Letters to Marge (Chapter 23): Breakfast, and a stupid phone camera that got misty...

Dear Marge,

I would like to tell you a little story about breakfast...

* * * * * * * *

I woke up knowing i just farted from the cold. Not sure if i smelled it, or i just felt i did, or i simply assumed i just farted because the cold weather has been making me fart a lot lately.

After reading the above, please look up “fart.”

Done? Great. Let’s keep going...

You and your mom were already awake, and i quickly offered to do what i’ve been doing for your mom for the past ten years. No, silly. Not THAT (whatever it is you’re thinking). I meant breakfast. As in pancakes and bacon. As expected, you pleaded to join me down to the kitchen. The photo above shows you trying your hand at stirring the batter.

Now these photos show you eating, while i finished up the stack, then followed by photos of us bringing it to mom.

numnumnum...

There. That was this morning. It’s a Saturday.

‘catch you later.

Love,

Dad



you giving mommy a hug after

serving her breakfast. The camera

on the phone fogged up. resulting

in this stupid blurry photo.





you offered me a bite.



parting shot



Letters to Marge (Chapter 22): All About You

Greetings, Kiddo...


This is Happy the Poodle

As you may probably guess, you already talk by now. Not talk in the “Dad, there’s something i need to tell you about what happened at the prom...” talk (Lord, I hope NOT!!), but talk in the “blankie... me me me... watch Dora...” kind of talk (which is really quite adorable, while you’re still under three years old. Any further up, then we’re in trouble, kid.).

But i write this now to tell you about funky little tidbits at this point in your life that will fade with time (unless i can do something about it... something new and groundbreaking... like... err... uh... blog!?!?! Bwahahahahaha...). Anyways...

Here goes:

1. You used to describe something hot by saying “ca-ca.” Most likely stemming from the tagalog word “kakapaso,” i think. But you’ve grown past this one. Just like you’ve grown past pointing your index finger up instead of your thumb to express your approval.

It’s October, 2010, and you can now say “hot,” “very hot,” and even “warm.” Cool, huh?

2. Your mother tricks you into drinking any beverage she wants you to by prefixing everything with the word “Choco.” (e.g. white fresh milk is called “white choco milk,” and plain water (which is

good for you) is referred to as “choco water,” “Choco-medicine,” etc.).

The bad news is that it works. You’re being had, kiddo! So one day, if she says that she never lied to you, you can log back in here and show her this. Bwahahahahahahahahaha...!

3. You are now very good at naming things you see. Quite smart for your age, actually. But you always call pictures of little dogs “Happy.” Most likely naming them after our dog “Happy,” who is the smallest member of the bunch.

4. You love joining me in making popcorn, where i let you help me slice off a chunk of butter and throw it into the pot. The same way i let you help me beat the eggs when we make pancakes.

5. You love pink. Seriously. So if one day you grow to become some black-clad emo-goth who thinks the Care Bears must die, then remember that once in your life, you genuinely loved pink.

6. You love Dora. The photo at left is your favourite pair of shoes. Dora-edition Crocs. We are waiting until this pair gives you bunions, so you’ll finally give them up.

7. You also used to have this funny roll call where you point, then say: “YOU mommy”... point again, then say: “YOU daddy”...then finally point to yourself and say: “YOU Maaaaaarge...” By now though, you’ve learned the word “ME” and use it often. A little too often...

8. And as of October 3 of this year, your mother has effectively eliminated your dependence on your comfort blanket (a.k.a. “lampin,” “bwankie.”). Let’s see how long that lasts. Heh heh...

I’ll keep ‘em coming, kid. You just keep doing what you do.

‘catch you later.

Love,

Dad

Letters to Marge (Chapter 21): Father's Day

Dear Marge,

Yesterday was supposedly Father’s Day. Happy Father’s Day to me. Yipee. You’re only a month over 2 years old, and still can’t greet me. But every time you reach for me and plead “carry...”, it feels even better than Father’s Day every time.

But hey, i’m not a father without you, of course. So if i get that cool “father’s club” greeting, it will be because of you. And best of all, you make being a father really fun, and totally great.

So i don’t care what kind of lame-ass marketing they threw around yesterday. Father’s Day was YOUR day, Marge-baby, because THIS father is YOUR father. You make being a dad cool.

By the way, you love positioning yourself at the edge of a bed, then telling me “jump!” which means that you’re asking me to catch you, and i do. Your mother hates it when we do that. She thinks you’ll hurt yourself with that stunt someday. (Just thought i’d say that...)

So, was Father’s Day exceptionally happy? Hell, no. Every day is happy, when you’re around.

‘catch you later, kid.

Love,

Dad

Letters to Marge (Chapter 21, prologue): Busy busy busy... zipping to and fro...

Hey there, Marge...

Been a hectic few days, kid.
You, me and your mom drove back to Manila last 14th, then dad went to work in Maverick for a day on the 15th, then early on the 16th, the three of us flew to Hong Kong to work on what will become a bad back ache from the shopping and carrying you, along with foot blisters from all the walking.

Above injuries are almost exclusively belonging to this author. (More on the trip in the next blog entry, hopefully.) But yes, I happily blame YOU. Operative word: "HAPPILY."

We flew back to Manila yesterday (June 19th), then quickly drove up to Baguio to get ourselves ready for your uncle’s elaborate Super-duper Chino-Oriental engagement party, referred to in Chinese as the “ting-hoon.” (More on that in another post. Again, hopefully.)

And now we’re back and settled in Baguio for the remainder of the week, then dad has to drag you guys back to Manila for him to run a little house called Maverick. Hopefully sooner than later since dad is quite homesick, Maverick-wise.

But pardon me for rambling as i usually do... on to another post... the supposedly REAL post...

Travel Blog Entry Preview (but not the next post. am i confusing you? don't worry, i'm confusing myself): photo at right shows you waiting for your first Hong Kong meal.

‘catch you later.

Love,

Dad

Letters to Marge (Chapter 20): Pizza and Parenting

Dear Marge,

Today is the very first time you prepared food. Your mom and i were there, but we weren’t totally there. We were busy stuffing ourselves with chilli crabs, homemade ice cream, medium rare steak, and more. A LOT more...

But you supposedly put together the little bite-sized pizza you and your nanny-of-the-day brought to the table.  You were proud of it, your mom and i were both amazed and said our “wows.”

We totally neglected to take photos of your first food foray. We were already half an hour out of the hotel when your mom exclaimed that we didn’t take photos, and even worse, didn’t even take a single bite.   We’re bad parents.  Photo on the upper right is sort of what your little pizza looked like.

The photo at left is obviously you. You were totally knocked out after all the fringe buffet food you downed at the Hyatt’s Market Cafe (photo below).  And yes, pointlessly, this is the first time you made food, and we didn’t even take a bite.

Sorry, baby. Won’t happen again. We’ll try everything you make next time, even if it means a week’s worth of diarhea.

Love you.

Dad

Letters to Marge (Chapter 19): One Finger

Dearest Marge...

First things first… HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY! You turned 2 today!!!

On to this letter… Last election day (May 10, 2010), you almost lost your index finger. Your playfulness found you sticking your finger through the grills of an electric fan. Good thing all you got was a little cut.

The day marks the first time you cut yourself in an accident of your own doing. It is no exageration when i say that your mom and i were totally nervous. Relieved that you sustained a relatively minor injury, but nervous because it could have been so much worse. And you could have gone through the rest of your life sticking your left hand's middle finger at everybody.

As you go on through life, you will do various things that might result in you hurting yourself in various ways. Some physical, and mostly emotional. But the most important thing you should remember is that like your finger, wounds heal sooner or later. Nature has made it so.

Which isn't to say that you should not be careful. But it should tell you to have faith that no matter how bad things get, things can and will get better with time.

In time, you may or may not hear about a very dark time in our little family's life. And at more than one point, your mother and i were more than tempted to believe it was better to quit, not while we were ahead, but while we weren't as behind as we could be if screwed up any more than we already did. Or at least screwed up as much more as she feared i would.

On another note, that day should also tell you to not stick your finger where it doesn't belong. And as you get older, fingers will become a very tricky subject. But better take care of yours, just to be sure of things.

You be careful, sweetheart. You were blessed enough to have been born with an appendage and organ count considered normal by human standards. Doesn't sound like a big deal right now, but if events last Election Day turned just a wee bit differently, you'd look for that finger whenever you see a piano, think of picking your nose with your left hand, or want to give some idiot the "loser" sign if your right hand was busy holding a frappuccino.

Unless you grow up not liking frappuccinos.

I love you, baby.

Dad

Letters to Marge (Chapter 18): S'Mother's Day...

My Dearest Margaret...

Today is your mother’s second “official” Mother’s Day. The first “unofficial” one was when she was pregnant with you. That was practically just a bit over a week from when you were born.

Soooo... as of today, you were still too young to greet her, or supposedly give her that “honor” of greeting her. But she totally feels the love, kiddo... so i greeted her for you, anyways... and yes, i’m still doing my best to kiss your mother’s ass (literally and figuratively...).

Your mom is a great, great gal... let me tell you a little something about her...

Growing up, your mom always knew what it was like to make a living. I have thrown in here a bonus handful of old photographs of your mom in various stages and ages of her young life. I have selected the least hilarious and embarrassing, by the way... but you can tell from the photos that even as a little girl, your mother was beautiful. Just like you.

At the time we were about to get married, she was maintaining a little clothing shop back in Angeles, Pampanga. She saw herself through an additional two years of school to get a full degree, and supported herself and her mom (your grandmother) from that shop.

Not too long after your mom and i got married, she sold the rights to that little old shop and moved to Manila with me. She proceeded to open a little food place near the University of Santo Tomas, where your dad sweet-talked his way to a degree in architecture a handful of years before. I have since used that degree to design the dresser in your bedroom, design some really cute baggage counters for your other grandmother’s store, and our units on Plumbing & Utilities has enabled me to perform immediate repairs on the water closets at home, as well as courageously change the lighting fixtures even while the switches are on.

When she was finally, thankfully pregnant, she gave up the food place, and poured all her time and love to that little angel gently kicking inside her belly. And yes, that little angel was you. It wasn’t easy for us to become parents. In fact, when i had all but given up, your mom didn’t. She really wanted us to have you. She didn’t care what on earth she was injecting herself with, what meds she had to take, or how much anaesthesia she had to sniff or get pricked which was followed by her saying a string of funny, crazy things to the doctor. She really wanted us to have you.

You are special to us, not only because you are our child. But also because we begged God for you for almost eight years. Especially your mom. You live right now, because of her more than anyone. Even more than me, i must admit.

Your mom has consistently found something productive to do since she wanted to remain relatively independent, even after she gave birth to you. She sold little foodstuffs to canteen operators in local schools and has made a nice living doing those. She has saved all that money up for you, kiddo. Remember this twelve years from now when you bug her for shopping money and she says she doesn’t have any. I grant you the right to cackle like a witch and keep asking her... bwahahahahaha...

On some days, you and your mom will find yourselves not agreeing on a few things, and you may resent her for keeping you from things you may think you may want or should have, or from things you may think you should be doing. Or, your personalities may find themselves totally clashing on a bad day. When any of those things happen, please click your way back to this page and read the above.

Whenever you read this, greet your mother a Happy Mother’s Day, and that can be any time of the year, and for any number of days you will want.

And should YOU already be a mother while you are reading this, Happy Mother’s Day to you, my dear daughter. I’m sure you’re doing as great a job on my grandchildren as your mom did on you.

Love,

Dad

P.S. so far, your teeth are great. And yes, you have your mother to thank for that. She has great teeth, too.