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Love to all from Roo and family
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
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!)
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!)
Monday, December 8, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, November 7, 2008
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?!"
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?!"
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
I'm Your Mommy, K?!
What do you do when you miss someone? Write them? Send an IM? Call? I'd do anything just to have one more moment with my mom. I miss her voice. Miss her laugh. Miss everything about her!
Mommy, are you sad?
Yes, my son. I miss lola so much.
Mommy, I know! Pretend that I'm your mommy, okay? Give me a hug, mommy! Pretend that I'm lola!
*Hugs*
Mommy, are you still sad? Think of heaven okay? Jesus will bring us to heaven soon, and we won't be sad anymore!
My Roo! My sweet, sweet Roo! More *hugs*
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Guilty!
We had just passed one Officer who asked us point blank what kind of food we had in our bags. Wracking my brain for a mental picture of what I packed into the bag three weeks before, I rattled off a list from the top of my head. Dry instant noodles, ready-to-eat instant soup, biscuits, crackers, chips, sweet treats. The Officer wrote them all, one by one on my declaration form. And I thought that was that.
It was not so. At the end of our queue, another Customs Officer was opening bags and looking through them thoroughly. I suddenly had this sinking feeling that I was in trouble! My heart started beating fast. My mind raced. What if I missed something? What will they do to us if we brought something we did not declare? Crossing my fingers and hoping for the best, I breathed a prayer up. My memory can NOT fail me. NOT now. Pleeeaase.
The Officer rummaged through the bag carrying our food and pulled out a bar of cheese. Oh my Eden cheese! I should have listened to MY man. It wouldn't have taken that much trouble to open the bag and check if we forgot something. But I didn't want to do it. Hardheaded me. Now what?!
The Officer looked through the list on his hand, looked us in the eye, and asked, “WHAT is this?” Why is this cheese not in the list?”
"Officer, I'm sorry. I forgot that I packed cheese into the bag."
Sounded so lame I regretted saying it. But what else can I say? That I had so many things in my mind all this time, got caught up with all the wedding preparations, and the wedding itself, that I forgot I had packed a small bar of cheese in one of the bags?
Guilty. That's what I was. I had no excuse. They gave me plenty of time to think. The Customs form was given to me in the plane a good hour before landing. Sure, it did not specifically spell out c-h-e-e-s-e, but it did say “dairy” products. What’s more, from the moment we stepped into
What?! You say? Bring cheese to cheese country? Like bringing chilli into Thailand? I know it sounds absurd. But you see, MY man and I were on our honeymoon, and we were supposed to drive out to the countryside, away from civilization, and we wanted to make sure the food situation would be taken care of. I had tossed that cheese in without much thought and I had completely forgotten all about it! It was one of those stuff from home that my parents brought over when they came for the wedding, and I missed eating that particular brand of cheese. Never imagined it would bring us THIS much trouble. Nice way to start our honeymoon eh?
A grim-looking Officer walked us to his office, sat us down, and very patiently explained why it was important for us to obey their laws. This is the first time I'm apprehended for breaking the law. I felt like a criminal. If only my chair could swallow me up. I apologized to the Officer, admitted our wrongdoing, and asked if it was possible for him to excuse the offense. Sir, can you like just throw the cheese away and we promise we will not do this again?
Yeah right. Commit an offense and not take the punishment? Well, I had to ask! Hoping for grace, I appealed to the Officer to 'forgive' our mistake. But he was no God and a fine is a fine. We have broken the law and we have to bear the punishment. All he could assure us was that it would not appear in our records.
With a heavy heart, I counted out two hundred NZ dollars. The price of a twenty-peso cheese sneaked into their country. A lesson on responsibility and accountability slammed down my throat to swallow. Quite an expensive lesson to learn but you bet it was well-learned!
Next time I go to cheese country, I bring no cheese ;D
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