10 days after moving out of my parents' house and into a small place of our own, we found ourselves settling in back "home".
It took a small truck and several trips to haul all our belongings when we moved out. We had new everything. TV, carpets, stove, electric fans...even the rags were new. After the fire, we just got in the car and drove home. Nothing. Just the clothes we were wearing. It is a small comfort that I had been on my way to the office..so I have my cellphones and my wallet and my IDs and two empty Avent bottles in my Coleman.
Jam is slightly daunted...I am, too, but I don't want to worry myself to pieces. I was shocked and hurt and angry at first, demanding WHY it had to happen to us, but I figured we were faring better than some who have lost loved ones to a fire or have no roof over their heads. We were all safe, even if traumatized. We have food to eat, my mom's house for shelter, and there was an outpouring of help from relatives, friends, colleagues and neighbors.
There are lessons to be learned, I guess. And now that we have been given a blank slate, it is a challenge..to live a simplier life and be more responsible as a couple. To accept trials and not blame each other or other people whenever we are tested.
I comfort myself with the thought that we did not lose anything we could not live without. All the treasure we own, we were able to save...each other. Our faith is intact. We have our hopes and dreams. And though souvenirs and mementos are now ashes, the memories they represent were not burned. We have love, and we have families. We have friends and we have our jobs. Yes, we are humbled by the experience, and humbled more as we receive with gratitude the help that are extended to us, but we were not stripped of our dignity.
Inspite of it all, we are grateful.
Monday, November 02, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
Moving Out..Moving In
"Bulilit, bulilit..sanay sa masikip. Kung kumilos ang liit-liit."
This is what comes to mind whenever I think of our soon-to-be new home...for the next six months or so (I don't think I can stand it for long,..but I have be a optimist).
Yes, we're moving out of my parents' house and into our new home. The new abode is near Commonwealth. So far from Retiro. So far from work. And so near (as in walking distance) from the in-laws.
The problem is not the in-laws. I don't have parents-in-law, but I have a bunch of sisters- and cousins-in-law and a whole lot of little kins-in-law. They are all okay and relatively harmless and sooo not comparable to some of my father's relatives.
The problem is the newness of it all. Having to rely on only Jam and myself for our family's well-being. Jam isn't exactly the role model for all fathers/husband. And I'm not exactly the perfect wife material. We're not earning THAT well (unlike what some people may think). I'm so used to relying on dear mommy and the househelp...the meals get cooked, the laundry gets washed and ironed, the house gets cleaned...all without my help. My only contribution is paying bills. Hehehe.
I don't have to watch what I wear or say. I don't have to care what time I wake up (though I really wake up early everyday) or go to sleep. I splurge on some grocery items (like tons of Tipco juices and junk food) because I can still afford it.
But in a week's time, my world may come to a complete turn-around (no, not naman end). I'd have to be more conscious of our spending habits. I've to learn how to manage the household (though Jam could pretty much manage it as well - he's more bossy and masungit). I've to learn how to live with Jam's two sisters (who'll help watching over Jerard) and nephew. I've to wake up earlier than usual to get to work on time. I've to learn to live without all my shoes, and my books and all my little whatchamacallits. The house is so small I can watch TV from the other end of the room.
I am scared. Frightened. Worried. The earth is shaking underneath my feet and I've nothing to hold on to, except the knowledge that this is what most couples go through.
This is what comes to mind whenever I think of our soon-to-be new home...for the next six months or so (I don't think I can stand it for long,..but I have be a optimist).
Yes, we're moving out of my parents' house and into our new home. The new abode is near Commonwealth. So far from Retiro. So far from work. And so near (as in walking distance) from the in-laws.
The problem is not the in-laws. I don't have parents-in-law, but I have a bunch of sisters- and cousins-in-law and a whole lot of little kins-in-law. They are all okay and relatively harmless and sooo not comparable to some of my father's relatives.
The problem is the newness of it all. Having to rely on only Jam and myself for our family's well-being. Jam isn't exactly the role model for all fathers/husband. And I'm not exactly the perfect wife material. We're not earning THAT well (unlike what some people may think). I'm so used to relying on dear mommy and the househelp...the meals get cooked, the laundry gets washed and ironed, the house gets cleaned...all without my help. My only contribution is paying bills. Hehehe.
I don't have to watch what I wear or say. I don't have to care what time I wake up (though I really wake up early everyday) or go to sleep. I splurge on some grocery items (like tons of Tipco juices and junk food) because I can still afford it.
But in a week's time, my world may come to a complete turn-around (no, not naman end). I'd have to be more conscious of our spending habits. I've to learn how to manage the household (though Jam could pretty much manage it as well - he's more bossy and masungit). I've to learn how to live with Jam's two sisters (who'll help watching over Jerard) and nephew. I've to wake up earlier than usual to get to work on time. I've to learn to live without all my shoes, and my books and all my little whatchamacallits. The house is so small I can watch TV from the other end of the room.
I am scared. Frightened. Worried. The earth is shaking underneath my feet and I've nothing to hold on to, except the knowledge that this is what most couples go through.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Misery Level: 1
It's been a long while. Blogging has become an off-on thing. It has taken a backseat to Ebay, Multiply and my newest discovery - Facebook (I just usually play Farmtown). Plus, being a full-time mom, full-time wife and full-time employee (in that order, please!), I usually have just enough minutes in my hand for a quickie (not that sort, you pervert!) internet surfing.
I don't want to sound miserable, because I am not. Plus, ever since I got married and had a son, my usually "emo" self has died. Sure, I still get emotional and a cry-baby, particulary when Jam and I have our little oofffss and arrrgghhhs (what woman doesn't?), but I have learned to steel myself and have become a little stronger, emotionally.
That "emotionally stronger" was tested last night. Update on dad: Mom and I rushed him to St. Lukes last Tuesday night after hours of diarrhea and vomiting. For days now, he had been restless due to leg pains and lack of appetite. So we naturally worried he'd get dehydrated. Dad's hard-headed and we're grateful that he finally agreed to be brought to the hospital because, as it turned out, his kidneys are taking the strain because he is severely dehydrated.
Last night, a tube was inserted in his neck, through a vein and to his heart (if I understood what the doctor said...) to monitor his (de)hydration level and to put some liquids into him (beside that IV line). It wasn't a particularly pretty sight. It was done under local anesthesia and just seeing the looooooong needles, tubes and surgery stuff...Mom, Jam and Kuya Jing had to leave the room. Only Ate and I (hurrah to the "operadas"/CS moms) had the stomach to watch dad endure the procedure. It wasn't a bloody scene, and on my scale of grossiness, doesn't even come to 1. But of course, it's enough to make me wince and mutter a series of Hail Marys and Our Fathers. Seeing gross is one thing. Witnessing pain is another thing. But after the procedure, I believe it seem more painful that it really was.
He is now (as in this very moment) undergoing dialysis. His creatinine level was so high because he couldn't pee so they had to remove toxins out of his body. I cringe when I think of the stuff dad has to endure. And part of me, even that part that said I am no longer the "emo", wants to write down my misery just to vent out.my grief. But I try to turn my back to it. He isn't gone yet and I will not write eulogies for the living.
I don't want to sound miserable, because I am not. Plus, ever since I got married and had a son, my usually "emo" self has died. Sure, I still get emotional and a cry-baby, particulary when Jam and I have our little oofffss and arrrgghhhs (what woman doesn't?), but I have learned to steel myself and have become a little stronger, emotionally.
That "emotionally stronger" was tested last night. Update on dad: Mom and I rushed him to St. Lukes last Tuesday night after hours of diarrhea and vomiting. For days now, he had been restless due to leg pains and lack of appetite. So we naturally worried he'd get dehydrated. Dad's hard-headed and we're grateful that he finally agreed to be brought to the hospital because, as it turned out, his kidneys are taking the strain because he is severely dehydrated.
Last night, a tube was inserted in his neck, through a vein and to his heart (if I understood what the doctor said...) to monitor his (de)hydration level and to put some liquids into him (beside that IV line). It wasn't a particularly pretty sight. It was done under local anesthesia and just seeing the looooooong needles, tubes and surgery stuff...Mom, Jam and Kuya Jing had to leave the room. Only Ate and I (hurrah to the "operadas"/CS moms) had the stomach to watch dad endure the procedure. It wasn't a bloody scene, and on my scale of grossiness, doesn't even come to 1. But of course, it's enough to make me wince and mutter a series of Hail Marys and Our Fathers. Seeing gross is one thing. Witnessing pain is another thing. But after the procedure, I believe it seem more painful that it really was.
He is now (as in this very moment) undergoing dialysis. His creatinine level was so high because he couldn't pee so they had to remove toxins out of his body. I cringe when I think of the stuff dad has to endure. And part of me, even that part that said I am no longer the "emo", wants to write down my misery just to vent out.my grief. But I try to turn my back to it. He isn't gone yet and I will not write eulogies for the living.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Mommy Files
I'm on to a new blog...naks, parang active mag post. hehe. It's my Mommy Blog. So far, all I have are breastfeeding tales.
But all I can say is..."Grabe! Kaka-addict ang maging mommy!"
Being a mom is more than having a full-time job. It's a vocation. It's a passion. It's an addiction and a skill and a calling.
Being a mom has made me do a lot of things I thought I will never ever do...like taste my own milk, forego trips and travel opportunities, buy expensive stuff (just how much baby things costs, you'd never guess unless you've been there, done that...) and wake up several times in the middle of the night to feed someone.
I love being a mom. Obvious ba?
But all I can say is..."Grabe! Kaka-addict ang maging mommy!"
Being a mom is more than having a full-time job. It's a vocation. It's a passion. It's an addiction and a skill and a calling.
Being a mom has made me do a lot of things I thought I will never ever do...like taste my own milk, forego trips and travel opportunities, buy expensive stuff (just how much baby things costs, you'd never guess unless you've been there, done that...) and wake up several times in the middle of the night to feed someone.
I love being a mom. Obvious ba?
Monday, January 19, 2009
Updates? Updates!
And yes, I am a successful breastfeeding mom.
My daily routine is punctuated by (almost) hourly breastfeeding sessions. My breasts are now Junesque. I can give Angel Locsin/Aya Medel and all boldies a run for their money. Though of course, mine are filled with liquid gold instead of fat/silicone.
I still am not successful with giving baby a bath. Daddy Jam and Tita/Yaya Ensei.El are experts.
Jerard Danniel got his second vaccine (BCG) last Saturday. I did not watch it. I heard him cry, though. Being a mom is a complex thing.
I surf the Net for all sorts of info re breastfeeding, sterilizing bottles, nappy changes, infant sleeping patterns and more that could make me anxious about my maternal instincts.
I am bored at home. But I cannot leave OB1 for even an hour without fretting about him.
Daddy Jam is equally obsessive compulsive with his son. I cannot hold him much when he's around. He can change a nappy in seconds. His voice soothes the little boy more than mine, though when it comes to feeding time, of course, my breasts can talk louder.
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