by rossanahead | Apr 23, 2011 | children, family, Mari-an Santos, Uncategorized, woman
By Mari-An C. Santos
My mother turned 60 last month. But looking at her, you wouldn’t have guessed it. Her hair is still jet black and her face hardly has any wrinkles. Her voice is clear and she walks with sure-footed steps. I usually associate 60-year-olds with grandmothers. But my mother is not a grandmother. (Don’t remind her though–she might decide to take it up with me and my sister.) She is a wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend, aunt.
Everyone says we look alike. I always say I got my looks from her but my temperament from my father.
Mama always worries about what to cook for the next meal, that I have a complete first aid kit for my trip, and that our balikbayan relatives have everything they need. Whenever I come home to Manila, we always have these long mother-daughter talks. Aside from telling me about the interesting things that happened around the household, she tells me about her past. That’s how I found out about the time when she went up to Baguio all by herself to meet my father. But since they didn’t talk about where and when they’d meet, Mama had to go to different places until they finally, literally, found each other.
She told me about the first time she came to Manila all the way from Zamboanga. Mama was a nurse and had come to the “big, bad city” to work. Save for her older sister, she did not know anyone in Manila. She stayed at a boarding house and worked the graveyard shift at a small hospital, treating people at odd hours for the most bizarre injuries.
These were revelations to me. My mother, who’s usually escorted by my father, commuting a very long distance for an undetermined date? My mother, who’s always with someone, alone?
I’ve known my mother all my life but it seems that I do not really know her. Listening to her stories, I realized that we have a lot more in common than I had previously thought.
I look forward to many more years of getting to know my Mama better.
by rossanahead | Apr 17, 2011 | career, children, Gina Abuyuan, parenting, woman
By Gina Abuyuan
I would probably now own a Mac Air, have a year’s worth of rent paid, and a lilac Gucci handbag made of the most sublime, buttery leather if I were paid a peso every time I’ve been told/asked:
* “I-feature mo naman ako,” (“Can you do a feature on me?”) when people learn I edit a magazine (well, when I did);
* “Masakit?” (“Did it hurt?”) when they see the tattoo on my wrist; and
* “May lahi kayo?” (“Is it in your genes?”) when people learn I have twins.
And I would probably be now driven around in a mini-van if I gave myself a peso every time I promised myself: “I will not get dramatic about my being a working mom”—and broke it.
Don’t get me wrong—I love being a working mother. I love the adrenaline and challenge it gives me; I love being paid for what I love to do. But sometimes, the stress gets the better of me. I retreat into my selfish, self-centered world and resent the fact that other people (my sister, for instance, who I love dearly, again please don’t get me wrong) have got it easy: their husbands bring home bacon (a full slab at that!), all they’ve got to worry about is the kids’ baon, bring them to and pick them up from school, and make sure dinner is ready when hubby arrives.
But is it really that easy? I once was left sans yaya, when my twin boys were still babies, and a whole day taking care of them left me more sapped than 48 hours putting my then-magazine to bed. I marvel at the energy of my partner’s ex-wife, B, who’s chosen to be a homemaker to her current husband and two daughters. She’s up at dawn, cooks the family’s meals, drives the kids to school, hangs out in the mall while waiting for them to get out of class, drives them back home, takes care of her husband, and drives them to extracurricular activities during the weekends.
One time, when we were corresponding about her son’s schooling and she had missed an e-mail or two, she was profuse in her apologies. She was so busy, she said, but probably not as busy as I was, an editor. I stopped her right there. No way, I told her. It’s OK. Nothing can be busier than a full-time mom and homemaker.
So, yes, I do get emotionally frayed sometimes, especially when deadlines are piling up, editorial assistants are calling, and texting non-stop to follow up on stories, book clients are asking (“but no pressure! Just asking!”) if the copy is ready, and public relations practitioners are requesting for interviews “at the most convenient time.”
But, as I remind myself, that just like B and my sister, I made a choice. I made a choice to be a working mother. Not just a 9 to 5 pencil-pusher, mind you, but the type of worker who needs to hustle and have the ability to speak/write/understand different voices. Sure, I can un-make that choice, but that will mean going against who I am, what I was meant to do, and what I’m happy doing–occasional dramatics notwithstanding.
by rossanahead | Mar 17, 2011 | career, parenting, woman
By Bubbles Salvador
Without blinking, I decided to quit my full-time job two months after I had a baby. In my pre-mommy life, I wouldn’t have known what to do with all that free time – and all that free space in my bank account.
I delivered via C-section, but on my second day at the hospital, I was working at my computer, finishing an article that wasn’t due for days. I figured, I could do this.
And so I became a stay-at-home mom. I got some freelance writing work done while the baby napped (oh, how I loved those long afternoon naps!). I figured, I could do this.
Then the baby grew. Now a demanding toddler, Luis is always asking me to “Look, Mommy!” and wouldn’t stop until I actually do. “Patingin!” he would say, trying to grab the phone while I try to send a text message. Can I still do this?
Today, I am still a part-time writer, full-time mom. But there are days I work a full day at an office, and I can’t deny that sometimes I appreciate the peace and quiet. I find myself more productive when I am able to fully concentrate on my work, without having to worry about things like Luis bumping his head the minute I take my eyes off him.
I completely respect working mothers who are able to make time for their family. I wonder if someday, I can do the same. But for now, I still like being able to spend lazy mornings in bed with Luis, taking him out to buy taho from our suki, and taking long walks after his afternoon nap.
The writing can wait. I can do this!
Photo by Bruno Nascimento on Unsplash
by rossanahead | Mar 16, 2011 | grandparenting, Jing Lejano, parenting, woman
By Jing Lejano
At 43, I never thought that I’ll be singing ABCs, reciting 123s, and wondering what all those twinkling stars are doing tonight. But here I am doing nursery whatnots 13 years after my youngest son was born.
I was already on teen mode.
I am way past the sleep-deprived mommy phase of the baby years when you can’t get four straight hours of sleep because your little one is hungry—again. Today, my kids would eat just about anything. And fortunately for me, they know their way around the kitchen. No need for mommy to get up early in the morning to make breakfast.
I am past all the angst and agony of separation anxiety when your preschooler grabs your knee every time you step out the door. Today, my kids are all too happy when I have to go out of town. If I’m gone for just two days in fact, they’d even ask, “Back so soon?” Those rascals!
I am past the stage where I worry about meeting development milestones, height averages, and weight standards. Today, my kids are healthy and strong. And my boys are all taller than me—which doesn’t mean I can’t raise my voice and stand my ground when they don’t come home on time or they don’t wash the dishes when it’s their turn.
And so, when I became a grandmother at 41, I had this very scary nightmare that I’d have to go through all those things again. I actually lost sleep thinking I might not get enough sleep—again.
I needn’t have worried. My daughter is a good mother, and she’s an even better daughter because she didn’t ask her mother to do the mothering for her.
What I like best about being a Lula at 43 is that I get to do the fun part of mothering. Sophie and I eat ice cream, sing with Barney, and dance to Sheryl Crow. In the mornings, she greets me with a big fat kiss. In the afternoons, we cuddle up on the couch, watching Mickey Mouse. In the evenings, we play ball under the moonlight. I have so many other things that I want to do with her, so many things I want to teach her. I can’t wait!
Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash
by rossanahead | Mar 8, 2011 | children, family, parenting, Ruth M. Floresca, woman
My name is Ruth Manimtim-Floresca, a work-at-home mom who contributes articles to Philippine print and online publications. I feel blessed that I am able to earn from what I enjoy doing and which come with flexible work hours. This allows me to spend more time with my family and primarily care for my son with special needs.
I have four boys aged 12, 13, 15, and 17. Daniel, my youngest, is in fifth grade; Joshua, my second son, is a high school junior; and Geffrey, our firstborn is a college freshman taking up Digital Media Arts. James, my third child, has spastic quadriplegic cerebral palsy. He can’t talk or walk but he has already taught our family so much about love, patience, and faith for the past 13 years, and counting.
Although our household can be noisy at times, they are mostly happy sounds. Sure, the three boys argue over computer schedules and who’s going to wash the dishes or feed the dog every now and then. But when we ask them to take care of their brother while their dad and I go out to do errands, buy groceries, or attend meetings and media events, they can be trusted to do that job well.
We have been maid- and yaya-free for the past three years and we’re doing fine. Honestly, I feel more confident now when leaving the house with only the kids there than having someone else look after them. I believe our circumstances have taught my boys to be more resilient and independent. Like their dad, whom I so appreciate for being hands-on, I hope our kids would also become thoughtful husbands someday who won’t expect their wives to do everything around the house.
I may feel overwhelmed and utterly exhausted with house chores and writing deadlines most of the time, but I wouldn’t trade places with anyone else. I am grateful for where, and who, I am now.–Ruth Manimtim-Floresca
Photo by Joshua Harris on Unsplash
