by rossanahead | Aug 18, 2011 | children, Education, family, Lyra Pore, parenting, woman
By Lyra Pore
“Mom, are you going to have another baby?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“We can’t afford another baby.”
“Mom, you don’t have to buy it! You just pop the baby out of your tummy!”
To my seven-year-old daughter, having a baby is but a simple matter. Several years ago when there were only two children in the family, she pointed to the empty seats around the dining table. “Maybe we should have another baby,” she said, “so someone can sit on that chair.”
Indeed we’ve had one more baby since she uttered those words. Not really to fill empty chairs in our dining room, but because we always found joy in having children around the house.
We broke the news to the girls in the park. “We’re having a baby,” their dad told them as we all sat around a picnic table next to the playground.
“Are they going to cut up your tummy in the hospital?” They asked. “Or are you going to pee and the baby comes out?”
“I’m going to pee,” I said. I’ve had two natural deliveries and was expecting the third to be the same.
“Is she going to have blond hair and blue eyes? Some of our classmates have blond hair.”
“We can’t have a blond-haired baby.”
“How come?”
“Well, Daddy and I are Filipinos and Filipinos have black hair.”
When the baby finally arrived, the girls came to visit us at the hospital. They looked at her lovingly as she slept in her bassinet.
“Can she speak English?”
“Not yet. Newborn babies just cry. They have some growing up to do before they can talk.”
“Can she eat sinigang?”
“Not yet. But someday she will.”
by rossanahead | Aug 13, 2011 | children, family, Karen Galarpe, parenting, woman
By Karen Galarpe
“Oh look, it’s Domo-kun!” I said, pointing to stuffed toys of the brown Japanese character at Toy Con 2011, the annual toy convention recently held at SM Megamall. “And Angry Birds, and lots of anime characters. Do they have Lucky Star?”
Yup, that’s me talking. Thanks to my son’s interest in Japanese anime, I am not so unfamiliar with what some kids and teens are into these days. When Miley Cyrus was in town recently, someone in the office asked, “Does Miley Cyrus have a lot of fans?” And I said, “Hello? Hannah Montana!”
And when the video of that 4-year-old Fil-Am boy singing a Warbler song a la Darren Criss on “Glee” became viral, someone in the office again said he’s not familiar with the song as he doesn’t watch “Glee”.
I know who Miley Cyrus is, and I watch “Glee.” And “Lucky Star.” And some years back, “High School Musical” and “Gundam Seed Destiny.”
I try to make time to get to know what kids today like because it’s a way to bond and build relationships with today’s generation.
I know I’m not alone in this mission because when Taylor Swift was here a few months ago, two of my friends watched the concert with their daughters and their daughters’ friends. And they realized Taylor is really a great performer and a good role model for today’s kids.
Same thing when Justin Bieber arrived in Manila this year. Guess who were photographed with preteens and teens in the crowd? Their parents.
What is your child into? Find out, get into it yourself, and in the process get to know your child more.
Since my son loves cars, I have seen my share of auto shows and even drift competitions from which I have come home smelling like burnt rubber. Is it worth it, grime and all? It is. Our children are priceless, and time spent with them is valuable.
by rossanahead | Aug 11, 2011 | children, Education, family, Lyra Pore, parenting, woman
By Lyra Pore
Hogwarts. Quidditch. Wands and spells. The first time the Harry Potter series hit bookstores back in the late ‘90s, I couldn’t stand the books.
“I’m too old for this.” I dismissed Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone after just a few pages of reading the book. If the series had been published when I was in high school, I would have loved it. But I was by then a new mom to a baby girl ― my world was filled with diapers and formula, not owls, wizards and some fictional beings misguided by a Nazi-like obsession with the purity of species.
Last Christmas, however, my baby girl who had since turned ten received the children’s edition of the complete Harry Potter set for Christmas. Keen to find some bonding moments with her, I picked up the Philosopher’s Stone and tried reading it again.
I couldn’t have chosen a more auspicious time to take up Harry Potter. My daughter, just like Harry in the first book, was turning 11 in a few days. And like Percy Weasley, Ron’s older brother, she’d just been elected school prefect.
Over the next two months, the two of us would explore the Harry Potter world together. It would soon become a family affair too, as my husband and our other children would join us in watching the film adaptation each time we finished a book. Not only did we form a mother-daughter book club, we’d also organized family Friday Night Movies. We’d all sit on the couch on Fridays, watch the Harry Potter DVD and talk about how the movie differed from the book.
“It wasn’t Neville Longbottom who gave Harry the gillyweed in Goblet of Fire. It was Dobby!”
“How come the other elf Winky wasn’t in any of the movies?”
At times, our Harry Potter journey turned into a writing lesson. My daughter, who was starting to develop an interest in fiction writing, would comment on J.K. Rowling’s style and how it differed from that of Rick Riordan, author of the Percy Jackson series. I worked in publishing; I took delight in talking about books especially with my children.
The excitement over the release of Deathly Hallows 2 took over our household. My husband would buy our girls Harry Potter souvenirs that were being sold with every purchase of a local newspaper. The family also organized a weekend trip to an IMAX theatre to watch the movie in 3D. Making a day of it, we set out at 9 a.m., picked up some friends who were also going to the movies with us, went to lunch at a restaurant just a short walk from the cinema, and spent the rest of the afternoon not just enjoying the last movie of the series but savouring gelato that IMAX moviegoers could get free for each scoop they bought.
“Lord Voldemort’s wand will be out with the Sunday newspaper,” I told them after dinner on Friday. “I thought it was Dumbledore’s,” my husband replied. “Oh, you’re right. It’s Dumbledore’s. The newspaper says it is.”
Upstairs our two year-old daughter was fast asleep. She’d been playing the whole week with Harry’s wand, yelling “crucio!” and “stupefy!” at her older sisters.
by rossanahead | Jul 30, 2011 | children, family, parenting, woman
By Tina Arceo-Dumlao
The realization that I was truly and absolutely responsible for someone else’s life came without warning one quiet morning in 1996, a few days after my son, Miggy, was born.
My mother had left that day for work and left me home alone with my two brothers with the firm instruction that we should give Miggy – who was a little over a week old at that time – a nice, relaxing bath as soon as he woke up from his early morning nap.
She neglected, however, to tell us exactly how to do just that.
Because I delivered via caesarian section, it was my mother who had been giving Miggy a bath since we came home from the hospital, and I did not see for myself how she transformed the little life form into a sweet smelling baby since I was mostly in bed recovering from my operation. My husband, Jerome, who was an executive at that time in an office in Makati City, was not around to help because he had left early for work.
And so there we were, three siblings without any idea how to give a fragile, crying baby a refreshing bath.
We argued over options: Should we just put him in the tub? But he might drown! Do we just put him on the bath mat? But we might miss some spots! Should we use a sponge or a small towel? But it might hurt him. How much pressure do we apply? Will he get scratched?
There were too many questions and just us three loudly arguing over what is the right thing to do.
In the end, I took over and made the final decision. I was the mother after all and the call was mine and mine alone to make. Talk about responsibility on a young and first time mother’s shoulders.
And so I told my Kuya to carefully hold him over the bathtub while my younger brother and I took turns soaping then rinsing him.
Of course, it was the wrong and inefficient way to do it, but he did end up smelling like only newborns can – a faint mix of milk, baby powder, and baby soap. I came out feeling oh so proud of myself because I, who was 24 years old when my son was born on Feb. 2, 1996, had made my first major decision for the good of my son. I had become a mommy!
Armando Miguel Arceo Dumlao is 15 years old now and in his final year in high school at La Salle Green Hills, and it has been one decision after another since that time I gave him a bath for the first time.
Some do not require much brain activity: Mom, can I go to the party? No. Mom, can I stay overnight at a friend’s house? No. Mom, can I get a new pair of shoes? No. Others you have to agonize over: Mom, can I ask somebody to be my date to the prom? Ummm….Yes (Sigh). Mom, can I start driving soon? I’ll think about it.
But through everything, I was guided by the same overriding, singular thought that crowded my head that time that I was splashing water on my baby’s tiny, wriggling body: What is the best for my son?
My decisions are not right all the time, but I rest easy knowing that right or wrong, I tried to do what is best for him – always for him, not about myself. And that sacrifice, that heroic act of putting my son’s interest before my own (even if it kills me) is, for me, what motherhood is all about.
Tina Arceo Dumlao is a multi-awarded journalist and desk editor of the Philippine Daily Inquirer. She has a Journalism degree from the University of the Philippines.
by rossanahead | Jul 28, 2011 | career, children, Education, family, Gina Abuyuan, parenting, woman
By Regina Abuyuan
My friend R, who partnered with D and me on this new venture of ours, a pub in Cubao X, has an ingenious solution to the never-ending quest for work-life balance and spending time with his kids even when he’s at work: letting his kid work alongside him.
For two weeks now, his son R2 has worked Fridays and a couple of Sundays waiting and clearing tables at the pub. Unlike most teens, he’s not into video games and girls (thanks to his ultra-sensible, well-grounded parents). However, R thought he could use some boosting in the get-your-nose-out-of-your-book-and-relate-to-the-world department. Don’t get me wrong—R2 is no sullen, emo-type nerd. He’s always smiling; chatty when he wants to be. But parents like to push their children’s potential, so here we are.
The first night, R2 was learning the ropes, trying to gain his footing. And he did—fast! Now he automatically hands guests their menus, knows how to serve beer, and wipes down tables after.
“It’s about building confidence,” his father likes to explain to people, after joking about child labor, when they inquire about the bespectacled lad handing them their drinks. “How to relate to different kinds of people—people skills.”
The best feedback I’ve gotten from R about his boy waiting tables, though, is this: “Papa,” R2 told his father after one (his first!) particularly busy Sunday. “I will never get irritated at waiters again.”
And what about my kids, you may ask? Why haven’t I asked S to join in? I don’t think it’s for her. I’ve asked her to serve customers a few times, but I know she wouldn’t be the eager learner like R2 is. Instead, I let her watch and witness how hard D and I work at the kitchen and bar—and her reaction has been just as rewarding.
“Are you sure you’re OK?” She texted last pay day, a Friday, when she learned D was going to be late for service and R wasn’t around. I was basically running the whole show, with the crowd growing bigger by the minute. “Yes, I’ll be OK,” I answered.
“Uhm, well, at least you’re earning…and you like it…I hope Tito D comes soon so he can help you.”
I rediscovered what I taught myself and S when she was little and would sit beside me while I wrote: If you can’t bring your kids to work, or have them experience what you do, at least make them understand what you do, how much you enjoy it, and how much it means to you. That way (hopefully!) they won’t resent your work—or at least resent it less.
