Spaghetti and Meatball

Back to School, Back to Schedule

2010-09-14T20:46:00.000-07:00

Back to school. It's supposed to be an exciting time of year, but for me it creates a ton of anxiety. With school supply lists, back to school nights, parent nights, getting the kids back on their routine, signing up for field trips, signing up for birthday lunches, coordinating schedules. A month in and the smoke is just starting to clear.

So as you can see, I'm not a girl scout, I didn't come prepared. I see this along the same lines as starting Christmas shopping right after Easter, that's just not me. Oddly enough, I've been doing the school thing w/Meatball for the last 4 grades already and you'd think I'd have it down to a science. But add Spaghetti into the mix you have a recipe for potential disaster. Drop kid 1 off her, pick kid 2 up there, bring kid 1's form here, don't forget kid 2's lunch there... exhausting, right?!? But as parents, we manage.

I remember when I was in 3rd grade (the same grade Meatball is in now), my mother dropping me off for swim class, soccer class and dance class. I was a shy kid and my mother would literally drop me off, no hanging out w/the other mothers, no watching me do whatever activity she signed me up for, just dropped me off because, "It's good for you to have a lot of activities, honey". Thanks, Mother for forcing me off the deep end of socialization.

And here we are, years later, history repeats itself as I find myself signing Meatball up for after school activities, dropping her off, picking her up, shuttling her from one thing to the next... I never asked my Mother why she just dropped me off and took off, but now I'm beginning to assume she probably took naps in between.

The things we do for our kids.

Letters to my Lola (grandmother) & Lolo (grandfather)

2010-08-25T21:40:00.000-07:00

It's been about 5 years since my Lola (grandmother in Pilipino) passed away. I think of her often and miss her very much. I've found as time passes: the girls grow older, my parents grow older, my husband, Pretty Pants, and I grow older, the importance of family grows stronger, the memories get richer.

The Meatball was lucky enough to have met my Lola. We have a photograph of them together in our living room, the Meatball's face close-up with her great Lola's face beaming in the shadow behind her. Of course, she doesn't remember as much as I do since my Lola was with me for most of my childhood. As immigrant, working parents, the Colonel and Rambo didn't have a network of friends and relatives, so the Colonel's parents, my Lolo and Lola would take turns coming from the Philippines to help raise me. It wasn't too unusual for my parents to do this, since having three (even four) generations in a family is customary in the Philippines.

I remember when one grandparent would be here they would ask for me to write a letter to the other. Ever since I could remember living with one grandparent in my parents home, I would write, "To my dearest Lolo, to my dearest Lola..." As a child, the letters wouldn't be too long, maybe one page and a drawing I made in school. Each letter would state pretty much the same thing: how happy I was to hear from them, how I'm doing in school, what I'm doing in school, how my parents were doing, how my dog was doing, and how I was being a good girl. In return, I would also receive letters stating the same thing: how was my health, how happy they were to hear from me, how happy they were that I was doing well in school, to always remember to be healthy, remember my prayers and be good to my parents. I exchanged letters with my grandparents for about a good decade or so in my life. Initially, it was part of a routine, something I always just did, not until I came across a letter my Lolo wrote during my freshman year of college did I realize how important these letters were. Reading through my Lolo's letter, I can imagine him sitting at his writing desk, my letter on the left, his cup of coffee on the right, inserting the delicate typing paper into his now antiqued, typewriter, communicating with his Apo (granddaughter). How beautiful these letters are to read now!

In an age of e-mails, texts, acronyms, half sentences, one word answers, emoticons, I wonder (and sometimes fear) what communications my own children, future grandchildren will remember of me? I've heard that some parents create an e-mail address for each of their children to "write" like a journal of letters of their youth. I haven't tried that, I'm actually still open to writing letters, starting with, "To my dearest Apo..."

Relishing ME Time

2010-08-17T20:12:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting at my kitchen table with dinner cooking on the stove. Listening to the new Roots album from my iTunes. A glass of cab on my left, the mouse on my right. It's a unique Tuesday at 7:57 pm. A Tuesday with NO KIDS.

Spaghetti and Meatball are ending their summer with some much needed grandparent time. I honestly don't know who needed it more: me, my husband, the girls or the grandparents. The funny thing about enjoying this silence is the dread I felt knowing these 4 life-without-kids'-days were coming. The guilt of feeling happy about them being gone hung over me like a fog. I couldn't see through the guilt and be honest with myself enough to say, "Self, you need this break."

This kind of reminds me of habits and routines. We get so used to doing the same thing in and out week by week with the kids in tow. Take them here, take them there, make them dinner, help with homework, read them a story, put them to bed, hope they stay in bed. Lather, rinse, repeat. I find myself getting so caught up in these routines, for my kids, that it takes NO KIDS days like this to realize how dependent I am on them as they are on me. Sadly, I had to force myself to remember what I needed to take care of ME on this day 1 of 4 NO KIDS days. But I'm happy to report it was worth it!

Getting caught up in day to day when you don't know which way is up has only come upon me recently with the event of the 2 year old Spaghetti aka our tornado, but that's another blog post. Tonight, I'm happy with refilling my wine glass, enjoying a meal for 2 with Pretty Pants, turning off this computer and enjoying the silence sans kids.

Rice - It's what brings us together

2010-08-04T20:13:00.000-07:00

The most common staple in our household has to be rice. We have rice for the majority of our meals. Rice with dinner, rice with lunch, rice with breakfast. You get the picture.

I find it so fascinating that food is a way of learning about one's culture (think Anthony Bourdain's popularity) or in this case, retaining one's cultural heritage. For as long as I could remember, all my family meals were served with rice and now as an parent, I've subconsciously taken this way of eating with me and serve my family rice with every meal. In fact, Spaghetti's favorite meal is chicken with rice!

There isn't too much variance away from eating rice. I actually think it would be very challenging not to have rice as part of our diet. Part of the reason why is because we're so used to it, the other half would probably be the fear of losing that part of my identity. Remembering fond memories of partaking in meals (rice included) w/my parents and wanting the same for my children may just put more emphasis on rice not just for a meal but to hold on to the tradition.

Do you have any foods in your family that have stood the test of time?

Traveling with the kiddos

2010-07-26T21:06:00.000-07:00

Traveling with Spaghetti and Meatball is an art all on its own. It takes me a good week before any trip to start prepping and packing for our family. This rings especially true since both the hubs and I are both working and can maybe at the most allot one hour each day prior to a coming trip to pack anything we may need, lest we forget.

I always start with the girls first. Count out the days to equal the number of outfits divide the number of outfits in half and add the half to the pile. This formula equals to one and a half of the trip's worth of clothes for each of them. Why? They're kids and with kids accidents happen. And I know for a fact, I'm not going to find myself washing clothes on vacation. Along with their clothes, add shoes, socks, hair clips, toiletries, sun block, hats, books, toys, dvds, and dvd player to take along on the plane and other modes of transportation. Top off with Spaghetti's Pull-Ups and wipes, little bottle of detergent (just in case) and of course 3 or 4 reusable shopping bags and 3 or 4 quart and gallon size Ziploc bags because you never know when you're going to need them. Set aside the traveling car seat and traveling umbrella stroller, which should be as lightweight and fast to collapse should you happen to fall in line at a very busy airport security line.

The day of traveling, I dress the girls in layers. Easy removable layers and easy slip on shoes (again for airport security line ease). One bag for snacks, toys, and other distractions for the plane/car and another bag for in-case-those-bastards-lose-our-luggage packed with at least one day of wardrobe, extra pull-ups and wipes.

Can I begin packing for Pretty Pants and I yet?!? You get the picture, traveling with kiddos is a ton of work and preparation. But all in all, priceless.

dog days of summer

2010-07-21T21:16:00.000-07:00

My parents rarely eat out. I don't know how they do it. Even as a child, I don't recall eating out at all during the week. The only eating out we did was our Sunday after Mass lunch ritual which went from Chicken Tenders at Burger King, to the lunch buffet at Pizza Hut, and the big time: Lo Mein and Moo Goo Gai Pan at the local Chinese restaurant, the Great Wall. Good stuff, really it was.

Now that I'm a parent in a dual income household (just like my parents), I just can't fathom how they found the time or maybe the energy to prepare home cooked meals every day. Incredible! .I can almost hear Rambo, my father, exclaim when we're at a restaurant he's not too fond of, "You know this chicken here, I can cook this at home and you can pay me half the price!" Goodness.

Most times I wish I had that discipline, that energy, that developed practice of eating at home all the time. Then there are times like below, when you just need a break from the norm and take your little one, like Spaghetti, to the local food court and partake in dollar Tuesday at Hot Dog on a Stick! One hot dog, two hot dog, three hot dogs she scarfed down to that little belly of hers. For $3 dollars, I got this memory and maybe that's worth more sometimes than eating at home, just like Sunday after Mass lunch rituals...

Practicing the art of discipline

2010-07-13T20:15:00.000-07:00

I just took Spaghetti out of a time out. Nothing new. Our 2 and a half year old gets a timeout at least twice a week. We plop her down while she screams and wails in the same timeout spot as I glance over at the clock, counting down five minutes. I'm sure those 5 minutes feel like hours in 2 and a half year old time. At this point, I'm not sure if timeouts are effective. I haven't read any books on discipline in a while, just recalling trial and error from disciplining her older sister, the Meatball (who, by the way, was and still is a saint growing up).

With Spaghetti it's a little different, she has a stubborn streak. My parents (and husband) say she's a lot like me. Go figure. So when it comes down to discipline, I try to be as firm and patient as possible, but like any one there is always the last straw pulled, the pushed button, the last nerve struck that gets my blood boiling where I cannot control it anymore and I become, my mother.

Well almost my mother. My mother was a hands off disciplinarian and a big fan of crying it out. She was the kind of parent that could take one look at you with a face full of disdain and in the next minute glance away and ignore you as if she could care less. From a child's perspective (aka what I remember from when I was little), a child wants and needs acceptance especially from their parents, this move worked on me every time. She had this tactic down so well that my challenging, stubborn attitude diminished in seconds as her glare drowned me in guilt for even reacting. She had one of those glares that made you think twice about what you were doing and had you figure out fast that you were and always will be wrong. And boy did that wrong feel bad! I can remember wailing about one thing or another one second then begging and pleading for her forgiveness forgetting whatever the reason was I was wailing about. Throwing tantrums at my mother were battles I never won and I hated it, especially the feeling of not knowing if my mother actually cared if I was wailing on the floor for her for what seemed like days.

I remember feeling so alone during those times. I promised myself that I would never do that to my children and even if they would be a pain, I wouldn't leave them to 'cry it out' extensively. After the Meatball was born, I finally asked my mother why she handled my tantrums that way. "My goodness, anak(child in Tagalog), you still remember those!?!" in her Filipino accent. "Uh yah, you made me feel really bad." "I did not hurt you. You are too sensitive. Emotional." "Gee thanks, Mom." "You know what, anak? I was just tired. I worked so long hours for you and then you were so active, I cannot entertain you so much." "Maybe I was just happy to see you, Mom." "I know, I think you were so hyperactive too." "Why didn't you just tell me you were tired back then, Mom?" "I am not so good in communication like you. We do not do that in the Philippines so much." "Oh." "You are better with Spaghetti and Meatball than me. You are able to talk to them and have patience. You are good in the parenting."

After this conversation, I understood my mother and her ways. A tired, working mother doesn't have that much energy at the end of the day to pay their children the attention they need. I guess that's the trade off. Our main difference is that I may communicate it better before I impose firmer discipline. I can tell you that half of the reason why I communicate it, is probably because of my own experience. The other half lies in our cultural difference. Growing up, my mother never exercised many emotions. If you were quiet and followed orders, that meant you were well behaved and that's all parents expected. Everything else wasn't really defined. Here it seems like everyone expresses themselves in one way shape or form. I wonder if the combination of the two is effective? I guess, only time will tell.

Happy Fourth!

2010-07-04T22:55:00.000-07:00

Don't ask me how but I've known the lyrics to Lee Greenwood's class "God Bless The USA" for as long as I remember. And I couldn't think of a better day than the 4th of July to share it with all of you. Thanks to YouTube I was able to pull up American Idol, Season 2's rendition for your viewing pleasure since Mr. Greenwood's music video doesn't necessarily represent the United States I love and live in. But that's one of the beauties of living in this country, to each his own.

How much more patriotic can you get?!? American. American and Filipino. In between. Or maybe not in between, maybe I've come to the point in my life when both perspectives co-exist successfully within me. How do I know? Last week, I was running through YouTube checking out the NY Handog Project's rendition of Handog Ng Pilipino Sa Mundo (translated, "The Filipinos Gift To The World) and well today, it's "God Bless The USA". Both brought the same feeling of pride. Of connection. Of my identity. And maybe my history doesn't go back to 1776 and I'd probably have a harder time tracing my ancestors through the Smithsonian, but I am an American. Born here to immigrant parents who served in the United States Armed Forces, raising my children as Americans, continuing our history with our roots in the Philippines but our story in the United States.

Cheers to celebrating yours!

The bummer of summer: a half sister experience

2010-07-01T20:38:00.000-07:00

It's summer, which means the Meatball is off to her Dad's 8 hours away. It didn't use to be as hard when Spaghetti was a baby. But this summer the connection between the two sisters is beginning to show.

When we get in the car, Spaghetti announces, "Let's go pick up Meatball!" When we prepare Spaghetti's bath, she screams, "I want to take a bath with my Ate! (Tagalog word for big sister). When we put her to bed, "I want to sleep with Ate!" Spaghetti whimpers.

It's definitely beginning to show. And I know it's going to get worse, before it gets any better. As Spaghetti grows and starts to realize what spending summers away from the Meatball really means, it kills to see the deeper sadness in her face masked by her innocent confusion. My mother only shakes her head in dismay for the separated sisters. "Kawawa naman. (translated to how sorry they are, how sad), she empathizes about the girls' summer separation. She's probably praying right now for the Meatball's swift return. The downside of blended families.

Don't wake the sleeping toddler

2010-06-28T21:09:00.000-07:00

Spaghetti is not a sleeper. Right now, she is currently asleep in the hallway since she is not a sleeper. Ever since the Meatball left for the summer (more on that in another post), Pretty Pants and I have been struggling to get our rambunctious toddler on a sleeping routine.

It was easier during the school year as the Meatball and Spaghetti would sleep together. But now that she's all by her lone self, adding the fact that Spaghetti is a light close to non-sleeper, all free time in the evening has been lost to trying to put Spaghetti to sleep. For the last 30 days, we've tried them all: coercion, threats, routine, even falling asleep beside her... none of them seem to work consistently.

So for now, I give up. Today, I'll scoop her up off the floor after I've had my 'me' time and tuck her away in her bed. Because most times, life like an eager toddler, does not want to fit into a routine.

Parenting and loving the Lakers: teachings from a surprising resource!

2010-06-18T23:07:00.000-07:00

Last night was a momentous night in our household! Even if you don't follow national basketball (NBA), just turn on any national news program and you will know the Los Angeles Lakers beat the Boston Celtics in a seven game series (for those not basketball savvy that's playing up to 7 straight games almost every other day until one team achieves 4 wins, whew) for the 2010 Championships!

Being a Southern California transplant, I brought my love for the Lakers with me to Northern California. It's few and far between to find another adult Laker fan in my area so I've succumbed to breeding Laker fans to share in my interest with Spaghetti and Meatball. At this point, you may giggle at the thought, you may even find it slightly amusing but if you've never experienced being a sports fan of any kind, I assure you, you are missing out.

Why, you may ask? Because at this point, for me, being a Laker fan is not just something you watch, it's something you live. For 9 months out of the year, my household is dedicated to following this team, sharing in their wins and losses, feeling the pain of their injuries, appreciating the glimpses into their personal lives and revel as they take the national championship! The best thing about it all? Someone else 'out there' that may come from a totally different lifestyle, gender, environment, socio-economic level, religious belief, whatever it may be feels the exact same way. Imagine being in a sports arena, with 19,000 other fans feeling the exact same way!?! That kind of positive energy is tremendous, infectious, and inspirational. Being a fan is also not a yearly event, I've been a part of a fan base that has had the opportunity to watch Kobe Bryant grow through tremendous pains and obstacles from his days as a rookie, to a spoiled rock star, to the scandals in the press, to his rise as a leader filled with maturity and humility. And the funny thing is I'm not even a Kobe fan but this provides an example of the many story lines that follow a basketball team.

Sportsmanship, commitment to something you believe in, the sense of belonging to something bigger that them through the camaraderie of fans are all things I have learned and felt from being a fan and enjoy it so much I'm happy to breed Spaghetti and Meatball into fans to share in the experience. Even if they don't understand the game to the fullest just yet, they enjoy the cheering, the booing, the clapping, the shouting and the special connection we have through the experience.

I can't speak enough about how I much elation I feel, so much pride in my hometown and for my home team, but I definitely can't encapsulate it all in one blog posts since there seems to be so many different aspects to why I enjoy it so much and share that joy with my girls.

(top photo: Meatball, age 3, 2005, Staples Center; bottom photo: Spaghetti, age 2, 2010, our newest fan)

Disclosure: Although Pretty Pants can appreciate my dedication to the Los Angeles Lakers and supports raising the girls as Laker fans let it be known he is a Golden State Warriors fan. Thank you.

Let's Remember

2010-05-31T09:17:00.000-07:00

Girls Night Out reinvented

2010-05-27T22:44:00.000-07:00

I dare go out on weeknights for any reason. It's just way too exhausting for me to have to lug around two girls (who are just as tired and hungry after a long day of school) after hours at the office and a brief commute to pick them up, all I ever really want to do is go home. Maybe because I know it doesn't end there. Once we arrive home, I've got a couple more hours until the girls are fed, bathed and put to sleep until I can exhale. Only to do it all over again the next day.

Sometimes there will be one rare yet random night, that I feel a little brave and actually take the girls out after school. Mind you, my weariness runs an extra lap around my head as I hope and pray that taking the girls out doesn't backfire to the point where I'm crossing my fingers for no tantrums during our outing.Yes, going out on a weeknight, stresses me out that much. So as we sat down for a weeknight meal outside the home the server approaches and says, "Ah, Girls Night Out I see." My eyes peered up toward her from the menu confused at her statement. Girls Night Out?!? But I'm with... oh wait... I am with my girls! I smiled and looked at my lovely daughters, who at that moment looked just as exhausted and hungry as they always do on a weekday until they felt the positive energy from my smile and mirrored it right back. "Let's order champagne!" I suggest to the server, "Oh and two milks for them, thanks." Thank goodness for that server who changed my perception on taking the girls out on weeknights. Girls night out, indeed.

The uncomfortable truth: a pet's death, revisited.

2010-05-24T22:18:00.000-07:00

It's been over a week since our guinea pig, Tina's death and my husband, Pretty Pants still hasn't taken her cage down. Maybe he's still mourning? I'm not really sure. We finally sat down, our eldest daughter and Tina's proud owner, the Meatball, and told her the sad news over the weekend. I've been the bearer of bad news by myself as a single parent for some time before my husband came along so I decided it was his turn at bat. After a few rounds of laughing, giggling and tickling playing dogpile, toddler sister, Spaghetti included, Pretty Pants told the girls to settle down because he had an announcement.

As the girls came to attention, Pretty Pants reminded Meatball of how Tina was in the hospital. The Meatball nodded as my husband paused then stated, "Well, Tina's in heaven now." I shot a confused glance at my husband thinking why did he have to use that phrase!?! Tina's in heaven now!?! Couldn't he just have announced with more direction, "Tina's passed away?!?" The moment my glance caught my husband's eye, the Meatballs' eyes started to swell with tears as she wailed briefly. Like 45 seconds briefly. Like her expression took a 180 degree turn from an I-just-lost-everything wail to a glimmer of hope and excitement like one would see from a child passing a candy store as she squealed, "Can we get a new one?" Can we get a new what? Cue another confused glance except this time by both parents.

A few days have passed and as Pretty Pants still hasn't taken down Tina's cage, greeting Tina is still a part of our coming home routine. The Meatball will run to greet Tina only to stop herself remembering she isn't and will never be in her cage anymore. Yet, children are funny beings as displayed in the Meatball's unexpected preliminary reaction to her pet's death. We'll never know why she didn't mourn any longer or if she needed to. Or perhaps my daughter already knew of Tina's passing. Who knows? All we, as parents, can do is to prepare and of course, expect the unexpected.

The uncomfortable truth: explaining a pet death to your child

2010-05-20T22:22:00.000-07:00

It's been three days since we decided to put Tina, the Meatball's guinea pig to sleep. Three days of the Meatball asking when Tina would be back from the hospital (veterinarian). Three days of me responding with, "I don't know, Meatball, I guess she's really sick." Three whole days of postponing the inevitable: sitting down with the Meatball and telling her, her guinea pig of a year and a half is dead. Yes, I'm guilty of lying to my child.

Lying to my child about our dear family pet has left me feeling incredibly guilty, especially since it's key to the strategy Pretty Pants and I conjured up and agreed upon regarding Tina's fate. For the past couple months, we started noticing a bald spot emerging from the little guinea pig's back. Unsure what it was and praying it would just go away, the spot just kept growing. For a creature that small, there isn't that much space to begin with. Long story short (and to avoid getting into the gory details), Pretty Pants and I finally decided Tina needed to be checked out by a professional. Two coinciding thoughts were running through our minds about this experience: 1) we sincerely hoped Tina would be okay and the veterinarian could treat her what appeared to be infected spot and 2) this better not cost a fortune for a small guinea pig. After getting the girls ready for school, my husband engaged the Meatball in helping him get Tina ready for the "hospital". He pulled out a shoe box and had Meatball poke holes in the box so Tina could breathe. As Pretty Pants placed Tina in the box, our 2 year old, Spaghetti waved at the box encouragingly, "Bye Tina, bye!", while the Meatball stared pensively at the box she was given to lay on her lap on the ride to school.

After Pretty Pants dropped the girls off to school, he took Tina to the vet. The vet told my husband of our choices. They would have to perform surgery on Tina to remove the bump ($297). They can only test the bump post surgery, meanwhile we would be given medication to treat Tina's recovery (at an additional cost of $150). Yikes. Pretty Pants and I couldn't help but agree that it would be too costly for us to move forward with this scenario, which only left us with the decision no one ever wants to make, not even for their pets. Again we were hit by a slew of costs in various packages! Package 1: Put Tina to sleep, cremate her body and have the clinic spread her ashes over the ocean ($200) Package 2: Put Tina to sleep and cremate her body ($150) Package 3: Put her to sleep ($50 and my husband was able to negotiate a complimentary disposal). Goodness. We did feel slightly guilty for choosing package 3 because we do understand the connection's one can make with their pets. Maybe if Tina were a dog and had lived with us for years we'd be dishing out thousands to save her, but she wasn't and we did the best we could with what we had. Inevitably, the risk of performing surgery on such a small animal who would probably suffer and die sooner than later made our case. But now we're faced with the consequence of telling the Meatball, the painful truth.

Growing up I had one dog. His name was Prince. We had him ever since I could remember and he moved with us everywhere: the Philippines, North Dakota, California. Prince lived a long life, about a good 15 years, to the point where he was suffering from blindness as he would run into hallway walls at my parents home. One summer, while I returned home from college, I noticed Prince wasn't there to greet me. I asked Rambo where Prince was and he told me nonchalantly, "Oh we put him to sleep about four months ago. He was already old you know." I was devastated. My closet childhood friend gone without my knowledge for four months! But that's how my parents treated pets. Of course, they love all their pets, treated them well, kept them fed and taken care of but there wasn't that apparent attachment nor affection as one would see in the States. I knew my parents cared for their pets deeply, since they would never leave them for long periods of time, but they were also realistic about growing old and death. I will never know.

Now as a parent, I'm faced with telling my child about the death of her pet. Pretty Pants and I have danced around how to tell her for three whole days and decided that over the weekend would be the best bet. I know that Tina's death doesn't carry as much weight to us as an actual person would have been, but to the Meatball it may be one in the same. We're still not sure how to approach it, realistically like my father had done? Come with a plan B/distraction? Tell her the truth? Or twist the truth a little bit as to not hurt her or have her blame us? We're just going to have to wing this one and find out.

Rest in peace, Tina.

How have you approached pet deaths in your household?

Date Night. Just do it!

2010-05-16T23:36:00.000-07:00

Pretty Pants and I have been trying to get a date night off the ground for months. Between two full time jobs, Spaghetti and Meatball, our home, our extended family, our friends, etc, it's been challenging to focus on our marriage/relationship. It's not that we haven't had any date nights or haven't scheduled anything out. But after being pulled in several different directions (aka priorities/responsibilities) on a daily basis, our date nights usually surrender to our exhaustion. Meaning more likely than not, if we had one free night that wasn't scheduled and the girls weren't with us date night would be us in our jammies by 10pm catching up on the DVR. Woo hoo date night!

Now I'm not saying that isn't fun, snuggling up to my husband and sitting in complete silence as my brain goes to mush in front of the TV BUT it's supposed to be date night, right? So then we try to change it up a little and get excited about going out to dinner. As parents to young children, eating at a restaurant without your kids is as exciting as wondering what gifts you're going to get at Christmas! It's that big of a treat. For us it almost doesn't matter where we eat, we're just happy that we don't have to feed or clean up after anyone but ourselves.With that in mind a night free of the girls ends up at a restaurant we visit regularly just because we're happy enough that we get to eat kid-free. Date night, still doesn't sound that exciting does it? How about I add a trip to the movies!?! No? Woo hoo? Goodness, I sound like an old married woman just talking about it, dinner and a movie, good times.

Not to say these two types of date nights aren't fun but they have the words lazy due to exhaustion written all over them. Over the weekend, my husband and I decided to break out of that mold. Although we were both exhausted from the week we made an effort to get out and check out a band. When we got there, I immediately went for a Red Bull and Grey Goose cocktail because I knew we were staying out past midnight (exhaustion rearing it's ugly face again). After thirty minutes and still tired, I was already thinking about when we would be going home to wake up in time for the next day's schedule. Yet, I was determined to fight off the exhaustion and have some adult fun. It seems that my husband shared the same sentiments and we ended up staying for the whole show. High fives all around for us staying out until 3 am!

The moral of my post is this: All of us get so caught up in our lives, where we tend to lose sight of experiences that matter most, which usually reside in our relationships. Whether they're planned date nights or random nights alone, make the effort to make the most of that time. Choosing to love rather than choosing to sleep (unless of course the lack of sleep makes you cranky then before you know it you're at each other's throats instead) will hopefully make for some fantastic memories for you and your partner to share.

Got a great date night idea? Do share!

Blending the American "dream"

2010-05-13T22:09:00.000-07:00

For as long as I could remember I was supposed to be a doctor. "What are you going to be when you grow up?" Even at an early age, I would answer the most common adult to child question with great confidence, "A doctor!" Of course, this answer would be received with proud grins, eyes and nods from any of the following: the Colonel, Rambo, an auntie, an uncle, Lola or Lolo or even from all these folks in the same room. Nonetheless, it was my dream or at least what I thought was my dream. Maybe because that's what the Colonel did or maybe it was because I wore her doctor's coat as my Halloween costume for 3 years straight beaming with pride as I would glance down on the embroidered letters that spelled my name with the salutation, "M.D." after it. Or maybe it was because my own Lola one day told me how great it would be for me to take after my mother and how proud she would be if her apo also became a doctor and how I would make everyone so proud. As a young child I had no idea what that meant, proud. But I figured, by the way their faces lit up with joy and hope that it must have been a good thing. And as a child, all you want to do is make the others around you happy. So when that one day came and my Lola told me how great it would be for me to, "Study hard, get good grades, get honors, so you can be a doctor just like your mom, so we will all be so proud." There was nothing left to do but nod and announce, "Okay Lola, yes I want to be a doctor!"

And that's how the journey of what-I-thought-was-my-dream-but-it-really-wasn't-but-I-did-it-anyway-because-I-was-too-young-to-know-any-better started. Lucky for me and most of my academic career, getting good grades came easy. Straight As? Done. Honors? Easy peasy. Seems like I was on the glory road, on my way to make my whole family, proud. Being the eldest granddaughter, to the eldest child of my grandparents on my mother's side and the only American born (most of the Colonel's siblings never immigrated to the United States, hence I was the only American born cousin for a very long time) I was perfection. As I grew older, entered high school and started noticing boys, the "dream" started to take more shape. Visits to medical schools with my parents would add to the "dream": 4 years, graduate high school, 4 more years, graduate college, another 4 more years graduate med school (insert meet future husband here, who would probably be white but more on that in another post), a couple years or so of residency, one year of globe-trotting with my now fiance, wedding, happily ever after to include the white picket fence. It was the perfect dream. It just wasn't mine.

Fast forward to present day and if you've been following this blog, you would know that "dream" didn't happen. For a plethora (and possibly quite a lot of material for the blog) of reasons, I, after 2 and a half years of being a failing biology major in undergrad just stopped the "dream". No longer could I rely on stellar grades coming easily, in college, I actually had to work for it. And how can one work hard at something they didn't love? But even though the "dream" stopped, it took another couple more years to let it go. Just imagine growing up thinking, more importantly, believing you were to become something then gradually realizing that the path you were on wasn't your journey at all? That's a huge pill of unlearning to swallow! But in my own beginning (also known as the end of that "dream") it was the best decision I ever made.

Now that I have children of my own, do I want to encourage them to be doctors? Sure! A little hard work for a profession that provides without a doubt financial security is always something I will promote. And it will make me proud. The difference? I am mindful to communicate to my girls that anything they do, dream of doing, pursue and fail but try their best will make me proud. Growing up I never got the explanation of what actually would make my family proud, I thought the pride from would only come from the straight shot route of being a doctor. And that left me confused for a very long time. From my family in the Philippines perspective, it's easy now to understand why they associate pride and success with prestige and money. I think as Filipino-Americans we fail to remember the environment our native families came from where financial hardship (for my families at least) was a part of life. Whereas here in the United States following the "dream" is supposed to mean following what makes you happy. So, who's right? Does success equal achieving financial stability? Or does success equal achieving one's dream without a dollar sign attached to it? How about both?

As I observe the girls grow and pick up certain skills: Meatball loves to build and has a great eye for color matching and Spaghetti loves to be active and socialize) I feel it's my responsibility to nurture these budding skills. Create a blank canvas of opportunity for them to figure out what they like and don't like but constantly reminding them to finish what they started. With that in mind, I don't know what the future will hold for their dreams. I just know that I'll be there to support them.

When the hot water runs out, using a tabo: Filipino - American style

2010-05-06T21:09:00.000-07:00

My sincerest apologies for my three week hiatus! I've really missed blogging! Believe me when I tell you it was unintentional and I promise I'll give fair warning the next time it happens. Moving right along check the story below as to one of the reasons for my blog absence.

My most recent memory of the tabo was visiting my Lolo and Lola's (meaning grandfather and grandmother in Filipino, respectively) farm in one of the provincial areas. About 12 years ago, they still did not have hot water running through their bathroom pipes. Since the Philippines is an assortment of tropical islands, there wasn't really much of a need for hot water anyway only to accommodate a luxury for American me. Back then, I remember complaining about no hot water to the Colonel. I mean really? How could one not take a shower without it? Overhearing our conversation, my Lola pulled out her biggest pot, filled it with water and put it on the stove. Minutes later, she took the same pot now steaming from the boiling water, walked it over to their bathroom and told me I could shower now. My naive, spoiled self glanced strangely back and forth at my grandmother and the pot that she put in the shower stall. "What am I supposed to do with that, Lola?", I asked, trying not to sound as respectful as my frustrated, impatient self could muster. "You use the tabo, apo(grandchild in Filipino). You look in the pot, I put a tabo there so you can have the hot water." As I looked into the pot I saw what looked like a gallon sized cup with a handle that I wasn't sure I knew what to do with. But when I looked back at my Lola she had such a big smile plastered on her face because she felt that she accommodated her American grandchild, that I knew I had to at least give it a shot. With no hot water and barely any water pressure from the faucet (they didn't have a shower head either) what would normally take 15 minutes in the shower took me a good 45 -50 minutes at my grandparents' provincial home. During that time, I hated every moment of it in so many different ways: a part of me hated that I had to go through something I wasn't used to but another part of me felt such guilt for hating the experience and wishing painfully for the luxuries of my home in the United States. Oddly enough, none of it felt humbling until I returned home.

image taken from: http://liveinthephilippines.com/content/2008/06/how-to-know-youve-adjusted/

So over the weekend, our home ran out of hot water. Instinctively, I thought, "Oh great. Tabo time." Like my Lola, I found the biggest pot I could find, filled it with water and put it on the stove. Pretty Pants asked curiously what I was doing and I went on to explain my experience in the Philippines and how that experience really came into play now. He looked at me with both curiousity and amusement. As I put the pot and a makeshift tabo (7-11 Big Gulp cup) for my husband, he laughed, "So you want me to use the tabo, huh?" "Well we don't have any hot water, what are you going to do?" Up for the experience he gave it a shot. And, like me hated it. For the next few hours we waited patiently in the hopes that the hot water would miraculously turn back on, but it never did. It was a Sunday so there wasn't anyone we could find to check out our water heater. My husband, although he was trying to be a good sport about the whole tabo experience remarked at how he still didn't feel clean afterwards and wondered how we were going to use the tabo with the girls? We ended up checking into a hotel that night.

As you can see maybe we aren't the family that's cut out for roughing it. But looking back, having the experience of no hot water or running water in the Philippines was truly a humbling experience and reminded me of the many things we consider necessities in the United States are mere luxuries for those in countries that have less and that reminder overall is priceless.

A waste not tale from my Filipino father

2010-04-15T21:22:00.000-07:00

Rambo is a stickler for anything that he thinks may go to waste: food, clothes, even furniture. Like I discussed in my Officially My Father Moment I do believe it comes from his childhood in the Philippines. Yet, growing up I never understood why. But here are a few more examples: we always had a dog to eat our leftovers. (For all you dog lovers out there who are gasping in disbelief, believe me, I've already discussed the potential hazards of human food for dogs.), when my family and I visit my parents home (aka the house where I grew up) I'll find clothes still hanging in my closet from 11th grade and my mother, the Colonel had once surprised Rambo with some new furniture for his home office which now resides adjacent to his tired, old desk. Living in a society bent on reduce, reuse, recycle, I've found their "strategy" very frustrating. Now, I wouldn't consider it an escalated problem like some folks. But I definitely see it stemming from a place of having nothing to having the opportunity to have everything.

So you can imagine his shock, when he finds out his American raised daughter is re-organizing her closet and "giving away" clothes to the Salvation Army. "Why can't you just put those in a box and I'll send it to the Phillippines!?!" "Dad, you live 6 hours away. I want to get rid of this stuff now. You want me to wait for you to send it to the Philippines when there are people here just in need of these clothes?" "Hmmmph. You are always wasting."

Or when his American daughter buys a new pair of sneakers when he has found some in her childhood closet that are in "perfect" condition that were bought over 15 year ago. Vintage? I think not. "Hmmph. You are always wasting."

I find this an interesting dilemma. On one hand, I find my father's tale very valuable: to be mindful of what you need and what you actually use so nothing goes to waste. On the other hand, it feels really stressful: to work so hard in life only to find yourself in a position to acquire new items but living in the guilt of not wanting to feel like the older things are going to waste if you throw or give them away. I sometimes see this conflict in my father's eyes, when he recounts stories of his childhood, when life was simpler: when you didn't need a tv, when him, my uncle and my two aunts shared a room with the floor as their bed and when nobody cared if he wore the same pants 3 days in a row to school. "You know, dear, even when we(his family) had nothing, we still had each other and we were happy." Well said, Dad, well said.

But behind all the talk of sayang lays an important point. Happiness shouldn't stem from our possessions but from our family, right? If the American dream is made up of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. It would be safe to assume that happiness comes in all forms. But for an immigrant who's seen the face of poverty to pursue happiness in its materialistic form, can be very frightening and almost surreal, so much so you don't want to see any of it go to waste.

So I take my father's tale in stride, preaching his words (and mine) to the girls in the hopes that they are able to find their own balance between too much and too little and what it truly means to reap the benefits of hard work and perseverance. Although I will never truly be able to wrap my head around his journey (but I hope to) I will never forget his lessons on the value of hard work and sayang.

I've been Officially My Mother (er Father) -ed!

2010-04-14T15:10:00.000-07:00

Ever since I officially started Spaghetti and Meatball, I've been blessed with virtually meeting mommy bloggers on several sites. JustMommies and TwitterMoms to name a few, have been great communities where I've found other mommy bloggers with such inspiring, engaging, funny and relatable stories. One of these mommies is Robin from Officially My Mother!

Robin is awesome at engaging her readers by having them submit their own experiences about when they officially turned into their parents. (Who would've thought!?!)

Check out my submission below!

My officially my mother moment (actually my father) moment:

My dad hates when I or any of us in the family waste food. Just hates it. I assume it’s from growing up in near poverty in the Philippines and now having all he could ever want here. But still he hates it.

Case in point: he and my mother will take my family’s leftovers from our house (6 hours away) to his dogs back home if the leftovers are close to being perishable. Just so he won’t feel like it’s going in the trash. He’ll even remark, “What? You don’t like that anymore!?! It’s so good! Sayang!” (which means waste in Filipino)

So last week as I was watching my girls finish their dinner, my 8-year-old daughter, Meatball was eating only the leafy part of her bok choy (kinda like an Asian version of spinach). I asked her if she was going to eat it and she said no. I told her what a waste it was, grabbed it off her plate and ate all her half eaten vegetables… then realized I turned into my father. =/

Cheers to our new follow-ship!

come potty with me... part two

2010-04-11T21:29:00.000-07:00

You may remember our jump on the potty brigade? Well it's been about 2 months since we introduced Pull-Ups and the potty to Spaghetti. With the mild coercion from her school (okay, not mild, they forced us and we gave in) Spaghetti has been intermittently using her potty. To be quite honest, Pretty Pants and I haven't been putting in a 110% into the whole potty training thing only bringing her to her potty every couple hours or so when we remember instead of the advised one time every hour. Ah well.

Since Spaghetti had started potty training she also switched daycares (she now goes to daycare at the same school as the Meatball). My husband and I didn't inquire on their position on potty training. We figured we'd ask once she got a little more acclimated. However, last week, we got the the note. Please bring 5 pants, 5 pairs of socks and 5 panties for next week. Next week?!? Again, my anxiety shot through the roof! I thoroughly hate potty training. It took about forever (well not forever but awhile) to potty train the Meatball. I once had a puppy and had no patience in potty training him either, 13 year later the poor dog is still semi-potty trained. So when I got the note and when the provider asked, "Do you want to start tomorrow or wait until next week?" Of course, I responded, "Next week, I'm totally fine with next week, thanks."

I've already shared the reasons to my anxiety towards potty training. It seemed like Spaghetti picked up on my anxiety (or she's just brilliant) because as she watched me prepare her potty training supply. She quickly grabbed a panty and yelled, "I want to wear this!" Totally taken by surprise, I said, "What? You want to wear this, now?" She nodded her head in excitement and started to pull off her pants and Pull-Ups. I asked in hesitation, "Are you sure you don't want to wait until school tomorrow?" "No, Mommy I want to wear them now!" Great.

For the rest of the afternoon until dinner, bath time and bed time, Spaghetti got her wish. She wore a Pull-Up free panty, successfully! Not an accident in sight! Whew. Once bedtime rolled around and I put her in Pull-Ups she seemed to understand that maybe she wasn't ready to go without at night just yet. Looking back, it's a little funny in moments like these where I feel like my child is teaching me. With Spaghetti and her potty training, she was ready and she needed me to be ready. Which really meant I had to put all my anxiety and dread of the potential mess aside and step up to the plate for her. Support her efforts and who knows, she just may surprise me. In this instance, she surely did.

When did you know your child was ready for potty training?

Momma Mina Loves Yo Gabba Gabba!

2010-04-08T21:51:00.000-07:00

It's an exciting time for children's television! No longer are we in a society where parenthood is viewed as being old or out of style. Parents, we are now being described (and owning it!) as "cool", "chic", "modern", "hip". And sure that drives some criticism, but realistically, what generation before theirs didn't consider themselves perfect or patronized generation(s) that would follow?

But alas, that is a bigger topic than this post. With the natural progression of a generation maturing, we also see media that caters to their general interests (like the links above). Note to self: I am not as cool as the blogs I like, ho hum. I am however intolerant of a big, singing purple dinosaur, more intrigued about the backstory of Blue's owner(s), and let's not even talk about those four Australian (were they from Australia?) males who really looked ridiculous in those Star Trek outfits!

So thank God (really.) for Yo Gabba Gabba! Twenty minutes of dizzying fun, engaging visuals and Anthony Bourdain or the Roots or Biz Markie, say what? As for the educational piece (since we are parents after all), DJ Lance Rock and cast center each show around soft skills, the environment and holidays. Singing a song with the Roots about loving my family is definitely more appealing to my ears than the loving you, loving me of that dinosaur, who will still remained unnamed, sorry. Because aren't children shows supposed to be enjoyed by ALL family members?

Without further ado, some clips:
Children learn how dance moves with guest stars like Mya!

Yo Gabba Gabba comes to your town!

Finally, our family favorite:

Living without the Easter Bunny

2010-04-01T18:21:00.000-07:00

I called my mother, the Colonel recently to remind her about Easter. Since she is very religious, I didn't have to remind her about Easter Sunday Mass or Lent. What I did have to remind my Catholic mother about was the Easter Bunny. Here's the conversation:

"Mom, be sure to get something for the girls for Easter."

"What for? Don't we just do the egg hunting in the park?"

"No Mom, you have to get them something from the Easter Bunny, like an Easter basket."

"What is that Easter Bunny? I'm sorry honey but I do not do those things, those are like American things."

"Honestly Mom I don't really know what the Easter Bunny is either but that what they do here, so do it for the girls so that they will have the Easter Bunny. They will like it."

"Oh okay, where will I get these Easter Baskets?"

"Colonel, just go to the grocery store or Target they have ready made ones if you don't want to make one on your own."

" Oh okay, honey I'll get my apos (grandchildren in Pilipino), the Easter Baskets if that's what you guys do."

"Thanks Mom. "

If you haven't figured it out, the Easter Bunny didn't exist for me growing up. Nor did the Tooth Fairy, barely Santa and my Halloween costume every year was throwing my Mom's lab coat on and calling myself a doctor. Apparently they didn't have these characters in the Philippines and so when I would bring them up to my parents growing up they would just look at me like I was speaking a foreign language. It wasn't that my parents didn't try to make these characters happen for me. (They did put up a stocking after all, but didn't know they had to stuff it with toys.) They just weren't used to these American traditions and really saw no need for most of them. Santa was in, Tooth Fairy & Easter Bunny, out. I remember being so jealous of kids that would celebrate these characters and the holidays they belonged with and wanting that for myself. I guess you could say it was the start of my journey into assimilation. Being on the outside and looking in at all these fun traditions others were having was something that I couldn't comprehend as a child. I just wanted it all, the "American" dream. And as I look back, I realize they are dreams after all, these American characters that come with their traditions instilling an idea of fantasy, allowing children to dream. Of course, that is the ideal side of these traditions (let's not forget the uber-marketed side of said holidays).

Now as a parent myself, I have two perspectives to work off of. The practical piece due to my parents indifference to American traditions and the idyllic piece that stems from wanting those figures as a child. My girls get to look forward to Santa, the Tooth Fairy and Halloween. As a family, we celebrate these traditions enough for the girls to believe they exist (You won't catch me in a Christmas tree sweater, though!) and my reward comes in the look of excitement in their faces when 'dreams' come true. As for the Easter Bunny, well he's still not on our list, the baskets yes, sorry bunny, that's where I draw my line.

Whatever traditions you do or do not celebrate hope this holiday is a blessed one.

Happy Easter everyone!

Sibling Un-rivalry

2010-03-29T20:58:00.000-07:00

I have always had an issue with the Meatball and Spaghetti being 6 years apart. Not that I had planned their ages intentionally, but I guess in the grand scheme of things I would've liked to have seen a smaller age gap. I assumed that a smaller age gap would bring them closer together naturally or that they would just have more in common and relate as friends not just siblings. I was afraid that because of their difference in age they wouldn't be as bonded. But what did I know? I'm an only child. And now realize I didn't have a thing to worry about.

Ever since I was pregnant with Spaghetti though, I've almost always have gotten annoyed with family members (the Colonel and Rambo included) telling the Meatball how now that she was going to be a big sister, she had to help me out as much as she could. "Okay, Meatball, be sure to help your Mommy around the house now." "Meatball you have to help take care of your little sister for your mommy now." I would cringe every time someone would say something to that effect. I wasn't looking at our newest addition to turn the Meatball into Mommy's Little Helper or Mommy 2.0! I was worried that all this Meatball helping me around the house and with her sister would make her grow up too fast. All this advise motivated me to preserve Meatball's childhood as much as I could, especially when Spaghetti was born.

For the nine months of Spaghetti's life, I never asked the Meatball for help. I pretty much let her do her own thing (color, play legos, watch The Electric Company) and made sure that she knew she didn't need to help. For a while there I thought what I was doing worked well, however, I started to notice a couple things that I didn't expect. First, the Meatball wasn't connecting with her sister. She didn't know how to play with an infant and well there's not much playing going on with an infant. Secondly, the Meatball was starting to do more and more things by herself which seemed pretty isolating. Third, Pretty Pants and I were exhausted.

So I finally asked for help. I needed to take a shower and had asked the Meatball if she could just watch her sister. To my surprise the Meatball was very happy to take on this responsibility. It was almost like she took on this secondary maternal role towards her sister, which in reality, was her falling into the role of big sister! All my fears of her feeling too much obligation, too much responsibility once she had a sibling had diminished as I observed their sibling bond grow through the Meatball taking care of her sister. I guess that's what siblings are supposed to do. And maybe since I didn't have an example to reflect on, I couldn't understand the concept. Today, they are inseparable (at least for now); sleeping, eating, bathing, and playing together. Spaghetti adores the ground Meatball walks on, mimicking her every word and move. In turn, the Meatball adores her little sister, teaching and guiding her just as older sisters should. Do I still cringe at big sister, big obligation remarks? Yes, but in our house, it simply doesn't happen that way. These two have each others' backs, no obligation necessary.

It's just emotions, taking me over...

2010-03-23T22:25:00.000-07:00

Isn't it amazing how children's emotions can range from ridiculously frustrated to pensive to utter joy in 5 minutes or less? Playing around with my kinda new toy and doing what I like to do best: observe my girls in action, I saw just that, an almost rhythmic pattern of emotions playing out when Spaghetti doesn't get what she wants.

I couldn't even begin to tell you what this tantrum was about but I do know it began (and more importantly) ended in record time. Of course, Spaghetti loves to subject us to longer periods of tantrums but it must have been a special day because this one was quite short.

Honestly, I thought I was one of those few lucky parents that would never have a tantrum kid. I could almost apply Spaghetti's older sister, the Meatball for sainthood for blessing me with an almost-perfect-it's-scary childhood. Eight years tantrum-free? I was on a roll. Then along came Spaghetti, who my husband and I named Tornado for her boisterous, infectious and emotional personality. "My goodness," is all the Colonel could say in reaction to her second apo (grandchild in Pilipino) "that Spaghetti is something else." As I watch my mother observe my daughter, I could sense the curiousity and amusement in her gaze almost in wonder as to how a little 2 year old can emanate so many different emotions?

As a child, I, like the Meatball, was shy and introverted. So whenever I was anything other than quiet or polite my parents would look at me strangely. A perfect example would be my own tantrums at 8 years old, "Why are you crying?" The Colonel would ask quizzically as if she were asking me to solve for the Pythagorean theorem. "I don't know!" I recall screaming back exasperated. And that was the honest truth, I didn't know and the more the Colonel kept giving me that you-are-a-strange child look the deeper I fell into the hole of not recognizing what I was feeling.

As I look back, I realize that this wasn't their fault. My parents did not grow up in an environment that allowed them to talk about their feelings, much less attach names to them. Of course, they were happy, sad, angry, excited, they just never talked about them. Growing up in the Philippines was about working hard, studying hard and making sacrifices, there was no time wasted on figuring out emotions.

Remembering what it felt like to not have my mother understand me when I could barely understand myself as a child, I felt that it was really important to start identifying emotions at a young age with my girls. Even just naming their emotions when I sense a change in their mood or asking them questions to check in to see what they're feeling and also letting them know that it's perfectly okay to not feel or think of anything at all. (A tough one for us ladies, right?!?) Or throw a tantrum if you feel like it!

Any other techniques out there on teaching emotions?

The Family Meeting

2010-03-21T21:47:00.000-07:00

For the most part, the Meatball, a second grader gets excellent grades. So when she got a B- in Reading Comprehension, Pretty Pants and I were concerned. As a way to monitor her progress, we decided to hold what we called family meetings every Friday night after dinner. We used this time to review and discuss the Meatball's graded work from the week. With each of us sitting at the dining room table, (Little Spaghetti had to be preoccupied w/Yo Gabba Gabba during these times) the Meatball would introduce each paper, explain what was required of her and announce what grade she got. My husband and I would then take turns asking her questions or giving her comments about her work. Family meetings turned out to be very effective for us and a great tool for opening up dialogue. It was an opportunity for Meatball to have all our attention and a platform to learn how to present and communicate. The first few meetings we would get a lot of "I don't knows" or "I forgots" from the Meatball when she would present her work to us but after a couple rounds, she began to feel more comfortable expressing and communicating to us what she did learn and/or what she was struggling with.

Family meetings lasted for a good two months. (Consistency is so tough!) The Meatball's grades improved. We got busy and family meetings fell to the wayside. Until the Meatball brought up, "Why don't we have family meetings anymore?" Not wanting to give her the "we got busy" excuse, I replied, "Well, why don't you remind us?"
The next day on the refrigerator, I saw this:

I was so proud that the Meatball took the initiative and organized her own meeting! On Friday, she had all her homework prepared and ready to be presented. As she led her meeting, I found myself realizing how well we worked as a unit, a team, which just adds so much more to the concept of family. Just because Mommy and Dad aren't leading it doesn't mean that children cannot step up and take ownership over certain tasks or events to be seen and heard. Way to go Meatball!

wanted: babysitter - must be a relative or someone you know

2010-03-17T21:29:00.000-07:00

When I first moved up to the Bay Area I was a single parent to the Meatball who was only six years old. Having moved up here for school, I didn't have much of a support system to rely on. When I had told the Colonel and Rambo of my decision to uproot myself and the Meatball six hours away, they were very worried. Who would help me? Who would watch the Meatball while I was at school? Who did they know up there that can help? My parents scoured their resources to find anyone they knew. Because according to them, for darn sure, I wasn't going to get a stranger!

Growing up I never had a babysitter my parents didn't know already. It was as if the idea of having someone watch your child that was a stranger was the worst thing you could do. The only sitter I ever had was Aling(Ah-ling) Rose. Aling Rose was a kind, older Filipino lady that lived across the street from my elementary school. She had around 8 other Filipino kids that she would watch before and after school at her tiny one bedroom duplex that smelled like smoke (yes, Aling Rose was a smoker, yikes!), fried fish and Ben Gay and had the television blaring all day long. You could probably guess by now it wasn't the most enriching environment but it was what my parents were comfortable with.

So when it was time to search for a babysitter for the Meatball, Rambo finally found a cousin of his that happened to live in my neighborhood. He called her and arranged everything. I met "Tita" (meaning aunt in Pilipino) one night while my parents were in town to initiate the relationship. It was an odd sort of arrangement because I didn't know her but since my parents did and I was in a desperate situation, I agreed. According to my parents, Tita was to care for the Meatball on the evenings when I went to school. I would drop her off, I would pick her up. Sometimes she would make me food to bring home and we would have quick chats during the Meatball transactions, but other than that, to me, Tita was a stranger. When I would ask the Meatball what she did while at Tita's the answer was always the same, "I watched tv." Great, Aling Rose version 2.0.

Fast forward a couple months later and Tita babysitting was still awkward. I knew I needed to shop for a babysitter. I needed to find someone that would actually care for the Meatball, play with her, help her with her homework and follow the routine I set in place. With Tita babysitting all the structure fell to the wayside, for one she was doing it for free and well that's all the explanation you need really, right? With so much anxiety and borderline paranoia, I logged on to SitterCity for the first time and scoured the babysitters' profiles meticulously, wondering if there were any crazies behind any of these smiling faces.

I can't tell you I found the perfect stranger to babysit the Meatball on SitterCity. But what I did find was of pure coincidence, almost serendipitous. Turns out one of Pretty Pants's friend's sister (say that three times backwards) was on SitterCity! The search was over! In retrospect, I guess the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, just like my parents, I'll always try to find someone I know first and then hope for some good luck. Yet unlike my parents, I'll make sure the babysitter(s) actually provide a nurturing experience.

I am blogger, here me ROAR!

2010-03-15T12:02:00.000-07:00

I am definitely ecstatic that Spaghetti and Meatball has been picked up by Just Mommies Blogs! Just Mommies is an online parenting community packed with information, groups and a variety of resources on all things family. Every now and then, JM will be selecting posts from Spaghetti and Meatball to be published on their site.

This is such a great honor for me and I am truly humbled to be able to join the group of bloggers over at JM. Being in a community of authors that are willing to share their parenting experience as to help and support others is very inspiring and I'm so excited to be a part of it!

Go check it out, here!

A little dinner music

2010-03-13T11:30:00.000-08:00

Pretty Pants and I have a combined total of 4,432 songs on our iPods. 4,432! I'm sure a lot of you out there have so much more and if you do please tell me what you do with all that music?!? I was fortunate that my parents were avid music listeners and that we drove cross country (thrice!) so I really got into the habit of listening to music at an early age. Enough to collect music from various genres and artists that make up the soundtrack of my life. But I'll talk more about why I think music is so meaningful in a future post.

One way we incorporate music in our lives is playing music during dinner. We've already established the importance of eating together as a family but each time we sit down for our evening meal either my husband or I selects a genre or album we haven't heard in a while and have it play in the background. Our music selection can go from: pop, rock, r&b, soul, classical, international, hip hop, oldies, OPM (Original Pilipino Music) and holiday. (Christmas music starts playing in our house right after Halloween) The girls seem to enjoy it as we laugh and dance together in our seats or play the, "What instrument/artist is that?" recognition game. Playing music during dinner is another piece of our routine that I hope the girls will take with them when they have their own families. As I have fond memories of those cross country trips with my parents and the music they played I can only hope I've added to my girls' life soundtrack.

Here are some of the music we play during dinner:

sleeping like queens

2010-03-09T20:58:00.000-08:00

My two year old, Spaghetti, is not what I would call a good sleeper. Compared to her sister, Meatball, who has slept like an angel (on time and through the night) since birth, getting Spaghetti to sleep (and stay asleep has always been challenging. So when it was time for Spaghetti to make the transition to a toddler bed a couple months ago, she wouldn't have it.

My husband, Pretty Pants and I had the normal bedtime routine down: bath, story, prayer, song and a soothing sound machine. Even with all our efforts, she would still creep out of bed and try to sneak herself into her play things in the living room as if we wouldn't notice her. Since we were always in the living room after we put her to bed, we tried a different tactic and went to our bedroom instead in the hopes that Spaghetti would think everyone was sleeping too. This plan had a different success than we had expected. After a few hours of hiding out in our bedroom, my husband and I checked Spaghetti's room only to find she wasn't there! Instead, we found our girls, squished together on Meatball's twin sized bed sound asleep. All of a sudden, Spaghetti made a new bedtime routine: bath, story, prayer, song, soothing sound machine, sneak into my sister's bed.

After a few weeks of "sneaking around" my husband and I decided, why not just have them share a bed? It took us some time to deliberate over this matter. We considered their age gap (Meatball, 8; Spaghetti, 2) Would this be appropriate? Would they disrupt each other's sleep? I even asked my mother, the Colonel, only to get the 7-of-us-had-to-sleep-in-one-room-in-the-Philippines story on repeat. Then we asked Meatball if she thought it was okay and we knew she had mixed emotions about it: for one, she didn't know if she wanted to sleep with her sister but then again it was better than sleeping by herself, so she agreed. We couldn't afford to buy another bed but we did have a daybed with a trundle that the Colonel had given us for our spare bedroom. Luckily for us, we were able to convert the two twins we had to a king sized bed.

For a good two months, the transition worked out perfectly. For the girls, it was like a mini-slumber party every night before they went to bed. For my husband and I we were able to get an hour of our relaxation time back. We decided to check in with Meatball every six months or so to see if she was still okay with the sleeping arrangements. But at the same time, enforcing our parental authority that this is what they had to do. Lola, their grandmother, had to do it in the Philippines growing up, so why can't they? After two blissful months of more rest for everyone, Spaghetti went back to taking about an hour to settle down and sleep. Sometimes she still wakes up in the middle of the night, in which case either Pretty Pants or I or both of us can now lie down next to her and her snoring sister on their big king bed where we can all sleep like royalty.

growing a social conscience

2010-03-07T22:41:00.000-08:00

I've been a lot more grateful lately. I've found that when times are tough, I've found myself having just a little more patience and a lot more faith that things will all work out for the best. And as I hold my breath for the moments where I feel that I've ridden out the rough patches of life and am basking in the sun at the end of a journey, I realize how blessed I really am.

Which leads me to think about the meaning of gratitude, the rewards of giving back, of paying forward to those who are less fortunate or just need more support, because the reality is we all have/is/will be at a point of our own journeys where we would be on the receiving end of someone's kindness. I think about serving community a lot. I've been strategizing in my head where I would like to spend my time, what I would like to give back to and how I would go about doing it. (I know I think wayyy too much) I think about how important it is for my girls to see their parents involved in charitable activities. To be their examples for kindness, empathy, and doing good for the greater good sometimes overwhelms me (there goes that too much thinking again) but at the same time I know that my actions will speak so much louder than my words, especially when it comes to making a difference. Because isn't that what we want our children to grow up to be after all? Conscientious, empathetic, kind and respectful individuals?
The Colonel was always so heavily involved in her community. I've been so blessed to have this woman, my mother show me through her actions how gratifying being a part of something greater than yourself and your family means. Because isn't that what it's all about? "Healing the world, making it a better place, for you and for me and the entire human race..."(thanks MJ) Taking some time out to help someone else is always a positive experience. Whether it be holding the door for someone else, a thank you to the cashier at your grocery store, letting someone cut in front of you because they look like they're in a hurry or they've got a crying baby that you know they just want out the door, I've taken these small actions daily and they really do make a big difference in how the rest of my day goes.

So now I'm ready to take the next big step towards paying it forward and granted it's a semi-selfish act but hey we're talking baby steps here right? Looks like Disney's got the right attitude by promoting their "Give a Day, Get a Day" program. Pretty Pants and I are planning to sign up this month so stay tuned!

Let's be kind today, folks!

My Filipina Women, My herStory

2010-03-03T18:51:00.000-08:00

The Colonel celebrated her 70th birthday over the weekend. In fact, her and Spaghetti were born on the same day! So the family and I headed to my hometown where we hosted a party in her honor. Of course, she did most of the planning: coordinating the program, scouting for a venue and managing the guest list. But last Saturday night about 100 folks came to celebrate my mother's birthday and life! It was such a special occasion.

For her celebration, the Colonel had asked me to put together a montage of her life for the party. She had sent me photographs from all parts of her life along with their descriptions and as I worked through the photographs I could not help but feel so proud of her and all that she has done in her life. My mother was born in Pampanga, a province in the Philippines in 1940. She is the eldest of 4 brothers and 2 sisters. She attended medical school in the Philippines then immigrated to the United States. Her first stop was New York City where she continued to pursue her education and was able to achieve her license to practice medicine here. She then joined the Air Force where she met and married my father, Rambo. My parents worked really hard for their lives here. When it came time for them to get out of the Air Force they both continued to work and at the same time my mother got heavily involved with her church and community. She is an advocate for the Filipino-American youth church community establishing various cultural, sporting and religious events to keep the youth involved.

My Lola (meaning grandmother in Filipino) was a school teacher, beauty queen in her province and a mother to 7 children. She survived and protected her first two children (including the Colonel) during the attack of the Japanese on the Philippines. During the later part of her life, left her husband, my Lolo, for years on end to come to the United States to help my parents raise me while they worked.

I am constantly amazed and empowered at how much hard work, sacrifice, commitment and strength these women in my herstory have shown in their lives. Coming from a place of poverty to the "American Dream", a piece of history that I always wonder, if I were in their shoes would I be able to do the same? Will my own girls look back at my life in admiration and for inspiration? What legacy will I be passing on for them?

Nonetheless, I am grateful for the women that shaped my life. For if it wasn't for them, I would not be who I am today.

Who's in your herstory?

a birth story 2.0

2010-02-22T16:29:00.000-08:00

Our little Spaghetti turned two over the weekend! I can remember it so vividly. Some of you have asked to share my story, so here it is. I wrote this about a month after Spaghetti was born and still count my blessings every day. Enjoy!

I had my routine checkup w/our OB Tuesday morning where she stripped my membrane. The OB said that usually stripping the membrane usually induces labor. Spaghetti was not due until another couple weeks (2/29, leap year) so I didn't believe she would come so soon. To enhance the "induction" I went home and had a pepperoni/jalapeno pizza, they said spicy food helps the labor along as well.

With still no contractions and high doubts, I went to class that night. I arrived home at about 10:30p and still nothing alarming. At about midnight, I started to feel the contractions, Pretty Pants had already went to bed and I did not wake him until I knew for sure. During this time, I started to chart my contractions, they didn't seem too painful but just in case I took a shower, ensured we had our bags ready and studied. At about 2:30a I could no longer write down my contractions, so I woke Pretty Pants up, he too, didn't feel that sense of urgency (looking back he thought I was way too calm!) so he also got ready, showered, and called the hospital. We even set up the car seat in between contractions! Within the next two hours chaos reared its ugly head, the contractions were coming closer, the hospital had no beds, I could not stand up, the hospital still had no beds, Pretty Pants had woken up Meatball, at this point the pain was excruciating, and in an almost the same instance: Pretty Pants started to pack up the car, Meatball was holding my hand, the hospital had called to say they were ready for us and my water had broke!!

I barely could get into the car so I laid on my side in the back seat. I remember bracing Meatball w/my free arm as Pretty Pants backed out of the driveway. At this point, the contractions seemed to be tripping over each other, then I felt my body start to push to the point where I could feel the top of Spaghetti's head. Each time my body pushed I would relay the message to Pretty Pants and the Meatball gave him a play by play. ("Mommy can feel the head, Pretty Pants!") Feeling her head, I realized I had to make a decision to push with my body and deliver Spaghetti because I didn't want her to be "stuck" in any way. After about 3 pushes (her head, her tailbone, then her whole body) Spaghetti was born.

Five minutes later, we arrived at the hospital. Pretty Pants ran to get help, at first, they came out with just a wheelchair and an orderly, then they returned with 5 people peering into our back seat looking at me, Meatball and Spaghetti. The onduty physician got into the car on top of me, cut off my pajamas, cut Spaghetti's umbilical cord and took her away. After I had delivered the placenta, we all soon followed inside.

After a couple hours of recovery and quite an adventure, we were all finally together. Meatball even lost her first tooth while waiting to see her new sister! After so much excitement, we were all just very happy and thankful that Spaghetti was healthy and now with us.

Happy 2nd birthday, Spaghetti!

because you're so seksay

2010-02-15T16:55:00.000-08:00

As I've ventured into the blogosphere, I'm been searching for experienced mom bloggers that I can relate to. I have a few mom blogs on my radar, that I'm slowly starting to read religiously. One of them is Leonore Skenazy of Free Range Kids. I love how renegade her personality is. Her opinions and topics stimulate so much thought within her readers that I find very inspiring.

A couple weeks ago she blogged about children's lingerie. What?!? Yah, children's lingerie represented by no other than Mylie Cyrus' younger sister, Noah. You can read more about it on Leonore's site here and here. Pretty ridiculous isn't it!?! I can almost hear the Colonel ask, "What is this world coming to?!? My Goodness!" Oh wait, that's me talking now. It's the age old opinion that what's current and new is downright outrageous and rebellious to older folks that have been there, done that. But I have to say, this children's lingerie thing is truly crossing the boundaries. Hello! Child molestors and predators!!

It's bad enough that I'm dreading the sex talk with my girls. Even though they aren't of age yet, I know it's coming around the corner, sooner than I'd like. Just the thought of it brings a whole lot of anxiety into my system. The Colonel nor Rambo never talked about sex and if they did imply it, it was masked behind the phrase, "Okay, be good." I never really understood what that phrase be good meant until I had informed them I was staying the night at my longtime-then boyfriend's house. In college. I was 20. I also went to a Catholic high school where they didn't teach sex education. So looking back, I can understand how uncomfortable my parents must have felt with the subject. It's bad enough to be working your butt off in a foreign country. But to come home and have to talk to your child about your own values in a society you still don't understand yourself? I'd probably pass as well. Although, I don't think this is abnormal for people from my generation to feel. Alot of my peers parents' never talked about sex either: "Oh my parents never spoke about it because they were strict Catholics", "We come from a very traditional family", or "Are you kidding!?! How embarassing!".

So what's a parent to do? I'm fortunate enough that I have a couple years to prep for this conversation. Are Pretty Pants and I planning to have it? By all means. Is it going to be uncomfortable? Most certainly, it's already uncomfortable now. just. thinking. about. it. But it's more important than ever to talk about sex with your children. Hello, children's lingerie!?! Thanks Noah Cyrus for making my job just a little harder. So here's the angle I'm thinking of and I've got a couple more years to fine tune and build up to it as well... self confidence and self respect: the ability to trust in one's own judgments, qualities and abilities. The idea that we will have raised our girls well enough through our faith, our community and our family and have armed them with enough information on the consequences of their actions to make the right choices for themselves. *sigh* Such a weighted topic that cannot be discussed in one post, but it's a start...

So who's got the sex talk down pat?

Momma Mina Loves The Electric Company

2010-02-10T15:23:00.000-08:00

"Heeyyy you guuuyyysss!!!"

It's about time! Being a veteran mother serving about 8 years now I've had my fair share of Dora the Explorer, Blue's Clues, Oswald and Caillou. Granted, all are decent shows but of course they are children's shows and after three episodes of any of the above on repeat just about makes me want to bang my head against the wall, like a good friend of mine once said, until I can't feel feelings (Note: Barney only takes 1 but more on that in another post). Most television shows have a very short shelf life so I like to sprinkle in a little of the classics as well like Sesame Street. So you can imagine my excitement when I heard that PBS was reviving The Electric Company!!

In its second season, The Electric Company is geared for older children (5-10 years). With a multicultural cast, a slew of celebrity appearances (see below), and a hip, urban vibe, The Electric Company packs music, dance, arts, grammar and reading into 25 minutes of pure enjoyment. The Meatball enjoys rapping about homonyms and synonyms and I get to bob my head and be a wannabe cool mom to LL Cool J all at the same time! What!?!

LL Cool J raps

NeYo croons

Lin Manuel Miranda (of In The Heights fame) breaks it down

G'head now, plug it in!

Where are your tsinelas (chee-neh-lahs)??

2010-02-09T00:23:00.000-08:00

Tsinelas (slippers), Lolo (grandfather) and Lola (grandmother) are the only words my girls understand in the Filipino language. And I don't know how I feel about that just yet. As a child, I lived 5 years in the Philippines because my parents were stationed at Clark Air Force Base. However, I can barely remember if I used to be able to speak fluently. I guess it doesn't matter because all my girls got are three words, tsinelas, Lolo and Lola.

When we moved back to the United States, the Colonel and Rambo never taught me to speak their native languages. I just caught on by listening and understanding two dialects, Tagalog (the national language) and Ilocano. When the question comes up about understanding Tagalog with one of my peers, most have said their parents never taught them for fear that they would be able to assimilate into American society. Although my parents never had that intention in mind, they never drove the language home either. So you must understand my amusement now that I have my own children, when my mother asks me if I have taught them Tagalog.

"Honey, are you speaking to Spaghetti and Meatball in Tagalog?"
"Colonel, I don't know Tagalog that well maybe you can teach them."
"Oh, my dear! You do not know?"
"No, Colonel, you never really spoke to me in Tagalog so how can I know?"
"But we lived in the Philippines for a long time! How can you not know?!? Well, you just teach them what you know, okay? It's good for them to know, even just a little bit"
"Um okay, Colonel, I'll try."

It's quite a conundrum "teaching" a language to my girls that I'm not too familiar with myself. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to teach it to them if I could speak fluently and I am trying my best to teach them any words/phrases that I do know. Studies show that raising a child in a bilingual household provide them with better mental development. But with what I know of Filipino, my girls nor I are nowhere near bilingual! It's a sad thing and I can't help but feel caught in the middle of another retaining the heritage challenge; slowly mourning the slow and agonizing death of the Filipino language in our family. It's not like they can listen to it all the time nor have someone fluent speak to them regularly. And you probably guessed it by now, Pretty Pants doesn't know the language, can barely make sense of his mother's own dialect (Pampanga) and has actually become one of my students of Broken Filipino as well. So I'm doing what I can to resist every step of the way through the interjection of Filipino words into our everyday life ("Meatball, where are your tsinelas?), finding some Filipino picture books, and reminding the Colonel and Rambo to speak to the girls in Filipino when they visit (which honestly lasts 10 seconds before they're back to English again). Maybe the Filipino language won't die in this generation after all.

Are you fluent in another language? Are you speaking to your children in another language other than English? Is it worth it?

decompress

2010-02-05T11:29:00.000-08:00

Oh motherhood! It's a lot like going to work at times. There's good days, there's not so good days, there's a fair share of really, really bad days. The main difference, to me, is not the fact that you don't get paid monetarily for the job you do as a mother. It's the fact, that you really do take your work home with you around the clock. Unlike the 9-5 workday where you can leave your workplace and join your colleagues for happy hour, those happy "hours" have been replaced with dinner, bathtime and bedtime and none of those activities is about you.

Most days that is fine, because this is what you signed up for, right? But just like work, there is always that day. The day, where you'll tell your kids they don't need to take a bath today because they smell, "fine", you'll tell them they played too long so there is no time for a bedtime story because it's already late, or you look forward to 8:00pm because you know that's when they're supposed to be asleep Now that I'm a mother, I can remember times when the Colonel was just too darn exhausted from her day and would shut her door for the night. I've been guilty of quite of a few of these kinds of days in my "career" but have figured out that in order to stay "inspired and motivated", I must ~~find~~ make the time to decompress.

My favorite method of decompressing may not be for everybody. But I've realized that I enjoy silence and that I'm a bit of an introvert. I take 5 minutes after the girls are completely asleep (snoring asleep, not I just put them to bed and they're settling down asleep). I go to my living room, turn off the lights and just sit in silence on the couch. The sitting is very important because with all the lights out I have a higher chance of falling asleep if I lay down. So I sit, just perfectly still, listening to my breathing, the humming of the refrigerator in the kitchen or playing some classical piano on the iPod. Either way, I try to focus on just one sound to get centered and let the decompressing begin. Some like to call it meditation but for me decompressing just fits. Ever since I've incorporated this practice, I've found it easier to decompress on demand. Through the motherhood experience, you learn really fast to be flexible. If I don't have the space (my living room) nor the time (evenings) to decompress, I can easily find a few seconds of breathing at the playground, car, grocery store that make a world of difference when everything seems so chaotic and noisy.

What's your favorite way to decompress? How do you fit it into your schedule?

sandboxes: the unnecessary evil

2010-02-03T11:47:00.000-08:00

It's quite challenging to have kids cooped up in the house all day, especially toddlers. There's only so much coloring, hiding and seeking, and watching episodes of Yo Gabba Gabba and Sesame Street that our 23 month old Spaghetti can do before she decides to venture into pulling pots out of the kitchen cabinet, unrolling the toilet paper or climb furniture. So to relieve her (and us) from cabin fever we try to get outside as much as we can. The other day, Pretty Pants and I took Spaghetti to Golden Gate Park Children's Playground to expend some of her energy.

She spent a good 45 minutes going down 3 slides she had in her rotation before her attention span started to dwindle. Noticing her restlessness, my husband and I redirected her attention to the swings across the park. "Look Spaghetti, look at the swings!! Whee!" As we made our way to the swings we crossed over children playing in the sand. Spaghetti was very curious about this scene as she dug her feet deeper and deeper into the grainy substance while we walked along. Just as she was about to pause to reach her hand out to actually touch the strange mass, Pretty Pants made one quick scoop to pick our daughter up in his arms and carry her to the swing. No sand for her, he glanced at me knowingly.

I don't know about you but I don't get the whole sandbox thing. Why are children so intrigued by it? What makes it fun? For me, it pretty much seems like quite a nuisance cleaning between crevices of your child's body already but after a romp in the sand? No thanks, I'll pass. It's bad enough that as parents we have to clean up after them on natural spills like poop and pee, acid reflux or spaghetti dribble. But really? Throwing your kid in the sand to let them become more dirty... I just don't get it. Not to mention the inevitable sand in the shoes, sand in the socks, sand surprising you in your car, that's a lot of sand!

The only place sand is good for is at the beach. It's the only place that makes sense. Living in Northern California, there's not much time spent on a warm beach. So I know that if we are going to the beach, that we're going to be there for a whole day and not just one quick jump in the sandbox. The trade off of time versus cleanup just makes sense to me at the beach. Allow your child to build sandcastles? Fine! Bury their bodies up to their necks in sand? Even better! Got some of that sand in your behind? Awesome, let me take you to the shore so we can rinse some of that off and if it's not completely clean there's a shower in the parking lot. Seriously, keep the sand where it belongs... on the beach.

the Meatball and the Grammys

2010-02-01T17:32:00.000-08:00

As we were gearing up to start another week, the Meatball ran into our room this morning with one excited question, "Did Taylor Swift win after I went to bed???" Referring to her short lived viewing of the Grammys, the Meatball, her sister and I were one of the 25.8 million Americans that watched the Grammys last night. CBS had been advertising the annual awards event to tune in to see which female singer would take the most coveted prize in music, Album of the Year. With two little girls at home, I'm all about supporting female empowerment and watching dreams come true. So under my supervision, we watched the first hour of the Grammys (woo hoo bedtime was postponed for a whole hour!)

As we watched I fielded questions about Lady Gaga, interjected little lessons during performances and speech acceptances about how each of these artists had to work very hard for a very long time to get their award or nomination (Beyonce's story is a great example), and offered random words of encouragement anytime I saw the Meatball's eyes light up with excitement or start dancing around to a song she knew. (Subliminal message: You can do this too!)

Growing up, the Colonel and Rambo weren't so supportive of occupations that they deemed unstable. So even if I had created a whole stage show with programs, performing tunes from ABBA (sung and choreographed by moi) at the end of the show they would still remind me that although it was fun and nice, I needed to focus on my education. Now as a mother, I can see their perspective and how in this economy and society, financial and career stability has taken the forefront and seemingly only a select few succeed when following their dreams. I can now understand their worry of the risks and struggles one has to take in order to follow their dream. I only wished they communicated it a little better. Now as a parent, I try to support any glimpse of a dream I see unfolding, asking questions, creating dialogue, finding positive role models to encourage my girls to dive into things they are passionate about... of course after they've done their homework. But Taylor Swift, a young girl herself, couldn't have said it better when she accepted the award for Album of the Year, "thank you Dad for all those times you said I could do whatever I wanted in life" and really that's what it's all about. As parents, there's only so much we can do to help, support, guide, counsel our children while we have them, the rest we just have to trust we did or are doing the best we can.

five lullabies

2010-01-29T17:24:00.000-08:00

Ever since my eldest daughter, the Meatball was born 8 years ago, I've sang the same 5 lullabies. Granted, some were probably not composed as lullabies, regardless, I have sung them to my girls as part of their bedtime routine. Depending on my mood (or level of exhaustion from the day) I may sing all 5 of them, I may sing 1 or I may sing one of the songs, thrice (by request). They are all fairly interchangeable and serve a certain purpose.

Throughout the course of my childhood, my Lola (grandmother in Tagalog) lived w/me, the Colonel and Rambo. She would come and live with us for a few years here and there to help my working parents. Her first tour w/me was from ages 2-3. Her second tour was from ages 7-9. Her third tour was probably the longest from ages 12-15. Her final U.S. tour was when I was already in college from ages 18-20. My Lola was my primary caregiver and although I don't recall a particular bedtime routine. I can still remember one verse of a song that she would sing, "Sleep my pretty baby, Mommy's far away..."

And now that my Lola's passed, I wish I remembered more of that song! Sometimes I still find myself humming it in my head, then out loud, trying to search for the next word or the next note, I even tried Googling it once with no luck. I don't even really know if it was a real song or just something she made up. Hence, my girls get the five lullabies. I won't know for a while if good or bad memories transpire from the Spaghetti and Meatball bedtime playlist, but I hope that it will create another fond memory for them. Kind of like how I can remember all the words to a song I hadn't heard since the 8th grade but can't remember what I did yesterday, go figure.

Are there any special parts to your bedtime routine?

P.S. In case I've piqued your curiosity, here are Spaghetti and Meatball's bedtime playlist courtesy of YouTube:

1) Lea Salonga's rendition of The Rainbow Connection - One of the first albums I ever owned was Lea Salonga's "I Am But A Small Voice". I have no idea why I selected this song, but nonetheless a great role model for my girls. (note: the little girl in the YouTube video is not Lea Salonga)

2) Edelweiss from the movie, The Sound of Music - Again, one of the first musicals I watched religiously on the Betamax.

3) Redemption Song - Bob Marley - Because it's never too early to have a little Bob in your life.

4) So Long, Farewell from the movie, The Sound Of Music - I don't know why I have two Sound Of Music songs!

5) If We Hold On Together from the movie, The Land Before Time - Although I don't ever remember this song from the movie (or the movie itself, actually), it was one of the songs sung at PCN (Pilipino Culture Night) during my college days.

come potty with me

2010-01-26T16:22:00.000-08:00

Another indication that time is flying by. Last week, Spaghetti’s daycare provider, Ms. P told me to bring pull-ups for next week. “What?”, I responded but really wanted to wail, “She isn’t even two yet!!” Pretty Pants and I weren’t ready to begin potty training and were secretly dreading the day that we would have to start. From my prior experience with the Meatball, potty training is not a whole lot of fun. It requires extra, extra amounts of patience and extra time for cleaning up messes. Being woken up by your potty-in-training child at 3 a.m. letting you know she wet the bed and now you have to change her (and the sheets) when you really needed that good night’s sleep for your early meeting the next day… right, not fun. So the jury’s still out if we’re thankful for the shove onto the potty train ride that Ms. P gave us, “Please, bring pull-ups. If I train here and you train at home, she will learn fast” Great, thanks. But regardless of the dreadfulness we felt tackling this adventure, we agreed. Spaghetti was to join the potty brigade.

They say that most toddlers show readiness for potty training between 18 and 24 months. Matching Spaghetti up to a list, I found on BabyCenter I had observed she met all the criteria. If she was ready, then we had to be ready too. We purchased some pull ups and got her a potty chair that jingles when she tinkles with some extra fun perks: a pretend flusher, a toilet paper holder and there’s even a smiling face painted on the potty. If that darn thing doesn’t make potty training “fun” I don’t know what will. Ms. P had advised us to take Spaghetti to the potty every hour so that she would get used to going to the bathroom. Every time she were to go potty, we should cheer her on. So I made a call to my mother, the Colonel and told her we started potty training Spaghetti. “Wow, so fast! You guys do things so fast here!”, she replied. I asked her if she had any tips and she laughed. “You know, in the Philippines there was no potty training. If you pee in your pants, you pee in your pants and that’s how you learned. They only have those kind of potty training here.” Oh those kind… right. I’m going to take a stab and define “those kind”. “Those kind” actually translates into: in the Philippines we didn’t have or make the time to hold your hand, buy you a pretty potty and get all happy if you pee. Potty training? Maybe a little harsh, but gets the job done.

So here we are with two very different potty training practices: Ms. P’s gradual practice-makes-perfect potty training and the Colonel’s hit-the-ground-running-but-change-your-pants-if-you-potty training. Both have validity. (See the Diaper Free program on BabyCenter for a structured version of Colonel’s technique) We haven’t tried the Colonel’s technique yet but may entertain the idea once we have a free weekend to clean up every accident. But I’m happy to report that Spaghetti is catching on to the whole potty business and squeals in delight when her potty sings a song whenever she goes, while Pretty Pants and I are there waiting to give her high fives for a job well done. No wonder that potty is smiling.

eight

2010-01-20T15:53:00.000-08:00

Behold the Meatball spinning....

This one is going down in the books as quite possibly one of my most favorite memories. We had just gotten out of the Broadway show, Mary Poppins, and my 8 year old, the Meatball starts dancing like one of the chimney sweeps. I was just able to capture the end result: spinning without a care in the world and why should she? She’s 8. Vivid memories of my childhood started at 8 and were filled with the tiniest little details: a purple coat with purple snow boots I wore to school, the black thin head band, my teacher, Ms. Hoekstra wore in her shoulder length blonde hair and opening up that can of Campbell’s ABC’s Vegetable soup every day for snack after school.

When I asked my own mother, the Colonel, if she remembered anything about being 8, she recounts tending to her parents store, helping her mother, Lola, with her six younger siblings and studying hard. I responded, ” Hmm, that doesn’t sound too fun, Colonel.” In her thick Filipino accent, she responds, “Well, dear, it was fun.” Period. Oddly enough, I believed her. While I was growing up the Colonel wasn’t really about fun or about playing with me but she did create the spaces for me to have my own fun. By the time I was in junior high, we had visited most national landmarks across the country, I had taken piano and swimming lessons and belonged to Brownies and AYSO. Now if I could only remember if the Colonel was there to have fun right along with me.

Which leads me to wonder what details the Meatball will remember of being 8? Will I be in them? More importantly, how am I contributing to help her create fun-filled memories? There are so many influences in the media and society enticing children to grow up faster and yet I’m happy to announce that at this time my meatball just wants to be 8. My job? To make sure that it stays that way.