Happy 60th Birthday Daddy!

Growing up, my dad was my hero. My superman.

Not once did I doubt his love for me. In fact, I never showed any interest in boyfriends when I was in my teenage years because no one, I believed (or was I raised to believe? ;D), could love me more than my dad did. No boy could ever be as kind, as intelligent, as loving and caring as my father. No one, not one, measured up to my dad.

My earliest childhood memory associated with daddy is the life-sized doll he bought for me when he came back from a stint in Saudi Arabia. The happy memory of playing with that doll stands out in my mind. It was pretty, and when wound up, its blue eyes opened and close as it swayed from left to right to tune of a lullaby. When I started school, the times I needed help with my homework, I didn't run to my mom as most kids do. It was always to my dad, because if ever I had problems with homework, it was either in Math or Science, and my mom would always say Your dad knows that better. I also remember him helping me write an essay for some Science Contest, which I won at the District Level, and eventually brought me to the Regional Level. So it was my dad too who spurred my interest in writing.

I will never forget those times in college when I'd come home and my dad would be ready to cook everything my heart desired. He'd go really early to the market, make sure he can get fresh fish, cook sinigang just the way I like it, and set aside the parts that I love. Monday mornings, I would always be late for school, or miss classes altogether, because I just had to eat one more favorite that daddy concocted in the wee hours of dawn.

When I left home for Thailand, it was my dad who brought me to the airport. I found out later from my mom that my dad didn't leave the airport until he was sure that I had passed immigration. He stuck it out at the waiting area until my plane left. And that became a tradition. Then on my homecomings, as soon as he found out the date of my arrival, he'd start a countdown, and every single day, announce to the household how many days are left before THE day. Day of arrival, he'd be up really early, go to market, buy his ingredients, then cook up a storm so that I'd eat my favorite right on my first meal at home. These, he did, for me and all my siblings.

One thing that I like about my dad the most was his devotion to my mom. He and my mom were like Siamese twins. Inseparable. At times when my mom had to be away, my dad couldn't even sleep on their bed alone. Then long before mommy's arrival, he'd be up and about, ready to meet and welcome her. There was even a time that he wanted to go to the airport like a day before mommy was supposed to arrive. Funny, it could be sometimes, but I like that kind of love. I always prayed that if God would give me a life partner, it'd be someone like my dad, who loved my mom for life. They didn't have the perfect relationship, of course, but it was near perfect as it could be.

And I should never forget to mention that my dad was a channel through which I met my Saviour. Daddy's faith in God and his zeal for God's work has inspired me to work out my own relationship with Jesus. I am thankful that God is at work in my dad's life, and that He is giving my dad strength to move on and help finish His work here in Thailand.

Today is my dad's 60th birthday. It pains me to see my dad alone without my mom, but I just have to believe with all my heart, that this is what is best for him right now. I look forward to the day when I'd see my dad really happy again, when I will once more see the twinkle in his eyes, which understandably disappeared when my mom passed away. Last night, during his birthday celebration, we caught a glimpse of the old daddy, my daddy who used to be so happy with life.

Happy birthday Daddy! I love you!

Roo helping Lolo with the candles

Tito Jr is on the phone ready to sing Happy Birthday with us

Lolo's ice cream cake, his first.

My sis' creation: Lola's favorite, according to lolo.

Happy 60th birthday Lolo!

In Dire Need of Zzzzzzs

'Twas the best of nights...

Roo was exhausted. Had a full afternoon playing and running around at Little Gym. Plus there was a lego fair at Emporium so we let him play there for a while. He fell asleep in the car on the way home.

So we had a quiet evening. Caught up on news with my sis and dad when we got home. MY man speedraced on Facebook. I spent some time reading some friends' blogs. My bro called, we had a nice chat.

'Twas the worst of nights...

Just when we were dozing off to sleep, Roo wakes up. He wanted milk. He was itchy. We asked if he wanted to take a bath, he didn't answer. Just nodded off again. So I changed him to pajamas, and wiped him down.

A few minutes later, he started scratching again. Daddy, I need to wash. The snoring dad woke up, brought him to the bathroom, changed him. Came back to the bed, turned the light off, dozed off.

Where's my icepack? My feet! My feet are painful. Daddy, carry me! Daddy, please massage my feet!

The usual nightmare. Whenever he's too tired, he dreams about painful feet and wakes up crying. The mommy and daddy got up, turned the lights on, and assured him that he was just dreaming. Please massage my feet.

But because the mommy and daddy were tired and sleepy, the massaging soon stopped. As soon as we stopped, the crying started. Sigh. Then he's back to being itchy.

Daddy, I want to take a bath! (Carrying and itching matters are delegated to daddy so he knew he couldn't ask that from me.) The daddy refuses and tells him to go back to sleep. Howling ensued.

That was at 2 am my dear readers. You bet the daddy was not exactly in the best of moods to give baths to howling toddlers, but he did. I finally got up when more bedlam followed and I heard chattering of teeth inside the bathroom. My poor boys!

The dad went right back to bed and I cuddled with my little Roo who was asking to play. Had to explain that it was in the middle of the night, that mommy and daddy need sleep, that he too needed to sleep. I don't know when exactly we fell asleep but we did. Next thing I knew, it was morning, and he was all over me, asking Is it morning? Can I play now?

To our dear family and friends...

Myspace Happy New Year Comments & Graphics

Love to all from Roo and family

My Little Missionary

Since the day he uttered his first word, Roo has been trying to communicate with the lady who comes to clean our house everyday. She speaks purely Thai, and Roo speaks only English. When they try to talk to each other, each would say a word in her/his own language. The thing is, both of them are so intent on teaching the other his language that neither of them listen to each other. The khun pa we call her, for instance would point to the ball, and tell Roo, "bon." Roo in return would tell her "ball" and insist that it's a ball, not a bon.

Ball.

Bon.

Ball.

Bon.

That's what you'll hear for a few minutes. Eventually one of them gives up and goes back to his/her own thing. The next day when they meet, the same thing happens. Many times, it's another word. Most of the time, it's the same word.

We've been telling Roo to listen really carefully when the khun pa talks so he can learn Thai. Ever since he found out that the khun pa does not know Jesus, he has been itching to tell her. He tried several times, but in English, so the khun pa couldn't understand a word he's saying. He even watches Thomas the train in Thai at times, just so he can learn to speak Thai.

Today, he found a way. The Holy Spirit is evidently at work in Roo's heart. While I was surfing the net, I noticed that Roo was standing in the narrow space between his lolo's bed and the locker, so I told him he'd have to move out of the way because the khun pa would have to pass that way from the porch. He said, no mommy, I have to show her Jesus. On the bed was my old yearbook, and he had turned it to the page where Jesus picture was. So when the old lady came in from the porch with her mop, Roo cornered her and pointed to the picture of Jesus. The old lady acknowledged, and said, "Phra Yesu."

Apparently, she knows something about Jesus. I struck a conversation with her about it, and learned that she has read tracts and books and knows that Jesus was here on earth before and that he was crucified. She told us she liked reading about him. So Roo and I gave her a book to read. My little missionary wore a huge smile on his face as the khun pa said "khop khun khap!" (thank you!)

Bye to Nappies?

Guess what? I have great news!

Yesterday, I was loading the wash when Roo came to the door with shoulders all scrunched up, saying, "Mommy! I need to go to the toilet!"

I dropped everything and rushed him to the bathroom. As I hurriedly put his toilet seat in place and removed his diaper, I noticed that his shoulders were still up. Apparently, that was his way of holding it. And he made it!!!

Hahaha! Only mothers I guess will understand the joy of seeing a little child successful in his toilet training. Actually with Roo, my attempts at toilet training were all futile. He has always refused to go to the toilet, and the few times he did go, nothing came out. So I've kind of given up and decided to take my friend's advice to just let him be, that he'll go when he's developmentally ready. And he did! In his own time. His own good time.

On Massages

One Sunday morning, I decided I needed some respite and escaped from my boys. I caught a cab and gave the driver directions to go to Sunday market. Having nothing really in mind to shop for, I wandered aimlessly around the market when I got there. Found a couple of blouses for my sis and bought them.

Not long afterwards, I passed by some people offering massages. They had this cozy little corner at the clothes section, and aromatherapy scents filled the air. Their comfortable-looking massage chairs looked very inviting, and my tired and aching feet just couldn't resist the invitation. So a foot massage I got. For the first time. And hooked to massages I became.

That was just about three months ago. I can't believe I've been missing it all these years I've been here in Thailand. Where massage parlors are as bountiful as seven-elevens. But that's history now. Now I know that foot massages are relaxing and blissful, and not painful like I believed it was, they have found its way into my monthly budget. It's perfect especially when I'm experiencing that monthly cramping and aching.

There was this black pastor who came to visit our church with a group of other blacks from England a few weeks back. He shared how happy they were to have visited Thailand. And that for many of them, it was their first time to have a massage.

"You guys live in paradise!" he exclaimed.

Yup, massages can be synonymous to paradise. You know, you're all stressed and worked up over so many issues in your life, then you enter this sweet-smelling room, aptly decorated to make you relax just with the sight of it, with soft music in the air, and you can't help but feel that you've entered wonderland. You drop into the luxuriously soft leather-upholstered chair and you instantaneously unwind. The masseuse then gently washes your feet with warm water, dry them with soft towels, and props your feet up in a perfectly relaxing position. If you're anything but like me, you'd fall asleep right there and then.

And you'll wake up refreshed and completely relaxed. And so looking forward to your next massage.

In The Mind of a Three-Year-Old

I have seen my baby evolve from a helpless tot who could not do anything for himself, to a now striving- to-be-independent toddler who wants to do everything himself. I continue to be amazed at how this wonderful little being that I live with, and spend time with, 24/7, has grown and developed. Everytime he opens his mouth to talk or ask something, I stand enthralled at the words that give me but a glimpse of what goes on in his mind. At times when he is quiet, I can almost hear the wheels of his brain gear turning as he processes information we give him, or stuff that puzzle his young mind. His daddy and I often wonder, what does he think about? What and how do three-year-old kids think, do you know?

I don't mind his questions. In fact, I enjoy them. I welcome them. His whys and how comes are getting more and more complex, but I love the challenge. Makes me think hard too for he will not rest till my answers satisfy his curious mind.

What perplexes us are the little stuff that he gets so worked up about sometimes. Petty to us, maybe, but the way he reacts about them tells us that they mean a great deal to him.

Haircuts, for example, are a big no-no! He will NEVER say yes to a haircut. Months or weeks before he needs one, we start prepping him. "Roo, you need a hair cut. Your hair is getting a lil too long, don't you think?"

No! I don't want a hair cut.

"You will look nicer with a haircut. You won't have hair sticking in your eyes, making your eyes itchy."

No! I don't want to look nice. I want my eyes to be itchy.

No amount of coaxing worked. We even resorted to bribes, like he can watch all the videos he wanted while getting a haircut, or he can ask for a treat afterwards, but all these fell on deaf ears. He made himself clear, he does not want a haircut.

I had to put a clip on his hair to keep them away from his eyes. Until his dad changed words. Yup, words. "Roo, would you like it if I make your hair shorter?"

"Okay, daddy!"

Just like that. No fuss. No further questions.

We're still trying to make sense of it, but I guess it has something to do with what books say about how toddlers feel like when their hair, or nails, are cut, they think they lose them. They still have to grasp the idea that hair and nails grow; that when you cut them, you don't really lose that part of yourself, they will grow back.

The thing is, my Roo does not only fret about losing his hair, he also panics when he sees my hair, or his dad's for that matter, go down the drain in the bath. He can be blissfully happy playing with his bath toys one minute, and the next second he's weeping over hair that's washed down the drain. And there's no way to comfort him, you'd think he'd lost his bestfriend!

When we went exploring at a cove about a month ago, he saw some mangrove leaves riding the waves. He frantically grabbed them and with tears in his eyes, launched the Operation: Save the Leaves! I heard panic in his voice when he solicited my help, convincing me that the leaves needed to be rescued from the waves. Mommy, the waves are bringing the leaves away, quick, help me! No matter how much we explained to him that the leaves won't get hurt in any way, he stuck to his mission with great determination and fished out all the leaves that he thought needed rescuing, and brought them safely to shore.

Then just this noon, right before his afternoon nap, I gave him a bath. He busied himself pouring water into containers while I shampooed his hair and soaped his whole body up. When I turned the shower head on him, rinsing his hair, he suddenly started toe-tapping, and agitatedly waved his hands up and down.

Mommy, no! No, mommy!

"What is it, Roo?" "What's bothering you?" I asked. Knowing full well that he didn't like the water running over his head, I continued at it trying to get it done and over with. Fast.

He looked up at me, water dripping all over his face, and with exasperation in his voice, blurted out in a loud voice (as slowly as he could so maybe I could understand), DO YOU THINK I'M A PLANT? WHY ARE YOU WATERING ME?!"