Choice

It was another difficult day. Another in a string of difficult days. But I get to go home in a few minutes and I'm choosing to be grateful instead.

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes (i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened) - e.e. cummings

Clouds Part and a Ray of Sunshine Pushes Through to Make Rainbows that Make Candy Sprinkles Grey in Shame

When I smell you just behind the ears, where your neck and wee shoulders meet.
When I blow raspberries on your solar plexus.
When you realize I've come home (finally!) and you wrinkle your nose in fake-cry so that you could come to me and (finally!!!) have your milkoes.
When you lift your arms and ask to be carried.
When you cry when Daddy leaves for work.
When you give your slow smile when you know Daddy and I are being goofy.
When you eat your food!
When you look at us before you make a mess, not to ask for permission, but to make sure that we know you'll make a mess and show us that you don't care and so neither should we. (Working on that.)
When your leg looks for something to rest upon so you sleep with a daintily obnoxious foot (or feet) raised ever-so-slightly.
When you clap and wave your hands on cue.
Whenever you go to the bookshelves and reach for a book.
When you calm down when I hold you.
Whenever I have you and your Daddy in bed with me and I deliberately tell myself not to get up and check papers to be with you, my loves, first.

Too Fast!

Lucia is 10.5 months old!

Why?

Because to be a mother was the only thing I wanted more than to be a teacher.
There are many permutations to the why, but this is the.only.why that matters.

Definitions (Noun)

Ennui
(noun) A feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest.
Perturb
(verb) To disturb or disquiet greatly in mind; agitate.
Unctuous
(adjective) Characterized by excessive piousness or moralistic fervor, especially in an affected manner.
Skullduggery
(noun) Dishonorable proceedings.
Solipsism
(noun) Extreme preoccupation with and indulgence of one’s feelings, desires, etc,; egoistic self-absorption.
Delitescent
(adjective) Concealed; hidden; latent.
Braggadocio
(noun) Empty boasting.
Choice
(noun) An alternative.
Consequence
(noun) The conclusion reached by a line of reasoning. Importance or significance.
Resignation
(noun) An accepting, unresisting attitude, state, etc.; submission; acquiescence: to meet one’s fate with resignation. A formal statement, document, etc., stating that one gives up an office, position, etc.
All definitions from Dictionary.com.

Long Weekend, Shlong Weekend

Okay, for starters, let me acknowledge that "shlong" sounds whack. There. Duly acknowledged.

The long weekend is upon us and instead of relaxing, I'm fretting over all the stuff I need to check. And I have a lot. Chaddy and Yaya are helping though. Chaddy's checking the multiple choice parts and Yaya's helping with Lucia, but there's only so much they can do.

Ah, but I shall try to relax as well. I must. And I have to let a little silliness creep in. I mean, how could I not?

Haha! Silly duckie. Silly mommy. ;)

Happy long weekend, everyone.

PS Hurricane Irene is hovering over the US' East Coast and Typhoon Mina is dillydallying right beside the Philippines right now. Hope everyone enjoys their weekends nonetheless. Stay safe and dry, everyone.

That's All

I am poor. Aside from my family, my idealism is all I have on most days. If I stay, the system will slowly eat at that and I will be destroyed. It's not even up to me to choose not to be destroyed. Because for as long as I am here, I will choose to be angry.

Because being angry reminds me that I still stand for something. Something that It does not. Something that It is not.

But it is the same anger that will consume me.

I am verbalizing this not to justify my decision (which, in reality, will not really take effect for quite some time still) because aside from my family, nobody really deserves to know why I'm leaving. I am merely verbalizing this because I need to. For myself. So that I can be reminded that the die has been cast and that everything else that will happen hereon end - as awful or joyous as it may be - will only make this experience richer. Will make the end more meaningful.

For the chapter is about to end.

And I am at peace. And afraid.

Funny. When I started this chapter, those were the exact same things I felt. But I am different now. My priorities are different. Essentially, still the same, but different. It's just time. That's all.

Enough.

Image from: http://sonsoflibertyacademy.com/

Bullish Bullies, Full of Bull

Allow me this moment of despair.

I am at the point where I would much rather be a stay-at-home mom. It's not the work (although there are tons of it), it's not the long hours, it's not even the hardly-enough pay...

You know the trouble with having heroes? It's realizing that not only are they also human, but sometimes, they're the sort of humans you vowed never to be. It's that disappointment that's getting to me. So amazingly disheartening. I think more than what had happened, it's that fatigue from trying to understand context upon context upon context, only to realize that it really is a lot simpler than what I keep convincing myself. It's douchebaggery, plain and simple.

Ah, the disappointment.

Oh, I know. I shall rise to the occasion. I must transcend the politics. I must become better than That Bully. I'll get to that positive rah-rah stuff when I'm in a better frame of mind. Right now, I'm just so disappointed. So meta-disappointed, I'm existentially planking.

Please, just let me be at home. Let me take care of my child and my husband. Let me explore the gastronomical wonders that our limited pantry can offer.

If you woke up to this face every day, wouldn't you agree?

In her car seat, on our way to the grocery, 8 months old.

Soon, it won't be the anger that will make me leave. Nor that I stopped loving it. It will be because I love something else so much more. Ever so much more. It's just a matter of when.

Rituals

Every morning, I wake up at 4 to nurse Lucia one last time before I leave for work. The actual nursing lasts longer than the time it takes for me to get ready for work, and I'm out the door by 5:15. As I walk towards the gate of our compound, I often see the usual people milling about at that ungodly hour.

As soon as I step out of our building, I look to the left and the same jogger would be passing through. I turn right to go towards the gate, and already the school service is there, waiting patiently for our neighbor from the other building to sleepily board. Just a few more paces till the gate, I see the same old lady in mid brisk walk, always with a hearty "Magandang umaga!" since we always - so always, it's bordering on Twilight Zone proportions - seem to cross paths in such a way that we almost trip into each other.

Such is the automation of my early mornings. I can actually tell when I'm running late when I miss seeing any one of those people on my way out.

The past few days though, I have been ridiculously busy. So busy, in fact, that I've had to ask my husband to bring me to school later than usual. Lucia had been sick with a mild form of measles and I have been beside myself. I haven't been able to sleep well, eat well, do anything well.

Thankfully, this morning I was able to wake up just in time and do all that again. Lucia's on the mend now, so things are picking up. All of those morning elements were at play at again, and I knew I was back in the groove, my daily two-step with Early Morning back in motion. It might seem bizarre, but I did miss them and their unacknowleding acknowledgment that I am still on track, albeit barely.

Ah, but oh my, how the Fates do chuckle at my expense. I feel myself getting more ill as the day progresses. My head feels like it's full of sawdust, my nose is red from sniffling, I sneezed right before saying "good morning" to my kids, and I tripped ever so ungraciously in front of all of them. And it's only 8:27 am.

But no matter. At least I had my ritual this morning. I'm still alive. Albeit barely.

Achoo.

This Episode was Brought to You by Death, Vampires, and the Word "Wee"

Just got home from the hospital.

Lucia has had a fever for the past several days. Two o'clock this morning, I noticed that she was especially hot and fussy. I decided to check her temperature and found out that she had shot up to 39.7. Before we slept, she was somewhere in the lower vicinity of 38, and I was already anxious then. So off we went to the ER.

We were in the ER for about 7ish hours. We had to wait for Lucia to pee in a wee bag (that's the actual medical term - and yes, it is just for pee, and yes, it is small)and the odds were against us. She pooped, and so we had to change the bag. She pooped again. Changed the bag again. When she finally did get to pee, the bag leaked. We were so happy when the wee babe finally peed into the wee bag, you'd think she was all but cured already. Wee!

As mind-numbing as nursing and consoling a sick child in the midst of all the other sick children, I think I shall forever be scarred by the drawing of blood from Lucia's wee finger (nope, not tired of the term yet).

A few facts: I am deathly afraid of blood. Almost as afraid as I am of spiders (and believe me, that's saying a lot). But Sick Lucia equals Clingy Lucia and I thought, if she was going to be a Plucky Duckie and endure that blood letting, by God, so shall I. Plucky Mommy.

The whole blood draining thing was horrific. (I realize the actual process is getting gorier by the narrative minute - and later, shimmering vampires will appear, stay tuned.) I guess it didn't take more than a minute, but the screaming and the tears were right next to my face and I couldn't help but cry along with her. Ugh, dear God, it was horrible. I was glad that it eventually ended. That we later found out that it wasn't dengue was just gravy by then.

***

As I was overdramatizing our ordeal, I noticed that across the hall, there were three people, and they were crying silently. One could hardly stand on her own and she was leaning on her brother (or so I assumed). A few minutes later, a priest arrived and they scurried behind the thin curtain that hid their loved one who had, apparently, passed away.

As I was overdramatizing our ordeal, someone in the other room had died.

***

Because we had stayed so long in the ER, by the time we had gotten the results of the urinalysis, our pediatrician had already started his clinic hours. So off we went to see him. He told us what we needed to do and off we went, our merry band of three (mama, dada, and yaya), with our wee babe.

As we were waiting for dada to buy the antibiotics, I received SMSs from two former kids of mine. They were both asking if it was true that a former co-teacher of mine had passed away. It was fairly easy to confirm the sad truth. He had indeed passed away - a few hours ago, it seems.

As I was overdramatizing our ordeal, someone I had known and used to work with had died.

***

Lots to be thankful for and lots to pray for. What a day this has been. And look, as of this writing, it is 2:22 PM, about 12 hours since the day began for me.

But I won't overdramatize that fact anymore.

Even if the darkness of my eyes could rival the very vampirish shimmer of another fellow who was probably up at the same time as I was; whose eyes similarly-half-opened like mine are right now.

Godspeed, Stranger in the Other Room. If the crying you left behind was any indication, it seems as though you were a good person and that you had a life well-lived. Enjoy the afterlife.

And goodbye, Gelo. Our last conversation centered around my telling you that I wasn't happy that you were leaving. This time, while I am not happy that you left, I'm glad that you are at least arriving at a much better place. You will be missed.

[Insert Onomatopoeic Expression of Exhaustion and Joy]

Real life has taken over, hence the silence. I don't think I've ever been this busy before in my life. And believe me, that's saying a lot.

Aside from taking care of a wonderful team of teachers this year, I'm also taking care of a wonderful bunch of kids. This year, I'm moderating the honors class.

Original image from here. The editing, well, that was me. ;p

At the beginning of the year, the very idea made my tummy twist into knots. I was in the honors class back in high school, and I'm afraid I wasn't the nicest student to my teachers -- well, to most of my teachers, at least. I was haughty and full of myself because I knew I was smart and I could survive by merely giving the barest minimum (except in English, of course). Ugh. If I were my student today, I'd hate me. Big time. So I really thought that being assigned to the honors class would be my comeuppance. That the spirits of Scorned Teachers Past would finally find peace of mind for their long-awaited retribution (oh, my poor Math and Religion teachers).

But, as history has proven time and time again, God's always in charge. His sense of humor is sometimes bizarre bordering on what-the-toot, but at least I knew he was at the helm.

Sure enough, my kids were everything I expected them to be. They were just like me

And more. But more. So much more.

It was tough to get them to trust me, but slowly, bit by bit, they let me in.

Yesterday, we came home from a 1.5 day retreat. The kids went through a series of activities that allowed them to confront their demons, contextualize their fears, and share parts of themselves with each other. Through it all, I was just an observer and, from time to time, a facilitator. But as they were going through their retreat, I found myself going through some form of retreat myself.

In the quiet of the evening, before I drifted off to (exhausted) sleep, I had a moment when God spoke to me, not as a mom. Nor a wife. Nor anything else in between. He spoke to me as a daughter, as someone he has always taken care of.

I'm not sure what he said exactly, for he didn't speak in words. But I felt his comfort, his reassurance, his promise that somehow, I will be all right. I've been so incredibly tired, but he promised that I will be well.

He also promised that my kids will all be well despite the enormous pressure they feel. Despite the fact that so many of them have more questions than answers. Despite how inadequate they feel at the face of being deemed the most intelligent of their peers. Because he loves them. Oh, how he loves them.

And by all things holy, oh, how I love them as well. Every single last haughty, silly, cranky, geeky one of them.

I have had only one other moderating class and most of them will be done with college after this school year. Oh, how I loved them, still love them, too. At that time, I didn't have Lucia yet, and so they really were the children of my heart. When I was asked to moderate this year, I feared that I might not be able to love them as much as I did my first class since I already had Lucia, but I have been proven wrong.

It seems as though every time I try to put limits on Love, Love (lovingly) kicks my butt. No such thing. There is no limit to how many people we can love, on how much we can love. Thank God, who is Love. :)

After the mass, one of the parents approached me and said, "Thank you for loving our sons." I laughingly replied, "Oh, but your sons are lovable naman po." And she said, "No, our sons. Kasama ka na rin po dun."

Ay, grabe. :)

Parents, thank you for sharing you sons with me. Kids, thank you for letting me love you.

And, God. Father. Thank you for letting me your daughter.