I remember reading about a man who was watching a butterfly struggle out of its cocoon. He pitied the straining creature so he did what every Good Samaritan would do ... he helped it out to ease its passage from the dark confines of the cocoon into the bright new world that awaits it. I guess that we all know what happened next. The butterfly’s wings became crippled because of the man’s kindly efforts. Unbeknownst to him, the poor creature had to go through that painful process. The butterfly needed to struggle out of the cocoon so it could emerge whole and capable of flight.
The article went on to explain how this story is an analogy of every parent’s primordial instinct to shield their children from every hardship that would come their way. There is no argument against that. As a matter of fact, this very instinct is what guarantees the survival of our race. But as we all know, too much of anything is not always a good thing. As in the case of the man and the butterfly, a loving parent wanting to show his love through every means possible, including easing the way for his child and doing everything he could to spare his little one from going through the same struggles and difficulties he grew up with, might be doing his own child a great disservice. For he may not know it yet, but he might be raising a spineless individual, one who, not so unlike the flightless butterfly, is incapable of standing on his own two feet.
I read this article from the Readers’ Digest when I was in college, a time in my life when it felt as if things could not get any worse. To put it simply, life was very, very hard. From a relatively privileged childhood where everything got done for me by other people, I suddenly found myself living in Manila in a cramped rented room and sharing a dilapidated house with three other families. Money was very scarce. Every food on the table was a result of my father’s mighty struggle for survival. And on those times when there were none, we would walk over to a nearby used clothing store and sell off our own clothes. Then we’d have rice to cook for that day.
The circumstances surrounding my life may have been the reason why I never forgot the butterfly’s story and why I made the resolve to learn its lesson: don’t fall into the parental love trap. The word “trap” is always bad, and so it is when, loving parents as we are, we want to do everything for and give everything to our children to make their lives as easy and as struggle-free as we could make it.
And how does this translate into my being a mother? Of course, like every doting parent out there, I would never wish the life I had on my only child. But I keep reminding myself that that very life that I pray she would never get a taste of, was the very same life that moulded me into the kind of person I am now. I am a survivor. I came out of it a much stronger person. Circumstances forced me to learn early on that our parents cannot provide for all our needs all the time ... that we cannot and should not expect other people to take care of the same for us ... that later in life, when we grow up, we will have to work hard for all our needs and wants.
And so my daughter began her training on independence and self-reliance as a baby who was still learning how to walk. I was always beside her, ready to help whenever she needed me. But oftentimes when she would fall, and I knew that she could get up on her own, her mama just stood by and watched her proudly as she struggled back to her feet. Lesson: “Rely on yourself. You can do it.”
Abby’s training continues until now. She has to work hard if she were to get what she wanted. With God’s grace, hers will be a different form of struggle. I pray that she will never have to experience hunger or deprivation, but learn the value of hard work ... she must! Lesson: “Things do not come for free. You have to work hard for them.” Of course there are things that I provide to her freely – but these are things that are intended to equip her for life ahead – her needs.
Staying true to this course is also a struggle because as a mother, the desire to shower my only child with all the pampering and material comforts I could muster is understandably strong. But I try to stay on course by looking around and seeing the children who have been crippled by their parents’ great love. I see grown-up sons, married and with children, still living with their parents and relying on them to see to their own children’s every need. I see young men whose needs have always been provided for by doting parents, too lazy to fend for themselves, and resorting to theft and drug peddling for its easy money when the parents were no longer there to provide for them.
I believe that it is the little things that matter. In Abby’s school (Catherina Cittadini St. Louis School) for example, Sr. Marissa, the Principal, has always encouraged the children to take their bags to their classrooms by themselves and not to rely on their parents to do the same for them. I am certain that there are parents who oppose this policy under the mindset “why let my child do it when I can do it for him?” I could only hope that they would see how this little act can go a long way into forming their children’s character.
We can’t love our children enough. Or to put it in another way, there is no such thing as too much love. Our love has no bounds, but I also believe that too much pampering does not always translate into loving the child. This mother believes that letting a child taste a little hardship or inconvenience to prepare him for what lies ahead is a form of loving no child should go without.
Unlike that man with the butterfly, we should not make life too easy for our precious ones, lest we cripple their wings and miss the chance of seeing them take flight and soar.
Showing posts with label Parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Parenting. Show all posts
Friday, July 09, 2010
Friday, July 31, 2009
KIDS AND THE FLU
What I have in mind now might cost me some acquaintances and a lot of goodwill among some readers. I actually spent time debating with myself whether to take up this topic or not. But those who know me well enough are aware that I couldn’t let go once something starts eating at me. I just have to take that off my chest or I’ll explode!
I hope that we have broadminded readers who will understand that I am not deliberately targeting anybody. I may appear critical of some parents and I may be met by a lot of opposing ideas after this. But that’s a risk that I’m prepared to take. Bato-bato sa langit na lang …
It’s really very simple, nothing big and earth shattering. It’s about the flu and the issue of whether or not we should send our kids to school when they start exhibiting symptoms of the illness.
At first look, the answer seems pretty simple: child with fever = home.
But you would be surprised to know that there were actually some parents who still sent their kids to school despite elevated temperatures! I have seen this happen first hand. I have also heard of stories, uncorroborated of course, of parents who pressed ice cubes into their children’s foreheads so they could pass the temperature check at the school entrance. Others were said to have given their children paracetamol prior to going to make sure that their temperature would be down by the time they got to school.
I personally know of others who had to struggle with the idea of a slightly sick child having to stay home, thereby missing seatworks, quizzes and exams.
From what I have gathered, all these boil down to one concern: inconvenience. It is inconvenient for some to go after teachers to arrange for make-up quizzes and exams for the absent child. It is too much effort for some to borrow notebooks so their kids could copy the notes that they missed while they were sick.
I am perplexed. These stories, if true, are entirely against what I believe to be every mother’s primordial instinct when her child becomes sick! And that is to keep the child at home, well rested and fed and properly medicated to boot!
I had hoped that these stories were nothing but mere fabrications dreamed up by tongues that had nothing better to do. But the sad fact is that there are actually parents out there who do not consider a slight illness or an elevated temperature as enough justification for a missed day in school. They had to wait for 40-degree fevers perhaps?
And why is that? It seems that there is concern that their kids’ absence will affect their academic performance. I am thinking right now of what my daughter’s school principal, Sister Marissa Palomar, repeatedly says to the parents: let you children be children. Let them enjoy being such. Do not concern yourself too much over their academic performance. Their grades in elementary and high school will not show when they will apply for jobs in the future.
I completely agree. And if I may add … when they are sick, let them stay home even if they insist on going! Who are the parents anyway? I say, forget the missed quizzes and whatnot! Your children will not fail with two or even more missed seatworks.
And in addition to that, I enjoin parents to think of the other children who will be interacting with your sick ones. Spare them from contracting the same illness.
And this brings us to the crux of the matter … I can’t help but think that if the parents of sick children had only exercised the right discretion, maybe, just maybe, the reach of the flu would not have been as widespread as it is now. After all, if the sick ones had stayed home, who would infect the healthy children in school?
I hope that we have broadminded readers who will understand that I am not deliberately targeting anybody. I may appear critical of some parents and I may be met by a lot of opposing ideas after this. But that’s a risk that I’m prepared to take. Bato-bato sa langit na lang …
It’s really very simple, nothing big and earth shattering. It’s about the flu and the issue of whether or not we should send our kids to school when they start exhibiting symptoms of the illness.
At first look, the answer seems pretty simple: child with fever = home.
But you would be surprised to know that there were actually some parents who still sent their kids to school despite elevated temperatures! I have seen this happen first hand. I have also heard of stories, uncorroborated of course, of parents who pressed ice cubes into their children’s foreheads so they could pass the temperature check at the school entrance. Others were said to have given their children paracetamol prior to going to make sure that their temperature would be down by the time they got to school.
I personally know of others who had to struggle with the idea of a slightly sick child having to stay home, thereby missing seatworks, quizzes and exams.
From what I have gathered, all these boil down to one concern: inconvenience. It is inconvenient for some to go after teachers to arrange for make-up quizzes and exams for the absent child. It is too much effort for some to borrow notebooks so their kids could copy the notes that they missed while they were sick.
I am perplexed. These stories, if true, are entirely against what I believe to be every mother’s primordial instinct when her child becomes sick! And that is to keep the child at home, well rested and fed and properly medicated to boot!
I had hoped that these stories were nothing but mere fabrications dreamed up by tongues that had nothing better to do. But the sad fact is that there are actually parents out there who do not consider a slight illness or an elevated temperature as enough justification for a missed day in school. They had to wait for 40-degree fevers perhaps?
And why is that? It seems that there is concern that their kids’ absence will affect their academic performance. I am thinking right now of what my daughter’s school principal, Sister Marissa Palomar, repeatedly says to the parents: let you children be children. Let them enjoy being such. Do not concern yourself too much over their academic performance. Their grades in elementary and high school will not show when they will apply for jobs in the future.
I completely agree. And if I may add … when they are sick, let them stay home even if they insist on going! Who are the parents anyway? I say, forget the missed quizzes and whatnot! Your children will not fail with two or even more missed seatworks.
And in addition to that, I enjoin parents to think of the other children who will be interacting with your sick ones. Spare them from contracting the same illness.
And this brings us to the crux of the matter … I can’t help but think that if the parents of sick children had only exercised the right discretion, maybe, just maybe, the reach of the flu would not have been as widespread as it is now. After all, if the sick ones had stayed home, who would infect the healthy children in school?
Friday, July 24, 2009
MORE!!!
This probably is one of the most popular clamors around Dumaguete nowadays, next only to the people’s collective shout of “ENOUGH!!!” as they struggle through the ongoing road construction projects that got our streets shrouded under a perpetual cloud of dust.
I can think of a few choiced words and phrases to express the sentiment of most, but I would rather keep them to myself. Instead, I’ll content myself with “FASTER!!!” and “NEXT TIME, COULD YOU DO THESE PROJECTS GRADUALLY?? MEANING NOT ALL ROADS AND HIGHWAYS AT THE SAME TIME??? or DID YOU HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL IT’S ALMOST ELECTION TIME???”
But here I go again, getting carried away, as in literally getting away from my intended topic. “More” is about the popular clamor for a repeat of the Cebu Exporters’ Furniture Sale that was held in Hypermart recently. For those who did not know about this, woe to you. You just missed what I would personally refer to as the buy of the lifetime.
This furniture sale came to us through the Department of Trade and Industry whose efforts facilitated the coming over of Cebu-based furniture exporters. Mind you, the furniture that were put on sale were not merely export-quality … these were the real deal, furniture made for an intended foreign market, but which were not shipped out to serve as showpieces for the manufacturers. This accounts for the fact that, for most of the furniture that were brought over, only one unit per design was put on sale.
The cream of Dumaguete’s society came in droves, the landed gentry, the professional circles and of course, the people who make up our City’s business community.
I would say that this sale came as a pleasant surprise to us who went over to Hypermart. Not only was the actual event unprecedented, but the furniture that greeted us as we entered the exhibit area left as gasping and incredulous! These were the kind of furniture that we see only in glossy foreign magazines!!! These were not the ran-of-the-mill China-made types that are practically the only ones that are available around here!!!
But what really got Dumaguete dizzy with delight (with the exception, of course, of the local manufacturers and furniture dealers) and got yours truly drooling with desire and at the same time sighing with regret … were the prices! OMG! The prices were to die for, believe me!
I am not saying that the furniture were cheap, but they came to us at almost 50% off … and that my friends, was what got Dumaguete’s elite scrambling over each other in their haste to snatch up the most beautiful pieces.
Even at 50% off, most of the pieces were still too steep for us unfortunate souls, but to the monied ones, they were too good to pass up. By the end of day one, I would say that almost 80% of the pieces that were brought over from Cebu have been marked “sold”.
This actually came as a relief to me. Imagine how it made me feel, wanting to own a beautiful and oh-so-comfortable sofa so much that I could cry, but helpless to do something about it because I could not afford it? Multiply that agony a dozen times over … and that my friends, was my emotional picture down there at Hypermart.
A piece of L-shaped sofa, originally priced at more than sixty thousand pesos, was offered for only thirty-five thousand and after much haggling, sold off at twenty-eight! That was actually cheap considering the quality, but really “cheap” only for those who could afford.
That was why the sight of that hated word “SOLD” actually came as a relief to poor me. At least, I could stop thinking of what I could pawn off to raise the amount I would need to buy off everything there, ha ha ha! With the exception, of course, of that headless naked figure of a reclining male! I would gladly have somebody else walk away with it!
Incidentally, I had the hardest time with my brat when it came to that figure. She saw it first! Poor doberdog mama was too late! Abby had already seen it. And the reaction? … “ewwww! Who would want to buy something like that?!?!” It was too anatomically accurate for words. I could only order, with all the authority that I could muster … “stop looking at it!!!” But that was like closing the gate after the flock had ran off …
Looking back though, now that I could view that incident with some sort of objectivity … me, Abby and that figure were kind of funny in the sort of praning-mom way. Preventing my daughter from wising up to the world is like trying to stop the tides from turning. I can but sigh!
And I veered from the main topic again! Well, that’s me! Your impoverished housewife, recently tormented by that figure and all the cheap furniture and accessories that were not really “cheap”!!!
So I’m now joining the clamor for “MORE” of that sale. More!, More!, More! … as if, granting that there would be a next time … I won’t be left tormented again. But who knows? I could start betting in the lotto … who knows?
I can think of a few choiced words and phrases to express the sentiment of most, but I would rather keep them to myself. Instead, I’ll content myself with “FASTER!!!” and “NEXT TIME, COULD YOU DO THESE PROJECTS GRADUALLY?? MEANING NOT ALL ROADS AND HIGHWAYS AT THE SAME TIME??? or DID YOU HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL IT’S ALMOST ELECTION TIME???”
But here I go again, getting carried away, as in literally getting away from my intended topic. “More” is about the popular clamor for a repeat of the Cebu Exporters’ Furniture Sale that was held in Hypermart recently. For those who did not know about this, woe to you. You just missed what I would personally refer to as the buy of the lifetime.
This furniture sale came to us through the Department of Trade and Industry whose efforts facilitated the coming over of Cebu-based furniture exporters. Mind you, the furniture that were put on sale were not merely export-quality … these were the real deal, furniture made for an intended foreign market, but which were not shipped out to serve as showpieces for the manufacturers. This accounts for the fact that, for most of the furniture that were brought over, only one unit per design was put on sale.
The cream of Dumaguete’s society came in droves, the landed gentry, the professional circles and of course, the people who make up our City’s business community.
I would say that this sale came as a pleasant surprise to us who went over to Hypermart. Not only was the actual event unprecedented, but the furniture that greeted us as we entered the exhibit area left as gasping and incredulous! These were the kind of furniture that we see only in glossy foreign magazines!!! These were not the ran-of-the-mill China-made types that are practically the only ones that are available around here!!!
But what really got Dumaguete dizzy with delight (with the exception, of course, of the local manufacturers and furniture dealers) and got yours truly drooling with desire and at the same time sighing with regret … were the prices! OMG! The prices were to die for, believe me!
I am not saying that the furniture were cheap, but they came to us at almost 50% off … and that my friends, was what got Dumaguete’s elite scrambling over each other in their haste to snatch up the most beautiful pieces.
Even at 50% off, most of the pieces were still too steep for us unfortunate souls, but to the monied ones, they were too good to pass up. By the end of day one, I would say that almost 80% of the pieces that were brought over from Cebu have been marked “sold”.
This actually came as a relief to me. Imagine how it made me feel, wanting to own a beautiful and oh-so-comfortable sofa so much that I could cry, but helpless to do something about it because I could not afford it? Multiply that agony a dozen times over … and that my friends, was my emotional picture down there at Hypermart.
A piece of L-shaped sofa, originally priced at more than sixty thousand pesos, was offered for only thirty-five thousand and after much haggling, sold off at twenty-eight! That was actually cheap considering the quality, but really “cheap” only for those who could afford.
That was why the sight of that hated word “SOLD” actually came as a relief to poor me. At least, I could stop thinking of what I could pawn off to raise the amount I would need to buy off everything there, ha ha ha! With the exception, of course, of that headless naked figure of a reclining male! I would gladly have somebody else walk away with it!
Incidentally, I had the hardest time with my brat when it came to that figure. She saw it first! Poor doberdog mama was too late! Abby had already seen it. And the reaction? … “ewwww! Who would want to buy something like that?!?!” It was too anatomically accurate for words. I could only order, with all the authority that I could muster … “stop looking at it!!!” But that was like closing the gate after the flock had ran off …
Looking back though, now that I could view that incident with some sort of objectivity … me, Abby and that figure were kind of funny in the sort of praning-mom way. Preventing my daughter from wising up to the world is like trying to stop the tides from turning. I can but sigh!
And I veered from the main topic again! Well, that’s me! Your impoverished housewife, recently tormented by that figure and all the cheap furniture and accessories that were not really “cheap”!!!
So I’m now joining the clamor for “MORE” of that sale. More!, More!, More! … as if, granting that there would be a next time … I won’t be left tormented again. But who knows? I could start betting in the lotto … who knows?
Friday, July 17, 2009
MISSING SOMETHING AND NOT EVEN KNOWING IT
Have you ever left something behind and never looked back? You move on convinced there was nothing to look back to. You live your life … past memories consigned to the farthermost parts of your mind … life is good now … it’s all that matters.
Then one day your past waves a hand at you. You stop in mid-stride … it looks familiar and it is beautiful! Your memories, long suppressed and denied, come back to you in trickles … then the tears come … the very ones you didn’t shed before, back at that time when you have convinced yourself that there was no reason to.
You catch a drop in your finger and you ask yourself what this is for? But you already know … deep inside you know what your tears are for … you are crying for that that is lost and you are crying for those that are missed.
My tears were for the childhood that I lost, for the young life that I missed out. I cried for my lost family, my lost home, my lost friends … and for the joys of childhood that I never again experienced.
This is what happens to children when parents decide that they have had enough. They become collateral damage, bemused onlookers to an event too incomprehensible for their young minds to grasp and beyond their power to stop. That’s when childhood ends. A child went to bed. A weary old man woke up.
But I survived. Oh yes! I survived and I did well. I didn’t travel that road where so many like myself have gotten lost in. People commended for me my strength, praised me for not letting my sorry past affect my present. “Of course!” answered confident me. “I couldn’t be affected by something that isn’t of my own doing!”
But did I really manage to escape unscathed? Could it be possible that the shards left by my broken family missed wounding me in any way?
I realize now that it couldn’t be possible. A blow like that couldn’t miss leaving a wound. I didn’t even know that the wound was there. The discovery of a scab was met by amazement. Like a child mesmerized by the newness of its discovery, I couldn’t stop looking and just like any child, I couldn’t stop peeling off a bit, just to see what wonders it might hide.
But I didn’t discover wonderful things. Instead I found a wound as raw and as fresh as the day when it was inflicted. Then the pain hit me. And I cried as I should have cried 28 years ago.
No. We can’t ever escape unscathed. We will always carry that baggage with us wherever we’d go. Some may be painfully aware of its burden, others carry on like I did, blissfully unaware of that extra weight.
Opening that wound left me wondering … has it belatedly crippled me? I hope not. Rather, I would like to believe that the pain that I have denied for so long is going to make me a better wife and mother. Pain at its most raw for the first time in 28 years strengthened my resolve to spare my own child from the same fate. I could do it. It’s within my own power this time. With God’s help I’ll spare her.
Life is good now. Happy with my present and surrounded by the warmth of my family’s love, I should stop looking back to that life of long ago. But there are times when I couldn’t help myself … I had to go back and remember that beautiful childhood that I so suddenly lost. My heart would then feel heavy with regret … and the tears would begin flowing again.
Then one day your past waves a hand at you. You stop in mid-stride … it looks familiar and it is beautiful! Your memories, long suppressed and denied, come back to you in trickles … then the tears come … the very ones you didn’t shed before, back at that time when you have convinced yourself that there was no reason to.
You catch a drop in your finger and you ask yourself what this is for? But you already know … deep inside you know what your tears are for … you are crying for that that is lost and you are crying for those that are missed.
My tears were for the childhood that I lost, for the young life that I missed out. I cried for my lost family, my lost home, my lost friends … and for the joys of childhood that I never again experienced.
This is what happens to children when parents decide that they have had enough. They become collateral damage, bemused onlookers to an event too incomprehensible for their young minds to grasp and beyond their power to stop. That’s when childhood ends. A child went to bed. A weary old man woke up.
But I survived. Oh yes! I survived and I did well. I didn’t travel that road where so many like myself have gotten lost in. People commended for me my strength, praised me for not letting my sorry past affect my present. “Of course!” answered confident me. “I couldn’t be affected by something that isn’t of my own doing!”
But did I really manage to escape unscathed? Could it be possible that the shards left by my broken family missed wounding me in any way?
I realize now that it couldn’t be possible. A blow like that couldn’t miss leaving a wound. I didn’t even know that the wound was there. The discovery of a scab was met by amazement. Like a child mesmerized by the newness of its discovery, I couldn’t stop looking and just like any child, I couldn’t stop peeling off a bit, just to see what wonders it might hide.
But I didn’t discover wonderful things. Instead I found a wound as raw and as fresh as the day when it was inflicted. Then the pain hit me. And I cried as I should have cried 28 years ago.
No. We can’t ever escape unscathed. We will always carry that baggage with us wherever we’d go. Some may be painfully aware of its burden, others carry on like I did, blissfully unaware of that extra weight.
Opening that wound left me wondering … has it belatedly crippled me? I hope not. Rather, I would like to believe that the pain that I have denied for so long is going to make me a better wife and mother. Pain at its most raw for the first time in 28 years strengthened my resolve to spare my own child from the same fate. I could do it. It’s within my own power this time. With God’s help I’ll spare her.
Life is good now. Happy with my present and surrounded by the warmth of my family’s love, I should stop looking back to that life of long ago. But there are times when I couldn’t help myself … I had to go back and remember that beautiful childhood that I so suddenly lost. My heart would then feel heavy with regret … and the tears would begin flowing again.
Monday, July 06, 2009
THE SUN AROUND WHOM THIS MOM REVOLVES!
Abby as Princess Jasmine in a school play
My beautiful flower girl
Abby's First Holy Communion
My Birthday Girl!
My little twirler. She's so exhausted she could barelymanage a smile for Mama!
Friday, July 03, 2009
COULD SAYING “SHIT” EVER BE “NOT BAD”?
This was the contention of a British man I had an encounter with lately: that “shit” for him is kind of bad-bad … but not really baaaad? I answered him that the use of profanities may not be “bad” for him but for Filipinos like myself it’s a big no-no especially with our children!
This exchange transpired when this foreigner, who is also a parent in my daughter’s school, brusquely said to Abby and her classmate, “You're talking about shit! Get out of my way!” I went cold with rage when Abby reported this incident to me. For a foreigner to act in this haughty manner to two little girls right inside their school campus is absolutely and totally unacceptable!
I could not take this kind of behavior sitting down. It’s bad enough that some foreigners treat Filipinos with disdain, but for this man to actually act in such arrogant and high-handed manner to children right in their own turf (not to mention FILIPINO children right in their own country, THE PHILIPPINES!!!), and to my own child at that, almost got me choking with fury!
I marched up to him and told him in no uncertain terms that we do not tolerate that kind of language or behavior towards our children. He reasoned that saying “shit” is normal to him, that it didn’t really mean anything. To that I countered that he is in the Philippines and that being such, he should respect the fact that we have different sets of values and sensibilities that he should abide to.
He may be used to dealing with certain kinds of Filipinos, but these Filipinos are different! I wanted to pound into his head that these Filipinos do not use profane language in our homes nor do we allow our children to speak, or be spoken to, in that way. These Filipinos expect their children to be treated with the respect that is due to them.
Our children are not mere clutter lying around for this man to kick out of his way!
Civil people in this country say “excuse me” to people blocking their way. We do not say “get out of my way!”
I say this to all our foreign guests out there: I know that some of you see your Filipina wives and their families as leeches sucking up whatever money they could get out of you. I am honest enough to admit that this could be true in some cases. This is very unfortunate but there is nothing that I could do about it!
But do not ever think, even for one moment, that all Filipinos are the same, and ergo, are to be treated in the same way. In the other side of the fence are Filipinos who keep their distance from you, Filipinos who do not come to you with palms up and arms outstretched.
As guests, you conform to our ways and not the other way around!
We treat you with respect and we expect to be respected in return.
But most of all, we expect you to respect our children!
This exchange transpired when this foreigner, who is also a parent in my daughter’s school, brusquely said to Abby and her classmate, “You're talking about shit! Get out of my way!” I went cold with rage when Abby reported this incident to me. For a foreigner to act in this haughty manner to two little girls right inside their school campus is absolutely and totally unacceptable!
I could not take this kind of behavior sitting down. It’s bad enough that some foreigners treat Filipinos with disdain, but for this man to actually act in such arrogant and high-handed manner to children right in their own turf (not to mention FILIPINO children right in their own country, THE PHILIPPINES!!!), and to my own child at that, almost got me choking with fury!
I marched up to him and told him in no uncertain terms that we do not tolerate that kind of language or behavior towards our children. He reasoned that saying “shit” is normal to him, that it didn’t really mean anything. To that I countered that he is in the Philippines and that being such, he should respect the fact that we have different sets of values and sensibilities that he should abide to.
He may be used to dealing with certain kinds of Filipinos, but these Filipinos are different! I wanted to pound into his head that these Filipinos do not use profane language in our homes nor do we allow our children to speak, or be spoken to, in that way. These Filipinos expect their children to be treated with the respect that is due to them.
Our children are not mere clutter lying around for this man to kick out of his way!
Civil people in this country say “excuse me” to people blocking their way. We do not say “get out of my way!”
I say this to all our foreign guests out there: I know that some of you see your Filipina wives and their families as leeches sucking up whatever money they could get out of you. I am honest enough to admit that this could be true in some cases. This is very unfortunate but there is nothing that I could do about it!
But do not ever think, even for one moment, that all Filipinos are the same, and ergo, are to be treated in the same way. In the other side of the fence are Filipinos who keep their distance from you, Filipinos who do not come to you with palms up and arms outstretched.
As guests, you conform to our ways and not the other way around!
We treat you with respect and we expect to be respected in return.
But most of all, we expect you to respect our children!
Saturday, June 27, 2009
WHAT HAPPENS WHEN WE INHALE DUST?
In my last article I wrote about the deplorable condition of the highway fronting the Catherina Cittadini/Don Bosco compound. I ranted and raved over the horrendous traffic clog up caused by the unfinished roads. Needless to say, this situation continues to cause immeasurable misery not only to the parents and students, but also to the countless motorists traveling to and from Dumaguete proper.
This past week, as I continued to literally inch my way towards my daughter’s school, I often thought of this road as either the road to sainthood or damnation. Truly, we don't “drive” through this disaster we call development, we struggle through it. Believe me, the things we have to put up with will test even the patience of a saint!
Being able to keep my cool day after day has become a daily test of patience for me. I count my day a success if I could suppress every urge I’d get to give each and every abusive and undisciplined driver I’d encounter the spanking they so rightly deserved!
Lately though, my concern has shifted from traffic to the perpetual cloud of dust that covers the area. I am often horrified to see children being driven through this cloud without even the most basic covering for their noses! Those children were freely inhaling all that dust and getting all kinds of particles deep into their respiratory system!
I am particularly concerned over this because I suffer from dust allergy. Let me inhale dust for two days or so and you’ll soon find me with a clogged nose and totally knocked down by severe headache.
Before starting to write this, I went online to educate myself about the ill effects of dust inhalation. Let me share what I have learned. But before that, let’s keep in mind that I’m not a doctor, so please pardon any slip-up.
What are dusts? Dusts are tiny solid particles scattered or suspended in the air. The particles are "inorganic" or "organic," depending on the source of the dust. Inorganic dusts can come from grinding metals or minerals such as rock or soil. Organic dusts originate from plants or animals.
Our lungs are constantly exposed to danger from the dusts that we breathe in. Luckily, the lungs have defense mechanisms that protect them by removing dust particles from the respiratory system. On the other hand, even though the lungs can clear themselves, excessive inhalation of dust may still result in disease.
What happens when we breathe in dust? The lungs are protected by a series of defense mechanisms in different regions of the respiratory tract. When a person breathes in, particles suspended in the air enter the nose, but not all of them reach the lungs. The nose is an efficient filter. Most large particles are stopped in it, until they are removed mechanically by blowing the nose or sneezing.
Some of the smaller particles succeed in passing through the nose to reach the windpipe and the air tubes that lead to the lungs. The airways are lined by cells that produce mucus and these catch most of the dust particles. Tiny hairs called cilia move the mucus upward and out into the throat, where it is either coughed up and spat out, or swallowed.
The air that reaches the tiny air sacs in the inner part of the lungs may carry dust particles that have avoided the defenses in the nose and airways. Special cells called macrophages will attack this dust. Macrophages virtually swallow the particles. Then in a way that is not well understood, they reach the part of the airways that is covered by cilia where the wavelike motions move the macrophages that contain dust to the throat, where they are spat out or swallowed.
What are the reactions of the lungs to dust? The way the respiratory system responds to inhaled particles depends, to a great extent, on where the particle settles. For example, irritant dust that settles in the nose may lead to rhinitis, an inflammation of the mucous membrane. If the particle attacks the larger air passages, inflammation of the trachea (tracheitis) or the bronchi (bronchitis) may be seen.
The most significant reactions of the lung occur in the deepest parts of this organ. Particles that evade elimination in the nose or throat tend to settle in the sacs or close to the end of the airways. But if the amount of dust is large, the macrophage system may fail. Dust particles and dust-containing macrophages collect in the lung tissues, causing injury to the lungs.
From what I have learned so far, I think that every parent’s more immediate concern for children who are continually exposed to dust is the development of allergic rhinitis, sinusitis, or asthma.
We have already learned that rhinitis is an inflammation of the mucous membranes of the nose. This is caused by allergy-causing irritants such as dust. Symptoms include: sneezing; itchy nose, roof of the mouth, throat, eyes or ears; runny nose; congestion; and watery eyes.
Sinusitis is a painful, long-lasting inflammation of the sinuses. Sinuses are the hollow cavities around the cheekbones found around the eyes and behind the nose. Symptoms of sinusitis include: congestion; green or gray nasal discharge; postnasal drip; pressure in the face; headache; fever; a cough that won't go away.
Sinusitis may last for months or years if it is not properly treated. Colds are the most common cause of acute sinusitis, but people with allergies are much more likely to develop sinusitis than people who do not have allergies.
Is It a Colds or Allergies? Colds, which result from viral infection, are more likely to occur at any time (though they're more common during the rainy season). On the other hand, if during summer season your child is sneezing and wheezing, he may suffer from allergies.
Although colds and allergies produce similar symptoms, colds usually last only a week or so. And although both may cause your child’s nose and eyes to itch, colds and other viral infections may also give him a fever, aches and pains, and colored mucus. Allergies wont cause these. Cold symptoms often worsen as the days go on and then gradually improve. Allergies, on the other hand, begin immediately after exposure to the offending allergen and last as long as that exposure continues. If you're not sure whether your symptoms are being caused by allergies or a cold, talk with your doctor.
How about asthma? Asthma symptoms can be brought on by dozens of different things, and what causes asthma flare-ups in one person might not bother another at all. The things that set off asthma symptoms are called triggers. The following is one of the more common triggers: allergens. An allergen is any substance that causes an allergic reaction in some people. Some people with asthma find that allergens can be a major trigger. Common allergens are dust mites (microscopic bugs that live in dust), molds, pollen, animal dander, and cockroaches.
Another common trigger are airborne irritants and pollutants. Certain substances in the air, such as chalk dust or smoke, can trigger asthma because they irritate the airways.
I hope that parents reading this will see the point that I am trying to drive at. While excessive inhalation of dust could cause long-term damage to our and our children’s lungs, we should also concern ourselves with its immediate effects.
If your child is having colds that has been going on for weeks, this means that he has developed an allergic reaction to dust. He will most likely develop sinusitis. Believe me, having this condition is not easy. I suffer from migraines because of my allergies. There are nasal sprays that I could use to protect myself against allergens, but they are very expensive, with prices ranging from P700.00 to as much as P1,200.00 and probably even more! There are times when I’d go unprotected because I had either ran out of spray or did not have the extra money to buy another bottle. These are times when I’d be knocked down by excruciating headaches. My experience through the years had made me realize that when our sinuses are clogged, drinking cold water could trigger the headaches.
I am writing about this topic now because I am very concerned for the children that I am seeing everyday being driven through the dust on their way to and from school. They may not be feeling the ill effects now, but it will come. There is no avoiding them.
So what should we do? If our only means of taking our children to school is by open transport such as motorcycle or a multicab, we should ensure that their noses are appropriately covered in the hope of minimizing their exposure to dust.
And children being children, we cannot trust them with mere hankies. Sooner or later, they will most certainly forget that they had to keep holding their hankies up against their noses. Maybe the best that we could do is to make them wear facemasks when we drive through dusty streets.
I don't really know if facemasks are effective protection against dust, but in my mind, it’s better than nothing at all. So what are we waiting for? It’s our children’s future health that we are talking about! Let’s start doing something now!
This past week, as I continued to literally inch my way towards my daughter’s school, I often thought of this road as either the road to sainthood or damnation. Truly, we don't “drive” through this disaster we call development, we struggle through it. Believe me, the things we have to put up with will test even the patience of a saint!
Being able to keep my cool day after day has become a daily test of patience for me. I count my day a success if I could suppress every urge I’d get to give each and every abusive and undisciplined driver I’d encounter the spanking they so rightly deserved!
Lately though, my concern has shifted from traffic to the perpetual cloud of dust that covers the area. I am often horrified to see children being driven through this cloud without even the most basic covering for their noses! Those children were freely inhaling all that dust and getting all kinds of particles deep into their respiratory system!
I am particularly concerned over this because I suffer from dust allergy. Let me inhale dust for two days or so and you’ll soon find me with a clogged nose and totally knocked down by severe headache.
Before starting to write this, I went online to educate myself about the ill effects of dust inhalation. Let me share what I have learned. But before that, let’s keep in mind that I’m not a doctor, so please pardon any slip-up.
What are dusts? Dusts are tiny solid particles scattered or suspended in the air. The particles are "inorganic" or "organic," depending on the source of the dust. Inorganic dusts can come from grinding metals or minerals such as rock or soil. Organic dusts originate from plants or animals.
Our lungs are constantly exposed to danger from the dusts that we breathe in. Luckily, the lungs have defense mechanisms that protect them by removing dust particles from the respiratory system. On the other hand, even though the lungs can clear themselves, excessive inhalation of dust may still result in disease.
What happens when we breathe in dust? The lungs are protected by a series of defense mechanisms in different regions of the respiratory tract. When a person breathes in, particles suspended in the air enter the nose, but not all of them reach the lungs. The nose is an efficient filter. Most large particles are stopped in it, until they are removed mechanically by blowing the nose or sneezing.
Some of the smaller particles succeed in passing through the nose to reach the windpipe and the air tubes that lead to the lungs. The airways are lined by cells that produce mucus and these catch most of the dust particles. Tiny hairs called cilia move the mucus upward and out into the throat, where it is either coughed up and spat out, or swallowed.
The air that reaches the tiny air sacs in the inner part of the lungs may carry dust particles that have avoided the defenses in the nose and airways. Special cells called macrophages will attack this dust. Macrophages virtually swallow the particles. Then in a way that is not well understood, they reach the part of the airways that is covered by cilia where the wavelike motions move the macrophages that contain dust to the throat, where they are spat out or swallowed.
What are the reactions of the lungs to dust? The way the respiratory system responds to inhaled particles depends, to a great extent, on where the particle settles. For example, irritant dust that settles in the nose may lead to rhinitis, an inflammation of the mucous membrane. If the particle attacks the larger air passages, inflammation of the trachea (tracheitis) or the bronchi (bronchitis) may be seen.
The most significant reactions of the lung occur in the deepest parts of this organ. Particles that evade elimination in the nose or throat tend to settle in the sacs or close to the end of the airways. But if the amount of dust is large, the macrophage system may fail. Dust particles and dust-containing macrophages collect in the lung tissues, causing injury to the lungs.
From what I have learned so far, I think that every parent’s more immediate concern for children who are continually exposed to dust is the development of allergic rhinitis, sinusitis, or asthma.
We have already learned that rhinitis is an inflammation of the mucous membranes of the nose. This is caused by allergy-causing irritants such as dust. Symptoms include: sneezing; itchy nose, roof of the mouth, throat, eyes or ears; runny nose; congestion; and watery eyes.
Sinusitis is a painful, long-lasting inflammation of the sinuses. Sinuses are the hollow cavities around the cheekbones found around the eyes and behind the nose. Symptoms of sinusitis include: congestion; green or gray nasal discharge; postnasal drip; pressure in the face; headache; fever; a cough that won't go away.
Sinusitis may last for months or years if it is not properly treated. Colds are the most common cause of acute sinusitis, but people with allergies are much more likely to develop sinusitis than people who do not have allergies.
Is It a Colds or Allergies? Colds, which result from viral infection, are more likely to occur at any time (though they're more common during the rainy season). On the other hand, if during summer season your child is sneezing and wheezing, he may suffer from allergies.
Although colds and allergies produce similar symptoms, colds usually last only a week or so. And although both may cause your child’s nose and eyes to itch, colds and other viral infections may also give him a fever, aches and pains, and colored mucus. Allergies wont cause these. Cold symptoms often worsen as the days go on and then gradually improve. Allergies, on the other hand, begin immediately after exposure to the offending allergen and last as long as that exposure continues. If you're not sure whether your symptoms are being caused by allergies or a cold, talk with your doctor.
How about asthma? Asthma symptoms can be brought on by dozens of different things, and what causes asthma flare-ups in one person might not bother another at all. The things that set off asthma symptoms are called triggers. The following is one of the more common triggers: allergens. An allergen is any substance that causes an allergic reaction in some people. Some people with asthma find that allergens can be a major trigger. Common allergens are dust mites (microscopic bugs that live in dust), molds, pollen, animal dander, and cockroaches.
Another common trigger are airborne irritants and pollutants. Certain substances in the air, such as chalk dust or smoke, can trigger asthma because they irritate the airways.
I hope that parents reading this will see the point that I am trying to drive at. While excessive inhalation of dust could cause long-term damage to our and our children’s lungs, we should also concern ourselves with its immediate effects.
If your child is having colds that has been going on for weeks, this means that he has developed an allergic reaction to dust. He will most likely develop sinusitis. Believe me, having this condition is not easy. I suffer from migraines because of my allergies. There are nasal sprays that I could use to protect myself against allergens, but they are very expensive, with prices ranging from P700.00 to as much as P1,200.00 and probably even more! There are times when I’d go unprotected because I had either ran out of spray or did not have the extra money to buy another bottle. These are times when I’d be knocked down by excruciating headaches. My experience through the years had made me realize that when our sinuses are clogged, drinking cold water could trigger the headaches.
I am writing about this topic now because I am very concerned for the children that I am seeing everyday being driven through the dust on their way to and from school. They may not be feeling the ill effects now, but it will come. There is no avoiding them.
So what should we do? If our only means of taking our children to school is by open transport such as motorcycle or a multicab, we should ensure that their noses are appropriately covered in the hope of minimizing their exposure to dust.
And children being children, we cannot trust them with mere hankies. Sooner or later, they will most certainly forget that they had to keep holding their hankies up against their noses. Maybe the best that we could do is to make them wear facemasks when we drive through dusty streets.
I don't really know if facemasks are effective protection against dust, but in my mind, it’s better than nothing at all. So what are we waiting for? It’s our children’s future health that we are talking about! Let’s start doing something now!
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Hayden in our Homes
I’m a Hayden victim too!
Ha-ha! Fat chance! But seriously, I count myself a victim .. sort of. That is, if you consider missing the evening news at the peak of this sex video brouhaha the kind that would qualify me into that category.
Let me put this into frame. My daughter Abby owns the TV. Weekends during schooldays and during the entire summer vacation, Abby holds absolute dominion over the TV remote. I have long since given up the fight for it, but I did managed to squeak in my parental prerogative for American Idol and the evening news.
But wait! Before anyone starts getting images of a wild child running loose in our home, let me clear things up. The word discipline hangs heavily over this household. I simply do not stand my ground on every issue that comes between my daughter and myself just because I could. I let her get away with inconsequential stuff (like the remote) and dig my heels in only for those things that really matter.
With that out of the way, let’s get back to my TV privileges and Hayden. As I was saying, I insisted on getting the TV only to watch American Idol and the news. Imagine Abby’s delight when AI had its finale … “I’m so happy!! Now I can have the TV back!” So I only had the evening news left as my sole claim to it. This was the only time when I could tell her to go to MY channel, regardless of what she may be watching at that time. And I had to give this up too because of HIM!!
I know that almost everyone is as sick and tired of this pathetic excuse of a man as I am. But I am writing all the same because this issue had not been tackled down to the level of family, more particularly, its impact on my child and how it had caused a big upset on my efforts to raise my child in ways I think best. Maybe the distasteful effects of Hayden’s capers have reached your homes too.
We all reacted in various ways when this scandal broke the surface. But react, we all did! We all professed shock and disgust over this man but undeniably, many of us got curious. Countless Dumagueteños crowded around office computers to scour the internet for these videos. I know of many who have the videos in their cell phones and flash disks. CDs sold like pancakes.
But while everyone waited with bated breath for the next installment of this latest melodrama, I became wary of TV news and started avoiding it altogether! And that’s how I missed out on almost everything that went on during that time. I had to. Abby watches with me and I did not want her to see half-naked Hayden and Katrina gyrating before her in the TV screen, or be bombarded by blurred but still highly suggestive and thought-provoking photos of an apparently-naked man and woman while the news screamed SEX SCANDAL!!! I knew exactly the kind of questions that I would be inundated with. And I wasn’t, and still am, not ready for them.
But as we all know, even the fiercest guard dog (that’s me) couldn’t keep the guard up at all times. Almost immediately, I slipped when I left Abby briefly in the care of our house helpers when she was in the hospital. When I returned, I found all three of them staring up into the TV screen seemingly mesmerized by those hateful images. I could only imagine what may have been going through Abby’s impressionable young mind as she watched them. Children’s brains soak up information like hungry sponges. I braced myself for the barrage of questions that I knew my inquisitive child had coming for me.
Abby is no stranger to sexy scenes though. She sees them in TV all the time. The reality is that THERE IS NO AVOIDING THEM. They come to you even while you are merely surfing for channels. Even cartoon characters smooch non-stop in kiddie channels. I have already been asked why foreigners sleep without their clothes on. She considered it stupid because the lady would have to keep holding the blanket up to cover her chest.
But I don't think she ever gave any of it much thought except probably to shake her head in wonder at the stupidity of some grownups’ peculiar habits.
But things changed after this Hayden scandal. The tiny wheels inside her head started turning and putting two and two together and whoa!! she had become wiser on this subject! She must have picked up snippets of information from her school friends, from TV and movies, and from everywhere else then lumped them all together and came up with an almost-perfect picture.
Then the questions started. I wanted to wail. I wanted to scratch Hayden’s eyes out! I wanted to give him the kind of circumcision that finishes everything off! I thought of that former policeman who poured water over his head and wished he had used muriatic acid instead!
“Mama, what is sex?” (waaaah!!) “No, not the male and female thing! I mean THE BAD THING!” (WAAAAH!) By then, she had me cornered! I could not think. My mind was filled with images of a glistening pair of scissors, clicking ominously, as they moved with deliberate slowness towards a cowering Hayden for that much dreamed-of circumcision!
How do we talk about sex to our children? How old should they be before this sit down about the birds and the bees becomes imperative? I have absolutely no idea. There’s supposed to be a book on this subject at National bookstore. I should have gotten that the moment I knew that I was going to have a child!
But it was too late by then. I was unprepared for her direct questions. I crossed my fingers secretly and lied through my teeth … “it’s another word for mating Langga, you know, like what our dogs, chicken and love birds do to have babies.” (It’s still partly true, I told myself!) “I KNOW THAT ALREADY!!” (Huh? Oh yeah! There goes my chance to wriggle out of this!) “So, what is “it”? Why is it bad? What is a scandal?” (HAYDENNN!!!) If I were really that guard dog I said I was, I’d be baring my fangs and growling and bristling at him by that time! But deep inside, I was writhing in agony. Add a foaming mouth in your mental image and that’s the accurate picture of what I went through at that time!
There was no way out by then. I had to face my curious child’s questions (although I still wasn’t above skirting some if I could). In essence I told her that sex is what people do to have a baby. I added that, by itself, it is not bad and that in fact, it is very beautiful and good. But I told her that it is beautiful only when done between husband and wife as God commands it. And it becomes bad only when people do it before they get married. “Or ARE NOT married!”, Abby added.
After this I braced myself for the particulars, the HOWS … I had absolutely no idea how to answer this or even how to avoid answering the questions I was sure were coming next … should I tell her already how it happens and exactly what parts of the anatomy are involved? In my mind, I was still deliberating over truths vs. lies when my brat dropped her million-dollar conclusion … “So you and Papa do it, right?” (Oh my God! I did not expect this! This is killing me! How does anybody ever answer THAT question to a nine-year old?) “But how come I don't see you take your clothes off? Or dance like this?” She raised her arms and wriggled her hips! These are obviously the images that she associates with sex.
By then, I was too exhausted even to give Hayden Kho a mental growl. I sought refuge in my lies and told Abby that those things are done only in the movies. “Besides, can you imagine me dancing like that??? With all my bilbil (tummy blob) hanging out???”
Humor saved me from further torture that day! We had a long, good laugh over that. Abby couldn’t get over the ridiculous idea of her mama (with her bilbil flying all over the place) and papa dancing the way Hayden and Katrina did. Then an idea occurred to her, “Oh yeah! I came from medicines right? You had to be injected so you could have me!” I just nodded vaguely. I was thankful for this temporary relief from the questions and the need to be upfront with her.
For now, I am happy that the questions have stopped coming. She seems content with the knowledge that she developed directly through the fertility drugs that I received while undergoing treatment.
But the crucial question still remains. How and when should we talk about sex to our children?
I know that some readers may find me too conservative regarding this matter. But is it too wrong to want your daughter to remain innocent for as long as possible? What parent wouldn’t want that for his child?
I have no intention of not taking up this topic up with Abby. I just think that at nine years old, she is still way too young for these sorts of worldly concerns. I would have wanted her to remain, in every essence a child, for as long as possible.
But what can I do? Time and circumstances have gotten way ahead of this mom. There is nothing much that we can keep from our children nowadays. The wisest course of action at this point for me will be to educate Abby about sex not only within the physical context but more importantly, within the proper context of God and religion, family, society, consequences and responsibilities, and of course, morality.
As for Hayden Kho, I still have modified circumcision in mind for him. Seriously though, his utterly selfish acts have far-reaching repercussions, way beyond the obvious damage that it is doing to the women he had victimized. He almost single-handedly corrupted the minds of countless children all over the country (with the help of the sensationalized treatment given by irresponsible TV journalism) thereby robbing them of precious innocence.
He forced into my Abby an awareness that she can still do without. He is forcing me to confront an issue that I’m still not prepared and not willing to meet at this time.
But there it is. The need has arisen. I have no choice. So off to the bookstore this Mom goes!
Ha-ha! Fat chance! But seriously, I count myself a victim .. sort of. That is, if you consider missing the evening news at the peak of this sex video brouhaha the kind that would qualify me into that category.
Let me put this into frame. My daughter Abby owns the TV. Weekends during schooldays and during the entire summer vacation, Abby holds absolute dominion over the TV remote. I have long since given up the fight for it, but I did managed to squeak in my parental prerogative for American Idol and the evening news.
But wait! Before anyone starts getting images of a wild child running loose in our home, let me clear things up. The word discipline hangs heavily over this household. I simply do not stand my ground on every issue that comes between my daughter and myself just because I could. I let her get away with inconsequential stuff (like the remote) and dig my heels in only for those things that really matter.
With that out of the way, let’s get back to my TV privileges and Hayden. As I was saying, I insisted on getting the TV only to watch American Idol and the news. Imagine Abby’s delight when AI had its finale … “I’m so happy!! Now I can have the TV back!” So I only had the evening news left as my sole claim to it. This was the only time when I could tell her to go to MY channel, regardless of what she may be watching at that time. And I had to give this up too because of HIM!!
I know that almost everyone is as sick and tired of this pathetic excuse of a man as I am. But I am writing all the same because this issue had not been tackled down to the level of family, more particularly, its impact on my child and how it had caused a big upset on my efforts to raise my child in ways I think best. Maybe the distasteful effects of Hayden’s capers have reached your homes too.
We all reacted in various ways when this scandal broke the surface. But react, we all did! We all professed shock and disgust over this man but undeniably, many of us got curious. Countless Dumagueteños crowded around office computers to scour the internet for these videos. I know of many who have the videos in their cell phones and flash disks. CDs sold like pancakes.
But while everyone waited with bated breath for the next installment of this latest melodrama, I became wary of TV news and started avoiding it altogether! And that’s how I missed out on almost everything that went on during that time. I had to. Abby watches with me and I did not want her to see half-naked Hayden and Katrina gyrating before her in the TV screen, or be bombarded by blurred but still highly suggestive and thought-provoking photos of an apparently-naked man and woman while the news screamed SEX SCANDAL!!! I knew exactly the kind of questions that I would be inundated with. And I wasn’t, and still am, not ready for them.
But as we all know, even the fiercest guard dog (that’s me) couldn’t keep the guard up at all times. Almost immediately, I slipped when I left Abby briefly in the care of our house helpers when she was in the hospital. When I returned, I found all three of them staring up into the TV screen seemingly mesmerized by those hateful images. I could only imagine what may have been going through Abby’s impressionable young mind as she watched them. Children’s brains soak up information like hungry sponges. I braced myself for the barrage of questions that I knew my inquisitive child had coming for me.
Abby is no stranger to sexy scenes though. She sees them in TV all the time. The reality is that THERE IS NO AVOIDING THEM. They come to you even while you are merely surfing for channels. Even cartoon characters smooch non-stop in kiddie channels. I have already been asked why foreigners sleep without their clothes on. She considered it stupid because the lady would have to keep holding the blanket up to cover her chest.
But I don't think she ever gave any of it much thought except probably to shake her head in wonder at the stupidity of some grownups’ peculiar habits.
But things changed after this Hayden scandal. The tiny wheels inside her head started turning and putting two and two together and whoa!! she had become wiser on this subject! She must have picked up snippets of information from her school friends, from TV and movies, and from everywhere else then lumped them all together and came up with an almost-perfect picture.
Then the questions started. I wanted to wail. I wanted to scratch Hayden’s eyes out! I wanted to give him the kind of circumcision that finishes everything off! I thought of that former policeman who poured water over his head and wished he had used muriatic acid instead!
“Mama, what is sex?” (waaaah!!) “No, not the male and female thing! I mean THE BAD THING!” (WAAAAH!) By then, she had me cornered! I could not think. My mind was filled with images of a glistening pair of scissors, clicking ominously, as they moved with deliberate slowness towards a cowering Hayden for that much dreamed-of circumcision!
How do we talk about sex to our children? How old should they be before this sit down about the birds and the bees becomes imperative? I have absolutely no idea. There’s supposed to be a book on this subject at National bookstore. I should have gotten that the moment I knew that I was going to have a child!
But it was too late by then. I was unprepared for her direct questions. I crossed my fingers secretly and lied through my teeth … “it’s another word for mating Langga, you know, like what our dogs, chicken and love birds do to have babies.” (It’s still partly true, I told myself!) “I KNOW THAT ALREADY!!” (Huh? Oh yeah! There goes my chance to wriggle out of this!) “So, what is “it”? Why is it bad? What is a scandal?” (HAYDENNN!!!) If I were really that guard dog I said I was, I’d be baring my fangs and growling and bristling at him by that time! But deep inside, I was writhing in agony. Add a foaming mouth in your mental image and that’s the accurate picture of what I went through at that time!
There was no way out by then. I had to face my curious child’s questions (although I still wasn’t above skirting some if I could). In essence I told her that sex is what people do to have a baby. I added that, by itself, it is not bad and that in fact, it is very beautiful and good. But I told her that it is beautiful only when done between husband and wife as God commands it. And it becomes bad only when people do it before they get married. “Or ARE NOT married!”, Abby added.
After this I braced myself for the particulars, the HOWS … I had absolutely no idea how to answer this or even how to avoid answering the questions I was sure were coming next … should I tell her already how it happens and exactly what parts of the anatomy are involved? In my mind, I was still deliberating over truths vs. lies when my brat dropped her million-dollar conclusion … “So you and Papa do it, right?” (Oh my God! I did not expect this! This is killing me! How does anybody ever answer THAT question to a nine-year old?) “But how come I don't see you take your clothes off? Or dance like this?” She raised her arms and wriggled her hips! These are obviously the images that she associates with sex.By then, I was too exhausted even to give Hayden Kho a mental growl. I sought refuge in my lies and told Abby that those things are done only in the movies. “Besides, can you imagine me dancing like that??? With all my bilbil (tummy blob) hanging out???”
Humor saved me from further torture that day! We had a long, good laugh over that. Abby couldn’t get over the ridiculous idea of her mama (with her bilbil flying all over the place) and papa dancing the way Hayden and Katrina did. Then an idea occurred to her, “Oh yeah! I came from medicines right? You had to be injected so you could have me!” I just nodded vaguely. I was thankful for this temporary relief from the questions and the need to be upfront with her.
For now, I am happy that the questions have stopped coming. She seems content with the knowledge that she developed directly through the fertility drugs that I received while undergoing treatment.
But the crucial question still remains. How and when should we talk about sex to our children?
I know that some readers may find me too conservative regarding this matter. But is it too wrong to want your daughter to remain innocent for as long as possible? What parent wouldn’t want that for his child?
I have no intention of not taking up this topic up with Abby. I just think that at nine years old, she is still way too young for these sorts of worldly concerns. I would have wanted her to remain, in every essence a child, for as long as possible.
But what can I do? Time and circumstances have gotten way ahead of this mom. There is nothing much that we can keep from our children nowadays. The wisest course of action at this point for me will be to educate Abby about sex not only within the physical context but more importantly, within the proper context of God and religion, family, society, consequences and responsibilities, and of course, morality.
As for Hayden Kho, I still have modified circumcision in mind for him. Seriously though, his utterly selfish acts have far-reaching repercussions, way beyond the obvious damage that it is doing to the women he had victimized. He almost single-handedly corrupted the minds of countless children all over the country (with the help of the sensationalized treatment given by irresponsible TV journalism) thereby robbing them of precious innocence.
He forced into my Abby an awareness that she can still do without. He is forcing me to confront an issue that I’m still not prepared and not willing to meet at this time.
But there it is. The need has arisen. I have no choice. So off to the bookstore this Mom goes!
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Thank You Teachers!!!
"Whose child is this?" I asked one day
Seeing a little one out at play
"Mine", said the parent with a tender smile
"Mine to keep a little while
To bathe his hands and comb his hair
To tell him what he is to wear
To prepare him that he may always be good
And each day do the things he should"
"Whose child is this?" I asked again
As the door opened and someone came in
"Mine", said the teacher with the same tender smile
"Mine, to keep just for a little while
To teach him how to be gentle and kind
To train and direct his dear little mind
To help him live by every rule
And get the best he can from school"
"Whose child is this?" I ask once more
Just as the little one entered the door
"Ours" said the parent and the teacher as they smiled
And each took the hand of the little child
"Ours to love and train together
Ours this blessed task forever.”
Author unknown)
Time and again, I wrote about how motherhood has brought me boundless joy. I also wrote of the depths and heights of rage and frustration that only our beloved children could make us go through.
Becoming a mother forced me to confront myself more often than I wanted to and made me face truths about myself I would have preferred not knowing … truths like frailties and limitations that I’m certain most of us would rather not have.
One is foremost in my mind right now … that I can’t be Abby’s mother and teacher at the same time. Sure, I’m her teacher about life’s basics, but I stop there.
Beyond that and it’s flying notebooks and pencil cases, broken rulers, stinging palms (mine from banging the table), hurt looks in the eyes and tears streaming all the way down to quivering lips.
I have close to zero tolerance for Abby come time to do assignments or prepare for quizzes and exams.
I lost no time seeking a tutor’s help to spare us both from this ordeal.
Realizing this, I discovered a newfound respect, profound admiration, and the deepest gratitude for everyone in the teaching profession.
If one child could drive me to the edge of sanity, I can’t even begin to imagine what thirty or so children could do to one teacher day in and day out.
And yet, day after day, they persevere. Morning after morning, they troop into our schools, as fresh as the day itself, ready to face once more, a day that only they could truly know.
William Arthur Ward once said, “Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it.”
So as Catherina Cittadini (St. Louis) School celebrates Teachers’ Day on January 27, the feast day of St. Angela Merici, Patroness of Teachers, I join all Cittadine parents in saying … For taking their hand and walking along with us parents as our children journey towards their future … we can only say … thank you, THANK YOU!
To our Cittadine teachers …
Happy Teachers’ Day!
Seeing a little one out at play
"Mine", said the parent with a tender smile
"Mine to keep a little while
To bathe his hands and comb his hair
To tell him what he is to wear
To prepare him that he may always be good
And each day do the things he should"
"Whose child is this?" I asked again
As the door opened and someone came in
"Mine", said the teacher with the same tender smile
"Mine, to keep just for a little while
To teach him how to be gentle and kind
To train and direct his dear little mind
To help him live by every rule
And get the best he can from school"
"Whose child is this?" I ask once more
Just as the little one entered the door
"Ours" said the parent and the teacher as they smiled
And each took the hand of the little child
"Ours to love and train together
Ours this blessed task forever.”
Author unknown)
Time and again, I wrote about how motherhood has brought me boundless joy. I also wrote of the depths and heights of rage and frustration that only our beloved children could make us go through.
Becoming a mother forced me to confront myself more often than I wanted to and made me face truths about myself I would have preferred not knowing … truths like frailties and limitations that I’m certain most of us would rather not have.
One is foremost in my mind right now … that I can’t be Abby’s mother and teacher at the same time. Sure, I’m her teacher about life’s basics, but I stop there.
Beyond that and it’s flying notebooks and pencil cases, broken rulers, stinging palms (mine from banging the table), hurt looks in the eyes and tears streaming all the way down to quivering lips.
I have close to zero tolerance for Abby come time to do assignments or prepare for quizzes and exams.
I lost no time seeking a tutor’s help to spare us both from this ordeal.
Realizing this, I discovered a newfound respect, profound admiration, and the deepest gratitude for everyone in the teaching profession.
If one child could drive me to the edge of sanity, I can’t even begin to imagine what thirty or so children could do to one teacher day in and day out.
And yet, day after day, they persevere. Morning after morning, they troop into our schools, as fresh as the day itself, ready to face once more, a day that only they could truly know.
William Arthur Ward once said, “Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it.”
So as Catherina Cittadini (St. Louis) School celebrates Teachers’ Day on January 27, the feast day of St. Angela Merici, Patroness of Teachers, I join all Cittadine parents in saying … For taking their hand and walking along with us parents as our children journey towards their future … we can only say … thank you, THANK YOU!
To our Cittadine teachers …
Happy Teachers’ Day!
Friday, August 29, 2008
Never a Dull Moment
Last Sunday, I dressed wearily for the gala performance of the Bayanihan, the Philippine National Folk Dance Company, at the Luce Auditorium. I would have loved nothing more than just stay at home and curl up in front of the TV after our long hot day at the beach. (You know how it is going to the beach. You come home feeling dry, sticky and exhausted to the bone although you did nothing but sit all day.) Besides, I had reservations about my daughter, Abby, being able to stay awake during the performance, having swam and played all afternoon long.
But the thought of our two season passes sitting unused and gathering dust in the drawer, and to quiet down that tiny voice inside my head persistently reminding me to “think of how much each pass cost! Think of how much each pass cost!!” … firmed up my resolve. We’re going! Abby can curl up in her seat and snore to her heart’s content, but we’re using those tickets!
So there I was, facing my closet, trying to decide which one of my three good slacks I would wear that night (which, incidentally, were all colored brown, so there was actually no justifiable cause for my indecision) and still fighting the urge to return to the bedroom and just be my usual couch potato self.
But then, I thought of my reason for getting the two season passes for Abby and myself in the first place. I thought that at eight years of age, it was time for her to get introduced to Dumaguete’s cultural life. I didn’t want her to grow up thinking that the only forms of entertainment available are the television, the movies and the occasional Tayada sa Plaza events.
Dumaguete offers so much more and being a native, Abby should realize that she is very fortunate that we have Silliman University at the center of this city’s rich cultural life.
My apprehensions proved to be unfounded. My daughter was hooked from the very beginning. She leaned forward in her seat practically all throughout the performance, small fingers tapping to the beat of the music, her small face transfixed by that cacophony of movement and color on the stage, and barely sparing me a glance whenever I’d say something to her. I sustained her interest by whispering snippets of information like pointing out that Filipino girls wore those long gowns during Spanish time. I was rewarded by “Whoa!!! No pants or shorts?”
Thus, our evening at Luce turned out to be an invaluable learning experience, not only for Abby but also for myself. Take this for instance. When I told her to look at the musicians, particularly at that girl playing that “drum thingy”, she quickly told me that, it’s not a drum Mama, it’s the Kulintang! What??? How did you know that? From Makabayan, where else? (She said that in a tone which seemed to ask, “Hello??? Where have you been lately?”)
She also immediately recognized Tinikling and Singkil although she had not seen these dances performed before. This was an added bonus to my original intent of merely exposing her to cultural shows.
My investment of one thousand five hundred per season pass, which I thought, would merely entertain us, had become an extension of my daughter’s education. For Abby to actually see the pictures from her books come to life is priceless! The money spent for her season pass was money well spent indeed!
On top of that, the Bayanihan dancers gave us a very entertaining and highly enjoyable evening. From the controlled grace and elegance of the dances portraying four centuries of Spanish influence, to the explosion of colors, movements and sounds celebrating the joyous Filipino spirit, we sat enraptured and spellbound, our palms stinging as we gave one deafening applause after another, never holding back as we showered the Bayanihan dancers and musicians with our sincere appreciation.
Now, as I think back of that night, only one thought keeps coming back … there was never a dull moment indeed!
(For inquiries and ticket reservations, please contact the Silliman University Cultural Affairs Committee Secretariat at (035) 422-6002 local 520 or 0917-300-0783.)
Thursday, July 31, 2008
On Joy and Sorrow
Written May 1, 2008
These past few weeks, my heart was filled with a quite joy I shared only with those nearest and dearest to me. That which I have been longing and praying for has finally been granted. I was going to have another baby.
I started to dream for this baby again, just I dreamed for my little Maia, another baby I lost two years ago.
But my dreams were quickly shattered when at almost nine weeks, we learned that I lost this little one too. The depths of my sorrow could be equaled only by the heights of my joy as I happily anticipated holding another baby in my arms.
Early embryonic demise. No cardiac activity. These words appeared in the ultrasound report. But I did not have to read it to know. Watching the face of the doctor who did the ultrasound told me everything there was to know. My heart went cold. I could only cry for another baby I will never come to know and love … another baby who would have completed our little family even more.
What followed was a blur of indecision, of me adamantly refusing to take the drugs to induce the expulsion of my baby from inside me, of refusing to consider a D&C, of wanting the process of losing this child to take its natural course … to accepting the drugs when a follow-up ultrasound confirmed my loss, to wanting a D&C and then not wanting it … and finally, to admitting that the waiting was taking too much toll on me and my family … that emotionally, spiritually, physically and psychologically, I am drained to the core of my being.
I am having my second miscarriage as I am writing. I started bleeding as cramps wracked my body last night. This came as a welcome relief to my weary soul.
I was on denial when I had my first miscarriage. I refused to accept my baby’s death even though pain tore through my body day after day. I fought hard by imploring God to give life to my child. As long as I had hope in my heart, I refused to let go. I was willing to do whatever it took if it meant life for my little one. But as fate would have it, my baby and I lost that battle.
This time around, I put up no fight at all. Maybe the past made me more resigned, more accepting of the undeniable fact that losing a child, one that seemed so improbable and so incomprehensible before, has become a recurrent reality in my life.
But while I accepted my third baby’s death, I still refused, and continue to do so up till now, to have a D&C. Only when the choice is taken out of my hands will I submit to that procedure.
But while I still have that choice, I choose for my little one to leave me as God had intended. I want to wait for nature to take its course. But without medical intervention, I realized that the waiting could take so long. And it started to take its toll. Everything in me grew weary from being suspended in a state where I was neither here nor there … where my body felt pregnant yet with no growing life within it … where I grieved and not grieve at the same time. Finally, all that I ever wanted was to reach closure, to be able to move on and open myself up to my family again.
So I finally sought medical aid. I took the medication that would induce the expulsion process. When the cramps came, I welcomed them with relief. There is no use holding on when there is nothing more to hold on to.
I have been asked why I did not want a D&C. I said that going into surgery scared me and that I did not want to expose myself to the risks accompanying this procedure.
But I have been less than honest with these answers. While I do feel this way about D&C, the real reason behind this refusal is my desire for privacy and dignity, for wanting this miscarriage to happen just between me and my child, not in a roomful of strangers where my baby will be referred to as tissue or product of conception and handled in much the same way as medical personnel would handle a surgically-removed appendix or cyst. So cold. So distant and uncaring. So professional. I do not want my baby to leave me that way.
When my baby will finally leave, I want nobody else except me touching it … where it will be held with love, tenderness and great respect.
With Mama alone, this baby will be spared from becoming the subject of cruel jokes by dispassionate medical workers. The first baby I lost suffered that fate. Cheerful lab workers, oblivious to my pain, talked about urinating on the cup containing my poor little one right in my presence.
That is not going to happen this time. This baby will be spared from that kind of indignity and disrespect. This time, my child will receive nothing but all the love and respect it deserves as another one of God’s creations.
These past few weeks, my heart was filled with a quite joy I shared only with those nearest and dearest to me. That which I have been longing and praying for has finally been granted. I was going to have another baby.
I started to dream for this baby again, just I dreamed for my little Maia, another baby I lost two years ago.
But my dreams were quickly shattered when at almost nine weeks, we learned that I lost this little one too. The depths of my sorrow could be equaled only by the heights of my joy as I happily anticipated holding another baby in my arms.
Early embryonic demise. No cardiac activity. These words appeared in the ultrasound report. But I did not have to read it to know. Watching the face of the doctor who did the ultrasound told me everything there was to know. My heart went cold. I could only cry for another baby I will never come to know and love … another baby who would have completed our little family even more.
What followed was a blur of indecision, of me adamantly refusing to take the drugs to induce the expulsion of my baby from inside me, of refusing to consider a D&C, of wanting the process of losing this child to take its natural course … to accepting the drugs when a follow-up ultrasound confirmed my loss, to wanting a D&C and then not wanting it … and finally, to admitting that the waiting was taking too much toll on me and my family … that emotionally, spiritually, physically and psychologically, I am drained to the core of my being.
I am having my second miscarriage as I am writing. I started bleeding as cramps wracked my body last night. This came as a welcome relief to my weary soul.
I was on denial when I had my first miscarriage. I refused to accept my baby’s death even though pain tore through my body day after day. I fought hard by imploring God to give life to my child. As long as I had hope in my heart, I refused to let go. I was willing to do whatever it took if it meant life for my little one. But as fate would have it, my baby and I lost that battle.
This time around, I put up no fight at all. Maybe the past made me more resigned, more accepting of the undeniable fact that losing a child, one that seemed so improbable and so incomprehensible before, has become a recurrent reality in my life.
But while I accepted my third baby’s death, I still refused, and continue to do so up till now, to have a D&C. Only when the choice is taken out of my hands will I submit to that procedure.
But while I still have that choice, I choose for my little one to leave me as God had intended. I want to wait for nature to take its course. But without medical intervention, I realized that the waiting could take so long. And it started to take its toll. Everything in me grew weary from being suspended in a state where I was neither here nor there … where my body felt pregnant yet with no growing life within it … where I grieved and not grieve at the same time. Finally, all that I ever wanted was to reach closure, to be able to move on and open myself up to my family again.
So I finally sought medical aid. I took the medication that would induce the expulsion process. When the cramps came, I welcomed them with relief. There is no use holding on when there is nothing more to hold on to.
I have been asked why I did not want a D&C. I said that going into surgery scared me and that I did not want to expose myself to the risks accompanying this procedure.
But I have been less than honest with these answers. While I do feel this way about D&C, the real reason behind this refusal is my desire for privacy and dignity, for wanting this miscarriage to happen just between me and my child, not in a roomful of strangers where my baby will be referred to as tissue or product of conception and handled in much the same way as medical personnel would handle a surgically-removed appendix or cyst. So cold. So distant and uncaring. So professional. I do not want my baby to leave me that way.
When my baby will finally leave, I want nobody else except me touching it … where it will be held with love, tenderness and great respect.
With Mama alone, this baby will be spared from becoming the subject of cruel jokes by dispassionate medical workers. The first baby I lost suffered that fate. Cheerful lab workers, oblivious to my pain, talked about urinating on the cup containing my poor little one right in my presence.
That is not going to happen this time. This baby will be spared from that kind of indignity and disrespect. This time, my child will receive nothing but all the love and respect it deserves as another one of God’s creations.
Picky Eaters: Born or Made?
Those of you who read this column once or twice might have chanced upon me complaining over how picky my daughter is with her food. It has always been a constant source of friction between me and my pint-sized nemesis, who from day 1 – and I mean DAY ONE!!! – defied me over the subject of food! Can you imagine that? Me? Who worships every gastronomic delight I could lay my hands on … has a daughter who does not want to eat?
As I said, it started all the way back from Day One – when she absolutely refused to suckle from me! I still remember Abby (who was only a few days old then) turning as red as a tomato as she bawled and screamed and kicked and pushed at my face … just to free herself from my breast!
My husband and I figured at that time that if we could manage to make her open her mouth wide enough to take a nipple and then quickly hold her head to prevent her from turning away, that she’d somehow realize the futility of her refusal, cave in to our superior will, and start taking and liking my milk!
Oh well … she put up such a valiant struggle (you wouldn’t believe how strong a newly- born infant could be!) we quickly raised the white flag for fear that she’d dislocate something as she relentlessly twisted and turned her head to get free!! I still remember the raucous that attempted forced feeding caused! The neighbors must have thought we were trying to murder our new baby! And that red, red, RED face … unforgettable!
Down the drain went our superior will … will somebody get the bottle please?
And so the pattern for the next few years was set … feeding time became synonymous with battle of wills … where getting her to take a spoonful only signified the start of the next battle, which was to get her to chew … after which the next challenge awaited … how to make her swallow.
As she grew older, Abby became uncompromising in her refusal to eat food that she thought she wouldn’t like. Can you believe that? If something doesn’t look good to her eyes, it must not be good enough to eat then.
But if she did took a liking to something, she’d eat nothing but that alone for a few days … until she becomes tired of the food, and poor mama has to search for something new to entice her brat with again.
I have always attributed her pickiness as a trait that she picked up from her lola, my mother-in-law, the alpha and the omega, the absolute mother of all picky eaters!
Thus, I came to the conclusion that a child is either born a picky eater or not. There was a time when I saw children from less fortunate families gobbling up their rice with nothing but sabaw sa kamunggay. I remember thinking then that it was a good thing none of them was picky like Abby.
But I had to revise this thinking and consider another possibility when I saw the commercial of Lactum with Claudine Baretto and her daughter. I believe that this was the child who was abandoned outside her home and whom she later adopted.
The ad was about Claudine giving Lactum milk to her daughter to supplement her diet as she would eat nothing but hotdog. Granting that she really is picky in real life, I wondered whether she would still be as choosy had she stayed with her biological family, whom we can fairly assume, would be incapable to giving her the same privileged life she is enjoying with Claudine.
Could it be possible then that picky children are made, not born? It is probable that children from marginal families learn early in life to eat whatever is on the table because there simply is nothing else to eat!
And our choosy dears? They must have also caught on early that if they stood their ground on the food they say yes and no to, mommy and daddy would sooner or later give in to their demands. Why? Because they can. They have the means to give to the child what it wants. Their less fortunate counterparts do not have that luxury, so their children either have to eat whatever is there, or face starvation.
So next time we feel like banging our heads against the wall out of frustration, maybe the thought that we might have brought this upon ourselves in the first place, will somehow extend our diminishing patience.
As I said, it started all the way back from Day One – when she absolutely refused to suckle from me! I still remember Abby (who was only a few days old then) turning as red as a tomato as she bawled and screamed and kicked and pushed at my face … just to free herself from my breast!
My husband and I figured at that time that if we could manage to make her open her mouth wide enough to take a nipple and then quickly hold her head to prevent her from turning away, that she’d somehow realize the futility of her refusal, cave in to our superior will, and start taking and liking my milk!
Oh well … she put up such a valiant struggle (you wouldn’t believe how strong a newly- born infant could be!) we quickly raised the white flag for fear that she’d dislocate something as she relentlessly twisted and turned her head to get free!! I still remember the raucous that attempted forced feeding caused! The neighbors must have thought we were trying to murder our new baby! And that red, red, RED face … unforgettable!
Down the drain went our superior will … will somebody get the bottle please?
And so the pattern for the next few years was set … feeding time became synonymous with battle of wills … where getting her to take a spoonful only signified the start of the next battle, which was to get her to chew … after which the next challenge awaited … how to make her swallow.
As she grew older, Abby became uncompromising in her refusal to eat food that she thought she wouldn’t like. Can you believe that? If something doesn’t look good to her eyes, it must not be good enough to eat then.
But if she did took a liking to something, she’d eat nothing but that alone for a few days … until she becomes tired of the food, and poor mama has to search for something new to entice her brat with again.
I have always attributed her pickiness as a trait that she picked up from her lola, my mother-in-law, the alpha and the omega, the absolute mother of all picky eaters!
Thus, I came to the conclusion that a child is either born a picky eater or not. There was a time when I saw children from less fortunate families gobbling up their rice with nothing but sabaw sa kamunggay. I remember thinking then that it was a good thing none of them was picky like Abby.
But I had to revise this thinking and consider another possibility when I saw the commercial of Lactum with Claudine Baretto and her daughter. I believe that this was the child who was abandoned outside her home and whom she later adopted.
The ad was about Claudine giving Lactum milk to her daughter to supplement her diet as she would eat nothing but hotdog. Granting that she really is picky in real life, I wondered whether she would still be as choosy had she stayed with her biological family, whom we can fairly assume, would be incapable to giving her the same privileged life she is enjoying with Claudine.
Could it be possible then that picky children are made, not born? It is probable that children from marginal families learn early in life to eat whatever is on the table because there simply is nothing else to eat!
And our choosy dears? They must have also caught on early that if they stood their ground on the food they say yes and no to, mommy and daddy would sooner or later give in to their demands. Why? Because they can. They have the means to give to the child what it wants. Their less fortunate counterparts do not have that luxury, so their children either have to eat whatever is there, or face starvation.
So next time we feel like banging our heads against the wall out of frustration, maybe the thought that we might have brought this upon ourselves in the first place, will somehow extend our diminishing patience.
Surviving Big School
Another old article
We made a really big move this school year. We decided to send Abby (or Noelle to her new classmates) to a bigger school where almost everything became a first for us.
Why? As Catholics, my husband Nonoy and I decided that it was time for Abby to start getting a Catholic-based education.
Having came from a smaller school where I, as a parent, have grown very comfortable in, with teachers who knew and loved Abby since she was a toddler, and with a population that was small enough we were always assured that our children were well-looked after, moving Abby almost felt like throwing her into an open sea where she’d become fair game to whatever that bigger world could throw at her.
Contemplating that big move, I could not help but imagine my baby thrashing about as she struggles for breath amidst tossing waves, barely staying afloat in a world that’s alien from the sheltered one she had been the last four years of her life.
But steeled my resolve I did … I told myself that she either had to learn to swim or sink in the process. For wasn’t our intention also to introduce her to the world beyond what we consider to be safe and secure? Nonoy and I decided that we’ve sheltered her long enough during her first seven years. Time to start letting go … a little.
As it turned out, I worried too much over nothing. All that imagined thrashing amid turbulent seas should have been reserved for me alone. I was the one who barely survived big school … Abby never had to. My girl breezed through her first days and proceeded to take in all her new experiences in a stride. Her leap from a class of 6 to 36? No big deal! Before long, I started seeing her hanging out with friends from grade 1 or grade 4 or even from high school with equal ease.
Thus it came to be that despite almost five years of prior schooling, it wasn’t until my daughter reached Grade 2 that I truly got to experience the horror stories other moms have been talking about for centuries: school exams!
My friend Jobie once told me how her voice got hoarse from all the yelling she had to do at her two boys as she hovered over them during study time or as they prepared for their exams.
I had the nerve then to assume that I’d do better. Before I had Abby, I was very judgmental on mothers I’d observe snapping or just being generally impatient with their brood. More particularly so with those I’d see spanking their youngsters. I used to tell myself (with absolute certainty) that I’d be different, that I’d never get impatient, angry, yell, or spank … that I’d only have to speak calmly ONCE and my perfectly-behaved and ever-so-obedient child would immediately obey …
I also had this mental image of myself as the incarnation of infinite grace and patience, holding out a book in front of a well-behaved and cooperative angelic-looking Abby as she poured over her lessons with nary a complaint night after school night …
Prrrrrrt!!! Enough with fantasy! Let’s get back to reality, shall we? As it turned out, motherhood in real life is never picture perfect! I never had to worry about studying at home before. But in our new school, come examination period (or almost every night at that), and it’s nothing but dried-up patience, BP raised to ceiling heights, broken rulers, hoarse voices, tempers serious enough to tempt one to start wringing one cute little neck, palms stinging from hitting table surfaces, pencils, papers or smuggled toys flying off to all directions … and what else? Oh yeah … upturned teary eyes and quivering lips seemingly wanting to ask … “what’s happening to you Mama?”
Yeah, what’s happening to Mama? To the entire barangay listening to me vocalize when I start blowing my top, it must have been bad, bad, Olga indeed! A friend of mine once attempted to lecture about being patient and calm … I cut her off by saying, try having a brat like mine first, then we’ll talk again!
All you moms out there … did that seem familiar? If not, lucky, lucky you!
I was told that this was partly the reason why it is best to hire tutors for our kids. They tend to act up less when they are with other people, particularly when the tutor happens to be their teacher as well.
But with moms, believe me, the complaints I’ve been hearing are so similar they seem to come from the same script! Mind you, we don't get mad when our kids don't get their lessons. But what really gets the full solo concert going is the amount of interest they are willing to devote to the lesson at hand, which is considerably less than what they would otherwise give to the lizard stalking its meal at the ceiling, for instance. Yeah! That’s it! Everything else is interesting except …
Can you imagine explaining something to a restless figure who seemed to have assumed every conceivable position there is over the desk only to settle down slumped over it, albeit with the assurance: “I’m listening, I’m listening!!” … only to be answered with “huh??” once you’d start asking questions? Grrrrr!
And how about all that fidgeting with the hands? Even doodling can be very distracting, so you order them to “stop!” and away goes the pencil … for 3 seconds! So you’d say again, “I said stop that!” … and it goes on and on until you’d have to say, “one more time and I’ll throw that pencil away!” In the end, you’ll discover that it saves more time and energy to just get that pesky pencil without a word and throw it to some hard-to-reach area. Believe me, that alternative is much better that giving in to your desire to throw away the child itself!
So who did I say survived big school? Let me check … heart still working, only one or two additional wrinkles, more white hairs though, BP still normal, can still speak, no burst capillaries … yeah! I survived big school! Rejoice!!
We made a really big move this school year. We decided to send Abby (or Noelle to her new classmates) to a bigger school where almost everything became a first for us.
Why? As Catholics, my husband Nonoy and I decided that it was time for Abby to start getting a Catholic-based education.
Having came from a smaller school where I, as a parent, have grown very comfortable in, with teachers who knew and loved Abby since she was a toddler, and with a population that was small enough we were always assured that our children were well-looked after, moving Abby almost felt like throwing her into an open sea where she’d become fair game to whatever that bigger world could throw at her.
Contemplating that big move, I could not help but imagine my baby thrashing about as she struggles for breath amidst tossing waves, barely staying afloat in a world that’s alien from the sheltered one she had been the last four years of her life.
But steeled my resolve I did … I told myself that she either had to learn to swim or sink in the process. For wasn’t our intention also to introduce her to the world beyond what we consider to be safe and secure? Nonoy and I decided that we’ve sheltered her long enough during her first seven years. Time to start letting go … a little.
As it turned out, I worried too much over nothing. All that imagined thrashing amid turbulent seas should have been reserved for me alone. I was the one who barely survived big school … Abby never had to. My girl breezed through her first days and proceeded to take in all her new experiences in a stride. Her leap from a class of 6 to 36? No big deal! Before long, I started seeing her hanging out with friends from grade 1 or grade 4 or even from high school with equal ease.
Thus it came to be that despite almost five years of prior schooling, it wasn’t until my daughter reached Grade 2 that I truly got to experience the horror stories other moms have been talking about for centuries: school exams!
My friend Jobie once told me how her voice got hoarse from all the yelling she had to do at her two boys as she hovered over them during study time or as they prepared for their exams.
I had the nerve then to assume that I’d do better. Before I had Abby, I was very judgmental on mothers I’d observe snapping or just being generally impatient with their brood. More particularly so with those I’d see spanking their youngsters. I used to tell myself (with absolute certainty) that I’d be different, that I’d never get impatient, angry, yell, or spank … that I’d only have to speak calmly ONCE and my perfectly-behaved and ever-so-obedient child would immediately obey …
I also had this mental image of myself as the incarnation of infinite grace and patience, holding out a book in front of a well-behaved and cooperative angelic-looking Abby as she poured over her lessons with nary a complaint night after school night …
Prrrrrrt!!! Enough with fantasy! Let’s get back to reality, shall we? As it turned out, motherhood in real life is never picture perfect! I never had to worry about studying at home before. But in our new school, come examination period (or almost every night at that), and it’s nothing but dried-up patience, BP raised to ceiling heights, broken rulers, hoarse voices, tempers serious enough to tempt one to start wringing one cute little neck, palms stinging from hitting table surfaces, pencils, papers or smuggled toys flying off to all directions … and what else? Oh yeah … upturned teary eyes and quivering lips seemingly wanting to ask … “what’s happening to you Mama?”
Yeah, what’s happening to Mama? To the entire barangay listening to me vocalize when I start blowing my top, it must have been bad, bad, Olga indeed! A friend of mine once attempted to lecture about being patient and calm … I cut her off by saying, try having a brat like mine first, then we’ll talk again!
All you moms out there … did that seem familiar? If not, lucky, lucky you!
I was told that this was partly the reason why it is best to hire tutors for our kids. They tend to act up less when they are with other people, particularly when the tutor happens to be their teacher as well.
But with moms, believe me, the complaints I’ve been hearing are so similar they seem to come from the same script! Mind you, we don't get mad when our kids don't get their lessons. But what really gets the full solo concert going is the amount of interest they are willing to devote to the lesson at hand, which is considerably less than what they would otherwise give to the lizard stalking its meal at the ceiling, for instance. Yeah! That’s it! Everything else is interesting except …
Can you imagine explaining something to a restless figure who seemed to have assumed every conceivable position there is over the desk only to settle down slumped over it, albeit with the assurance: “I’m listening, I’m listening!!” … only to be answered with “huh??” once you’d start asking questions? Grrrrr!
And how about all that fidgeting with the hands? Even doodling can be very distracting, so you order them to “stop!” and away goes the pencil … for 3 seconds! So you’d say again, “I said stop that!” … and it goes on and on until you’d have to say, “one more time and I’ll throw that pencil away!” In the end, you’ll discover that it saves more time and energy to just get that pesky pencil without a word and throw it to some hard-to-reach area. Believe me, that alternative is much better that giving in to your desire to throw away the child itself!
So who did I say survived big school? Let me check … heart still working, only one or two additional wrinkles, more white hairs though, BP still normal, can still speak, no burst capillaries … yeah! I survived big school! Rejoice!!
Thursday, August 30, 2007
On Dom Cimafranca's "LOLITA"
Thank you Dom for writing “Lolita”.
I am glad that Dom trained the spotlight on what has become of the Filipino family’s favorite noontime fares.
There was a time when I loved watching noontime shows, from Student Canteen and Eat Bulaga, to Magandang Tanghali Bayan, especially during the peak of the “Pera o Bayong” days.
Back then, these shows were relatively tame, although I distinctly remember the time when Gracia (of Eat Bulaga) became a household name. (I remember because I used to turn purple with jealousy whenever my then-boyfriend, now husband Nonoy, watched Gracia climb out of a pool during one of Eat Bulaga’s games, with her protruding nipples clearly showing under her soaking-wet shirt or jiggle her ample bosom to the beat of some 90’s dance hit. Now that’s what you’d call a confession! ha-ha-ha! I’m over that now. I hope.)
If I am not mistaken, this was roughly the time when dancers, with their sexually provocative moves, started enjoying a bigger share of the limelight.
But I believe that it’s the Sexbomb Girls that really hit the jackpot as far as putting sexy dance groups in the forefront of the noontime shows, along with the rise in popularity of such songs as Sexbomb, Spaghetti Pababa, Otso-Otso and the like.
With a rapidly growing, impressionable young daughter, I banned the watching of noontime shows in our home. I’m not turning my nose up on these shows, mind you. But I happen to believe that there are dances that are suited for general patronage and that there are dances that properly belong to the beer houses.
And the ones mostly shown in Wowowee or Eat Bulaga nowadays properly belong to that latter category. I am doing my best not to sound judgmental here, but I just couldn’t see how madly gyrating girls and cameras angled up so viewers could peep under these girls’ skimpy skirts and catch teasing glimpses of their panties, could pass for family entertainment!
I am very happy that the principal of the school my daughter is attending shares my views. She too doesn’t approve of the students dancing to the beat of the novelty songs that are very popular nowadays, nor of the dance moves that obviously were copied from TV.
That’s why nobody will be seeing students from my daughter’s school performing anywhere in that manner. Thank God for that!
Do I sound too straight-laced and narrow-minded and so boringly conservative, and as some would put it, too tight-assed? That’s what I think of myself too, at least, as far as this subject is concerned. But for goodness’ sake, mothers! Think again! Our little girls may look absolutely cute and infinitely adorable doing those moves they see on TV … but do they really have business dancing and moving like miniature a-go-go dancers or strippers?
Children should always be children and should be given every opportunity to enjoy their childhood for as long as possible. They have no business dancing like miniature adults, and lasciviously suggestive ones at that!
If they have to dance, let them dance like Hi-5 … or what the heck! Let them dance like Po of the Teletubbies! What’s wrong with that?
How I wish that school authorities would start taking notice. I hope that readers will agree with me that there are dance numbers that are highly inappropriate for young children and should be done away with in school programs.
I wish that parents who share my views would talk to the teachers and principals about their views on this matter. Hopefully, one by one, we can effect some little change and help bring us back to simpler, more innocent times, when children were really children.
I am glad that Dom trained the spotlight on what has become of the Filipino family’s favorite noontime fares.
There was a time when I loved watching noontime shows, from Student Canteen and Eat Bulaga, to Magandang Tanghali Bayan, especially during the peak of the “Pera o Bayong” days.
Back then, these shows were relatively tame, although I distinctly remember the time when Gracia (of Eat Bulaga) became a household name. (I remember because I used to turn purple with jealousy whenever my then-boyfriend, now husband Nonoy, watched Gracia climb out of a pool during one of Eat Bulaga’s games, with her protruding nipples clearly showing under her soaking-wet shirt or jiggle her ample bosom to the beat of some 90’s dance hit. Now that’s what you’d call a confession! ha-ha-ha! I’m over that now. I hope.)
If I am not mistaken, this was roughly the time when dancers, with their sexually provocative moves, started enjoying a bigger share of the limelight.
But I believe that it’s the Sexbomb Girls that really hit the jackpot as far as putting sexy dance groups in the forefront of the noontime shows, along with the rise in popularity of such songs as Sexbomb, Spaghetti Pababa, Otso-Otso and the like.
With a rapidly growing, impressionable young daughter, I banned the watching of noontime shows in our home. I’m not turning my nose up on these shows, mind you. But I happen to believe that there are dances that are suited for general patronage and that there are dances that properly belong to the beer houses.
And the ones mostly shown in Wowowee or Eat Bulaga nowadays properly belong to that latter category. I am doing my best not to sound judgmental here, but I just couldn’t see how madly gyrating girls and cameras angled up so viewers could peep under these girls’ skimpy skirts and catch teasing glimpses of their panties, could pass for family entertainment!
I am very happy that the principal of the school my daughter is attending shares my views. She too doesn’t approve of the students dancing to the beat of the novelty songs that are very popular nowadays, nor of the dance moves that obviously were copied from TV.
That’s why nobody will be seeing students from my daughter’s school performing anywhere in that manner. Thank God for that!
Do I sound too straight-laced and narrow-minded and so boringly conservative, and as some would put it, too tight-assed? That’s what I think of myself too, at least, as far as this subject is concerned. But for goodness’ sake, mothers! Think again! Our little girls may look absolutely cute and infinitely adorable doing those moves they see on TV … but do they really have business dancing and moving like miniature a-go-go dancers or strippers?
Children should always be children and should be given every opportunity to enjoy their childhood for as long as possible. They have no business dancing like miniature adults, and lasciviously suggestive ones at that!
If they have to dance, let them dance like Hi-5 … or what the heck! Let them dance like Po of the Teletubbies! What’s wrong with that?
How I wish that school authorities would start taking notice. I hope that readers will agree with me that there are dance numbers that are highly inappropriate for young children and should be done away with in school programs.
I wish that parents who share my views would talk to the teachers and principals about their views on this matter. Hopefully, one by one, we can effect some little change and help bring us back to simpler, more innocent times, when children were really children.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Innocents in Paradise
I said again and again that I wanted Abby's childhood to last for
as long as it could. Here are some really great reasons:
It's that joyous abandon that can be found only in childhood ...
It's that innocence that says to h-ll with society's conventions ... there's time enough for that ... and it's the rest of our lives ... 
For now, we'll just be children as only children could ever be!
It started as a family lunch out one lazy Sunday (after attending Mass) at El Dorado Beach Resort in Dauin, Negros Oriental to celebrate Tito Carl's birthday, dad of cousins Gabby, Raffy and Cody.
Just lunch. No swimming.
So off we went with Abby only in her shirt and skirt.
They asked for permission to frolick in the sand ... no problem! "Go ahead" ... said parents too busy chatting with each other to pay close attention to what the children were up to next.
Before we knew it, one child was ankle deep in water ... "Mom! Can we wet our legs?" .....
Well, to cut this story short, mothers Tita Nini and myself finally decided to take their shirts off (Gabby, Raffy and Cody had only one spare each while Abby had absolutely none).... as one child after another went in deeper and deeper into the water....
We knew our brood well enough to realize that saying NO to swimming was futile. Children being children, you know .....
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Earthquake Drills in Schools Please!
The July 13 earthquake literally shook me out of my blissful state that early Friday morning when Mother Nature decided to remind us how puny we all are against her awesome power.
It was pretty scary how our home seemed to creak and groan as it swayed from side to side. My first thought was Abby. If the earthquake had been scary for me, how much more terrifying it must have been for her, and for all other young impressionable children who never knew the ground they stand on could shake the way it did.
She told me later on how scared they all were. But much to the credit of her teacher, only one or two from her class cried unlike children from other classes, who according to her, cried in unison during the tremors.
I give credit to her teacher who remained calm and composed when the two earthquakes struck. In events such as these, children take their cues from adults. Presenting a brave front to the children will help them cope with their own fears. Showing fright or even the slightest hint of panic, on the other hand, will crumple whatever resolve they may have at being courageous in such situations.
So what causes earthquakes? Quick research taught me that the earth is divided into three layers - a hard outer crust, a soft middle layer and a center core. The outer crust is broken into massive, irregular pieces called “plates”. These plates have been moving very slowly for billions of years, driven by energy forces deep within the earth. Its movements continue to shape the physical features of the earth’s mountains, valleys, plains and plateaus. Earthquakes occur when these moving plates grind and scrape against each other. The Pacific Plate grinds northwestward past the North American plate at a rate of about 2 inches per year.
According to a news report, the earthquake could have resulted from a break or stress in the local fault line in Negros or some movement in the Philippine trench. Now, this part about our very own fault line in Negros should give us cause of concern. It can only mean that we should be expecting more of these earthquakes in the years to come.
As a parent then, I am calling on all schools to start instructing and drilling students on emergency procedures right away. It is important that the children are oriented on earthquake preparedness so they would know what to do before, during and after such event.
I know that Silliman Elem, for instance, conducted earthquake drills last school year and that Cittadini will be having one soon. But I don’t know if other schools have similar plans.
Emphasis should be given on the proper training of the teachers. According to PHILVOLCS, “during an earthquake, school children are one of the most vulnerable. As such, it is important for school administrators and teachers to be informed on how to properly conduct an earthquake drill. Teachers are the ones who will guide the students. They are the ones who will teach students how to protect themselves. The conduct of an earthquake drill requires planning and designing of evacuation procedure, as well as orienting teachers and ultimately students on how to do the earthquake drill.”
I found two very helpful websites on earthquake drills. Anyone who’s interested should check-out the following: http://www.cnmiemo.gov.mp/Earthquake%20Brochure.htm and
http://www.phivolcs.dost.gov.ph/news/eqdrill.pdf
I was introduced to the “duck, cover and hold” method. It teaches children to (1) turn away from windows; (2) crouch under a desk or table; (3) put both hands on the back of their neck; and (4) to tuck their head down. If the desk or table moves, it advises: hold the legs and move with it.
At least 30 minutes in each school month should be used to instruct students on fire, earthquake, and where appropriate, tsunami dangers and drills. At least two drills on earthquakes and fires must be conducted each year, and in schools in a coastal zone, at least three drills on earthquakes and tsunamis.
Earthquake drills are simple and easy to do. It only requires planning ahead (with a little guidance from PHILVOLCS) and constant practice. Just visit this web page for those guidelines: http://www.phivolcs.dost.gov.ph/news/eqdrill.pdf.
So come on beloved schools. Show us that you are taking care of our children every way you could! Let us know that you will be having those drills SOON! The parents are waiting.
It was pretty scary how our home seemed to creak and groan as it swayed from side to side. My first thought was Abby. If the earthquake had been scary for me, how much more terrifying it must have been for her, and for all other young impressionable children who never knew the ground they stand on could shake the way it did.
She told me later on how scared they all were. But much to the credit of her teacher, only one or two from her class cried unlike children from other classes, who according to her, cried in unison during the tremors.
I give credit to her teacher who remained calm and composed when the two earthquakes struck. In events such as these, children take their cues from adults. Presenting a brave front to the children will help them cope with their own fears. Showing fright or even the slightest hint of panic, on the other hand, will crumple whatever resolve they may have at being courageous in such situations.
So what causes earthquakes? Quick research taught me that the earth is divided into three layers - a hard outer crust, a soft middle layer and a center core. The outer crust is broken into massive, irregular pieces called “plates”. These plates have been moving very slowly for billions of years, driven by energy forces deep within the earth. Its movements continue to shape the physical features of the earth’s mountains, valleys, plains and plateaus. Earthquakes occur when these moving plates grind and scrape against each other. The Pacific Plate grinds northwestward past the North American plate at a rate of about 2 inches per year.
According to a news report, the earthquake could have resulted from a break or stress in the local fault line in Negros or some movement in the Philippine trench. Now, this part about our very own fault line in Negros should give us cause of concern. It can only mean that we should be expecting more of these earthquakes in the years to come.
As a parent then, I am calling on all schools to start instructing and drilling students on emergency procedures right away. It is important that the children are oriented on earthquake preparedness so they would know what to do before, during and after such event.
I know that Silliman Elem, for instance, conducted earthquake drills last school year and that Cittadini will be having one soon. But I don’t know if other schools have similar plans.
Emphasis should be given on the proper training of the teachers. According to PHILVOLCS, “during an earthquake, school children are one of the most vulnerable. As such, it is important for school administrators and teachers to be informed on how to properly conduct an earthquake drill. Teachers are the ones who will guide the students. They are the ones who will teach students how to protect themselves. The conduct of an earthquake drill requires planning and designing of evacuation procedure, as well as orienting teachers and ultimately students on how to do the earthquake drill.”
I found two very helpful websites on earthquake drills. Anyone who’s interested should check-out the following: http://www.cnmiemo.gov.mp/Earthquake%20Brochure.htm and
http://www.phivolcs.dost.gov.ph/news/eqdrill.pdf
I was introduced to the “duck, cover and hold” method. It teaches children to (1) turn away from windows; (2) crouch under a desk or table; (3) put both hands on the back of their neck; and (4) to tuck their head down. If the desk or table moves, it advises: hold the legs and move with it.
At least 30 minutes in each school month should be used to instruct students on fire, earthquake, and where appropriate, tsunami dangers and drills. At least two drills on earthquakes and fires must be conducted each year, and in schools in a coastal zone, at least three drills on earthquakes and tsunamis.
Earthquake drills are simple and easy to do. It only requires planning ahead (with a little guidance from PHILVOLCS) and constant practice. Just visit this web page for those guidelines: http://www.phivolcs.dost.gov.ph/news/eqdrill.pdf.
So come on beloved schools. Show us that you are taking care of our children every way you could! Let us know that you will be having those drills SOON! The parents are waiting.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
What is Blighted Ovum?
I started asking this question seriously when fellow blogger ROBERT sent me a link to the Priests for Life website that showed IMAGES OF FETAL DEVELOPMENT.The picture to the right shows a 7-week old embryo, a week short of the stage my own baby was supposed to be in when I lost her. Another picture below shows an 8-week old embryo. My own Maia would have looked like this one when I lost her.
But this is really nothing but pure fantasy on my part. I was informed that I had an Anembryonic Pregnancy or what most probaby know as blighted ovum.
I had a rough idea then what a blighted ovum was. It meant that my baby stopped developing shortly after fertilization, or that she never started developing at all. I never had a baby that looked like these embryos in the pictures.
But it does not really matter to me. I believe in my heart, whether rightly or wrongly, that God breathed life into each one of us at the moment of conception. From that moment on, each child, no matter how briefly it had lived, had a soul, and this soul went up to heaven to be reunited with its Maker.
Oh yes! I had a second baby, and this baby is now an angel in heaven. Even if she lived for only a fraction of a second, what matters to me is that she had started living. Everything else is immaterial.
Seeing these pictures of these beautiful creatures of God made me want to learn more about blighted ova. This was what I learned:
"What is a blighted ovum?A blighted ovum (also known as “anembryonic pregnancy”) happens when a fertilized egg attaches itself to the uterine wall, but the embryo does not develop or stopped developing shortly after fertilization.
Cells develop to form the pregnancy sac, but not the embryo itself. A blighted ovum usually occurs within the first trimester before a woman knows she is pregnant. A high level of chromosome abnormalities usually causes a woman’s body to naturally miscarry.
How do I know if I am having or have had a blighted ovum?
A blighted ovum can occur very early in pregnancy, before most women even know that they are pregnant. You may experience signs of pregnancy such as a missed or late menstrual period and even a positive pregnancy test. It is possible that you may have minor abdominal cramps, minor vaginal spotting or bleeding. As with a normal period, your body may flush the uterine lining, but your period may be a little heavier than usual.
Many women assume their pregnancies are on track because their hCG levels are increasing. The placenta can continue to grow and support itself without a baby for a short time, and pregnancy hormones can continue to rise, which would lead a woman to believe she is still pregnant. A diagnosis is usually not made until an ultrasound test shows either an empty womb or an empty birth sac.
What causes a blighted ovum?
A blighted ovum is the cause of about 50% of first trimester miscarriages and is usually the result of chromosomal problems. A woman’s body recognizes abnormal chromosomes in a fetus and naturally does not try to continue the pregnancy because the fetus will not develop into a normal, healthy baby. This can be caused by abnormal cell division, or poor quality sperm or egg.
Should I have a D&C or wait for a natural miscarriage?
This is a decision only you can make for yourself. Most doctors do not recommend a D&C for an early pregnancy loss. It is believed that a woman’s body is capable of passing tissue on its own and there is no need for an invasive surgical procedure with a risk of complications. A D&C would, however, be beneficial if you were planning on having a pathologist examine the tissues to determine a reason for the miscarriage. Some women feel a D&C procedure helps with closure, mentally and physically.
How can a blighted ovum be prevented?
Unfortunately, in most cases a blighted ovum cannot be prevented. Some couples will seek out genetic testing if multiple early pregnancy loss occurs. A blighted ovum is often a one time occurrence, and rarely will a woman experience more than one. Most doctors recommend couples wait at least 1-3 regular menstrual cycles before trying to conceive again after any type of miscarriage. "
My interest on this subject lead me to the website of the Baby Center where bulletin boards were started dealing with the topic: MISCARRIAGE, STILLBIRTH, AND INFANT LOSS.
Finding this board was heaven sent. I do not feel so alone anymore. I finally found other moms who felt and thought and grieved for lost babies the same way I did.
For a while, I actually considered myself as some sort of freak because nobody at home could fully empathize with my loss. It was not a tangible loss, as they said. It was not as if I've actually held the baby in my arms.
Some people here actually think that they become parents only at the moment of birth. They do not realize that parenthood starts at the exact moment of conception.
They could not understand that I loved my baby from the first moment I knew that I had her. I started thinking of names for her, I wanted her to be another girl, I planned where and when she would start attending school ... I already had dreams for my baby!
Naming her and thinking of her as a girl and talking of my angel in heaven were even considered by some as some sort of sentimental b/s. Even my husband could not fully understand me.
But the mothers in the bulletin boards understand me perfectly. They have been through the same experience. Some are still going through it. I read of mothers' stories about losing their babies at 5th, 6th, or 7th week ... and they grieve just like any mother would for a baby that she has actually held in her arms.
Nobody there reading my sentiments will think of me as some sentimental, over-acting, attention-grabbing loser who is making a big deal out of something that some people would probably consider as an inconsequential, everyday, no-event occurrence. They understand grief and loss as only people who have been through the same pain could.
My daughter Abby also knew exactly what was going on. When I had my miscarriage and subsequent to that, my UNFORTUNATE ENCOUNTER with the lab technician who joked at having my dead baby urinated upon, her little heart got broken along with mine.
When the lab tech sent me a card saying how sorry he was for causing me more pain, she sent him back a LETTER him that he should say sorry to her little sister as well, because he also hurt her feelings. She even drew a curled up little figure (much like how 8-week old embryos look like in her book) with a halo and tiny angel wings.
Until now, she still wonders aloud what her little sister could be doing in heaven. She likes to think that she is happily doing anything and everything that she'd like to do, like eat ice cream all day long.
For a while, I struggled with the question WHY? Why did God give me great unexpected joy only to take it back so soon? Although I still ache every now and then (like when I'd see pregnant mothers or babies), I finally found peace in my heart by accepting that there is a reason for everything, that God has a grand plan for all of us, and that everything that happens to each one of us is part of that big puzzle, and that maybe, in the end, we will be privileged enough to know what that purpose or reason is.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
The Hands that Prepare our Food
How clean are they? Seriously! Have you considered how clean our helpers’ hands really are as they handle our food?
I’m not some cleanliness freak – that, I have to stress! But this question bothered me when, years ago, I observed a mother in a rural area clean up her toddler with only water after he made poo-poo. But what really sent my paranoiac tendencies soaring was seeing her wash her hand with only water. That was it? No soap or anything? Yeah! That was all!
It got me thinking of our own angels in our kitchens. It’s so easy to imagine, you know. Call of nature … quick wash … then off to the kitchen to continue slicing some green leafy vegetable that we all know should only be blanched. Now, if that won’t make your skin crawl, I don’t know what will!
What if unhygienic practices such as that one I witnessed are more common than we think? What if we have some members in our household who are as unenlightened as that woman who got me hyperventilating?
They prepare and serve our food, you know. They make sandwiches for us, lay out utensils on our tables, or bring milk or snacks to our children, even feed them or touch their faces… We take great pains at ensuring that our children, home, and food are clean, but beyond that, this matter concerning the hands that prepare our food must be given equal importance.
For the sake of food safety (and my peace of mind), I do not only instruct every new household member about thorough hand washing, but I have also provided my angels with liquid antibacterial soap in their own comfort room, with strict instructions to use it at least twice after each you-know-what. I know, it's kind of expensive. But the P150 or so per month is additional expense that I can take, if it would mean continued safety and good health for my family.
I opted for liquid antibac soap because I do not have much confidence over soap bars and their ability to kill germs. Besides, there’s this matter that really bothers me: the thought of hands fresh out of their behinds reaching for that bar of soap, rolling it around to make suds, before going back … then reaching again for that same bar to either do a second washing, or to finish off with a hand washing.
Maybe I’m obsessing too much over germs … but is it too crazy for me to believe that soaps couldn’t do much cleaning anymore if it had been held by a hand that has had prior contact with that gooey matter we refer to as poo? Whether or not toilet paper was used, wouldn’t bacteria somehow get transferred to the soap? Wouldn’t going back for that same soap for the final hand washing merely result in further transfer of the bacteria from the soap back to the hand?
Here’s the worst: have you thought of the possibility of our precious yayas also using our kids’ bath soap to clean them up with after our little ones have had their du-du? (shivers!) That’s why we’re all using liquid antibac for after-toilet cleaning-up purposes.
I hope I haven’t ruined somebody’s early Sunday coffee with this gooey topic. But I decided to share this concern because of my daughter’s bout with gastroenteritis, which I have reason to believe, may have been brought about by her exposure to a contaminant of fecal origin after swimming in water that practically had no chlorine.
My baby suffered from high-grade fever, abdominal pain, nausea, vomiting, fever, chills and headache. It was an ordeal that I wish, nobody, especially young children, would have to go through again.
What happens outside our homes is beyond our control. But we have a complete say over what happens inside. A little education is all that is needed.
I’m not some cleanliness freak – that, I have to stress! But this question bothered me when, years ago, I observed a mother in a rural area clean up her toddler with only water after he made poo-poo. But what really sent my paranoiac tendencies soaring was seeing her wash her hand with only water. That was it? No soap or anything? Yeah! That was all!
It got me thinking of our own angels in our kitchens. It’s so easy to imagine, you know. Call of nature … quick wash … then off to the kitchen to continue slicing some green leafy vegetable that we all know should only be blanched. Now, if that won’t make your skin crawl, I don’t know what will!
What if unhygienic practices such as that one I witnessed are more common than we think? What if we have some members in our household who are as unenlightened as that woman who got me hyperventilating?
They prepare and serve our food, you know. They make sandwiches for us, lay out utensils on our tables, or bring milk or snacks to our children, even feed them or touch their faces… We take great pains at ensuring that our children, home, and food are clean, but beyond that, this matter concerning the hands that prepare our food must be given equal importance.
For the sake of food safety (and my peace of mind), I do not only instruct every new household member about thorough hand washing, but I have also provided my angels with liquid antibacterial soap in their own comfort room, with strict instructions to use it at least twice after each you-know-what. I know, it's kind of expensive. But the P150 or so per month is additional expense that I can take, if it would mean continued safety and good health for my family.
I opted for liquid antibac soap because I do not have much confidence over soap bars and their ability to kill germs. Besides, there’s this matter that really bothers me: the thought of hands fresh out of their behinds reaching for that bar of soap, rolling it around to make suds, before going back … then reaching again for that same bar to either do a second washing, or to finish off with a hand washing.
Maybe I’m obsessing too much over germs … but is it too crazy for me to believe that soaps couldn’t do much cleaning anymore if it had been held by a hand that has had prior contact with that gooey matter we refer to as poo? Whether or not toilet paper was used, wouldn’t bacteria somehow get transferred to the soap? Wouldn’t going back for that same soap for the final hand washing merely result in further transfer of the bacteria from the soap back to the hand?
Here’s the worst: have you thought of the possibility of our precious yayas also using our kids’ bath soap to clean them up with after our little ones have had their du-du? (shivers!) That’s why we’re all using liquid antibac for after-toilet cleaning-up purposes.
I hope I haven’t ruined somebody’s early Sunday coffee with this gooey topic. But I decided to share this concern because of my daughter’s bout with gastroenteritis, which I have reason to believe, may have been brought about by her exposure to a contaminant of fecal origin after swimming in water that practically had no chlorine.
My baby suffered from high-grade fever, abdominal pain, nausea, vomiting, fever, chills and headache. It was an ordeal that I wish, nobody, especially young children, would have to go through again.
What happens outside our homes is beyond our control. But we have a complete say over what happens inside. A little education is all that is needed.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Why God Created Children (and Grandchildren in the process!)
I just received this forwarded message from one of my cousins. I had a good laugh with it. Hope you will, too!
If you are not a parent yet, and can't relate to this, believe me, someday, you will!
To those of us who have children in our lives, whether they are our own, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, or students... here is something to make you chuckle.
Whenever your children are out of control, you can take comfort from the thought that even God's omnipotence did not extend to His own children. After creating heaven and earth, God created Adam and Eve.
And the first thing he said was "DON'T ! "
"Don't what ? " Adam replied.
"Don't eat the forbidden fruit." God said.
"Forbidden fruit ? We have forbidden fruit ? Hey Eve..we have forbidden fruit ! "
" No Way ! "
"Yes way ! "
"Do NOT eat the fruit ! " said God.
"Why ? "
"Because I am your Father and I said so ! " God replied, wondering why He hadn't stopped creation after making the elephants.
A few minutes later, God saw His children having an apple break and He was ticked ! "Didn't I tell you not to eat the fruit ? " God asked.
"Uh huh," Adam replied.
"Then why did you ? " said the Father.
"I don't know," said Eve.
"She started it ! " Adam said.
"Did not ! "
"Did too ! "
"DID NOT ! "
Having had it with the two of them, God's punishment was that Adam and Eve should have children of their own. Thus the pattern was set and it has never changed.
BUT THERE IS REASSURANCE IN THE STORY ! If you have persistently and lovingly tried to give children wisdom and they haven't taken it, don't be hard on yourself. If God had trouble raising children, what makes you think it would be a piece of cake for you ?
THINGS TO THINK ABOUT !
1. You spend the first two years of their life teaching them to walk and talk. Then you spend the next sixteen telling them to sit down and shut up.
2. Grandchildren are God's reward for not killing your own children.
3. Mothers of teens now know why some animals eat their young.
4. Children seldom misquote you. In fact, they usually repeat word for word what you shouldn't have said.
5. The main purpose of holding children's parties is to remind yourself that there are children more awful than your own.
6. We childproofed our homes, but they are still getting in.
ADVICE FOR THE DAY: Be nice to your kids. They will choose your nursing home one day.
AND FINALLY:
IF YOU HAVE A LOT OF TENSION AND YOU GET A HEADACHE, DO WHAT IT SAYS ON THE ASPIRIN BOTTLE:
"TAKE TWO ASPIRIN" AND "KEEP AWAY FROM CHILDREN"!!!!!
Quick, send this on to ten people within the next five minutes.
Nothing will happen if you don't, but if you do but, ten people will be laughing
If you are not a parent yet, and can't relate to this, believe me, someday, you will!
To those of us who have children in our lives, whether they are our own, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, or students... here is something to make you chuckle.
Whenever your children are out of control, you can take comfort from the thought that even God's omnipotence did not extend to His own children. After creating heaven and earth, God created Adam and Eve.
And the first thing he said was "DON'T ! "
"Don't what ? " Adam replied.
"Don't eat the forbidden fruit." God said.
"Forbidden fruit ? We have forbidden fruit ? Hey Eve..we have forbidden fruit ! "
" No Way ! "
"Yes way ! "
"Do NOT eat the fruit ! " said God.
"Why ? "
"Because I am your Father and I said so ! " God replied, wondering why He hadn't stopped creation after making the elephants.
A few minutes later, God saw His children having an apple break and He was ticked ! "Didn't I tell you not to eat the fruit ? " God asked.
"Uh huh," Adam replied.
"Then why did you ? " said the Father.
"I don't know," said Eve.
"She started it ! " Adam said.
"Did not ! "
"Did too ! "
"DID NOT ! "
Having had it with the two of them, God's punishment was that Adam and Eve should have children of their own. Thus the pattern was set and it has never changed.
BUT THERE IS REASSURANCE IN THE STORY ! If you have persistently and lovingly tried to give children wisdom and they haven't taken it, don't be hard on yourself. If God had trouble raising children, what makes you think it would be a piece of cake for you ?
THINGS TO THINK ABOUT !
1. You spend the first two years of their life teaching them to walk and talk. Then you spend the next sixteen telling them to sit down and shut up.
2. Grandchildren are God's reward for not killing your own children.
3. Mothers of teens now know why some animals eat their young.
4. Children seldom misquote you. In fact, they usually repeat word for word what you shouldn't have said.
5. The main purpose of holding children's parties is to remind yourself that there are children more awful than your own.
6. We childproofed our homes, but they are still getting in.
ADVICE FOR THE DAY: Be nice to your kids. They will choose your nursing home one day.
AND FINALLY:
IF YOU HAVE A LOT OF TENSION AND YOU GET A HEADACHE, DO WHAT IT SAYS ON THE ASPIRIN BOTTLE:
"TAKE TWO ASPIRIN" AND "KEEP AWAY FROM CHILDREN"!!!!!
Quick, send this on to ten people within the next five minutes.
Nothing will happen if you don't, but if you do but, ten people will be laughing
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