by rossanahead | Jan 21, 2012 | children, Education, family, parenting
By Romelda C. Ascutia
Father and son were squatting in front of their gate, hunched over black dots on the ground that as I passed by took on the shape of adorable ducklings.
Children and animals go beautifully together like coffee and cream, and my two sons had their own share of animal bonding while they were growing up.
A long list of pets became transient visitors in our home over the years. During mall visits, a stopover at the Bio Research store was a must for the boys, who wanted to admire all the animals on display. Sometimes my kids would succeed in convincing their parents to make a purchase, promising to take good care of their wards. We were naïve to believe them.
One time we bought hamsters, which came complete with a convoluted cage that had all the works including spinning wheels, tunnels, and turrets. For weeks the boys would rush home from school eager to check on their pets, feed them, caress them, and clean their cage. But as time passed, the boys, with the typical short attention span of children, lost interest and moved on to the next attraction, and I was saddled with the care of the abandoned creatures.
The parade of critters in our house included turtles, tropical fish, and white mice that my kids snuck into school, kept hidden in their breast pockets to be shown to their classmates during recess.
The school was another rich source for acquiring pets. Ambulant vendors outside the school premises would entice the pupils to buy goldfish contained in little plastic bags filled with water. There were also chicks and ordinary brown birds given a makeover and dyed garish pinks and blues and greens. My children never let any of these opportunities to bring a surprise pet home pass.
At one point they brought back ducklings, and had a merry time being trailed everywhere by the baby ducks that had mistaken them for their mothers. Unfortunately, the ducklings would later be accidentally squished underfoot.
Of all the animals they had, my children were most obsessed with, to my dismay, spiders. They used up their school allowance to buy spiders locked inside matchstick boxes. These were not regarded as pets, but as combatants to be placed on broom strands and pitted against the spiders of peers. I was glad when they outgrew that phase.
Two particular pets stand out in my memory. One was a pair of outrageous quails which had the most eardrum-splitting squawk I ever heard. Like roosters with a sore throat, they woke us up in the morning with their hoarse noises, and curious neighbors would come by and ask us what those horrid sounds coming from our house were. We grew fond of those awkward fowl which, sadly, met a horrible end in the jaws of the neighborhood cats after my sons forgot to bring them inside the house one night.
The other unforgettable pets we had were hermit crabs. These creatures were sold by pedestrian vendors then, but recently they have found their way into malls. Their shells have been painted in bright colors or cartoon designs and they come housed in proper cages. Of course, they also carry a much fancier price tag.
Our hermit crabs resided in a cardboard box and were actually a breeze to care for. But when my children got tired of them as usual, the neglected crabs escaped from their box, and I assumed they had died from lack of food. Then one day, like Sigourney Weaver in Alien, I saw a strange form dart from behind the refrigerator. It was a hermit crab. The hardy creature had apparently survived for months scavenging on its own (which probably does not say much about my housecleaning skills).
My kids no longer ask me to buy all sorts of pets for them. But they have learned the valuable lesson of taking responsibility for other living creatures they take under their wing, and they now help me feed and care for our pets. They have also learned to respect the right to life of all animals, and during heavy rain would catch frogs that cross our street to put them back safely in the vacant lot where they came from.
Photo by David Jusko on Unsplash
by rossanahead | Jan 19, 2012 | children, Education, family, parenting
By Maridol Rañoa-Bismark
“What do you like more? High school or college?” I ask my son, who’s on his third year at the university.
“College,” he replies, without missing a beat.
In college, he tells me, you get to meet more people from all walks of life. You also have more freedom, the freedom to choose your teachers, your schedule, and your extra-curricular activities.
If high school is the time to form cliques, then college is the time to widen one’s social circle, and to create as many of those circles as one can. No longer bound to one section, your teenager can hop from one college to another like a butterfly flitting from one flower to the next. He may make friends with schoolmates who are so unlike him, or who come from a province or a country that he has never been to.
I myself am fascinated at the big university my son goes to. When I enter the building, the guard greets me “Good morning,” thinking that I’m a professor. Since my age and eyeglasses allow me to assume another identity, I get to enter different school buildings and walk through an ongoing exhibit or diorama. Why, I even get to know about job openings for students. They’re posted all over the bulletin board!
Another big bonus: finding out what events my son has signed up for the month, at least we have something to talk about at the end of the day.
I pepper him with questions: Did you find the career talk useful? Are you joining the college fair? Did you meet anybody interesting in the outreach program?
It’s a great way to bond with somebody who’s turning out to be harder and harder to catch up with.
School activities are generally safe subjects to discuss; he won’t recoil when I ask about them. Sometimes, when I’m feeling lucky, I segue to more delicate matters like grades, teachers, and girls. I step on the brakes when he suddenly turns quiet or starts answering my questions with a standard, “It’s okay.”
It’s his way of saying, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I’ll just try another day. He’ll ask for my opinion when he needs it.
For now, I enjoy the sights and sounds of the university. I walk around the campus that it is my child’s second home and try to see it through his eyes. And here’s what I saw: all these young happy people, eager to learn, eager to grow, and excited about all their tomorrows. I am instantly filled with joy and say to myself, “Wish I were in college too!”
Photo by Mateus Campos Felipe on Unsplash
by rossanahead | Jan 16, 2012 | career, Education, woman
By Paula Bianca Abiog
I say “athlete” because I don’t think I am one in its strictest sense. I don’t follow a really strict training routine, or compete in tournaments. I’m not even excelling in a particular sport. But my friends say I’m an “athlete” because I’m into tennis and running. And I’ve tried (and loved) boxing. Now I’m learning to swim.
I never thought I’d end up an “athlete.” I wasn’t a very active kid. Sure, I was able to try volleyball, softball, and a host of other games and sports during my PE classes in grade school and high school. But outside of PE, I pretty much just sat in a corner and read books. I started tennis lessons when I was 13, and I loved it, even if I only got to play in the summer. My only other hobby that involved movement was dancing, and I didn’t even do that often enough.
Things changed, though, when I started working. The long hours spent researching, interviewing, transcribing, and writing articles, and fast food lunches and takeout coffees that had more sugar than actual caffeine, have taken their toll on my body. Ballooning to almost 170 lbs wasn’t pretty, and I had to do something about it. So I signed up at a gym.
At first, I hated it. I couldn’t lift weights properly. I was exhausted after five minutes on the treadmill. I got cramps when I first tried the cardio martial arts class. But as months passed, as I got stronger and my endurance improved, I began to love gym more. I looked forward to attending group classes, even on weekends. After about a year of going to the gym, I went on the tennis courts again. And shortly after that, a friend introduced me to boxing.
I was enjoying my newfound love for sports, that I didn’t even notice the pounds slowly melting away. I just started feeling more confident and more content in my own skin. What started as a way to shed the pounds has led me to discover how I loved being active. It also gave me enough encouragement to try running (which I originally didn’t like, as I didn’t see the point of running just for the sake of running, and not because I’m trying to escape from criminals or zombies), and then swimming.
Sure, I still don’t have that 24-inch waistline (given my body type, I’m not sure it’s possible at all) and there’s still (lots of) room for improvement with muscle tone. But I’m proud of the 30 lbs or so that I’ve lost so far. I’m even prouder of myself because I learned that I can last seven rounds in the boxing ring with my sparring coach, that I can finish a 10K run in less than 90 minutes, and that I can hit pretty decent forehands and backhands.
Being the accidental “athlete” has led me to a new passion; one that I never thought I’d be able to, or have the guts to do. For a very long time, I was branded the “chubby nerd” and “the inert one.” Discovering that I can do sports now, in my 20s, made me realize that you’re never too old to try something new, or discover an aspect of your personality that you never thought existed.
Photo by Element5 Digital on Unsplash
by rossanahead | Jan 11, 2012 | children, family, parenting, woman
By Tina Arceo-Dumlao
Some popular movies, songs, and television shows would have us believe that marriage is a fate almost worse than death, often referred to as a trap, the end of the happy life or a one-way ticket to endless misery. But marriage can be the exact opposite, believe it or not.
Instead of a trap, marriage can free us to become better people. It may be the end of the carefree life but also the beginning of a more meaningful and fulfilling existence. If you decide to have children and become parents, it adds another dimension to your relationship. Instead of misery, marriage can indeed lead us to our real destiny on earth, the reason for our being.
Last Dec. 11, 2011, my husband and I celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary and we like to believe that we are as happy now as we were that day in 1993 when we became man and wife in the eyes of God, if not more.
And so the young and restless colleagues and friends who are about to get married ask me, how do you keep the marriage happy and fulfilling?
Here are a few tips based on what worked for me these past years.
Pick your battles. Not everything is worth fighting over just so you can say you’ve ‘won’ an argument. Fight for the big decisions you really believe in such as what kind of a parent you’d like to be or where you’d like your children to go to school, for instance, and just agree to disagree on others. You win some, you lose some. Compromise is at the heart of any working marriage.
Decide on money matters as early as possible. Assuming that both of you work, it is best to have separate individual accounts and then maybe a joint account for joint expenses. You’ve earned your money, so you’ve certainly earned the right to spend it the way you wish. But of course, agree to share in big expenses, just so you won’t end up paying for everything yourself while your spouse spends on luxuries.
Fix the schedule for the holidays. One of the major sources of heartaches is the holiday schedule. Talk about where you want the family to spend Christmas and New Year’s or even Sunday lunches or dinners. Once that’s fixed, there will be less haggling over where to spend these important dates, and less whining over “but we always go to your family.”
Respect ‘alone’ time. It’s not healthy for any relationship – even marriage – to be perpetually in each other’s pockets. We are individuals, after all, with needs and wants that cannot always be met by your spouse. So go out with friends, have a weekend alone, or just go somewhere you can recharge. It’s not a crime. Remember, there is a you, there is a he or she and there is an us.
Don’t try to change your spouse. We all have our quirks: some are annoying, some are cute. Don’t try to get rid of each and every one of them just to fit your notion of what a spouse should be. Nobody is perfect. Not even you, so don’t expect your spouse to be perfect. I always tell the romantics out there, if you were annoyed by one habit before you got married, chances are you will still be annoyed years later. So can you take it?
Lastly, share loads of laughter. There’s nothing like laughter to cure any ills in a relationship. I always say, if you can laugh about practically anything and everything with your husband or wife, then you’re on your way to a fulfilling journey together that will hopefully last as long as you both shall live.
Photo by Drew Coffman on Unsplash
by rossanahead | Jan 9, 2012 | children, family, parenting
By Romelda C. Ascutia
Come to my house on a weekday morning, and you’d think it has been the site of a police raid. You know the aftermath of such an intrusion: The place is all topsy-turvy after investigators have combed it inch by inch in search of contraband. That’s how our house greets me when I come down from the bedroom in the mornings. But the culprits are not the search authorities; it’s my two boys.
My children, a college freshman and a high school sophomore, have convinced me that they are old enough to take care of themselves and don’t need my help to prepare them for school in the morning. This is not an act of total altruism on their part, mind you. Truth is, the boys don’t want me hovering over them because I drive them nuts. I nag them to hurry up, to take a bath already, to brush their teeth properly. I pester them with questions. Why didn’t you tell me you have a button missing from your polo? Why don’t you ever bring an umbrella (or at least a jacket) when it’s raining? Why won’t you get a haircut? Why do you ignore the fruits I place on the table?
Because our mornings have become a strain on both sides, we have agreed that I will get all the boys’ needs ready the night before—the hot water in the jug, the cereals and milk in the jars, the bread for toasting snug in the bread box, uniforms hanging neatly in the cabinets—and they will do the rest. The next morning, my duty is to simply call out to the boys when the alarm sounds off, and I go back to sleep when I hear them stomping downstairs.
This arrangement has worked well for all of us so far. I believe this setup teaches the boys to be more independent and self-reliant. If I’m around, they treat me as a convenient lost-and-found center: Ma, did you see my ID/belt/notebook/toothbrush/watch? Can you please go upstairs and get my P.E. shirt? I’m already in the bathroom so could you throw me my towel?
As for me, as a night person, I am not at my best at dawn. I become more energetic as the hours pass and get my second wind late in the night, when everyone is asleep. That’s when I whirl about straightening things, sweeping the floor, cleaning the bathroom, folding the laundry—all those things other moms normally do in the first light of day. Before I head upstairs, I survey my handiwork with a little smile, knowing that everything is in its proper place.
So there’s been a wonderful truce in my household ever since we hit on this morning deal. But I am still far from completely content. After they leave I survey the “damage” my independent young adults have inflicted: beds unmade, dirty clothes and wet towels on the floor, cabinets hanging open with folded clothes in disarray, used plates on the dining table, toothbrushes by the sink, pools of water near the bathroom door for me to slip on. Books and notebooks that are not scheduled for use that day sit in chairs. Receipts, tissue paper, and other whatnots lie on the floor, having missed the trash can.
And so the next hour or so is used to clear up the trail of mess my boys have left behind. But like any hopeful mom I truly believe that with time—and more nagging on my part—my mischievous raiders will become better behaved. Until then, the morning raids will continue.
Featured Photo from Mrs H’s Favorite Things
