by rossanahead | May 7, 2011 | career, children, family, Gina Abuyuan, mother's day, woman
By Gina Abuyuan
I recently did a story on Emerson Yao, managing director of the Lucerne Group. Of the third generation of a family of watch retailers, the transformation of the family business is credited to him and his brother Ivan. Now, Lucerne is more than just a retailer. It deals directly with over 50 watch houses, is known for its high profile tie-ups featuring the Philippines as a brand, and strong recall events.
Emerson and Ivan didn’t have a mentor. Their father passed away early. “I was just out of college. There was only one store at that time—my grandfather started it all. My dad was a very simple man. He just had one or two watches. I remember him only wearing one. When he passed away, he left us the store, and that’s it.
“But he taught us a lot of other stuff. Being thrifty, being nice to people, humility, and all that—those are the cornerstone of our success. My father worked seven days a week, 365 days a year. Every day he was in the shop. So when he passed away, that was the only way we knew how to run our business. So we followed him. Looking back, if not because of that kind of a mindset, we couldn’t get to where we are today.”
I was thinking the same thing just a few days ago: If it weren’t for my mom, I would probably be a half-assed, irresponsible good-for-nothing. Don’t get me wrong—there was indeed a stage of my life when I indeed did nothing but party, but being my mom’s daughter made sure I rose beyond and above that.
As early as I can remember, my mom, Lirio T. Abuyuan, was a worker. She was continuously striving to improve her career and her options. When we were young, she packed us all up and moved us all (including my dad) to Wisconsin, where she pursued a PhD. When my dad had to come back to the Philippines, she became a de facto single mom—and having been one as well, I can say she did a pretty good job.
When we came back to the Philippines, I remember her leaving every morning, looking smart in her tailored suits, pumps, and briefcase. I used to love running my hands up and down her stockinged legs, and told myself that someday, I’d have my chance to wear nice nylon stockings too.
She worked long hours but made sure she had time to tutor me and my sister, and eventually, my brother. She threw mean parties at home for her colleagues (she still does, occasionally, for family, and the spreads are always unique and memorable). While holding a relatively high position in government (Assistant Secretary of DENR), she outspokenly turned downed and showed her disgust at people who tried to bribe her. Boy, did she earn a lot of enemies for that—to retaliate, they spread nasty rumors about her, but she stood her ground. When I grew old enough to wear makeup and attend parties and balls, I didn’t have to bother to go to the salon—she would do my hair and makeup herself, and she did it so well that all my friends said she should have opened a salon.
Sure, my mom and I have been at loggerheads too many times than I care to count or recall. But that’s what happens when two strong women clash—and where did I get that strength? From her. That’s also what happens when a mother allows her daughter to think critically and argue her point. (As a mom, I’m learning this freedom is a double-edged sword when it comes to raising kids, but hey, I’d rather have them know how to make a case than just roll over and take it.)
Like Emerson Yao, I don’t know how else I would have gone about doing what I do, working the way I do, if I hadn’t seen my mom build her career and juggle being a mother, wife, and homemaker. People have asked me how I can have the energy to do so many things at the same time. I usually answer with a shrug. A few days ago, and as I write this, I have a concrete answer: because I saw my mom do it.
She’s still the champion, of course. I don’t even come close, considering my age. Aside from still working on projects for the private sector, she goes to the gym, goes ballroom dancing, has time for her derma, travel, takes her grandkids out, and is now developing her own brand of longganisa. Mental, I tell you. Absolutely mental.
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mother’s day article
by rossanahead | May 6, 2011 | children, family, Mari-an Santos, parenting
By Mari-An Santos
I attended a children’s party the other day. It was the birthday of a friend’s son. After greeting friends and acquaintances, I settled at a corner table and observed the revelry.
Children playing. Adults chatting. When it was time to eat, I was amazed at how the moms coaxed their still playing children to sit and eat while carrying on conversations with their friends, who were also moms trying to get their kids to sit and eat. The boys could not be bothered to look up from their PSPs and iPods to get a bite of fried chicken or spaghetti. But somehow, in the course of engaging us in conversation and pushing the plates of food towards the kids, when I looked again, the dishes were clean and the kids were running off to the play area.
Motherhood is indeed amazing. I pride myself in being able to multi-task. I think I have my hands full, juggling different projects, but having other lives in my hands, I don’t have to take on that challenge! Just to get through a children’s party like that, for example, a mother would have had to rouse her child from sleep. She would have had to convince her child to take a bath rather than stay in bed playing video games all day.
Assuming that the child got out of bed and took a bath, his mother would still need to get him dressed in proper, presentable clothes. Which, as I have witnessed, is a feat in itself! Even with bribes of games, prizes, food, and company of other children to play with, this does not guarantee that the family will get to the party in time. When they arrive, there is the added pressure to be sociable while still taking care of the child. From being wife and mother, she becomes wife, mother, and friend.
I visualize a cartoon where a mother tries to feed her child with one hand while cleaning the house or working with the other. If only her feet could do the same things as her hands!
And so I ask: Why do we celebrate Mother’s Day for just one day? Why not make it Mother’s Week? Or Mother’s Month? A day is not enough to let our mothers rest their weary heads and muscles to rejuvenate them for the rest of the 364 days of the year. Nevertheless, I send a tight and lingering embrace to generations of mothers. It may not be much, but I know that mothers have such huge hearts that they will value every thoughtful gesture that comes their way.
by rossanahead | May 5, 2011 | children, parenting, Ruth M. Floresca, woman
By Ruth Manimtim-Floresca
It’s weird (in a good way) how a lot of women, who have met for the first time, could easily click and bond with one another when they find out they’re all moms. Having children, after all, can immediately spawn dozens of stories in a heartbeat. This is more true when moms of kids with special needs meet. I have found so many kindred souls online who know exactly what I have gone, or are going, through with my son who has cerebral palsy. There are dozens of them I have yet to meet face-to-face but I feel this strong connection every time we exchange e-mails or comment on each other’s Facebook statuses. I always know they “get” me the same way I “get” them.
A forwarded e-mail in one of the e-groups I belong to affirmed that we are members of a very elite sorority. “Some of us were invited to join immediately, some not for months or even years. Some of us even tried to refuse membership, but to no avail,” wrote the anonymous author.
All of us have one thing in common – we are mothers of children with special needs. And regardless of how different those needs are, we have mutual respect and empathy for all the women who walk in our shoes. I found myself smiling when I read, “We are knowledgeable. We have educated ourselves with whatever materials we could find. We know ‘the’ specialists in the field, ‘the’ neurologists, ‘the’ hospitals, ‘the’ wonder drugs, ‘the’ treatments. Without formal education, we could become board certified in neurology, endocrinology, and physiatry.” Indeed, I was once mistaken for a nurse after fluently explaining my son’s condition to a new doctor.
Since our journey began, we’ve greeted each morning wondering how we’d make it through another day and rest each night not sure, but marveling, how we were able to do it.
As moms of special needs’ kids, we have learned to deal with anything life throws at us because we’ll never stop believing in miracles, that the potentials of our children know no bounds and that, with faith, we will always be given the strength to survive one day at a time.
by rossanahead | May 3, 2011 | children, parenting, woman
By Jennifer Lee-Bonto
She was expecting a baby any moment. The OB-Gyne told her that she should be in Manila two weeks before her due date. The doctor had more reasons to be worried than that though. Pope John Paul II was arriving in Manila and included in his hectic schedule was celebrating mass at the UST Grandstand, which is inside the compound of the University of Santo Tomas, the oldest university in the Philippines. Coincidentally, the UST Hospital, where she was scheduled to give birth, is also inside the UST compound, so there lay the paranoia.
She was, of course, hardheaded. The Pope was already in Manila and she was still in Laguna, finishing her company’s yearly assessment and planning. Until one night, she couldn’t sleep because of the contractions. She knew she was having contractions but she tried to hold it out because there was no bus ride to Manila that early in the morning. She’d rather not wake up the people in the neighborhood and be the center of attraction. She held out the contractions until 6 a.m. when she felt she could not breathe normally anymore.
As soon as she woke her husband, they gathered some clothes and hit the road. It was a simple choice of riding a bus or getting to the nearest Los Banos hospital. But they weren’t thinking anymore. They went for the first bus on sight. Fortunately, it was bound for Buendia. Throughout the ride, she kept herself from panicking. Husband and pregnant wife did not let go of each other’s hands. They just stared at the seat in front of them.
Every time the contractions came, she would close her eyes, squeeze her husband’s hands, and silently count her breaths. Her husband would bow down, squint his eyes, and silently endure the squeezing on his arm while the stupefied passenger beside them by the window held his breath. The rest of the passengers continued their sleep unaware of the silent drama in row four.
She knew that if she gave birth in an airplane, her baby would be a free flyer forever but she never heard anything about a free bus rider forever.
When they got down the bus terminal, she couldn’t keep her face from crumpling. She wasn’t shouting but during contractions, she had to stop her slow walk. The street food vendors knew what was happening and couldn’t help but be rattled, “Naku! Manganganak na ‘yung ale!” (Look! The woman is about the give birth!)
The first taxi was all run-down but it was no time to be picky. But like most of the taxis in the metropolis, run-down taxi drivers can be more picky than others.
“Naku ser, may blockade na sa Nagtahan, hindi na tayo makakalusot. Sa Makati Medical na lang tayo,” (“Sir, there’s a blockade at Nagtahan. We can’t pass through. Let’s go to Makati Medical Center instead.”), the driver blurted out. The blockade at Nagtahan, a highway leading to UST, only confirmed that that morning was the same morning when the Pope would say mass at the grandstand.
She almost hear her OB’s voice reverberating in her eardrums, “I told you, hija! You have to be here before the Pope gets here!”
But they couldn’t afford Makati Medical Center and the OB was commissioned at UST, so they tried to get another cab. Luckily, the
next taxi driver not only took the maternity challenge, he was also driving a brand new Toyota Corolla. As soon as they got inside the cab, the driver put on his hazard lights. If the husband could have swallowed a siren, he would have opened his mouth as well.
Nagtahan was closed and the whole street was lined with onlookers and well-wishers. The Pope was going to pass through that same highway. Their taxicab approached the police barricade and signaled to the policeman that an emergency was at hand. It was the only time when she gave out shrieks of pain to the best of her overacting abilities. The kind policeman let them pass. The taxi got through.
They were the only vehicle in Nagtahan. That was how a VIP felt. The busy road was all to themselves, both sides. The well-wishers lined at the sides all knew that there was an emergency because the taxi didn’t have tinted windows.
In a few seconds, six by six trucks filled with army soldiers escorted them. It was the escort of the Pope and was supposed to be a few meters ahead of the Pope. It just so happened that the taxi was there and so it appeared that they were escorting the taxicab. Behind the cab, was the Pope mobile with no less than His Eminence Pope John Paul II himself waving at the crowd.
If they arrived in Nagtahan a little less than a minute, she would have given birth inside the taxi. They owed a lot to the Pope who was able to close Nagtahan for them and even allowed them to get ahead of him, a few meters ahead of him. It was more than enough meters of a miracle they needed.
While the Pope was saying mass at the UST Grandstand, she gave birth to a six-pound baby boy. Much to the dismay of a tabloid reporter, they named him Victor Boanerges which means “the victorious son of thunder.” And to make them grateful every day for that miraculous moment brought by Pope Paul, they nicknamed Victor, Popie.
A few years after, Popie got circumcised on the day that Pope John Paul II died, but that’s another story!
by rossanahead | May 2, 2011 | children, family, Karen Galarpe, parenting
By Karen Galarpe
It’s been a year since I went back to the gym, and throughout the past months, I get a kick whenever I would put on my special white shirt, hit the treadmill, and afterward lift those 5-pound dumbbells.
The special shirt is just a simple white tee given by my close friend Nancy, and it says “Super Mom.” It comes with its own S logo, much like the one in Superman’s costume.
Me, Super Mom? Yeah.
I’ll be the first to admit, though, that I’m no perfect mom.
I can’t cook well, nurture a plant, crochet, sew clothes, change a lightbulb, fix a leaking pipe, or patch a hole in the roof. I don’t even know how to make my own pesto sauce.
But I can make tacos (using taco seasoning mix), bring my son to school and pick him up when I can, workout beside him, try out new restaurants with him, and never leave his side at the hospital when he’s sick.
I can’t remember to buy all the things on my grocery list in my head, or remember the brand of batteries he prefers. But I can search for the perfect suit within our budget for prom night, and remember to have mosquito repellent and hand sanitizer available at all times.
I can’t teach him how to drive (he learned from others), but I can be there with him for any school activity: card-giving, PTC, program, family day, etc.
I can’t be all, or do all. But I can do some, and do it well.
I’m not perfect (only God is), but I’m one who would like to do her best (“be super”) in everything with God’s help.
I know many moms may feel the same way — we’re a bunch of Super Moms!
As Mother’s Day draws near, here’s a toast to all you Super Moms out there. We’re cool. We’re super!
