Sick Kiddos

What could be worse than a baby with colds and a pre-schooler with asthma? I know, there are a lot more things that could be worse. Am sorry. Shouldn't have asked that question in the first place. But sick kiddos are never really a fun time. Never.
Maybe if a one year old knew how to blow his nose then life would be much much MUCH easier.
-
Last night was spent positioning and re-positioning my baby because he was having such a hard time breathing. The paci would not help because it made his breathing all the more difficult. And he wanted his back rubbed - constantly. Or else he would start to whimper.
So yeah, I am a zombie now.
-
It has been 15 months since my 5 year old's last asthma attack. Pretty good if you were to ask me, compared to his every 3 months attack when he was younger. But an asthma attack is never a good thing. But the good thing, again, is he likes his nebulizer already. It once was a terrorizing item for him. The sound made him freak out. And then I came up to convincing him it was like wearing the mask of Darth Vader. Today, he knows it makes him feel better - it is his friend.

Taking The Time Of His Life With His Big Bag

At 10 months. Sweet and Innocent.

My patience is being tested. My 5 1/2 year old boy is becoming the boy with this big invisible bag of excuses and has developed an extreme love for dilly-dallying - in everything he does.

-

While everyone is rushing in the morning, I call on my older one to start taking a bath, I tell him the shower is running already. Take off you clothes and jump in I say. I turn my back and focus on putting on a fresh new diaper on my little one. I sit down to feed the little one - run after him and feed him actually - expecting that my 5 year old is taking a bath already.

WRONG.

The shower running for a good 10 minutes, I see that he is dragging half his body across the hall way with his hand stretched across the wall, as if wiping the dirt of the wall. I freak out and ask him why he isn't in the shower yet. (Enter big invisible bag of excuses) He says he was trying to reach for his towel but couldn't. I tell him I always get his towel when he calls for me when he is done. (Enter invisible bag again) He says the water is cold (which isn't). I refuse to prolong discussion and just tell him to get in. He does.

-

His food prepared, I tell him to sit down and eat. (Enter very long dilly dallying ritual) I need water first he says. I give him water. I need tissue to wipe my mouth. Hubby gives him tissue. I want my other place mat he says. We change his place mat. Finally, he eats. We're half done by this time. After 2 or 3 spoons of food, he has this need to start babbling away. Questions, stories, more questions. I tell him we can talk after he eats. He is the last one on the table. Always. He is a good eater but the eating process itself just takes forever (unless we say he will be allowed to watch TV after he finishes his food, then he finishes his food in a flash).

-

I tell him to get into his PJ's. I forget about him and remember, so I check on him. He's playing in his playroom still in his day clothes. Why have you not changed I ask (enter bag of excuses please), I forgot he says. Goodness, for a 5 year old, memory excuses won't work for me. I tell him to go change. He says he is scared of the dark. I open the light in his room. He finally gets changed half an hour later. What he was doing? I don't know.

-

And this is the absolute best.

I come across one of his play sets, a set which the little one is not allowed to play with because it is a toy set for bigger boys and everyone makes sure the little one does not get his hands on them. I notice that some pieces are missing. I keep telling him never to lose the pieces, take good care of this or I won't buy this for you, I remember telling him at the toy store. He said he would take care of it. I ask how come the pieces are missing. (Enter big bag of excuses), he says ask my little brother. The room is a mess, I ask him what they were doing why it got all messed up. He says "It's because of Dash." Goodness, even when he farts, he says "That was Dash."

I suddenly remember those days when I was young, when I could put the blame on my dear imaginary friend.

Much Needed Bath

Washed him while his bestfriend was in school. It was a glorious sunshiny day so the bear dried just in time for his bestfriend's arrival.

Special

You know what I enjoy doing? Talking about my kids. Well if you have not read through my blog, then it ain't that obvious yet, but if you have been a constant reader, then there you have it, me stating the obvious.
I think all parents enjoy talking about their kids. Sometimes in a show off-ish way, sometimes in a ranting way, most often in a complaining voice - but the bottom line is, we love talking about our kids. Because we love them.
So bear with me.
So far, this having 2 kids has been a very very fun, tiring, funny, interesting experience. It has been filled with a lot of love.
I can't help but "compare" my 2 kids. Not in a bad way, not so that I will love one more than the other - goodness, no - but because it is very interesting and fun to look back (for me 5 years ago) and remember how different this one is from that and that was from this. Sometimes, I find myself laughing, often times being thankful.
-
This second one of mine was born smaller that my first but has ended up being bigger at his age right now than my first when he was a year old. Being a hand me down baby, we have found ourselves bringing out clothes of my older one that had been kept when the older one was about 3 but fits the little one just fine right now.

My older one was and is someone who is slow to warm up. In gatherings with a number of people, he always preferred to sit back, watch and assess the whole situation before joining in the riot of kids playing and running around. When people would go up to him and make funny / silly faces or would try to talk to him, he would stare blankly or would cry. By the time he got himself to warm up, it would ALWAYS be time to go home. But the little one, he is always all over the place as soon as we get to anywhere. He will easily find himself comfortably trying to "play" aka pester older kids by pretending to know what they are playing. He walks around, clapping his hands and stomping his feet smiling and bringing out his dimples and - charming everyone, without him even knowing it. My older one, on the other hand knows it when he is charming other people.

The little one seems a bit slower when it comes to his speech development. I browsed through my older one's baby book and just kept laughing while reading the words he used to say when he was 10 months. This little one has a vocabulary of 5 words and still mixes up mama from dada - he sees hubby and with a very big smile says, "mama!" and then looks at me and says "mama!" But boy, this little one is very physically active. He climbs, he jumps, he runs, he trots, he stomps, he tumbles, he rolls. The older one could stay in his playroom and busy himself with his ball set or a book - the whole afternoon.

My older one was when in the company of family and familiar people, always a happy baby - laughing and smiling. When he was a bit older, you could see it in his eyes - he was a joker. Everything for him was a game. And until today, he still is my little joker - sometimes sarcastic though - ahem. Ever since he was a kid he always had the tendency to decide impulsively - ahem again. (I am my son's mother after all!). Now this little one seems to be the more serious one, It is very hard to make him laugh - even when he was a baby. No sense make all those silly sounds and faces - unless you tickle him, then you will get the baby to laugh. The only other person who is able to make him laugh big time is his older brother. But other than that, of the two boys, he is the more "thinking" and serious one.

The little one is a destroyer. He tears up books, breaks crayons, crumples my important documents. He destroys. The older one never had that issue. I could give him a book with paper pages - not those baby books that have really thick pages - and would return it in perfect shape. The little one eats anything. He can eat food, clay, glue, tissue paper, lotion, powder, his diaper, his poop - anything, I tell you. Which is laso why he is easier to feed. The older one outgrew his oral stage very early. I did not need to worry about him choking on anything - ever.

Both are independent. Both have a temper. Both are very loving but show their love in different ways.

The little one is the cuddler. He loves resting his head on my shoulders or my chest. He sneaks up to me when were both lying down and he cuddles. And he loves it. The older one cannot stand it - he always tells me he feels hot (when I embrace him). His love expression is by words. He says I love you and as mentioned, does it through his charm.
-
Such brings joy. And make us realize how beautiful life is because we are all different. That we will never be completely the same. That part of life's beauty is in knowing that, no matter what people say or do or think or make us feel, we will always be unique. And it that uniqueness, we are special.

The Person That I Am

I left the office 30 minutes before 6 - 30 minutes before the event. Rain greeted me when I stepped out of the building, I hailed a cab and headed home. I had no idea what I was going to wear plus, there was another pool of mixed emotions going on inside of me the whole trip home.

I took a quick bath and just decided to wear nothing really special. I, Jet and my 2 aunts all went to attend the ceremony - my grandfather was to receive an award too so my Aunt (their eldest) was to receive it for Gramps.

As I entered the hall, the smell of alcohol greeted me. Media men were standing around the bar and sipping their scotch or whisky or brandy, chatting away - a common practice amongst the media men of our city. As one journalist stated it - "alcohol begins to sharpen the brain and loosen the tongue, or the other way around. ." And suddenly this GIGANTIC, really HUGE knot formed in my throat. Jet and I took a seat in the back row. I looked around and observed and saw a lot of Dad's fellow media men. One of them passed by and I greeted him - a very close friend of Dad. He asked me why we were not getting any cocktails and I just replied by saying "Oh if Dad were here, he would have been at the bar since forever." To which he replied "Oh, you know your Dad." I wanted hug him and cry.

The event started a good 1 1/2 hours after we arrived. They started with the awards for media men who have, as my Dad always termed it, "have gone to the great newsroom in the sky." Seriously, I was surprised at how many of them have already gone. Sad. And when they called my name to receive the award for my Dad, I totally felt I was going to breakdown. Given the chance, I would have grabbed the mic from the host and would have given a short speech. Control is what took over me. I walked up the stage and got received the award from the Mayor. A few names after, they called my Granpa's name and I found myself clapping very loud. Damn proud.

Before we left, I approached one of Dad's best friends (one of the 2 people we called to the hospital when Dad was dying because Dad did not want ANYBODY to see him on his dying bed). Uncle Ramon is his name. I said my hello's and how are you's but felt he wasn't warming up that much. Before I left, I whispered in his ears "Uncle don't drink too much anymore." And that's when he held me very tight. Oh god, again, I wanted to embrace him and cry. I didn't. I told him to take care.

When we got home, I cried it out. I was happy and proud and lonely. And I missed my Dad terribly. I sorta started to talk to him (my Dad) - I do that sometimes. As if he were there with me in the room.

-

What are such occasions for? I wonder. And I realize. When people are alive, they are lucky if such recognition is done - to make it known to them that what they are doing is truly appreciated. Is truly loved. Is truly important. But such are done when they are long gone. When their human ears are no longer around to hear them. When their human hearts are no longer pumping with passion eager to feel that their passion has touched the lives of others. It is a sad fact. And often times it fills one with guilt and regret.

The living can only look back and fondly remember- as it warms our living hearts.

If I may say, my father venerated my grandfather. I look up to my mine with reverence too.

As my eldest put it 2 nights ago, "Mom, I wish Grampa Steve were still awake." I do too, I do too.

Below is the eulogy my Dad's best friend delivered during Dad's funeral.

-

Dacawi: For Steve By Ramon Dacawi

MIDWAY into our seasons in the sun, Steve Macli-ing Hamada, my editor for over a decade, and I paused from beating deadlines and sobered up to the inevitable. We discussed how each of us would want to go, something many people don't talk about. We ended up with pact: Whoever stayed longer on this mortal plane would not deliver a eulogy or write an obituary for the other.

That deal was never brought up again. Not until April 7 last year when Steve suddenly reported to the Supreme Editor. As news of his passing on spread, some colleagues in media started asking me for an obit. It was understandable as Steve and I worked together for more than a decade bedding the Baguio Midland Courier and, later, the Baguio-Cordillera Post. But I was out of my bearings, confused and groping to make sense of the sudden transition.

I made a mess of myself with booze.

Steve understandably didn't tell his wife Lulay and daughter Lu-an about the unusual pact. Given the morbid thought it would evoke and the hurt it would inflict on those dearest to us, I, too, didn't reveal it to Becky and our kids Beng and Boogie, or to anyone until Domcie.

On the second night of the wake on a Maundy Thursday, Lulay saw me without a jacket. She immediately took out Steve's favorite and had me wear it against the evening cold. She asked her daughter if she remembered me. Lu-an, the toddler I saw now grown into a comely 22-year-old answered, "Of course, he's the uncle who fell from our roof while trying to gather guavas!"

Lulay asked if I could say something after the funeral mass, before Steve was to be laid to rest beside his father, the venerable Sinai Carino Hamada, at the city's public cemetery. The Baguio boy that he was, and is to us, Steve, I thought, would understand why I had to accede. A funeral is also for the living, for those who mourn, and a word or two won't hurt but help console. After all, Steve, with whom I shared secrets of the soul, relished narrating how he tried, and failed, to follow the rule of silence in a spiritual retreat he underwent in childhood. "After two days of silence, I went to the priest-in-charge and confessed I had to utter a word."

The worst (or best) punishment you can mete media is to make them silent. They speak out their truth, even beyond the regular broadcast or the printed page. Here in Baguio, we speak our pieces late into the evenings, not in unison but often at the same time, especially when alcohol begins to sharpen the brain and loosen the tongue, or the other way around.

We learned to speak our pieces, sometimes with lips frothing, through the bullhorn in college. Willy Cacdac, Joe Dacawi and the rest who preceded us in the parliament of streets, did the live broadcast of those protests that they actually helped hatch for us. In the wake of their coverage, they lost their jobs and eventually joined the establishment, in the same rut I'm in right now. Steve came home from a promising but highly competitive career with IBM advertising to help live out the four guideposts of community journalism that his illustrious father established - fair, fearless, friendly and free. He inherited a staff in Oswald Alvaro and my brother Joe. He found the two friendly and struggling to be fair, fearless and free.

He took me into the Courier in 1980, a cub reporter expected to earn his wings. He saw through my burden of having to fit Joe's shoe and guided me on, despite putting up a front of being tough and stern, as editors are known to be. Later, I realized he was in a more unenviable position. In the words of younger generation newsman Frank Cimatu, Steve struggled to climb Mt. Sinai, whom he venerated.

We discussed and argued a lot, before, during and after press work. Curiously, I can't remember now any of those things we debated on. What I can't forget was that time we fell asleep on our desks and woke up to a nightmare. Without waking us up to proofread the editorial Steve had labored on with his antique Underwood, the printer ran almost all copies of the opinion page. The editorial, which was set on linotype, was garbled beyond any sense. Steve was visibly aghast, only to be devastated when the printer turned into a Job's comforter. "Saan ka kadi nga madanagan, ading Steve; ammom met nga awan to agbasbasa ti editoryal (Don't worry, ading Steve; you well know nobody reads editorials)," the printer offered to console him.

In 1985, Steve, with nary a stripping knife or table, much less a printing machine, started out on his own and launched the Baguio-Cordillera Post, another weekly. He took me in to the Hamada home in Camp 7 where we labored within the limited givens. We had his mother, Ma'am Gerry, wife Lulay, sister Briggs and even nieces Dooly and Tanya as our cooks. I also had him as my driver aboard his brother Lionel's 4x4.

The Post folded up after more than five years, but not after serving as the training ground for Rene Acantilado, Norris Falguera and other younger journalists molded by Steve.

Steve later wrote a column for the Sun.Star Baguio Daily, served Baguio in other capacities, including being director of the local water district. Together with Peppot, Willy Cacdac and Gerry Evangelista, he ran for the City Council and the four newsmen lost.

Steve repaired back to Camp 7 and turned to painting while serving as nurse to his grandson, Joshua, now three.

With this, I've broken our pact again. (mailto:rdacawi@yahoo.com for comments)
(April 11, 2005 issue)

Nope, Not Complaining! At All.

Am extremely sleepy. Apparently, the husband decided to crash on our bed last night - early this morning I should say - 3 AM to be exact. We have not slept on the same bed (except during family vacations when we stay in hotels) since Josh was born because we practice co-sleeping. SO when Josh transitioned to sleeping alone on his bed, a few months after, the little one came. So anyway, apparently the husband was having a bad dream and was scared to death and said he wanted to be beside me.

NOT A GOOD IDEA to have 3 people in one queen size bed ESPECIALLY if the baby boss is used to gobbling up 3/4 of the bed space.

So, the remaining time from 3 AM to waking up time which is 6 AM was spent listening to this one big loud snoring machine beside me and trying to calm down a very angry, upset, disappointed baby who could not move around much because of constrained space.

And me being a very light sleeper would wake up every time the mad baby would whimper and complain. He even for a time, got my hand, put in on his head and started to make the stroking motion (done with his eyes closed, very clever baby) and when I would stop stroking his hair or head or whatever, he would start his whimpering again.

The next thing I knew or heard was a baby who just kept saying ma-ma-ma-ma-ma while forcing my eyes open with his fingers. The sun was out.

-
Got an invitation yesterday. Addressed to "the heirs of the late Steve Hamada..."
My Dad is going to be awarded the "Nany Rosa Journalism Award" given to journalists who have passed away but who have contributed to mass media in the City.

Am one proud daughter. I may cry at the event later.
-

Good morning everyone.

Before Meals

Dear Lord,

thanks for Mom and Dad and Dash and me

we pray for protection and blessings

and respectful

and toys

and Lola and Lolo (grandparents)

and patient

and school

and Pooh bear

- and I remind him about the food-

ah yes, thanks for the food

Amen!

That Knot In My Tummy

That's how I have been feeling for the past 2 days. Well since I got the call from the new company I will be working for. Here's the deal, I will NEED to get some training in Manila, (a good 5 hours away from where I live) and I will probably have to be there for a month. A whole month. Hotel accommodations will be paid for BUT I will not survive 5 whole days without seeing my husband and kids (because I can go home on weekends). I may be jumping to conclusions or stressing myself out over nothing because I have not expressed my need to bring my family with me yet. Which I plan to do.

But seriously, I really cannot leave my family for that long a time. It will not be good for them and for me. I need to be able to be with them so that I do not get dysfunctional. Really. I am that way. 2 or 3 days is fine, but 5 days for four weeks? No way. I am going to go crazy! I have been thinking about this and have been praying that things be ironed out and will end up for the good of everyone.

Change and adjustment is really something we all have to deal with. But sacrificing too much, like family, should not be put on the line.

So here's to praying for the best and keeping the faith that things will work out just fine. Here's to hoping that knot disappears soon. I dislike this feeling. Very Much.

Climbing and Blankies

If I had a magic wand, I would doing some magic so that their liking for such will change roles.

Why do my kids hate them? Blankets, I mean. It has always been a problem with Josh and looks like Dash is disliking it very much as well.

So, I wait until they are in deep sleep and that's when I pounce on them and wrap them warmly in their soft blankies. And then begins the struggle. Josh can do it in a much simpler fashion. What he does, he just needs to give it one big kick - and then it's off him. But the little one, the struggle lasts a bit longer. So as I said, I cover them when they are in very deep sleep - or so I think. So I put his blanky over him, just up to his chest. Look away and count to three. And then there is kicking - lots and lots of it. Then turning and turning - on his belly back to his back and onto his belly again and even gets into crawling position, done with his eyes closed of course - deep sleep, remember? And then grunting and whimpering. More kicking. Until, I finally give in and remove the blanket.

What's up with that?

It is getting cold around here. As we approach the "ber" months, the air is getting cold and crisp and the cold really bites. No such thing as heaters in the house so we totally rely on warm clothes - one on top of another and warm blankies.

And their love for climbing. What high do these kids get when climbing?

Seriously, we have a mountain a few minutes from the house and would gladly have Jet drive them up their and climb all day long. I mean they climb tables, chairs, shelves, stools, drawers. Josh has been attempting to climb the wall. And they are way too happy when they are able to escape our arms and climb. I understand that climbing encourages the development of this and that but talk about the heart attacks I never fail to almost always get. Geez. Well talk about my motor skills development, I can catch things - almost anything, including 1 year old kids - very fast even if I see it at the corner of my eye, I have become a very fast runner and have come to love the adrenalin rush.

And again, that magic wand. How precious it would be if climbing in the house on almost anything be quite disliked and blankies covering them on a cold night be well liked. Ahh.

All Geared Up

Well at least it looks like someone is ready for the rainy season.

It took me almost an hour though to convince him to remove it.

Enjoy It

I can be a complainer. Oh yes I can. I can sit and complain ALL-DAY-LONG. But should I?

I have been reading a lot of Mommy blogs. A lot of posts to which I agree that yes, indeed, motherhood is NOT easy. It never will be. Once motherhood becomes easy, I think we will have to come up with a new word with a whole new different meaning. For some people the quest to being a mother in the first place is where all the hardship begins. For some, it is during the pregnancy itself. But for all of us, as soon as the child is born so begins our journey.

The sore feeling after you have just given birth. Breastfeeding. The sleepless nights. The cough or the colds or the fever. Diaper changing. A trip to the mall. A 5 day family trip. Gas pains. Unexplainable crying. The carrying of the baby - who is as heavy as a solid rock or a sack of potatoes.

I love being a Mom. Yes I do. I love it. I love the baby smell. The soft skin. The milestones. The dressing up. The cuddling. Conversations with a 5 year old. His wit. The school programs. The art work.

But it will happen faster than I can imagine. Soon I will be a graduate. And will I miss it? Yes I will. Every second of it. I will miss the stinky poo. The heavy large baby. I will miss the drool. I will look for the sleepless nights. I will miss it.

But I do not want to think about it just yet. I will enjoy every single minute of it.

Even if last night I was sleeping very lightly from 12-4am because Dash was very restless and could not get into comfortable deep sleep. Because me, his great Mom thinking he was a big boy now failed to realize that he poo'd and needed a diaper change in the middle of the night. Because the last time I changed a dirty nappy in the middle of the night was 12 months ago.

Oh I will miss those moments.

Suddenly Feeling Sore

Got an email from my Aunt (mom's sister). All of them (mom's brother's and sister's) all met up in Chicago to attend my
cousin's wedding . Clearly, they all had a love filled time together. And I am sure my Mom would have had the best time of her life.

She's the only not around.

I feel bad.

Trusting

Many, many, many realizations. Decisions made. Prayers said.

I handed in my resignation letter last August 22. I decided to talk to my boss personally. I felt that was the best way - professionally as well - to approach the whole thing instead of sending an email or just leaving my resignation letter on top of her table. Initially, she thought it was a bad joke. Obviously not.

Backtrack. I am reigning? I finally am?! Yes but not to be a SAHM - I wish!

More than a month ago, I got a call. From a bank. They were asking if I was interested in working with them. I was surprised. And then I got excited - beacuse as I wrote before, change is beautiful . But thinking deeper, thinking further, I found myself rather scared.

I pray all the time. And in this one big decision I had to make, I found myself praying harder. I said "Lord, not what I want but what you want. Not my will but Yours."

I no longer want to waste any more time. Any more energy. Any more effort. On things which are not supposed to be.

And so I trust. I trust in His amazing will. I do not know what tomorrow will bring but, I trust.

Mr. Teddy

"Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping a moment and think of it. And then, he feels that perhaps there isn't. Anyhow, here he is at the bottom, and ready to be introduced to you. Winnie-the-Pooh." A.A. Milne.

-

Everyone had a bear when they were a kid. I had a small brown one - who I loved dearly. Dilly was his name - given by a lady named Dolly (mom's friend).

Josh has one - a Pooh bear given to me by my friend and taken from me by Josh when he was 2. Pooh used to be a plump, fluffy, bright yellow teddy bear. He saw his bear hanging on the clothesline once - I failed to hide it from him - and he almost freaked out. He saw Pooh once in the dryer and didn't know what to make of it. He sleeps with Pooh. He buries his face on Pooh's tummy when he cries. He hides behind Pooh's head when he is watching something scary. He wrestles with Pooh. He tosses the Pooh-r bear around.

When he was younger, we would agrue about me not allowing him to tag along the 24" bear to the mall.

But a teddy bear isn't a teddy bear unless it is all worn out - never mind his limp arms, his worn out nose. Never mind if he has lost his shirt. Never mind. He is after all, a teddy bear.

He loves his bear.

I think his brother will too.

Old Wives's Tale - Not!

When you have a sick baby, all you ever wish for is for his hyperactivity to return - no kidding. You will find yourself wishing that your kid be his normal naughty, silly, non-listening-to-what mommy-says self again.

And so what do you do?

Tender Loving Care of course and nice hot bowl of Chicken Broth. My Mom and Dad would always tell me that Chicken Soup is the best for colds and flu.

I read through my book , through the chapter on "special concerns" like when the baby gets sick and I came upon a short article on the Old Wives's tale on Chicken Broth which is not such and old wives's tale after all. And researching further, Chicken Soup / Broth has been used since
ancient times . This powerful soup is also packed with lots of nutrients, check out Susie’s recipe.

I add lots of ginger to mine.

In no time, your sick Little baby will be back on his feet . . . .

My Date And The Trip To The E.R.

Last Saturday, I was pleased when hubby said he was not feeling well and was not up to making a quick trip to the mall. So Jet instructed Josh to accompany me. While driving to the mall, I remembered how frequent Josh and I would do things together BEFORE Dash came along. So I took the time to take my little man out on a date.
I was just so relaxed. Going to the mall with a 5 year old is much less stressful than with a 1 year old. No baby bag, no diapers, no milk - it was something I appreciated very much.
First we went to have his haircut, went around a bit and then we had a snack. While eating, I noticed Josh kept staring at other people - it annoyed me. So, I told him to stop staring at other people to which Josh replied "stop talking while your mouth is full." OK.
We had a great time together. It was something I really missed. And so did Josh as he told me we should do it again sometime - just me and him.
We definitely will.
-
Come Sunday morning, Dash had a fever. I gave him paracetamol but I noticed the fever did not want to go away. Come Sunday night, Dash was very very hot, his temp reached a high of 39.5 C. He was very restless and could not sleep. Plus he did not want me to lie down, he would cry whenever I would. So I had to sit down beside him. At 6AM of Monday morning, he no longer looked good. He was red as a tomato - the ripest tomato, that is. Since the peed would be available by 10AM and I was very very worried, I told hubby that the E.R. would be the best thing to do already. So, I packed a bag for Dash - just to make sure I had a set of complete things just in case the little guy would be confined.
When we got to the E.R. Dash just started to cry his heart out. I just had to keep asking the nurses and the doctor to repeat what they were saying because Dash was screaming in my ear the whole time and every time the nurses would try to make cute faces at him, the louder he would scream.
Diagnosis: Upper Respiratory Track Infection a.k.a. The Cough
Verdict: No Need For Confinement. Yahoo!
The doctor just prescribed a whole bunch of meds - which included antibiotics.
BUT yesterday was still hellish because Dash refused to be put down or carried by anyone else but me. He wanted the paci in his mouth the whole time and refused to let go of his sippy cup. He kept fighting his sleep as well. And he kept crying. Yes, he was a very normal sick little baby.
Angels in heaven started to sing when Dash finally closed his eyes and did not wake up till 630 this morning.
And now the muscles on my left arm hurt so bad. But at least Dash is feeling much better.
And yes, the weekend was still great.

--
I love you all and thanks for the comments you left me in my last post.

Thoughts and Realizations

I've been going through a lot lately. Been thinking about so much. Decisions that have to be made. Choices laid out before me. And I have found myself looking for someone to talk with, to get some words of wisdom from. Mental and emotional stress is much much much harder to handle than physical stress. I would join the an iron man contest right now in exchange for all this thinking and feeling!

I used to ask my Mom about everything. And my Dad would often think out loud even if I didn't ask him (because I was too scared of a very lengthy discussion). And lately, I have been looking for "what she would have said" moments to help me make decisions. It's not that whatever she said she thought I should do is what I would do. It's just that hearing what she thought about it, what she felt about it, what she thought I should do about it just gave me more insights on the situation and allowed me to think beyond my initial perceptions. And with my Dad, he was just so full of wisdom. When he would make me sit down on the dinner table, he would express his thoughts and a lot of times what he would say would be painfully true but just listening to him made me feel the love he had for me - that what he wanted for me was always the best. And although my Mom was a worrier, when I would listen to what she said, there was a certain peace in her voice which calmed me. I miss them.

And now I find myself trying to get around in this world. Like a blind person trying to cross the street alone. Sometimes I think that if I had a sibling, things would have been different. I love my family yes - I love Jet and I love my kids. And I talk to Jet and am very open to him about everything but there are certain times when he is just there to listen. Sometimes he really does not know what to say. And I totally understand that. And I guess it is for that reason that I am looking for the 'unsolicited advise' my parents would always give me - something I may have taken for granted. Yes I took it for granted. And look what I am looking for right now. It is different when you hear it from someone who is wise and who knows who very well because then they also know how to approach you.

It is tough. And all this is making me tougher.


Is it good or bad?

Longing For

I dream of days when I do not need to rush in the morning. As I open my eyes, I look beside me and see my little bugger (Dash) still sleeping. I comfortably get out of bed and prepare breakfast while ushering in big bugger (Josh) into the bathroom to take a bath. I get Josh ready for school just as the little one is waking up. We all eat breakfast together and send hubby and Josh off.

The little one and I spend half of the morning in the garden - Dash looking for bugs and butterflies to pester, flowers to pick while I chase after him. We stop for a morning snack before we head in for bath time. He has some play time while I prepare lunch. Hubby and Josh arrive and we all have lunch together. Hubby head out as I stay with the boys. We have some play time before they take a nap. When they wake up, I give them a snack and then the 3 of us head off to the grocery. We come home and I prepare a delicious dinner. We play while waiting for hubby to arrive. Shortly after hubby arrives, we all have dinner. As I wash the dishes, the 3 boys play. And then I get them ready for bed. And then ah- some quiet time for me and hubby. And then it is off to dreamland.

-

OK in reality - I prepare a bottle for Dash between 5-530 AM. We are all awake by 630. I prepare Josh's food and try to feed Dash at the same time. As soon as Josh finishes his breakfast, he takes a bath as I try to take a quick bite while Dash is with hubby. As soon as Josh finishes, it's my turn to jump into the shower. I get out and try to pick an outfit quickly while running after Dash with just a towel wrapped around me. Hubby is taking a bath by this time. Everyone starts to get on each other's nerves by 730 - we will all be late again. So we get in the car and wave bye bye to Dash. Hubby drops me off at the office and he takes Josh to school. My day revolves around checking emails, attending meetings and other administrative tasks. By 1130, hubby and Josh pick me up and we all head home for lunch. An hour is a quick break and then I head back to the office. Afternoons are the same for me in the office. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I head off to school until around 83o in the evening and then I head home. On days that I don't have class, we usually go home right after my work unless we have to make a quick run to the grocery or do a few errands.

-

I am on verge of complaining. Or banging my head on the wall. I miss my children. I wish I could spend more time with them. I'm thinking of not enrolling next semester - enroll when the kids are older. I have realized that I am rushing things and wanting to get them done too quickly.

Evolution

We have heard it one too many times. I have heard it a zillion times . When people say " The only constant thing in this world is change." Yes it sounds all too familiar. When I hear this, I find myself not paying too much attention to it. In fact, it goes in my right ear and quickly leaves through my left ear.

But when we are truly faced with the need for change - the want for change - change itself - the fact that we cannot escape change, then the saying that "change is the only constant thing in this world" suddenly hits us hard. I panic. I wonder why such a fact must exist. It sounds so simple - very easy to understand but those things that lie beneath its surface are those which are unbearable to comprehend. I am perfectly comfortable with what I am doing now, what I have now- it took me some time to adjust to some changes and now that I am getting used to a lot of new things, why the need for more changes. And I find myself answering my own question - of course, obviously, because change is inevitable. And then I ask the deeper question - why am I afraid of change- am I?

Yes I am. I bravely say that I am. I am a coward when it comes to changes. So I decide to reflect and look back at the many many changes in my life that where I had no choice but to accept it and adjust to it and eventually learn to love it. My Dad's death changed too many things. I did not want it, I did not want to accept it but I had to and I learned to deal with the changes that took place. My Mom's death - it hit me hard but I knew that there was no way I could escape the changes that came with it. And then the birth of my second child - it changed me completely. So why am I scared again? I don't know. But I am.

And then I realize that I am scared because of the uncertainty that change will bring. Ah hah! There it is, that's right- it is the uncertainty. Not knowing what I am going to be faced with, what I can or cannot expect, what I can do, what I won't be able to do. Many, many things that bring uncertainty to my soul scares me enough. It is because of the unknown as compared to the known that you have come to know and love and be comfortable with. It will be a matter of stepping out of your comfort zone, leaving it and taking that one tiny step into something new and different.

But change is beautiful.

And maybe, just maybe, if I willingly accept what must change then I too can change with the changes - to turn into someone better.

Rainy Days and Fridays...

It's been raining. In just 3 days, we had 2 storms pass our City. It is always like this, every year from June - October or November, the rains decide to pour themselves down on us. I have gotten used to this, it has always been like this since I was a kid.

When I was in elementary, strong rains made me happy. They meant classes were suspended and cold, rainy afternoons would be spent playing with cousins. As I grew older, strong rains no longer appealed to me. They meant wet jeans and jackets. Feeling miserably cold while sitting in a colder classroom listening to the college professor lecture away as I yearned to be dismissed so that I could go straight to a coffee house and get a hot cup of coffee. As the years passed, rains became a constant complaint, finding myself asking for the warm sun to sunshine its rays on my days.

Today, I like to see the rain as a sign of the changing seasons of this earth. Inevitable. Needed to water the trees and the plants. When I look out the window, I see happiness. The grass so green, so lush. It's nature's way of feeding - of blessing the plants and the trees and the flowers.
Rainy days used to make me sad, used to make me sulk. It used to give me reason to complain.
But rainy days allow me to be still. To sit and cuddle with my kids - also with myself. To seek warmth not from people or things outside, but from within. It is a time I cannot escape.

Sometimes I look for the sun - for sunshiny days when weather is cool and light but I am reminded that it cannot be. Rainy days remind me to be content - to be thankful for what I have and for what I do not have.

And as the seasons of the earth change, so do the seasons of our lives.