English Karadjaw

'I will not ever Never eat a tomato'.

2010-10-12T20:17:00.001Z

'I will not ever Never eat a tomato'., originally uploaded by Soy Green.

trust me, he does. even gobbles them up! hence the confusion in this picture (re the eating and the grammatical redundancy).

a moving story

2010-10-12T20:14:00.001Z

a moving story, originally uploaded by Soy Green.

it will be, unless it's stationary, or plain boring.

kissing in paris

2010-08-09T13:15:00.001Z

kissing in paris
Originally uploaded by Soyy

Have a look at your right-hand side of the screen. This was taken at a restaurant in the Louvre in Paris.

parenting joy

2010-05-01T17:56:00.002Z

My 4-year-old told me earlier that he didn't want me to sit next to him. He said, 'you stink mummy. Please don't sit next to me'.

I was a bit insulted and wondered why he would say that. I certainly knew that I didn't smell! The cheek!

And then it turned out that he just didn't want me next to him because I kept on telling him off for sticking his fingers up his nose.

But his way of pushing me away is a bit undiplomatic, I must say.

Chore

2010-02-20T17:38:00.002Z

Eugh!
Yuck!
Agh, disgusting!
[Grimace, eyes half-closed]
Ugh, horrible!

This was how my 7-year-old boy washed dishes, after we finished off two slices of banana cake.

Two hours earlier, he was happily splashing in the mud and puddles in the park.

Boys, eh?

Accounts

2010-02-11T17:01:00.003Z

Facebook = deactivated (temporarily, I guess. It's so time consuming, don't you think?)

Friendster = account deleted. So childish and rubbishy. Mainly for showing off photos; not much interaction.

Yahoo Messenger = apps deleted. I hate the emoticons and the buzzes.

Twitter = maintained for now. So far, it's nice to write a line or two without thinking of an audience.

Flickr = maintained. The annual subscription is worth it.

Blog = kept but largely ignored. I can't write anymore, whatever that means. But I still continue to read other blogs. I don't write comments but I am there.

Holy ho, what baggage do we have! Time wasters, etc. It's time to continue to de-clutter and enjoy the outdoors!

sledging with my boys

2010-01-10T16:48:00.000Z

RL, Paris

2009-11-16T21:50:00.001Z

RL, originally uploaded by Soyy.

It's been awhile since my last post. It's all got to do with Facebook, I guess, among other things that got in the way of this sort of narcissism.

It's also got to do with fear. I am preoccupied at the moment with writing in a very specific form and a first-person narrative/descriptive style of writing is just at the opposite end of that spectrum. And so the hesitance of continuing to post here.

But here I am!

Soon, I'll be visiting yours too.

when such mundane thing as going to school becomes extraordinarily momentous... so be warned; you'll fall asleep after reading this title.

2009-09-10T08:37:00.001Z

lew first day at pre-school, originally uploaded by Soyy.

I thought I should mark my 3-year-old's first day at pre-school as momentous. I wasn't as anxious as I was when his big brother started nursery. Maybe because I knew what to expect. Or that I just have too much on my plate at the moment that Lew's first day away from me was celebrated with a general clean-up of the house.

Either way, he made me very proud. His teacher's first comment was that he sat through a long story. I just smiled. I didn't have to say that we eat books at home, that for him to sit through a long story-time was just snacks for him, or light lunch. Didn't she know that we recite the words in the Oxford Dictionary as bedtime routine? Or that we sprinkle old newspapers in our porridge, because that's how you eat words!

Anyway. I also feel a bit of guilt, in that I feel a little bit of liberation. For 12 hours a week, when I am not at work, I am not a mother. Not that I cease to be someone's parent, but for those precious hours of staying at my desk, writing or reading my books, nobody would say, 'mummy, milk please!'. Now, somebody else would be fetching that milk and I could do what I want with my time, aside from doing the housework, of course.

And yet, when I went to pick him up from school, I felt like I just wanted to grab him from the teacher's arms and put him back in my womb. Just like that. I missed him but I just shifted that feeling and boxed it in.

So when I took him back home, I didn't let go of him. I cuddled him. I kissed him. I carried him around the house like a little baby. Because tomorrow, and after that, he will already have his own little world that I am not part of. And that world will grow bigger and bigger until I become just a mother in name and affection.

My dream-come-true

2009-07-29T13:26:00.003Z

"Mummy, what's your 'dream-come-true'?" my 6-year-old asked me off-hand.

I said, 'You. You were my 'dream-come-true'.

He smiled. Then he ran after me and held my hand.

hundreds and thousands

2009-07-06T11:31:00.002Z

hundreds and thousands, originally uploaded by Soyy.

K still can't get over the fact that if ever I have a little bit of spare time nowadays, I bake. He still can't believe that I now stay in the kitchen to create something that's edible.

So while munching through fresh choc buns that I made, he asked. Why are you baking a lot lately? Is there something I should know? (We always have a ready supply of buns and cakes from his mum.) I said, well, mum has been making lemon buns since 2003. I want something different, like chocolate, with hundreds and thousands in them!

He said, so what do you call a single hundreds and thousands? One hundreds and thousands?!

I said, I don't know. Shall we just call them 'bits'?

Conspiracy

2009-07-05T09:00:00.003Z

After a long day out, we were welcomed at home with music blaring from our next door neighbour's garden. I thought it was too loud for comfort, but hey, it's nice and warm and we could do a little bit of jig anyway while trimming the hedges.

My 6-year-old said, hey mummy, that's Michael Jackson's song!

I said, yes, that's right.

He danced around and exclaimed, Michael Jackson is singing next door! He's not dead!

hot summer

2009-07-01T10:00:00.002Z

This week, at least. It's particularly warm and the nights are sticky and restless. I could hear the crickets in the early evenings and the birds singing at breakfast time. It's beautiful to be outside (in the shade, of course).

This morning, we woke up an hour early because someone fiddled with the clock. No wonder I felt very tired. Nevertheless, I went straight to my paperworks waiting for me at my desk. I have a deadline to beat. K went outside and called me out. Come on, he said. Feel this. He stretched out his arms like he'd just come out from political imprisonment. It's warm. It's humid. It's like the Philippines! But I've only got my knickers on, I complained. It's fine. So I came out, and indeed it was warm. Fresh. Lovely. And after a second, I went back inside the house again, closed the curtains, and went back to my work.

This afternoon, the boys will be outside again, chasing each other, in their pants. Cold England is already forgotten.

Tooth fairy is coming tonight

2009-06-11T14:58:00.002Z

Zak's lower front tooth (central incisor) fell off today. Oh, how he screamed like a girl. I didn't expect that there would be blood coming out. It was a long time ago since my baby teeth fell off so I was a bit caught off-guard. I thought I was prepared. I thought I knew what to do at the very instant it happened.

Karl didn't know what to do either. So I cupped Zak's chin while the tooth hang precariously in his extended lower lip, with all the blood and saliva. I dragged him to the kitchen while Karl followed, albeit unhelpfully. 'What are you doing?' he asked. I started laughing, excited that the wobbly tooth has finally fallen off. Zak was looking at me like I was mad. How could his mother laugh when there was blood in his mouth? Anyway, instinct instantly kicked in. I remember how my grans managed my bleeding gum when I was little. So I let Zak rinse his mouth with a cup of vinegar and a bit of salt mixed in. Karl asked again, 'Why vinegar?' Well, soy sauce won't be much help, would it?

I felt helpless so I started shouting, where's the camera? where's the camera? Zak got the phone. Karl picked up a plastic bag. I picked up a cotton ball. Ok, let's check the tooth. Is it complete? Is it whole? Karl said, 'there's still a bit of tooth left in his gum'. I checked. No, it's fine. That's how the tooth looks like.

I finally got hold of the camera. OK, Zak, look at me. Smile!

Election Day and the Mayor of London

2009-06-04T14:54:00.003Z

I went to the polling station today to vote. There were only 2 people in there: the poll clerks. No observers, soldiers, police, politicians, nor voters waiting for vote-buyers. What a refreshing change from elections in the Philippines.

Meanwhile, the Mayor of London, Boris Johnson, fell into the river while removing litter and plants. When asked afterwards what the water was like, I half-expected him to say, 'cold!' or 'bleeding cold' or something to that effect. But being Boris Johnson, he said, 'The water was very refreshing and I thoroughly recommend it!'

I love British politicians! ;)

Watch it here.

What the Spaniards did to the FILIPINOS...

2009-06-01T13:42:00.002Z

... made them into biscuits!

2009-05-27T17:31:00.002Z

Just got back from a Spanish holiday. It was great but I am a bit disappointed I didn't manage to try local paella!

I think I earned a bit of tan despite hiding under a massive umbrella and Factor 50 most of the time.

As if we live next door to the Queen

2009-04-19T16:21:00.002Z

My six-year-old came up to me and said, 'Mum, it's Queen Elizabeth's birthday on Tuesday. Are we going to her party?'

I managed to stop myself from laughing and asked him instead, 'Why? Do you want to go?' as if it's the normal type of conversation in my household.

He said, 'No. I don't really want to. We will have to walk on a long red carpet and there will be lots of photographers there. If it's only Daddy doing the photos, I won't mind.'

Moving on...

2009-04-19T15:45:00.002Z

We have moved house a few minutes' walk to my son's school.

It's been a couple of weeks already and we haven't unpacked everything yet.

Still stressed.

Today with K

2009-03-20T11:36:00.002Z

Me: What's that smell?!
Him: Oh, I just disinfected the toilet with detox!
Me: You mean dettol?
Him: Yeah, that.

***

Zak: And they have sausages, chips, cakes...
Him: Oh no. They're not always good for your heart and archeries!
Me: Ar-te-ries!
Him: Yeah, that.

Allegiance

2009-03-02T13:49:00.001Z

We all went to my citizenship ceremony at the start of the year. But my recent 'Britishness' has confused Zak. So he asked me in no uncertain terms:

MUMMY, IF YOU'RE ALREADY BRITISH, WHY DO YOU STILL LOOK FILIPINO?!

Lewis is 3 today

2009-02-28T20:15:00.001Z

Silver surfer

2009-02-11T19:32:00.004Z

At work today, a gentleman came up asking if I could help him. He gestured at my computer and said that he also has one at home but he couldn't figure out how to turn it on. His CPU seems to be working but he couldn't see anything on the screen. I asked him if he has plugged on his monitor and I showed him where the wire should likely come from.

After a few minutes of discussion and demonstration, he said that he tried turning on his computer this morning but he was so scared to do it. I asked him what he did then. He said, 'well, I opened all the windows before I turned on the computer.' I asked, 'what do you mean?' He explained, 'well, I was worried that the computer would explode if I turned it on that I opened the windows so I could just throw it out!'

Photos of fun time in snow

2009-02-03T15:32:00.006Z

Most schools were closed today due to icy roads. And so fun for the kids began!

This time, I had to learn to let go of my 2-year-old Lewbee... on a sledge.

So bravely on his own...

And they both did it together, too.

Wheeee!

Whoopssy!

Fun time is tiring, too. So they had to be pulled back home.

Here's Zak sharing with the heavy load!

More photos here.

dancing to the rhythm of the snowflakes

2009-02-02T18:27:00.001Z

dancing to the rhythm of the snowflakes, originally uploaded by Soyy.

For the first time in several years, Britain is snowed in! Although it's not as thick as to warrant wearing wellingtons, we took to the road our sledge with high hopes and a dash of excitement. We've been out throughout the day and finally, the snowman managed to take shape before dark.

I might stay up til midnight to see the 6 cm snow the BBC promised!

Warning: This is another potty training episode, and hopefully the last one before I say he's finally, completely trained.

2009-01-26T09:29:00.004Z

Ok. So Lew has got used to going to the potty every morning and before bath time in the evening. This morning though was a different story. He wanted me to cuddle him while he sat on the potty. I wanted him to do it himself. So he stood there like a defiant puppy and wet the carpet! I found it so frustrating but I didn't tell him off. I ignored him to let him feel that I wasn't happy at all. I went back to bed and closed my eyes.

He hovered next to me trying to get my attention which he knew he wouldn't get so soon. 'Mummy?' Silence. 'Mummy? Family cuddle?' It was his way of saying sorry. Of course, it broke my heart but I was also interested in what he was going to say next. After a few seconds of silence, he tried again. 'Mummy, house on fire!' Hmm, nice try Lewis, but I wanted him to realise what he has done, that he should wee on the potty; not on the floor.

So I went down to his level and told him to wee on the potty, Lewis, not on the floor, ok? He nodded. To gauge if he really really understood, I asked, 'So what do you need to do next?' He replied, 'Eat breakfast?'

Side-step

2009-01-15T13:40:00.003Z

We have upgraded from nappies to pull-ups to 'big boy pants' in three days. And then a major set-back: Lewis became poorly. So the potty is now ignored, hopefully until he's a lot better. The problem with pull-ups is that they are not as absorbent as nappies, so that the skin is always wet. They are designed to be 'feel & learn' so that the child would become 'uncomfortable' and learn to ask to go to the toilet. Or, in the case of Lewis at the moment, learn to ask to be changed every hour!

He still has enough time to learn to use the toilet before he goes to nursery school (in about 9 months) but with the recession and the spiders dying and all that, I'm quite in a hurry for him to wear ordinary cotton pants.

Some of the things parents have to go through aside from cleaning toilets

2009-01-03T20:59:00.003Z

It's the second day of Lewis' potty training. So far, he just says 'NO!' to every encouragement to sit on the potty. He was completely dry last night and I'm hoping that he would be like his older brother who was dry in the night before he decided to get rid of day nappies. I'm a bit relaxed now as well, compared to my attempt to potty train Zak in ONE WEEK. That was completely ridiculous and needless to say, it didn't work at all.

This evening, after a lot of chitchat about how spiders would disappear on earth if he continues to wee in his nappy, he decided to ask.for.his.potty! He did a good 'number two' as well, which was very impressive. We all gave him lots of praise and hugs and told him to pull his pants up. He asked, 'like Nana does?' We said yes, although we don't really know how his grandmother pulls her knickers up. And I must say, it's difficult to imagine as well!

Christmas postcard from Japan

2008-12-30T20:06:00.002Z

I received this Christmas postcard from the gorgeous Caryn in Japan. It's so thoughtful of her. It surely brightened a gloomy post-Christmas hang over.

And then I noticed the words 'creative swap'. Now folks, Caryn is a creative person who could turn dust into glitter, and she does all these swapping stuff with other creative people in the blog world. How am I supposed to join their fun? She has sent me cute bracelets as well and I would like to send her something, too as a way to say thank you. The only thing I could send her that's creative is a Hallmark postcard with the edges cut with a zigzaggy scissors!

I'm thinking of Bakewell Tart. What do you think?

(haha! you thought bakewell tart was something else, didn't you?)

After all the fuzz...

2008-12-26T19:30:00.002Z

Well, what do you know? Christmas day is over and the eleven-month preparation for the big day just went off in a puff. I feel guilty for all the wrapping paper around me. A few hours before, they were oh-so-lovingly wrapped around boxes, only to be torn in 10 minutes of madness. And the Christmas cards! We can't be satisfied with texting or calling or even saying in person our Christmas greetings. We have to send cards, too, as if it is the only way to validate our season's greetings to people we know. Sometimes, the cards are just signed by the sender, without even indicating who they are for. They're like autographs, on thick paper with some designs, exchanged, and displayed on windows or mantelpieces. Seemingly, the more cards displayed, the better, as it shows that you have a lot of friends, even if you only get to speak to one at least once in 3 weeks.

Receiving cards makes me feel guilty, too. I only sent some to friends in distant places and a few local ones, but when a card is handed to me unexpectedly, I get a feeling of warmth and gratitude, as well as a nagging feeling of obligation to reciprocate. Last night, at a friend's party, there were guests who had cards and pens ready. As soon as they see another guest coming in, they sign the cards off and hand them out. I cannot criticise the thought that went with it but it was like receiving leaflets on the way to a shop announcing an unplanned 70% discount, except that I was grateful for receiving them. They obviously forgot about you or didn't plan to give you one, but since you're there anyway, they give you one, just so you feel you're in their thoughts this Christmas.

As planned (in other words, out of sheer laziness), I didn't give Christmas cards to my work colleagues. I gratefully accepted theirs, and explained why I am not distributing cards to them this year. I promised to give them one on their birthdays, though, and I think they're ok about it. And so hopefully next Christmas, I would only send cards to friends and family in distant places, and when I say distant, it means over a thousand miles away from where I live.

So folks, I hope you all had a sweet and lovely Christmas celebration!

KING LEWIS

2008-12-17T10:50:00.002Z

For him to wear the headgear and beard, I had to bribe him with ferrero rocher! And in this picture, he is shocked that he is only given one - and he obviously wants more. Sorry, Lewis. I've got my picture!

Sale

2008-12-12T20:04:00.002Z

It has been madness lately. The closing down of 100-year-old Woolworths meant that there was a very early Christmas sale for toys, children's clothing and kitchenware. I was there of course, joining the band of merry wives buying for my children winter coats that won't fit them until 2010.

If you know a Filipino, you will understand what I'm on about here.

2008-12-01T22:41:00.003Z

The temperature has been around freezing point lately. There is nothing better to do in this time of the year except stuff myself with comfort food. Two days ago, a parcel of dried and salted fish arrived. Not being able to contain my excitement, I cooked about a dozen of them, while K and Zak were out. Knowing how K would react to the smell, I threw all the windows in the kitchen open. I was already blue when the dried fish was cooked and my fingers felt like they were going to fall off, but hey, I have under my nose the best food in the world.

K and Zak passed by the open windows, came in through the door and declared that they have a new business idea to propose to Dragon's Den: an airspray to combat uncontrollable yobbos, burglars and would-be terrorists. The airspray content would be the smell of cooked dried fish. The potency of a single spray would be equivalent to a million trapped farts with a mixture of pasta vomit. If I agree, I'd be a multi-millionaire in no time. But I have to stop cooking and eating dried fish.

I stared at them trying so hard to stop my chin from shivering. Then we all sat down in the lounge. I ate my dried fish and rice with my coat on while K, Zak and Lewis had their fingers clipped on their noses.

Castleton & Food

2008-11-25T15:06:00.008Z

It's unusually sunny today, so we packed our walking boots and sticks to visit Castleton, a little quaint village in the High Peak, Derbyshire. The temperature is about 4 degrees lower than from where I live, which means that today, it's about 0 degree. Christmas trees are already out on the streets and the sound system in the public toilet is still playing classical music. It's weird for a public toilet to have music but there you go, odd village as it is.

This is a typical English cottage facing a graveyard and a castle ruin is on top of the hill next to it. It looks beautiful but I don't know how I'd feel if I live in there seeing all the graves everytime I wake up in the morning.

Salmon & Dill Fishcake

English Sausage & Mash

Being a touristy village though, a lot of cafes offer good food. Rose Cottage Cafe is fabulous. The tourist centre suggested this to us, and because we enjoyed the food, we dropped £1 in their box. It's the 'economic downturn', according to the Americans, so a pound is just right for a donation.

Cream Tea

As I am posting photos of food now, I might as well include my favourite Cream Tea. This one is from the only cafe in the Peak Village, a shopping outlet near Matlock in Derbyshire. This tastes nice but nothing can beat the Austrian cafe in a village called Bakewell which serves the best cream tea and bratwurst sausages.

The Peak District is beautiful. I have considered joining a rambling club but seeing that most members are pensioners who spend their time walking (rambling) about instead of knitting socks for their grandchildren, I might as well wait for a little bit. Indeed I do a bit of walking around, but only because I enjoy collapsing into a cafe afterwards, to say I deserve some cholesterol-laden cream tea.

More photos here.

drama out of a crisis

2008-11-21T19:54:00.002Z

'Well, in front of William was Hannah. Hannah is a girl. She is long and thin. William fell down, hit his face on the concrete and blood went everywhere. It was a good job William was a school counsellor. Because he is injured, I am now the new school counsellor. And because blood was everywhere, the school called the nurse, the nurse called the surgery, the surgery called the hospital, the hospital called the fire engine, the fire engine called the ambulance!'

This is a bit of what I heard from my 6-year-old while he was chatting with his daddy. There is so much in there to analyse. It's funny bordering on fanciful and I don't know which bit is real or made up. I have to remind him of Pinnochio as a reality check sometimes. What strikes me is that if his story involves boys, he only mentions the names, but if girls are involved, they are described as to their appearance, in detail, with an additional reminder that the person he is on about is a different species: a GIRL.

Best Nanay

2008-11-18T11:41:00.002Z

GET THIS AWARD ON YOUR BLOG CLICK HERE

Girlie passed on to me this award. This made me think. What kind of a mother am I? Am I really best for my children? Also, I've never been 'best' in anything! My cooking is rubbish. My home is not always spic and span. So in a way, there's a little feeling of guilt to be called 'Best Mom' when I don't even cook for my children!

Probably, the 'best' I have given my children is 'time'. I don't want to enumerate what sort of 'time' I have spent with them but I am confident to say that it was both quantity and quality time. I only work a few hours a week, after Lewis turned 1, just to get me out of the house and smell something else other than dirty nappies and milk. I'm glad to say I enjoy every minute of motherhood. One day, when Lewis is in school full time, I could refocus on my career and be financially independent. When the boys are both grown up and living their own lives, I could hold my head up and tell myself, 'I looked after them myself!'

But I don't want to gloat. There are mothers out there who have to work full time and leave their babies to nannies or childminders so they could help feed the family. Maybe I am just lucky that I don't have to and that I have a husband who doesn't mind. There are lots of frustrations in not being able to work full time and earn good money. But this is my choice and the downsides are only for me to swallow. The latest It-bag could wait. My old jeans would still do. But my babies grow and before I know it, they're gone. I just can't afford to lose out on them.

I would like to pass this on to Analyse and Aileen. Great mothers and fantastic career women who know how to balance family life without ending up pathetic like me. I just wish I had their energy!

happy

2008-11-13T18:55:00.003Z

Out of the blue, the boys came rushing from the kitchen on their tractor to deliver plates, knives, forks on to our dining table. The soysauce was declared champagne and the roasted chicken, vegetables and roasted potatoes became CHRISTMAS DINNER! K came out with all the drinks and played Christmas songs on CD. We all got excited. We sat down to eat, big smiles on our faces, thrilled. Wow! Christmas dinner in November!

We closed the blinds and pretended it was snowing outside. The excitement and the chatter made the delicious meal a christmas dinner in every way. Except of course that it was 13 November and not 25 December.

'Hunny! Life is what you make it!' my husband said as I savoured the wonderful 'christmas dinner' surprise.

Crispy Bites

2008-11-10T20:05:00.001Z

Crispy Bites, originally uploaded by Soyy.

I am not a dessert or a biscuit person. Normally, when I am offered snacks or after-meal bites, I refuse. I don't mind drinks. I would even happily sit in a competition on who could drink the most tea without milk and sugar. At six in the morning. But McBurgers at mid-morning? Oh no. Oh no.

But it was also mid-morning when a friend handed this Crispy Bites to me and K as we sat in her settee. Before she even finished making a cup of tea, K already munched about a dozen of these peanut brittle-like cookies. My husband is normally a rich tea biscuit type of person, but this morning? He was abnormally munching it like he's just discovered his teeth and now enjoying the pleasures of solid food.

This bag of crispy bites by the way can be bought from the shop with the slogan, 'Spend a little, save a lot'. We're on our way their tomorrow to grab a trolley of this.

homework madness

2008-11-10T16:59:00.002Z

As soon as we got home from school, I sat down with Zak to do his homework. There is something about homeworks that get to my nerves. He is only 6 years old and for him to do 3 subjects almost every night is too much. I try as much as I can to make it a funny activity rather than a chore and I always wish that the next homework would be all about numbers so that I could copy from the internet the mathematical formulae of the quantum mechanics of chaos and let Zak submit it to his teachers.

This afternoon, we did spelling. Ten words. After the third word, he started acting up. GIRL was spelt as GERL. I would say the word again, stretching my mouth sideways, to emphasize letter I, but he would pretend to be dozing off and unable to concentrate. So I used the words in sentences to make sense. 'Next word is GIRL. Zak is a GIRL!' He jumped up and yelled, 'I'm not a girl! I'm a boy!' So I laughed out loud and told him to write the word GIRL, as it should be. 'Next word is MOST. Mummy is the MOST beautiful of all the mothers in the world.' He smiled and wrote down the word. 'Next word is BLUE. Mummy's BLUE eyes are the most striking ever!' He stared at my eyes, shook his head and wrote down, BROWN.

The Literacy subject was the easiest for him. He had to write 2 sentences that make sense and two that don't. He explored a lot of silly statements and decided to write about defecating with sheeps and urinating with cows. We laughed our heads off before writing the sentences that make sense, which was about him and his daddy going to space taking photos.

I like supervising him with his homework. I am lucky in the sense that I have the luxury of time to devote to them. My job is not demanding and I can always have time off when necessary, like attending school plays, parents' evenings, etc. On the other hand, I don't like the pressure of school work. He is too young to worry about passing tests and finishing homeworks on time. It is not surprising that British school children are more stressed compared to their Scandinavian counterparts. There is too much politics in the school system that the best the parents could do is to be there for their children, help them out and make homework more fun and interesting.

Random and some B* stuff

2008-11-05T11:50:00.005Z

QUANTUM OF SOLACE. I went to the cinema Tuesday MORNING to watch this picture. There were only about 6 of us who dragged our beds to Cineworld to watch high octane James Bond. It certainly woke us up but if I had my way, I would really have liked the action scenes to slow down a bit so I could catch up and understand how people killed one another. Yes, I'm that slow in the morning I need to be told if it was a gun or a knife being used! And how blood got there or why there was no blood at all. And that tabletop touchscreen computer? Wow. I think I'd like to have one of those! And it would be a fab bonus to have Daniel Craig as well. To touch, at least. Ha! Shiver my timbers!

BARACK OBAMA. I am ever so glad he that he won. I enjoy his oratory skills. When he pauses mid-sentence, it is like he is not sure what he is going to say next but what comes out of his mouth is pure brilliance. His economic and health care policies convince me even if I am not in America and would certainly not enjoy the tax cuts. At the moment though, I think I'm just about pissed off with all the 'first black president' stuff on the news. He's half-white as well, goodness! And when he campaigned for presidency, it wasn't because of his colour but because he believed he could do the job! Oh well, over to you Americans.

PLAYGROUP. I took Lewis to a new playgroup in my area. It's totally different from what he's used to and the toys are a lot gentler (no tractors and JCBs). And the kids are mostly girls. And most of them seem spoilt! Lewis was a bit shocked when the girls a lot younger than him started screaming and thrashing about with their little pink toys. Another little girl came up to him to play with his teapot and cups. He was a bit miffed that the girl couldn't stop dropping off the cup and that he had to pick it up for her! He stared at her as if saying, 'what's the matter with this little pinky creature?'

BOOKS. I got a book by Dr Miriam Stoppard called 'Questions children ask and how to answer them'. There is a suggested answer if a 4-6 year old asks, 'How are babies made?' or 'Did a stork bring me?' or 'How does the baby get in there?' which goes like this:

You weren't brought by a stork - that's just a story. Like all
babies, you were made from a seed from Daddy and an egg from Mummy. Daddy's seed and Mummy's egg joined together in Mummy's tummy to make you, so you're very special - and a lovely mixture of Daddy and Mummy.

With this answer, I could already imagine Zak exclaiming, 'You have an egg?! Then why do you need to buy eggs from the shop?!'

I also got James Bruges' Big Earth Book - Ideas and solutions for a planet in crisis. It's not a stuck-up-in-the-arse kind of book and it explains about money in very simple terms, which appeals to me very much indeed. Two reasons: I don't have a lot of money and I don't understand numbers. And these two reasons are interlinked as well, I suppose.

My third new book at the moment is called Quantum by Manjit Kumar. lt's very heavy (448 pages, hardback). Heavy to digest as well. I don't understand a word in it, actually. But I got it because it says in the flap, 'Quantum theory looks at the very building blocks of our world, the particles and processes without which it could not exist...' Hmm. Sounds very important. I'm sure though that once I finish reading it and someone would ask me what it's all about, I'd be like, 'Umm, Quantum is like... you know, like quantum physics? Erm, quantum leap? Yeah, that sort of thing.'

And oh, the last sentence in its flap jacket reads: 'Quantum is the essential read for anyone fascinated by this complex and thrilling story and by the band of brilliant men at its heart.'

WHAT?

Yes, I hear you. It's definitely boring* stuff.

He is 6

2008-11-01T18:10:00.002Z

Happy. More photos at here.

After his birthday tea, we settled into our pajamas at 7pm relieved from all the tidying up but overwhelmed by the extra pizzas and sandwiches that could last us another week.

Instead of story time, we talked about how Zak was born. The questions mainly came from him, i.e. how many patients were in the hospital when he was born (erm...i didn't have the chance to ask - I was giving birth, remember?), how many doctors (two), what did daddy do during that time (holding my hand while trying not to faint), and so on.

He laughed when I told him that the 'bed' in the delivery room wasn't really a bed. It was a piece of wood with green vinyl on it, about 6 inches in width. Two pieces of covered wood also extended on the sides to support my arms. It was in the shape of a cross, except that a real cross is a lot better. The delivery bed I was in only supported the middle of my body up to the bottom of my spine. My whole bum was left dangling while my feet were supported by stirrups. If Jesus died on the cross to save my sins, I thought at that moment that he was in a better position that me. And it wasn't even a state hospital in the Philippines. It happened to be the 'best' hospital in the city.

I told him that it was indeed a difficult birth. That awful bed made it so damn difficult I thought it was meant to deter women from giving birth. It was also hospital policy to NOT allow the husband to be at his wife's side during the birth in case the wife becomes pathetic and complains about the pain. My husband had to be smuggled in by our doctor.

What freaked my husband out was when one of the nurses started to bath the baby. The kettle where she boiled the water was rusty. The little bathtub/basin was hygienically suspicious. And the cot was rusty as well. When he sent the photos to his parents here in England, they were so shocked at the site of the rusty cot. But the baby was fine, they were assured.

A few hours after Zak was born.

This is the most interesting story in the family, and until now, it still fascinates Zak and his grandparents. But this also sends shivers down my husband's spine. But I tell this to Zak, and probably in every birthday celebrations he has, because this is his story. The next time we go back to the Philippines, the hospital might have improved a lot, and hopefully have thrown away that bed and refurbished the delivery suite. I might not even recognise the hospital anymore.

In Zak's mind, his birth is the most fascinating story.

Before he went to sleep, he asked one last question: how did he get to live in my belly? I thought, there now, that will be another fascinating experience for you one day. But we settled for the simplest answer: Daddy put you inside mummy's belly. And the follow-up question of: But how? was shushed with a quiet whisper: 'time for bed, birthday boy...' while I lingered in his warm, cozy, and comfy bed.

Hot water bottle of a 'beauty queen'

2008-10-29T19:36:00.003Z

These are hot water bottles. It's nice to cuddle one when you need to get up in the middle of the night to use the toilet. These are not useful if you live in the the tropical climes, unless you put cold water in it. These are also good to warm up the bed (or your feet) if you don't like the excessiveness of electric blankets. However, you are not obliged to be a 'cheeky monkey' or a 'beauty queen'. There are other designs. These are only bought by my husband to annoy me, maybe because he didn't believe me when I told him I had my cheek bones chiseled when I was 18 to become a beauty queen. 'Chiseled cheek bones? Hammered, more like', he said.

Rereading

2008-10-26T19:46:00.005Z

The last few nights, in between watching BBCiplayer or Channel 5 Demand, I revisited Bill Bryson's travel books. I read his Notes from a Small Island while I was still in the Philippines and when my idea of England was limited to the Tudors, Shakespeare and the unfathomable accent of Dickens. And of course Princess Diana. Now that I have experienced England first hand, and having been reintroduced to George Orwell and Jane Austen, I thought that maybe I could finally 'get' Bryson's humour.

Halfway through the book, my husband wondered why I didn't laugh. Of course it was funny, but the effect on me was not the snorty sort of laugh. I smiled through all the funny bits but a part of me was purely taken aback. I kept on trying to remember how I felt when I read this book while in the Philippines. Was I impressed? Carried away? Did it make me feel like I 'know' Britain? Did it make me understand Scottish accent? What did I do when I encountered the word 'counterpane'? Did I also think that it was part of a window? What was the picture in my head when he talked about 'hot water bottles'? Did I imagine a wine bottle with very hot water in it? Did I understand what MOD was? Did I think it was a fashion magazine?

I told my husband that it just made me think instead, knowing how little my capacity for doing such a thing. And I asked him if he knows what a 'counterpane' is. He doesn't. I also asked my mother-in-law if she knows what it is. She's not sure.

See? That's one good thing about rereading a book. It makes you think!

The baby

2008-10-19T10:47:00.003Z

This is my 2-year-old who likes to argue about his clothes for the day. He only likes to wear blue cap. Wooly hats disgust him. But because he is still our 'baby', we give in and just laugh at his fussy-ness. He always charms his way to an overdose of evening milk. He loves his bath even if he always declares that he hates it. For him, everything is about his daddy. He sees a tractor and he says 'Das daddy's tracor.' I take him to a supermarket and he says, 'Daddy's supemakit'' ad infinitum. If he sees something not right, he will say, 'Daddy fix it', or if we all say we're hungy, he will say, 'Daddy mix food.' His daddy is his be-all and end-all.

We go out for the day and 'Daddy drive?' is the most important question to consider. 'Daddy's juice' is what he drinks and 'Daddy's sandwiches' are what he eats. Of course, 'Daddy is funny' as well, all the time. He always knows where Daddy is. Kitchen? Toilet? Work? Grandad's? Library? Bed? He has an instinctive tracer of his daddy's whereabouts.

Yesterday morning, his daddy cut his hair. When he looked at the mirror, he was upset that there was nothing in his head to brush. He started looking for his hair on the floor. 'Daddy cut hair!' he exclaimed, as if I didn't realise that. Seemingly, he got disappointed with his father's haircutting skills. Then he started pointing at himself saying, 'Mummy's baby!' 'I'm mummy's baby!' So now, it seems like I become his favourite parent. I still can't get over it. :)

Night sweat

2008-10-15T18:10:00.003Z

She looked at her dettol-ravaged hands and her shoulders started to shake. Tears fell down the glistening white bathroom tiles, along the mop and the disinfectant. This was her life, confined in a long seven-day stretch of looking after a poorly child and keeping up her home clean and tidy. This was the life she inhabited, in a city devoid of warmth and humour, only breathing through night lights that twinkle so sadly. Outside her window were cars parked so silently, coldly, and the rain that glistened on the UPVC glass only managed to compound her solitude.

She put aside all her commitments with the outside world. She even managed to forget the only social engagement she had in her calendar that month. She focused on her child and her home, and in between, she buried herself in books she had forgotten all these years, books that have gathered dust in her shelves. Some of these books were only read once, or twice, and then forgotten, her thumbprints embedded in between pages to play with the ghosts among the pages.

She is a seasonal reader, one who doesn't stick to one genre. She spent one whole night on Jodi Picoult and then jumped onto Anche Min's Empress Orchid. Trying to digest these two stories in less than 48 hours is exhausting, but when she plodded on to the classic Wuthering Heights, all the passion and anger and vindictiveness seemed to leap from the pages and drained her, turning her into a useless heap on the bathroom floor, tearing her eyes out, pleading to be freed from her domestic prison, longing for fresh air to hit her in the face, even just for once.

When she opened her eyes, the digital clock screamed 4.00am. Gingerly, she opened her sore eyes and wiped her swollen nose. Then she heard a soothing voice that could only come from one person, her husband: 'You just have a very bad cold. Go back to sleep.'

If you like to expose your 5-year-old to photography, give him more than a 5megapixel

2008-10-07T12:13:00.004Z

K is invited by a photographic society to do a big lecture in a few days. He organised hundreds of photographs and since he only has two hours to talk, he tried to time his projection show by practising in front of us in our bedroom.

After discussing landscape photography and droning on about medium format cameras, 6x7s, 6x6s, macros, digital, etc, the boys started to fidget. Ten minutes into the 'lecture', my 5-year-old Zak started 'interacting' with K.

K: 'This is the original shot... as you can see in the conversion...'
Zak: 'Rubbish!'

K: 'By changing the depth of field and by adjusting the angle...'
Zak: 'Borrrringgg!'

K: 'This example of documentary photography shows not only the 'feel' of the scene...'
Zak: 'Pure rubbish!'

Patiently, K kept on while I listened attentively. He didn't succumb to Zak's rude distractions because he was concentrating on the timing of each slide. At the end of each segment, he would pretend to ask us if we have questions. Expectedly, Zak would raise his hand, not to ask, mind, but to comment. 'Daddy, I have something very, very important to tell you.' K, aware that it's another senseless ruse, said, 'Tell me later, ok?'

And then K kept on showing us all the photos and after an excruciating 90 minutes, he said to us, 'That was it. Hmmm. One hour and a half! I'll show you the travel ones...'

But Zak had had enough. He moaned and muttered under his breath, 'stupid photography!'

How to impress yourself, your mother-in-law, and your wallet

2008-10-06T09:48:00.005Z

With the credit crunch and all that, I try to tighten up my belt when it comes to usage of energy at home. Take for instance the use of shower. All four of us take a shower twice a day. Now, that's a lot of water and electricity used. When the bill comes, I always prepare for what could be a heart attack. To avoid the embarassment of paramedics seeing my twitchy face, my overused and overwashed robe, and my sky-high bill, I have to think of some good old money-saving 'tricks'.

Lewis still has his baby bath. It's still big enough for him and Zak to sit on so it is still being used since over two years ago. I bought it from a sale for £5 so it's money well-spent. Before bedtime, I fill it up with warm water. I bath Lewis in it, and Zak afterwards in the same water. Obviously, their nappy areas have to be clean before they both go in it. Afterwards, I use the bath water to clean the bathroom and flush our two toilets, without the boys in it, of course.

When K and I have a shower, we stand on the baby bath to catch the water to flush the toilets! And K is only allowed to have a hot bath once a month, or when we're both feeling sore. Baths use a lot of water. Last year, I heard that it costs 25pence (roughly $.50) to flush a toilet, which means it could be double by now. By reusing water, I saved a few pennies, even pounds, and it's not even hard work!

This morning, I took K to the kitchen and lectured him about the use of teabags. We consume about 24 teabags during weekends, when we're both at home, so I showed him how to save. Whenever I make a cup of tea, I don't throw the used teabag in the bin. Instead, I transfer it to another clean cup for the next cup of tea. Or, I use a teapot and just refill it with hot water everytime.

The heating is always the cause of our arguments. I have adjusted fairly well to the British weather and so I don't always like to have a very well-heated home. I put on more clothes and the boys always have two or three layers of clothing instead of me turning up the heating system. Our bedroom should only be 16c or less because the longer you stay in bed, the warmer you become. And what are pyjamas for anyway?

I also used to have my nails pedicured by a lady who does home service. This is one luxury that seems silly to me now. I realise that my lifestyle doesn't revolve around walking the red carpets or twirling in open-toed stilletos. I push a buggy whenever I go out and when I am at work, my feet are not seen anyway, so what's the point of paying good money to clean the nails only for it to be hidden away?

And so, I DIY. Sometimes, I get an unwelcome help from my 2-year-old but it doesn't matter. Even if the paint goes everywhere except the nails, I have pampered myself anyhow - for free, come to think of it!

See me smile

2008-09-28T19:08:00.005Z

I just had my final exam. I've never felt so awfully free than today where I just stayed in bed until 3pm, only getting out to get something to eat. I'm so giddy from immeasurable relief that I didn't mind turning the webcam on beaming to my relatives in Norway and the Philippines our bedroom that was purely a disaster zone.

I watched tv in bed and didn't mind that the boys had turned their bedroom upside-down, inside-out. I didn't mind that my duvet would disappear and reappear in my bed. Or that empty milk cups piled up in my bedside table. I didn't mind stepping on lego pieces while trodding to the bathroom, or seeing my boys standing in front of me, sweet as angels, with their hands behind them, smiling so serenely, while their faces were covered in chocolate. Feigning ignorance, I asked them what they've been up to in the other bedroom and they replied rather defensively that they were just 'playing together nicely'. I smiled in approval, and confiscated secretly the stash of individually wrapped toblerones that was supposed to be their father's present to me for the hard effort I put into my exams. They ate my chocolates! but I didn't tell them off because I am carefree today. I am relaxed and excited that I could finally read fiction again...

Until next year when I start another round of reading cases and statutes.

Lesson 1

2008-09-18T16:27:00.003Z

I let Zak stand in a corner for pushing Lewis. I sat directly in front of him while trying to pacify the screaming little one.

After a couple of minutes, he came up to me and said, 'I'm sorry Mummy. I thought about it and I'm never going to do it again. I've learned my lesson.'

Trying to look firm, I asked, 'and what lesson have you learned?'

He replied ever so innocently, 'only numeracy!'

Does this remind you of your grandmother?

2008-09-17T13:16:00.000Z

Oh please don't lecture me about time and household management. I need somebody to train my husband the art of domesticity!

2008-09-14T18:59:00.005Z

I don't like ironing clothes.

And I don't like putting them away in drawers and wardrobes.

I also don't like cooking, and dish washing, and toilet-cleaning.

So what does that say about my day today?

Frustrating and exhausting.

I ironed clothes while Jose Mari Chan was on YouTube singing that sad christmas song. I nearly burst into tears. Not because of the song, but because I just felt sorry for myself. I iron clothes once a month so you can just imagine how I was dwarfed by piles of babygros and shirts, trousers and jeans. And bloody bedsheets. I have never done ironing in industrial proportion back in the Philippines. And here in this sodding first-world country I.am.ironing.everybody's.clothes. And putting them away as well, which is worse. It's like Maths for kids. All husband's shirts on hangers. All husband's long-sleeved shirts on more hangers. All husband's t-shirts on one pile. All husband's jumpers on another pile. And on and on and on. Then there are more clothes for the two kids which have to be sorted in different piles as well. And socks. It's hell. There are 3 pairs of socks worn everyday. When they go in the washing, they decide to go separate ways and when they dry I could never match them up again!

After I read the boys' bedtime stories, I went on my hands and knees to clean the bathrooms. Then my husband called me on the phone saying that 'there's a situation'. For a moment I thought, god, he's going to bring home another baby and I'd get more clothes to wash and iron, or, oh no, his parents are finally moving with us and there will be MORE clothes to iron. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he said, 'I have loads of potatoes and they need to be washed - in the bath - because the kitchen sink is too small for this lot'. I moaned. 'But I just disinfected the bath!' He said, 'don't worry, I'll clean up'.

After bathing his potatoes, he kissed the boys goodnight, got out of the room, went downstairs and sat down in front of his computer. Before I could get in the bathroom to check, he said, 'don't freak out'. So I peeped through the crack of the door. The disinfected, glistening white tiled floor 15 minutes ago is now muddy. Mudbleedingdy.

I turned off Jose Mari Chan. I closed YouTube. I closed my eyes.

I took out the gun lodged in my brain and shot the iron to smithereens.

happy birthday to you!

2008-09-13T21:10:00.001Z

happy birthday to you!, originally uploaded by Soyy.

Flop debut

2008-09-12T09:55:00.003Z

I can't claim to be politically sound but I do have a little bit of political awareness. The interview debut of Sarah Palin just reinforced what I and a lot of people thought of her. I cringed all the way through the painful interview, and not just because 'Charlie' of ABC is awfully professorial to her, but because of her answers. She tried so hard to appear confident and knowledgeable but her answers did not have substance and were obviously rehearsed sound bites. When asked about the Bush doctrine, she just got lost.

The Republicans simply took a massive risk on her. I hope America doesn't.

God help me

2008-09-10T13:53:00.003Z

I'm trying to work on my computer. I needed to come up with a 2,500-word essay about what some bloke from Cambridge University said. If I don't do this well, all the work I did for the past 9 months would just go down the drain. Now, I'm not a writer, as you can see. It would take me 6 mornings to come up with a passable 2,000-word write-up on some legalese topics. I could patch up a couple of paragraphs for my blog in less than 10 minutes but that's because I am not paid to do so and I don't have a wide audience to appeal to - so no pressure there. Most importantly, my commenters are all nice people who tolerate my tendency to blabber incoherently - so that's the plus-side of it.

So I tried some techniques to get me back into focus. I made some popcorn. I ate it while it's hot, and then my mum-in-law decided to ring me at this most unsuitable time. I said, herro? and she said, what's the matter with you? I said, nohing! I'm eahing pohcohn! She said, you shouldn't stuff yourself with that! It's rubbish! Aren't you working? I said, I'm trying! Then she said, you're going to be FAT! I said, thank you!

Now, that didn't help at all, did it? So I went back to my computer. I have planned my structure about 7 hours ago and until now, that's the only thing on the page. My husband called and asked how everything is going. I said, it's going swimmingly. He asked me to remember my deadline all the time. This is no time to procrastinate, he said. I asked him how to spell procrastinate and he said, never mind that!

So I went back into eating the now cool (ish) popcorn. Still, nothing comes to mind. I see the words. STATIC. REGULATORS. JUDGES. EVIDENCE. But I couldn't connect them all. I couldn't make sense of these bloody words.

I got a call. How's the essay doing? I said, I'm writing. He said, good!

I didn't say I'm writing this post!

Black Hole

2008-09-10T07:45:00.004Z

About 10 minutes ago, the Large Hadron Collider was powered on. I sat on the couch with my laptop perched on the arm. Lewis dumped his cup of water on me and I froze. I shouted for tea towel to absorb the water while my ears were glued to BBC Radio 4 doing the countdown. I was at the same time relaying to my husband what the French and English-speaking people were saying, including Andrew Marr's. Too much excitement!

But in bed this morning, I was ranting. '£5billion pounds! Think how that could help humanity! They spend that much just to satisfy scientific curiousity and yet there are people in the world who can't even pull their hair because of hunger? How could you justify that?'

My husband kept still and quiet, staring up the ceiling, possibly thinking, 'oh here we go again!' Then he said, 'Britain gives CERN £120million pounds every year.'

Then I said, 'go on Zak, get dressed'. I thought, do I really have to worry about these huge things beyond my comprehension? If black holes are inadvertently created, as some people claim, then earth would be sucked from within, and there's nothing I or you could do about it. I might be able to continue supervising Zak and Lewis get dressed, or not.

Then my husband asked how long it would take for earth to disappear if the collider goes wrong, the expert in me confidently answered: 4 years. He said, 'don't worry, we'll all be dead by then'.

When Zak and husband left for school, husband said, 'it's 8.39. I'll see you later, unless the black hole appears!'

Back to school

2008-09-08T08:43:00.003Z

Zak - first day of Reception class. 7 September 2007.

Zak - first day of Year 1 class, 7 September 2008.

Zak started school today. I shed more tears again, silly me. I thought, well after 6 weeks of school holiday, our routine will be back to normal again. But when we got back home, it was just eerily quiet. We went out again, and through someone's window, we looked at the playground of Zak's school, and there we saw him, sipping his drink while running around with his friends. So I thought, hmm, he's happy now that he's free from the clutches of his mother and brother, so why should I feel down? Tomorrow, I'll be back at work as well. And until Christmas holidays, this will our routine.

But I can't shake up the thought of how he has grown since last year!

How to be British

2008-09-07T13:02:00.002Z

There is only one way to become a citizen of Britain: know how to talk about the weather.

You don't need to become a weather forecaster; you just need to have an eye for the weather and the right words and phrases to go with it. Learning to say something about it will take you a long way across the British Isles and into the arms of the most stiff-upper-lipped British.

'Lovely day, isn't it?' is one conversation opener. Obviously, it has to be a lovely day as well or else you'll sound like a moron who says good when it's bad. You also need to learn how to moan. A lot. 'Ugh, It's too warm! I canna cope wi' this, ya know!' Or 'Horrible, innit? Bloody cold again, whadaya know?!'

Sometimes, it's just a straightforward commentary:

'Pissing again, isn't it?'
'It is, isn't it? Awful!'
'It was exactly like this ten years ago.'
'It was, wasn't it.'
'Oh, I remember it very well. 1998 it was.'
'Yeah, 1998. Yeah!'
'Or was it 1997? Yeah, 1997 I think it was.'
'Yeah, it was 1997.'
'I don't like the rain at all. I can't cope with it.'
'No, I don't like it either. No.'
'I don't like it when it gets too hot as well.'
'No, I don't like the heat.'

And so on and so forth. The secret is agreeing all the time to whoever you're talking with, especially if that person comes from the north of England.

Britain doesn't have tropical storms or hurricane and yet when the weather changes, like when it's been raining and then it stops and the sun comes out, oh! there's so much to talk about like a miracle has just happened.

And if the weather gets too bad and you have exhausted all the phrases you learned and you're fed up agreeing all the time, just put the kettle on and have a cup of tea. Yes, you also need to learn to drink tea with milk if you want to continue being British!

Cycling

2008-09-02T19:09:00.002Z

Cycling around Ladybower Dam, originally uploaded by Soyy.

I ditched my mountain bike 11 years ago.

Today, I thought I wouldn't be able to pedal anymore. I practised on my 5-year-old's bike but it wouldn't move a jot. I thought, oh maybe, the wheels are just too tiny for my size. I was told, no, 'you're just fat' and that I should get my arse off it and get real. I don't think I'm fat. I'm just oozing with sexuality - not lard!

So I decided to 'get real' and donned a broken helmet and walking boots, in case I'd end up walking with my bike around 15 miles of cycle path. The pod for the boys was attached to husband's bike.

I managed to keep the handle bars together without falling off and took 173 photos of husband on his bike. Imagine. He took 2 shots of me to prove to his parents that I'm really fat, I mean fit.

We were warned of the impending rain and we were continually watching out for the ominous clouds. It turned out that we had to race against the rain and as soon as we reached the car park 3 hours later, the heavens collapsed on us. Perfect!

I thought

2008-09-01T09:11:00.005Z

Of facial reconstruction.

I can't understand why people take me so seriously, like everything I say is etched on two slabs of the commandments, and that everything I do or don't do has moral connotations! Don't they know what 'dry sense of humour' is?

I just happen to have tight ponytail/bun all the time. No, I don't let my hair down, literally, because I have frizzy hair and you know what, everything Vidal Sassoon said is a lie! What's wrong with neat hairstyle anyway? That's what they do at Ms Universe, I'm sure. And no, I don't do clips because they make me look like a 70-year-old who forgot her false teeth.

My hairstyle doesn't make me look like a hard-nosed businesswoman who doesn't have time for silliness. Okay, it's my eyes then. So what's wrong with my bloody eyes? They're piercing, but they're not looking through your soul? I'm short-sighted so if you're a mile from me, my eyes have to work hard to see the outline of your body. If you're wearing layered dress and it happens to be windy, then it would make me think you're a spider and not a human being. So I DON'T SMILE. You're a spider. Why should I smile at a spider!

I try hard to look charming, and soft. So once in a blue moon, I put on make-up. But the make-up makes my 2-year-old cry. And my 5-year-old would exclaim like, 'Mummy! You look like a witch!' And then my husband would smile, just smile, like a permanent smile, and become monosyllabic. How do I look? 'Eh?' And then he would smile some more. When my father-in-law sees me, he would turn his head and look on the wall, like there's something there he's not seen before. 'Oh, this tiny bit here needs a teeny-weeny lick of paint!' And my mother-in-law would say, 'Wow Soy, I like your ring!' And my ring is not even near my face! What's the matter with them? Or should I say, what's the bloody matter with my face/make-up/face?

That's why I should have facial reconstruction. What do you think of Rosalinda?

Lost in translation

2008-08-31T13:43:00.003Z

Lewis came in bringing books to his Nana and said, 'Nana, wee books pee!'

His Nana said, 'Oh dear, did you wee on your books?'

'No! Wee books!'

'Ok, darling. Let's go to the toilet and have a wee.' My mother-in-law said helpfully.

'No! wee books pee!' Lewis is annoyed this time.

I just had to intervene. 'Mum,' I said, 'Lewis said READ books PLEASE!'

xxx

At the health visitor's clinic for Lewis' second-year check up:

Lewis called me. 'Mummy, see daw!'

I didn't move. The nurse asked me, 'Is he talking in Filipino?'

I said, 'No, he's talking in English.'

The nurse was a bit confused. So I had to translate as usual.

He actually said, 'Mummy, sit down!'

War at the home front

2008-08-30T17:13:00.003Z

My mother-in-law said she was scared that K and I would have a big row at home. I told her we already did, although it was only small scale considering what happened.

My husband, by some sudden inspiration, went off to a shop and bought new curtains and wallpaper for our bedroom. When he got home, he said excitedly, 'Have a look at this!' He obviously expected a pleasant reaction from me but even before I saw what he bought, I was already fuming. My 5-year-old immediately run off to the other room seeing the smoke coming out of my ears. I said, 'No, I'm not bothered.' 'But why? Is it because I didn't let you come with me?' he asked, seemingly perplexed. I said, 'You can't just redecorate this bedroom without consulting me! This is my bedroom too!'

I walked off after throwing some threatening remarks. 'You put those curtains up and I'll move to the other bedroom!'

Later on, he apologised. Apparently, he realised that I would have been glad of the redecoration idea if only I'd been asked for an opinion. Nothing to do with the curtains at all. Or the wallpaper.

That should have been the end of it. Except that when my mother-in-law came in for tea, she noticed the rolls of wallpaper by the entrance door. I ran downstairs to have a look and to my horror, the flower designs were in pink. PINK! Now, baby pink I don't mind, but bright, girly pink? Is he kidding me? I ran back upstairs screaming, 'PINK!' 'Bleeding Pink!' while my mother-in-law escaped into her car and ordered my father-in-law to drive off.

And so the momentary peace deal brokered earlier collapsed and I was ready again for another battle, except that Mr. Pink Husband was out. My mother-in-law phoned in to confirm my ammunition (I have approved her interference as long as she's always on my side).

Anyway, to cut the long story short, the curtains were returned to the shop; my mother-in-law was relieved that there was no big row.

And the husband? He's trying to overcome the embarassment of returning the bleeding pink wallpaper to the shop. He started to say something about not returning them because they didn't cost much anyway, but I stopped him right there. I told him he will be subjected to random verbal attack until the pink wallpaper disappears from my sight.

He rolled his eyes and said, 'Women! Why are you so difficult to deal with?!'

Faithful but liar

2008-08-23T08:50:00.004Z

We talked about his friend. He said, 'well, he's monoganous'.

I said, 'you mean, monogamous'?

He insisted, 'monoganous'!

So I got up from our breakfast table and fetched the Oxford Dictionary. I showed him the word that says, m.o.n.o.g.a.m.o.u.s. I said triumphantly, 'see? monogamous!'

He replied, with all the sincerity he could muster: 'That's what I said!'

Action word

2008-08-22T11:28:00.004Z

The previous Scotland theme for my layout did not seem to carry out well. Two reasons: I found out that hyperlinked words appear the same way as the unlinked. I can't be bothered to tweak it any further. And also, I live in England, so why should I have Scottish theme? Stupid me!

Anyway. That's enough tweaking for now until the end of this century. My eyes have gone square staring at my screen and my forehead is too creased now I would have to start tweezing out the xhtml embedded in between the folds.

xxx

I sat down with my 5-year-old while I taught him all about VERBS. Well, at least a bit of it. My 2-year-old sat with us as well, trying to copy what we're saying. EAT. DRINK. COOK. MIX. My husband sat down as well, pretending to be the teaching assistant, but actually trying to learn really. Like most English people, he doesn't know his parts of speech, and even if he's attacked by Martians, he wouldn't know whether they're nouns, prepositions, or tiny creatures that gave birth to dinosaurs.

So I wrote down on an old unused diary the word SWIM.

'Now, this word darling, is called a verb.'

'It's not. It's S-W-I-M. Swim!'

'Yes. You read it SWIM but this type of word is a verb because it does something. It's a doing word... So what does this word do?'

'Nothing. You wrote it down. It's just there!'

So my friends, like the word 'swim', this layout is staying as it is, for now, unless something happens beyond my control. Like if I press the word DELETE by mistake. Now, that by the way, is another verb.

Countrylife

2008-08-16T18:27:00.004Z

This week, I took my boys to a country show. It's not really like there are people jiggling their bottoms on stage to entertain fed-up farmers. It's more like a show of well-shined tractors, much to a lot of disappointments of children who are not allowed to pretend-drive them. There were also competitions for well-groomed sheep, cows, and horses. And maybe chickens and ducks as well, who knows. Anyway, it was excruciatingly muddy. It was knee-deep and everytime we try to move to another stall to see what's on display, it was like heaving logs attached to our legs. It was a good job that I didn't bother to bring Lewis' buggy. I could see other parents who had to shove their babies down their pockets just so they could pull their prams from jealous latches of the mud. I pity their all-terrain-travel-systems.

Until now, I'm still wondering why I ever went there. I scanned the crowd and I could only see people in tweeds, berrets and jodhpurs. Am I the only one that represents 5% of the Asian population here? Maybe they're all in China, hired by the government to fill up empty stadiums. But why was I there in the first place? I'm not a farmer, not interested in buying a tractor, and most importantly, I don't get on with mud! But when I saw the faces of my boys all caked in mud, which could be horses' muck for all I knew, laughing, trodding along like it was the best thing ever to have happened in their lives, I felt contented. My mother-in-law was so surprised how relaxed I was about it considering that last year, I threw away Zak's new pair of shoes after he played at a muddy football pitch.

Today, I took them again to a Woodlands Festival where people living alternative lifestyles creating stuff out of renewable resources where displaying and demonstrating their crafts. Zak joined in and made a design of fish out of willow. He also tried lathe, a traditional woodcrafting tool. He was shy at first but it made him speak to a lot of matted-haired people. Honestly, I felt like I was out of their league. These people care for the environment and lived their life according to what nature offered in a renewable sort of way, if that's how you incongrously put it. Then I thought of how much plastic packaging I had in my fridge and it was like I was their enemy. I took my boys there to see the GreenMan, the mythical woodland creature, and listen to his music and stories. Instead I felt like an invader of the only group of people who would survive the Apocalypse.

I realise that I'm a bit insecure about my looks [read: Asian] mainly because these activities we go to are country-based. In this part of England, the closest you can get to ethnic minority are the redheads (this is according to Judith O'Reilly). Sometimes, I get a good laugh when a local tries to speak V-ER-Y SL-OW-L-Y to me, enunciating every sound, forming the lips according to the vowels, just so I could follow what she's on about. When I'm in the mood for it, I would say, 'Ah no wot ye on abaaht'. (I know what you're on about.) I just love the way the English get embarassed!

It will take him one year to eat this... or one minute. And then his teeth will all fall off. So what's the moral here?

2008-08-14T21:21:00.006Z

Weddings

2008-08-10T08:55:00.003Z

Summer being the wedding season, I am always dragged by my husband to ceremonies and receptions. Yesterday was another of those weddings where you see stressed brides wearing the wrong hairstyle, unable to breath because of the corsets being too tight. When you go to these events twice a week of your summer holiday, you don't anymore feel the buzz. Instead, you become impatient at bridesmaids constantly disappearing to have a fag, groomsmen unable to restrain gulping bottles of champagne, and children stiff and incapable of smiling because they're either too hot in their clothes or their shoes don't fit at all.

It is always complicated when it is time for formal portraits. The bride's and groom's parents are either separated, divorced, have different partners, don't talk to one another, don't want to be seen together, ignore each other, or don't want to be photographed together. If you're the professional photographer, you have to know this beforehand or risk upsetting/making everybody uncomfortable and stiff in the photos.

There is one thing that annoys me about brides. It's their dress! When a bride walks, she always picks up her dress, like it's some heavy artillery. She never lets her dress carry her; she carries it like she's outside of it. During the reception, she acts like she's still trying her dress on, while she's surrounded by 100 men and women measuring how it fits her overly-tanned body. She's not herself. She's being plastered by heavy make-up like she's on a circus show. How would a groom know it's her?

The groom, if not shaking like a leaf, behaves like a corpse. You won't know if he understands what you're saying; he just grins like a dead hyena. His head is usually off his body and his hands are contanstly rearranging his tie, as if that's what kills him in the first place.

There is always an overweight bridesmaid in every wedding. It's fine, as long as the dress doesn't pretend to be smaller than what she really is. I always worry because their breasts could pop out, you know, and how would a bride feels if her groom is resurrected just by looking at those heavy-weights?!

And the guests! I think they should practise wearing high heels at home before going to the reception. Their hats should fit their heads, their dresses should fit well, and they should remember that it's the bride and groom's day, not theirs. Even if you're the mother of the bride, you shouldn't wear a barbie pink if the motiff is purple.

Eco-babe

2008-08-06T07:49:00.002Z

I'm a nagger at home.

They always hear me say:

'Don't play with the tap. It's a waste of water.'

'Turn off that toy (battery-operated) if you're not using it. It's a waste of batteries.'

'Turn off the TV as soon as you finish watching your programme.'

Etc, etc, etc.

Then yesterday morning, it started to rain. (Well, what do you expect from British summer?)

Zak said, 'Oh, goodness, is it raining again? What a waste of water!'

Score: Love all

2008-08-01T07:41:00.005Z

I'm knackered again. This week, Zak has been learning tennis, and because he could hit the ball only about 1 out of 30, I practised with him until the ball hits the racket and not under it. Sometimes, K would think that really, Zak is not cut-out for sports and we should just let him be with his books because apart from his feet being stuck to the ground like lead when the ball comes his way, he either swings the racket the wrong way or hit himself with it.

But then again, he's only 5 years old, what would you expect? I'm sure Nadal didn't hit all his balls the first time? And then K would say that honestly, swimming (which he will have a crash course next week) is better for him. Not tennis. Not football.

The only thing is, he 'loves' tennis and he always looks forward to all his lessons. I'm just glad it will be finished by the end of this week and I could have a rest from picking up all the balls.

What's in a name?

2008-07-24T12:39:00.003Z

Celebrities nowadays give their children unique/strange names. Non-celebrities follow suit. Take the case of 'Talula Does The Hula From Hawaii'. What kind of name is that? Her parents must be totally bonkers! The worst name ever, in my opinion, is 'Number 16 Bus Shelter'. How would you call him/her? Number? Number 16? Goodness! And get this. The civil registrar allowed it!

So. What name did you give your child? And what is the worst name ever that you have encountered?

Disaster

2008-07-21T07:19:00.003Z

What is the worst way to die? To plumett thousands of feet in a plane, crashing into the sea or worse, the side of a mountain? Or, what about in a ship in a typhoon at night? The fear is incomprehensible. I suppose with a plane it would be over quickly. And what about an earthquake? I suppose an earthquake depends on where you are. If you are in the countryside, in the fields, you should be relatively safe. But if you are in a large built-up city with tall buildings all around, or you could be inside a building being trapped, perhaps minus a leg or arm, does not sound the best way to go. And then the volcano. Being burnt by pyroclastic flow or molten lava is probaly fast but not nice for the loved ones who have to identify the body.

Taking all the above into consideration - plane crashes, boat disasters, typhoons, earthquakes (predicted [!] and actual) and volcanoes, where do you suppose is one of the most dangerous countries to live?

And you thought Filipinos went overseas for the dollar!

Zak's race

2008-07-16T17:52:00.003Z

zak's race 1

This is my boy in action! I wanted to add here a thousand exclamation marks not because I think he is the best but because I was so surprised that he showed a competitive spirit in something other than reading or being smart. I never thought he would be so good (his team won) because he is not crazy about football when all his friends are. He plays golf, cricket and table tennis with his daddy and grandad, but only for 5 minutes and beyond that is already 'boring'. He prefers his books over his balls, literally. ;)

This summer school break, I put him down for daily lawn tennis coaching and swimming lessons. I want him to be outside the house engaged in physical activities because I am so fed up with role-playing at home. I'm sick of being Penny Morris all the time, or being the burglar, or Jess the cat. When school closes this week, I'm going to put away all the dressing-up costumes and I'm going to declare that henceforth, ye shall never be a police officer no more, nor a fireman, nor a dog.

He can keep his books but he has to play balls real hard.

Fold a T-shirt in 2 seconds!

2008-07-14T09:14:00.004Z

If you're like me who is always buried in heaps of clothes that need ironing or folding, then you should try this amazing tip of folding a tshirt in 2 seconds. I tried this and it really works. It saves a lot of time, especially if you're like me who have men in the house who don't even know how to plug the electric iron on.

EXPLAINED HERE.

Comedy in the bathroom

2008-07-12T07:23:00.004Z

At about 2 this morning, Zak came into our bed crying from a bad dream. Eventually, after a few minutes, he fell asleep again on his daddy's chest. So when K got up to move Zak back to his bed, I staggered into the bathroom, half-asleep, one eye closed, the other half-open. I didn't bother to turn on the light; I cleared the floor from toy-hazards before I slept. As I sat on the the toilet seat with my head lolling about, I could hear K's footsteps coming towards me. I couldn't utter a sound despite the desperate urge to shout BACK OFF!

K stood there right infront of me for maybe half a second trying to engage the gear in his brain to identify the big fat blob on the toilet seat. Half-frightened, half-curious, he covered his eyes with his left hand and extended his right hand to touch my head! This time, my eyes fluttered wide open. What the bloody thing is he doing?! As soon as he felt my hair, he went, HHHRRRRR! and did a quick successive double steps backwards like a frog gone out of balance. Because at that time only about 25% of my brain was awake, I only managed to say HEEYYYYY and he went, OH! I THOUGHT IT WAS THE WASHING!

As I crawled back into bed, I thought, how could the washing be in the toilet? Do I really look like a fat heap of dirty clothes in the dark? But I was too tired to clarify this with him; I just wanted to go back to sleep straight away. And then my body started shaking, from my feet up my hips and shoulders... I just couldn't help it! I started to convulse into a very painful and tired laughter. We were both laughing, almost crying, at the image of him covering his eyes with one hand while the other touching my head as if he was a blind priest scared to bless my soul in the dead of night in my bathroom throne. And those dance steps he did? That totally finished me off.

A day in the city

2008-07-05T19:21:00.004Z

Metallic work against wood, originally uploaded by Soyy.

In our family it's illegal to use the words 'retail' and 'therapy' and 'day-out' in the same sentence, unless of course it is a declarative statement like this. We also use the word 'illegal' all the time to mean that something is not allowed, i.e., It is illegal to have a family day-out and then pop into a shop to browse at the sale rack. If you're a fly on our wall, you would hear our children saying, 'Mummy overruled Daddy' or 'You're under arrest!' or 'According to section 2, I can watch TV now'. Yes, our family is in law-enforcement. At home, Zak is a police officer who handcuffs anybody who forgets to flush the toilet. And that included the plumber who only went inside to check the pipes. This morning, Lewis shouted 'murder!' when I said the toilet didn't flush.

Anyway, we went for a day-out today. In the city this time. So we went into museums and galleries. The boys inspected the metallic works of 17th century Sheffield. Spoons, forks, vases, candle holders, tables, knives. Knives! Lewis shouted murder! again. There were exhibitions about knitting and the works of Vivienne Westwood. We ate a lot of pizza and ice cream, took hundreds of photos, gazed in wonder at the architecture of the city, waved at all the double-decker buses, pointed at the trams, played at all the water features and went on a real train. If we had the opportunity, we could have asked to go on a police car just to experience what it's like, but of course it's not possible, unless of course we do something illegal, like trying on the t-shirt of Vivienne Westwood that says 'I'm not a terrorist!' that is on display at the museum at the moment.

(Hello MI5. This is a harmless post. Don't worry! )

We went past shops a lot of times and my eyes strained to look at the display. Wow, nice top... Hey, I love those shoes! But no, this is a family day-out, not a retail bleeding therapy! How could anybody with little children claim to have a 'family outing' and yet the only activity involved is buying clothes? The children are being dragged around while mommy tries on knickers that are obviously too small for her arse. Also, how does shopping become therapeutic? Isn't it stressful? The dress you're looking for is size 10, but you're size 18, so how does that make you feel? Your eyes twinkled when you spotted a Louis Vuitton bag but it costs five times more than your monthly mortgage, so why bother?

Children and shopping don't go together. Show them anything aside from clothes on rails and shoes on racks and they get mystified. Take them around galleries and show them the paintings of your local geniuses and they'll realise the possibility for their doodles at home to be on a space on those walls they're looking at. When they get bored, they'll just say they're hungry.

With Zak and Lewis, we just give them ice cream. It's not illegal on a day-out.

more photos here

Taking time off busy, crazy life

2008-06-30T19:37:00.003Z

Today, we went out for a 9-mile walk. Zak was in school so Lewis had us all by himself! The reservoir seemed deserted and the cloudy sky didn't help but it was a great time to talk about things that don't concern dishwashing and schedules of toilet cleaning. Lewis was busy observing some strange creatures. Look Daddy! Look Mama! Sheep! Plane! Tubig (Water)! Swim!

He was on and off the buggy as obviously his little legs could not survive a long walk!

We had picnic amidst the flies and sheep-pooh (I know, I know, but that's part of the fun).

After lunch, we sat on one of the benches facing the water, taking in all the peace and serenity...

while Lewis planned what to do once we get back to civilisation: to eat ice cream because he's been a very good boy... and to play in the garden instead of going to bed at 7pm!

More photos here of us in the garden and me, sky-walking!

I'm a nanny

2008-06-28T08:33:00.005Z

Saturday today and I got out of bed annoyed and fed up with the word I kept on hearing for the last two hours: SMART.

Zak came to my bed and asked if it's school day today. I said no, it's Saturday today and we're going to town to buy a new lunch box - his choice. He said, ok, can i wear my school uniform? I said, no, don't be silly. So he went off on a tirade saying his weekend clothes are COOL, not SMART, and he hates COOL, he hates jeans, he hates t-shirts. For two hours, he kept on agonising over his desire to be smart, smart, smart, smart and my total lack of understanding about smart appearance.

Lately, he's been obsessed with wearing a tie everyday. He has to be forced to wear a t-shirt to his daddy's vegetable garden. He doesn't mind wearing wellington boots as long as he has a long-sleeved shirt on and a tie. So I explained to him that I'm not going to town today, pushing Lewis on a buggy with him alongside in a suit! He would look like little Frasier with his nanny!

So he said, JUST PRETEND THAT YOU'RE MY NANNY, THEN!

INCOMERS

2008-06-26T12:58:00.006Z

If there is one tv program you should watch this week, it is this one. Incomers.

INCOMERS is a must-see documentary dispelling the myth that all immigrants in the UK are either asylum seekers or benefits-scrounger.

It follows Joy, A Filipino, who chose to live in Norwich with her British husband, leaving a fantastic career, family and friends in the Philippines.

Two things stick in my head after watching the programme: the picture of Joy scuba-diving in the Philippines and throwing away a sofa in Norwich. (There's a message in there somewhere.)

No. She didn't wear her diving gear when she/Tom threw the sofa away.

Watch it so you'll know what I mean.

To all French-speaking bloggers

2008-06-19T19:05:00.002Z

My son told me that he could pray in French. The only French I know is Belleville Rendezvous, you know, that film, and so I said, ok, let me hear you pray in French. He was so serious about it, like hey, there's something I know that you don't. But... I am very suspicious about this, so please could any French-speaking reader tell me if my son is really praying in French? If the prayer was actually a goobledygook, do you also have any suggestion as to how I should teach him a lesson (not in French) about how not to be too cheeky with me? :)

therapy again: best speech ever

2008-06-14T15:05:00.000Z

Heels and shoulders knees and shoes...

2008-06-13T12:26:00.006Z

The controversial high heels for babies age 0-6 months caught my attention, not because of its ghastly pink colour, but because, well they're just so over the top. I mean, why would a baby need high heels, for heaven's sake? Are they also good for their developing feet? Ok, they don't walk yet at that age, but that's the stage when they start standing, learning balance, etc.

I must admit they're cute. It was also so entrepreneural for the two mums who thought of this idea. On BBC this morning, even a vicar was interviewed why he opposes the 'sexualisation' of baby clothing. A magazine editor turned down advertising application for this product but then went on TV afterwards to talk about it and inadvertently advertising the product they so dislike on 'moral grounds'.

I must say, it's just so "heelarious"!

Anyway. This type of shoes also remind me of yummy mummies I see at my son's school.

I see this mummy who takes her kid to school dressed in her pajama bottoms and house slippers. He hair is neat; she even has make up on sometimes, but every morning, it's the same pajama bottoms and slippers. I admire her. She doesn't have hang-ups about dressing properly just to drop off a kid at her classroom door. She doesn't care that around her, there's a competition for the yummiest mummy, the most expensive pushchair, and the highest of heels.

I also admire this Filipino woman who walks a mile from her home to school to drop off a kid and then walk back home again. IN HEELS higher than her legs. She walks in little steps. I admire her and I'm not being heelarious!

Parenting is not just about wiping bottoms...

2008-06-11T07:47:00.005Z

My boys caught a stomach bug and for over 24 hours now, I have been constantly changing pants and nappies. My hands are totally stripped of skin from the constant washing and disinfecting. They look gnarled like I've just turned 92 without knowing it.

1 am and they both woke up, needing to be washed and dressed. Fortunately, I inserted bed protectors in the evening, so I didn't have to worry about the beds. My washing machine had been on the go for over 24 hours. I'm now fed up with the drying up.

3 am and Zak was hungry. I groped my way down the kitchen, half-asleep, to get some bread and rehydration juice. When I got back to the bedroom, he changed his mind and didn't want to eat after all. My pinoy mentality of not wasting food even if not really needed prevailed, so I threatened that if he wouldn't eat his bread, rats would come to eat it instead. "There are no rats in this country!", he exlaimed.

As I was wide awake anyway, I gave in to his want for conversation. "Mum, what was your school like when you were my age?" I said, "when I was your age, I wasn't in school yet. I started school when I was 7 years old." "That's old!" he exclaimed in disbelief. "What was your school like then?" he prodded on. "Big grassy playgrounds and lots of vegetable plots." "No bikes, tools and other equipment??" "No. I went to a rural school. There was only one swing and there were hundreds of us." He was in deep thought, probably wondering what it would have been like if he were in that kind of school. Then he said, "I'm so lucky." And before I could say, yes you're lucky coz you don't like swings anyway, he went on, "I'm so lucky my school is not in India."

I clarified, "you mean Philippines." He said, "Oh, they're the same!"

And before he got up to go to the bathroom again, he asked, "Are there toilets there too?"

You don't have to be a surgeon to see a naked man other than your partner

2008-06-09T00:00:00.002Z

Last Friday, I went with a friend to the theatre to watch The Full Monty. K tucked the boys in bed and my father-in-law handed me two free tickets so I could enjoy watching six pairs of ass.

The show kicked off with a Chippendale kind of striptease. I looked around me and I could see mouths dropping onto the floor. There was a load of grannies dressed to the nines, pearls dripping through their necks and arms. There were men too, and until now, I still can't imagine if they've ever been comfortable there. Mind you, my father-in-law went to watch it with my mum-in-law a few days early, so one never really knows what goes on in their heads when they see another bloke stripping before them.

Anyway, I never laughed nor screamed as much as when I was there. My cheeks were hurting from being stretched too much. And I was shocked as well. I didn't expect to see a fat man's arse draped only with a thong. And oh, when he walked away from the stage, with his back on us, I feared that the thong would snap as the weighty cheeks of his bum struggled to move up and down. My, I would be willing to pay more just to get the chance of watching it up close. It was like watching two pieces of thick pizza base flapping together. When I got home, it was the only scene I kept on talking about with my husband. Forget the husky Chippendale stripteaser. This man's ass was real. Human, as they say.

And before you ask the question, yes, they did the full monty. Six naked men in all their sizes and glory.

This is therapy

2008-06-04T11:19:00.000Z

Mouthwash

2008-06-03T11:55:00.002Z

Today, one of K's work colleagues is off work and asked him to pass on to other work colleagues some CDs and DVDs.

This morning, he sent me an email. Part of it reads:

"... [He] had written all sorts... One of the CDs had Les tyrene on it so I spent 10 minutes searching for him/her on the intranet and Uni phone book...Until I realised that [he] had made a small spelling error. It should have said Listerene. It was for the health and beauty dept."

Three hours later, another email from K popped in my inbox:

"Haha, there is actually a woman called Lesterene! My mistake."

At the beach

2008-06-01T07:56:00.004Z

I took my boys to the beach...

and my god came back with them.

Mama's boy

2008-05-31T09:29:00.002Z

We went to the beach the other day. 21 degrees and breezy. Perfect.
So after 6 hours of frolicking in the sand and sea, we decided we had enough.

I dried up the boys, and when I took off Zak's underpants, he started giggling and wanted to run off.

K said, "I used to hate that when my mum did that to me. And I was 23 then...."

How to laugh when the kitchen is a mess

2008-05-26T17:37:00.004Z

Sometimes, when the kitchen mess gets too overwhelming, we try to distract ourselves by testing each other how much we know about each other's country. Sounds over the top? Well, it's either that or scrubbing 2 weeks worth of grease in the oven. So, we close the kitchen door and talk about Jose Rizal, the Philippine national hero.

Me: Do you know Jose Rizal?
K: Yes. He was the first Philippine president?
Me: Agh!
K: The first Filipino leader?
Me: Ew!
K: The Filipino who fought against the Spanish?
Me: Ouch!
K: Oh, that was Lapu-lapu, wasn't it?
Me: Ekk!
K: The posh toff who went against the Spanish?
Me: (rolling on the floor, laughing)
K: Who's JE-SU Rizal then?!

Who??

What does it take to be beautiful?

2008-05-25T10:01:00.006Z

I looked at the reviews of Olay on the internet but I could never find a negative feedback. I don't know if the only reason why they're all pro-Olay is because they've all been initiated by Olay marketing and advertising? Or it could be that it just works on all types of skin.

Anyway, I'm still using this product because I feel that it really works for me (or am I just convincing myself that it does because nothing has worked on me yet?).

Let's have a look at the ingredients of this Olay moisturiser:

Aqua, Glycerin, Sorbitan Stearate, Dimethicone, Paraffinum Liquidum, Petrolatum, Cetyl Ricinoleate. Sucrose Cocoate, Dimethiconol, Cetyl Alcohol, Phenoxyethanol, Methylparaben, Glyceryl Hydroxystearate, Parfum, Stearic Acid, Steareth-100, Tetrasodium EDTA, Potassium Hydroxide, Acrylates/C10-30 Alkyl Acrylate Crosspolymer, Propylparaben, Carbomer, Palmitic Acid, Myristyl Alcohol, Stearyl Alcohol, Myristic Acid, CI 17200, Benzyl Alcohol, Benzyl Benzoate, Benzyl Cinnamate, Benzyl Salicylate, Citronellol, Hexyl Cinnamal, Hydroxycitronellal, Butylphenyl Methylpropional, Limonene, Linalool, Hydroxyisohexyl 3-Cyclohexene Carboxaldehyde

Too many and too complicated to pronounce! I highlighted in red the ones I'd like to point out here, the ones I know that worry me: methyl and propyl parabens. Now, I'm not a chemical expert but there's something here that even an ignoramus like me could understand. Parabens, once applied to the skin, can accumulate in the body tissues. This BBC news item shows how this chemical was found in tissues of breasts with cancer.

Moreover, a lot of creams, lotions, even baby lotions, have parabens. Whenever I go to the supermarket, it would take me ages to choose one because I end up reading all the ingredients so I could discard those that have paraben content. However, this chemical also comes in other names.

Indeed it's never easy to be beautiful, is it?

There is no study of the long-term effect of using products with paraben, nor is there a study to say that paraben causes cancer. But one thing is certain: Chemicals are bad for our body. We might say that the amount is minute, but once used, over time, and with a cocktail of other chemicals in other products (day cream, night cream, soap, shampoo, conditioner, make-up, perfume, not to mention that air fresheners in our kitchen and car, etc), who can say that it can't do any harm?

What alarms me as well is that even tiny babies already use lotions, powder, soap, shampoo and perfume!! WHY? Why apply chemicals on their pure, tiny little bodies? Do babies really need shampoo and perfume? In the Philippines, I used to see mothers applying Johnson's products on their infants.

So possibly, the easy option is to choose Organic. Or never use beauty products at all! Can you imagine that?

I think it's called HAVING A NATURAL BEAUTY.

I wanted to post about the paraben content of Olay but this is more important

2008-05-17T18:32:00.014Z

I was tidying up the rubbish bin that was our house when I heard the doorbell ring. My husband was upstairs watching football on TV. The boys were with him. I was downstairs but in a terrible state. I had on my 1950s tracksuit bottoms, a house dress I unearthed from one of the bins (not rubbish), and a granny cardigan. If I tell you the state of my hair as well, you will get the total picture.

Anyway, I answered the door. And there in front of me was the most magical aparition ever. Filipino Food - Kinilaw (raw tuna salad) and Kare-kare (beef and bean stew), courtesy of John. You might wonder why I consider Filipino food as magical when I am Filipino myself. Surely, that's what's on my dining table everyday? Unfortunately, it's not the case. K dominates our kitchen because if I do, the kids would be eating bread all the time until they smell of yeast.

kinilaw

kare-kare

So while setting the table, our conversation went like this:

Zak (looking at the Kare-kare): Yuck!

Me: I didn't make this food darling. Seb's daddy did.

Zak (going back to the food): Hmm, smells nice!

Zak (started eating): Tastes nice, mum!

See? It's never the food. It's the cook!

The photo below has nothing to do with Kinilaw or Kare-kare. It's just to show that sometimes, England does have fine weather and food - despite what other people say. :)

I kind of hate the skin I'm in, or something like that

2008-05-14T10:08:00.005Z

I have never been so particular with my skin. I only ever use one product - a body lotion - and until recently, I used it as such - from my face, down my hands and feet.

I don't use make-up, and only very rarely I apply foundation to even my skin tone, and that's probably about once in two months, like when I go to court to face charges of facial negligence.

Last week, I drank more than the desired amount of Sprite. A 330ml can consumed in 2 days. In my standard, that's a lot, considering that a) it's expensive. it's about the same amount as what I earn every 15 seconds ; and b) it's got 7 spoonfuls of sugar in every can.

Because of reason b, I've had lots of spots coming out of my face. And they're not just pimple kind of spots, like the ones when you have just eaten too many banana ques. These spots I had turned into dark, yucky, dry kind, and when I scratch them, the underlayer turns white! Talk about being one of the dalmatians!

Anyway, when I stayed with my 75-year-old mother-in-law (I know she would hate me for mentioning her age, but this is relevant) for a day at her house, she ordered me to have a shower sensing that I was hot and bothered after playing with my kids at her garden. Obviously, I didn't have my toiletries with me so I crept into her lotions and potions cupboard and just slapt on my face and arms and legs what was there that looked creamy and smelt nice.

She claimed she had been using these creams and they really work on her skin. I tried it too and after a few days, I noticed the difference.

Now, this worries me. I am 32. Honestly. But does that mean that my skin's elasticity is like that of a 75-year-old, specifically, a 75-year-old like my mum-in-law?

If her facial cream works for her and for me, what does that say of my skin??

Next: Why I worry about these creams

Teddy bear's picnic

2008-05-09T21:16:00.006Z

picnic at Somersall, originally uploaded by Soyy.

England is having a rare burst of summery sunshine during the late onset of spring. It was only last week when winter was still in full-swing and just like that, the great british season forgot that it's supposed to be spring still. 23 degrees centigrade was welcomed with confusion and suddenly, it was bra and skimpy skirts galore.

To take advantage (of the sun, not of the bra), we went out for a picnic with Aileen and her family. K prepared the food: pitta bread with some salad and chickpeas and all sorts of veges and fruits. It was meant to be a healthy affair because a) Aileen is pregnant and b) John, her husband, is a good cook, and nothing else can beat that except preparing food that doesn't need cooking.

Then Aileen opened her brand new picnic basket and out rolled the contents: doritos crisps, biscuit kind of waffle, beer, soft drinks. In a word: magic!

Anyway. Their little boy, Seb, then demanded for rice! RICE. It's never a proper picnic without rice, didn't you know that people? If he could just speak Surigaonon, he would have raised his fist and screamed as his little lungs could manage, at all the residents of Derbyshire, that SINUGBA! TINUYA! KINILAW! should be on this awful chequered picnic blanket and not these pretentious Meditteranian style sandwiches and fruits without even an Elmlea single cream.

So, what was there left for him to eat? Cheese. Yes, the cheese that Lewis managed to stuff greedily in his mouth. Seb was left whimpering in protest. Maybe if K and I just closed our eyes, even for just a millisecond, Seb would have pulled Lewis' tongue and demanded to spit out the cheese that he so protectively kept alongside the crisps. I would have done so if I were Seb. Except that Seb is a calm and lovely little boy and I'm not.

John's non-stop yapping was surprising. He was another proof that you can't judge a book by its cover.

They were not the first full Filipino family we have invited into our home but they were the ones we like to know more. They're easy-going, fun and not pretentious. And most of all, they eat loads of crisps.

We tried opening our home to some Filipino families several times and most of the time they send us scampering for cover. I honestly can't cope with people who judge you by the label of jeans you wear, the number plate of your car, or the brand of your plastic rubbish bag. When you meet these kind of people whose existence depend on their shopping ability, brand-name recall, and the prowess to impress, you start to wonder what sort of life they live.

I'm sure it's never a picnic.

Proud to be Bri-noy

2008-05-01T13:03:00.002Z

The boys' bathtime routine is conducted in Surigaonon dialect. Even if they don't speak it, they understand and that's enough for me. If you're a fly on the wall, you'll just hear the swooshing of the water, the clanking of the jug against the bath, the fizzling of bubbles against bathtoys, the accompanying motor sounds of the plastic boats - tsug tsug tsug - - swoshhh!! - and my single-sided conversation in Surigaonon: tindog, lingkod, pijong mata, tuwad... etc.

The boys are aware that when I utter Filipino/Surigaonon words at home, without the company of other Filipinos, I am at ease, happy, intimate, loving, and sweet with them. And I think that because of this, they take pride of being part 'Fulupino'.

So one day, when Zak was with his 3-year-old friend, he proudly declared: 'I'm half-British, half-Filipino. What about you?' The little boy looked at him intently and said, 'I'm Henry'.

Narcissus

2008-04-28T19:10:00.003Z

While Zak was in school today, I managed to get hold of his digital camera. I uploaded onto my camputer 305 images that he took in less than a week. I deleted half of them and saved the rest.

He took just ONE of me -

ONE of his daddy's reflection -

and the rest are of his toys - but mostly of HIMSELF.

I think he needs more memory cards.

Delusion

2008-04-25T12:51:00.000Z

Lately, Zak has been asking me about God.

How does God make the sun? How does God make the rain? Why does God kill people?

I must have failed all my science subjects in school because when I explained to him about hydrogen and helium, I wasn't able to convince him. He thought I was talking nonsense! And when I told him that rain comes from dark heavy clouds, he looked at me like a) i was going to lose my mind, b) i was losing my mind, c) i've just lost my mind, or d) believable but not convincing.

So when he asked me why God kills people? Whooh! I thought well, this is the only way I could impress my son. Because you know, I was brought up in a staunchly Catholic family and educated in a Catholic school, so why not make full use of what I learned from the many dogmatic people who influenced my views of religion? Spirit? Soul? Heaven? Ashes to ashes? Temple of the soul? Well, it is time indeed to teach my son the wonders of Catholic faith.

Well, darling, God doesn't really kill people. He just snuffs out peoples lives because sometimes, I think he has a cruel compulsion. Like sending out floods and earthquakes, plague and war, you know, the usual stuff.

I don't really think he heard me say this. He was fast asleep. But even if he were awake, he would have laughed and said, Oh mummy! YOU'RE SO CLEVER!

Britain's Got Talent! I mean, this Filipino's Got Talent!

2008-04-20T08:46:00.003Z

Last night, Madonna Decena, a Filipino singer, went on Britain's Got Talent. Wowww! You should watch her performance and see why Britain gave her a standing ovation.

Tag 8:20

2008-04-19T13:13:00.002Z

This is from Shiela, and I am tagging 8 bloggers listed at the end of this post.

Rules:
Remove one (1) question from below and add in your personal question to make it a total of 20 questions. Then, tag eight (8) people in your list. List them out at the end of this post.

1. At what age did you marry?
26

2. What color do you like most?

Nothing in particular. It's PINK i can't stand with!

3. Have you ever shoplifted?

Unfortunately, no. I missed the thrill, I know.

4. Where is the place that you want to go the most?

Switzerland or Surigao. Either will do.

5. Which part of you that you hate the most?

Physically? My wild & frizzy hair.

6.My question: What is money to you?

A necessary evil.

7. What are you afraid to lose the most?

Baby photos of my children.

8. If you win $1 million, what would you do?

Jump, clap hands, scream??

9. What do you loved the most last year (2007)?

Family birthdays. Always, always fun.

10. List out 3 good points of the person who tagged you:

1) She doesn't forget her Visayan roots; 2) She has extensive shopping skills! (I wish I had that energy!); 3) She's a committed blogger despite her working hours.

11. How do you cope with boredom?

I devour books.

12. Till now, what is the moment that you regret the most?

Leaving my eyeglasses on a table. Lewis grabbed and played with it. It now sits awkwardly on my nose and every 2 seconds I get cross-eyed.

13. Which type of person do you hate the most?

Someone who wears sunglasses at night.

14. What is your ambition?

Short term: To learn to ski and swim, although not in the same place at once. Long term: To be a professional liar.

15. If you had one wish what would you wish for?

That Sabang Beach would be clean for me to swim one day.

16. How did you celebrate new year?

Quietly, at home, with all of my husband's side of the family. And because it was very quiet, I didn't realise I ate too much cheese and pineapple that I puked everywhere. Then the whole family wasn't quiet anymore.

17. It is already 2008, do you have a new year’s resolution?

To forget about cheese and pineapple.

18. What do you look forward to in 2008?

That whoever I tagged these questions with would be more serious and honest in their answers.

19. If your life is a song, what title best fit it?

Ako ay Pilipino. Hehe.

20. What "special power" would you like to have.

The power to hear the thoughts of every Filipino woman I meet in Europe.

I am tagging the people behind these blogs:

Mythos Land Wanderer
Intelektwal Interkors
Islander
Captured Moments
My Hide-away
Hip n cool momma
A Pinay in England

Sing Me Your Song Again, Daddy

2008-04-12T16:42:00.005Z

I stumbled upon this video when I searched for Filipino artists on Youtube. It's a heartwarming song and I couldn't help but shed a tear when I listened and sang along with it. My kids who were eating wondered why I became emotional.

I didn't want to tell them that you know what, you're so lucky; your parents love you to bits. That's all they know. And anyway, at this stage in their lives, they don't need to know how I wanted to have this song sang during my wedding but couldn't because the father who walked down the aisle with me wasn't the daddy I spent the first 18 years of my life with. He was my father alright, but he wasn't the one who carried me on his shoulders when I couldn't manage to cross the slippy muddy path. He wasn't the one who kissed my grazed knees better. He wasn't the one who tucked me in bed and kissed me good night. He wasn't the one who waited outside the gate after my first day in school. He was my father but never a father to me when I was growing up.

And yet, I missed him.

He was there when I first fell in love. He was there on my 18th birthday. He was there on my graduation day. He was there when I was about to marry the man who is my husband now. He was there to quiz K how suitable he would be to be my husband. He was there first when I gave birth to my first-born, and when K and I signed the birth certificate barely 12 hours after Zak was born, he declared, 'You are parents now.' The irony of that statement didn't escape me but I appreciated his concern for his longed-for 'western' grandson.

My father died barely a year after I left him to settle here in England. I never said goodbye to him because I thought I would see him again. When I left in his house the last bits of stuff from my house, I didn't say goodbye. I couldn't bear to look in his eyes because deep in my heart, I knew that he was sad. We didn't have a chance to sit down and talk why things happened the way they did. We just accepted them. He suffered a stroke and that was one reason why I didn't want to discuss it with him.

I never said anything to my sisters and brothers about how I feel about Papa. But I hope that as they read this, and as they listen to this song, they'll understand that I am thankful, because in the last years of Papa's life, he tried to be a father to me.

And for that, I loved him, and longed for the songs that he never got the chance to sing to me.

Rich AND happy

2008-04-10T08:16:00.002Z

I would just like to build on what I posted previously, re Rich but not happy. Joy said that 'wealth is just a state of mind'. Does it mean that I might be financially wretched and my bank balance might be zero, yet I could still be happy?

Up to what level can money make one happy or unhappy?

If you live and work in Europe, or any other place for that matter, and if you work hard and spend your income wisely, you can have a comfortable lifestyle.

You may or may not enjoy your job. You may love or hate fashion and the shopping that goes with it. You may tolerate or abhor materialism, but the fact is, you have money.

So, you have money, but you don't enjoy your job.
You have money, but your family life is compromised because of the time you spend away from home.
You have money, but you hate fashion. After all, why would you let some dim witted willowy character dictate your style and the colour of your mug? Who cares if your kitchen is still in the 1960s time line. You have money. That's all that matters.

Or does it?

So. In an ideal world, it would be 'nice' to have

a great job
a happy family life
a fantastic social life, and, why not throw in
cool neighbours as well
while living in a posh neighbourhood.

Perfect!

Remember Nicole Kidman's The Stepford Wives?

There's always a snag at the end.

Rich but not happy

2008-04-08T19:51:00.002Z

Would you like to be rich and unhappy, or poor but happy? Check out this news item from the BBC.

"After 30 years of unprecedented economic growth, the British are
richer, healthier - but no happier than in 1973.
The latest Social Trends, the annual survey on the state of the nation from the Office for National Statistics, looks at how Britain has changed over the last few decades.
It shows that household income has gone up by 60%, and household wealth has more than doubled, in the past twenty years. .."
read the rest of the article here.

The bike race that was only a bike and never a race

2008-04-05T21:01:00.005Z

(I would like to apologise now that the photos are out of focus as these were done on a point and shoot basis. I was still doing a mummy job while recording their movements, with Grandad on hand ready to pick up fallen bikes, or boys. My heart was on my mouth; my eyes were on my finger tips. No animals nor bikes were harmed in this documentation.)

Ready...

on your bikes...

go..!

whooppss!

aahh! gerrup!

*sigh* never mind bike...

we'll try again soon.