sleeping like queens

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

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

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

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

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

"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)??

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?