never missed a step and looked at me and smiled often.

At the end of the program, all junior kinder students sang Celine Dion's "I'm Your Angel" and once again, Elle stood out. She sang loud and clear, and did the choreographed actions appropriately. Other moms even commented, praising her for performing very well.

I'm sure both kids will surprise us more with their accomplishments and talents as time goes by. I just can't wait.

Love Always

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It has been ten wonderful years and I look forward to the rest of my life with Romil and our kids.

We celebrated our anniversary by renewing our vows with no less than Rev. Fr. Fidel Orendain, who officiated our wedding ten years ago. This time, however, the ceremony was held the the Don Bosco Retreat House Chapel in Lawaan, Talisay, where Fr. Fidel is retreat master. Our long-time friend, Cio Datan, took our photos on our wedding day and again last 15 August.

Dinner afterwards was great, albeit the long drive back to the city, at La Buona Forchetta, where Italian food has always been authentic and oh so good.

A small, intimate celebration. The way it is supposed to be.

True Colors

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After all that has been said and done, all the trials, all the challenges, all the disappointments, and all the misadventures, I've become the person I always was in the beginning.

A friend once said that the life I've led is the stuff made of Hollywood movies. The dramatic kind. A good read, if I or some other writer would take the time out to put into words all that I've been through and all that I chose to do with my life. Except maybe that for a good conclusion and commercial appeal, that writer would have to end my story early on or write a brief summary of what came to be.

Looking back, the person I was and whom I tried to be a decade or two ago area far cry from whom I've become today. Then again, I realize that I've always been the person I am today, albeit older, wiser, and definitely more mature. I sure didn't know anything much in my late teens and early adulthood, despite my strong belief that I knew it all back then.

I certainly had no idea before that my true colors are the ones I don today.

A Lil' Fun, A Lotta Lovin'

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Life has never been more fun until hubby and I had kids, especially now that Raj and Elle are in that adorable age. Thus, I have to admit, I have difficulty understanding couples who choose to marry, but exert extra effort not to have kids or not to have more than what they'd like. I wish I could have more and yet, for now, have only been blessed with two -- wonderful, adorable ones.

Beyond Ourselves

You've always been there for me
even when you did not know it.
Knowing in my heart that I could run to you
if I needed to was at times enough.
Thinking of you, what you would say
if you were there made it seem
like you never left.
All those times I wanted
you to be the first to know
what was going on --
I did tell you, you know.
Those conversations may have been
all just inside my head,
but they kept you and me
alive and real.
So much so we can start
were we left off
as if we never truly did.

How many people in a lifetime can you say truly know you and accept who you are, whom you've become, the person you are going to be? Someone who knows what's going on your mind, what you would say, before you even start forming the words in those little grey cells?

I have such a special someone in my life. Sad to say, he has not been that much a part of it the past years as much as I thought he would be, as I wanted him to be. Our pride seemingly kept us apart more than the lands and seas that were physically in between us, not wanting the other to think less of the persons we've become. Much more, to not be understood and accepted. Alas, it was, in the end, what kept us apart was our lack of faith in each other.

But that was then. We've hence vowed to be better friends. No more pretenses.

In the meantime, as we cannot yet spend endless hours catching up on each other's lives, plans, and dreams, the virtual world would have to do and we'll be taking our coffee to go.

I am a Moonstruck Mom

Yes, I agree, Cher did a great performance in the movie “Moonstruck, ” wherein she landed her first and only Oscar as Best Actress. But that was in 1987. Two, long decades ago. Although my real name is Cherry, there is no co-relation whatsover between the title of this entry and Cher or the movie.

Long before that, there has been the Moonstruck Band that plays pop, rock-a-billy, blues, country, and Latin dance music. I never actually heard of them until I got several queries as to why I named my company “Moonstruck” [Marketing]. They were, I hear, a hit, back when I was way too young yet to care to listen to them.

So why am I a Moonstruck Mom? Well, I’m no typical mom. I cook, but I’d really much rather not, and wish I had a personal chef adept with international cuisine. I’d rather eat cakes and pastries than bake them. I want a neat house, but prefer to only lift a finger to point to what needs to be picked up and cleaned. I can verily thread a needle, but that’s as far as I go.

On the other hand, I’m a devoted wife and I actually fall in love with my husband over and over again with each year we’ve been married. To spark things up, I keep him second-guessing –almost all the time.

I adore my two kids who constantly make me want and strive to become a better parent, a better person. After all, becoming a mom is the best thing that has happened to me. My family motivates me, inspires me. With them I find true love, joy, and peace.

And yet, like those who get awed by the full moon, I get a little crazy sometimes.

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Back in School

It's true, you know. You should be careful about what you say, because it might come true.

Even as a child I've always admired teachers, but whenever asked what I wanted to become when I'd grow up, it was just one profession that did not cross my mind.

When I was filling up college application forms decades ago, I vividly recall choosing psychology or behavioral studies primarily because should I later on decide not to pursue law (which I did not), I did not want to end up having no other option than to become a teacher. With psychology, I repeatedly rationalized over the years to everyone and to myself, I can get into almost any profession -- as long as it involved dealing with people.

Well, fresh from college, my first job was a teaching one. I taught English and History to high school students at La Salle Greenhills, and became homeroom adviser to a 2nd year class to boot. Why?? They had this ablult night school program that called to this perennially gnawing need of mine to serve others. Plus, I couldn't say no to the Superintendent (a LaSallian Brother) that time, whom I was quite fond of. He had his secretary call me and facilitate my teaching position. It was a done deal.

That stint, however, lasted only a year and I told myself I was not cut out to teach. That such a vocation was quite a laudable and honorable one, and yet so not mine.

I decided to take the easy route. I took another course, hung out with friends, continued working on the student paper (a bi-monthly) that I became the managing editor of. Afterwards, I became editor of magazines and trade publications.

A decade later and with a family to prioritize, I opted for an even easier path. Marketing consultancy, which mainly involved public relations and events management services. Even with a real office and secretary, I worked mostly from home. It was fine and it has served its purpose: additional income for my family; professional work for me.

So that need to serve? It gnawed and gnawed and gnawed. So I'd do some advocacy work and that gnawing feeling would subside. Somehow, they weren't enough to fill that need.

After several prayers for guidance and wisdom, I decided (with my husband's full support) to go back to school. That is, to help the PAREF (Parents for Education Foundation) Southcrest School by working full time as marketing officer. Several more prayers later, I agreed to teach Composition and Grammar to the fourth year students.

Surprisingly, I have found myself actually enjoying teaching, relating with my students. I look forward to listening to their speeches, reading their compositions and journals, and viewing their projects. There are only 11 of them and so I get to personalize the lessons. I truly enjoy getting to know each one of them and helping prepare them for college.

I am challenged by our generation gap and thus, aim to inspire them, motivate them. Teaching is putting my creative skills (and digital know-how) to a test. Teaching is actually fun. And I'm proud to say I'm a teacher.

The Stuff He's Made Of

"What are little boys made of?
Snips and snails, and puppy-dogs' tails;
That's what little boys are made of!"

According to history, the "What are little boys made of" poem can be traced to the early 19th century, when the battle of the sexes had been apparently already raging. The words of "What are little boys made of" obviously reflect this, but what does of 'snips and snails' mean? Various interpretations have been suggested, but the one with the most credibility is that the original words were in fact 'snips of snails', wherein 'snips' meant 'little bits of'.

Despite being a member of the opposite sex, I wouldn't like to think that my husband was made of 'little bits of snails and puppy dog tails'. Nor that I gave birth to a boy made of the same.

My son, Raphael Josef, is certainly made of the good stuff. His name alone speaks of virtues and strength. Raphael, in Hebrew, means 'God has healed'. Thus, the archangel Raphael is known as the 'healer'. Josef is Slavic for Joseph, the Carpenter, husband of Mary, foster father of Jesus, pillar of strength. His nickname, Raj, is also a formidable name, which is Hindi for 'king'.

Raj, in all his seven years, has a winsome personality. He is witty yet diplomatic, friendly and outgoing, authoritative yet respectful, cheerful and energetic, masculine yet gentle. He is smart and wise for his age, and yet is innocent and pure.

He may not always readily do what we, his parents, ask of him and sometimes may question our reasons, but he would obey us in the end.

He may tease and play tricks on his sister, but he incessantly dotes on her and protects her.

He's made of the good stuff. The stuff that will make him into a great person one day.

To Be Young Again

Once upon a time, in another lifetime, I was the kind of girl who was sugary sweet and almost always nice. The kind of girl almost everyone got along with, the classmate who could rarely ever say “no”, the student practically all teachers liked, the obedient daughter her parents were proud of, the sister her brothers adored.

At 17, I recall perennially being on a multi-tasking mode. In school, I took leadership roles in Kathalan, the drama club, and in Accion Juvenil, the club for those aspiring to join the Teresian Association of women lay apostolates (for which I started undergoing formation the year before). I also took part in the glee club, Marian Core, and Headstart (weekly outreach program). After school, I would rush to my gymnastics training two hours, for three times a week. Saturday afternoons were spent on more gymnastics training and jazz dancing lessons; or going to the Tala Leprosarium to give psycho-spiritual seminars as part of SHARE’s (Service for Human and Religious Experience, a peer-counseling organization led by La Salle Greenhills) projects. Weekend nights I was either taking advanced acting lessons at Rep Phil or rehearsing for a musical wherein I was part of the cast.

Although it may have seemed that my education then took a backseat to my extracurricular activities, I did take joy in learning what I could from whatever lessons teachers could bestow upon me -- albeit inadvertently tuning out in the mathematics and sciences. The languages had always fascinated me and thus, excelling in them came naturally. Gifted with superb memory, mastering the social sciences was child’s play. It was at this age that I also discovered a knack for the culinary arts, which I relished.

I do, however, recall having been called often to appear before the high school principal: to show my sprained ankle as proof of an absence or not being able to write due to the new blisters in my palms or sprained wrist; to be ordered to reschedule dance or drama rehearsals so as not to coincide with my math classes; or to be asked to let go of one of my extracurricular activities in school, in the hope of helping me have more time to study for subjects my grades have dropped down.

Ah, yes, I had lots of fun when I was 17, and still I couldn’t wait to get out of high school. There was a whole new world for me to yet conquer. Despite the surprise of all my classmates that I did not apply for courses in English or MassComm, I actually knew with utmost certainty that Behavioral Science was the undergrad degree I would pursue. And though I knew my parents wanted me to study at the Ateneo, I personally envisioned myself taking up college in UP, where fellow students would be of various backgrounds and experiences and consequently add flavor and color to my college life.

Young, idealistic, energetic, and full of optimism about the future. Ahh...to be young again! Although more than 20 years have passed, I still have some of that idealism and energy -- and certainly most of that optimism still intact.

And yes, if I could go back in time, I’d do it all again.

Wait Sa

"Wait sa,” I often tell one or both my kids whenever they demand my attention. Be it to show me a drawing they made, one after another until we either run out of scratch papers; or to tell me what the other did wrong and thus should be reprimanded; or to ask permission to eat or drink what is normally a treat or dessert saved for special occasions or at least not to be consumed more than once a day; or to relate something very, very important to them, such as that there’s a full moon outside or the dogs are asleep. ”

“Wait sa” has been an automatic response on my part, simply because the attention they demand is more often than not when I’m on the phone, busy working in front of computer trying to meet a deadline.

“Wait sa” is actually a combination of an English word and a Cebuano term. “Sa” is pronounced with emphasis on the letter “a”. The way people here in Cebu say when we mean, “please wait.” It is usually accompanied by a non-verbal sign of raising one hand up, palm facing the person or persons requested to wait. At least that’s what I do and think when I do it.

I’d like to think that I get to teach my kids patience whenever I tell them to “wait sa,” that they cannot get what they want when they want it. Even my attention or consent. I’ve prided myself in successfully getting my 6-year-old son and 2-year-old daughter to actually wait until I am ready to listen to them. Of course, I don’t make them wait for more than 2-5 minutes. Besides, I doubt they’d let me get away with it longer than that.

Recently, though, I asked my son to come to the dining table for lunch. He promptly replied, “Wait sa, Mom,” as he wanted to finish his drawing first. It took him more than 5 minutes, 3 repeated requests on my end, and consequently 3 more “wait sa” responses before he actually went to the table.

A few nights ago, my daughter looked so cute and cuddly I wanted to hug her and so asked her to come to me for a hug. She continuted walking towards whatever it is she was going to get and told me, “Wait sa, Mom.” I asked her again to come to me, telling her sweetly that I missed hugging her and wanted to do so. Again, she said, “Wait sa.”

At this, I retorted and begged, “Wait sa, wait sa. You keep telling me to wait sa. Come na! Please?!!”

The moment I said it I realized that tables had turned and that it was I who was being taught patience by my kids. Elle finally did come over and gave me a big hug. Raj, who didn’t want to be left out or outdone by his sister, rushed towards me and also gave me a hug. And for these, all the “wait sa’s” make it all worthwhile.

To be a Better Mom

The moment I found out I was pregnant with our first child I vowed to myself that I would work hard to be a good mom. With my own mom as model, I told myself I’d try to even be better than she was. I’d be a full time mom, hands on, but would make sure I’d have professional fulfillment with a business I can manage from home (my mom gave up practicing law to be a full time wife and mom).

Of course, being human, I’ve had several shortcomings and mistakes as a mom. Not having enough patience and getting angry at my son; not securing him well enough on bed and so he fell down more than once; not having enough sense not to leave him inside a water pail and so he fell over and had a cut on his forehead; losing control and screaming at him out of frustration once too often. And more.

Each time afterwards I would pray and ask for more patience, more courage, more perseverance. Each time I’d vow to do better, to be a better mom.

Then came baby no. 2. I recall telling myself that I knew better. It was the second time around. I was sure I’d be a better mom.

Although I’d like to think I am better at it, I’m still human. I still falter. I still lack patience. I still lack perseverance. I still lack courage. And so I continue to pray to be a better mom.

But one thing I realized only at the marriage enrichment weekend seminar (entitled “Beyond I Do”) hubby and I attended last year — which I fretted leaving my kids alone with the helpers for 3 whole days (something I never did before) — is that to be a better mom, I have to be a better wife first. Educhild (Education for the Upbringing of Children Foundation) has always been about parenting and for the first time, we learned that parenting starts with mom and dad, hubsand and wife. A good, happy, loving marriage would consquently make a good, happy, loving family.

I still aim to be a better mom everyday. Only now I know that to achieve that, I have to work on being a better wife each day.