Just am not feeling sleepy. Have no articles to rush. Read most of my mail. Checked friendster. Gave Sam his milk and lulled him to sleep. Texted Mark. Read some. But I still couldn't sleep.
Better do some catch up blogging. Just snippets cause I don't really feel like writing.
- Nikki's supposed to visit tomorrow. Hope he makes it.
- Sam's taking Motillium. I think the syringe that came with it is really cool.
- Mark and Angel are finally done (I think) with their MACZEDAM project. Yay! Mark can now have 2-day weekends.
- Am posting for Scigg.com. Yes the idea's a rip off from digg but give it a chance. At least look it up and vote for one of my posts. It's a job-related thing I at least really enjoy doing. :p
- Am also maintaining two blogs. One about blackjack and the other about betting systems and tools. I don't think I can post the URL though cause technically I don't exist. Although writing for those blogs is pretty easy it bugs me that no one reads the blogs. The blog is after all just a section of the site and most probably exists just to provide regular fresh content to the site as part of SEO. Ugh. If not for the money it'll depress me that my efforts in writing gets so wasted.
- I need a Paypal account to get more projects. Not a real priority though.
- Plan on doing a fundraiser middle of next year. Anyone care to help me brainstorm?
- Mark and I wanted to buy an IXUS i-Zoom we saw in a catalogue. It's just around 19K and can be paid installment for zero interest. Comes with a free Selphy 700 too. Too bad we don't have a BPI credit card.
- Again I need a camera so I can take Sam's picture whenever he looks amazingly cute, which is about every other hour.
- I'm finally getting sleepy. Rambling works.
- Should clean Sam's bottles before I go to sleep but will probably end up asking my mom to do it.
- I should stop being so lazy and be a better mom.
- Sam couldn't sleep well for long periods if he can't touch my face or at least sense that I'm beside him.
- Life can be so sweet.
- A good thought is a nice closing. Will help me sleep peacefully.
- Night world.
"Life is a succession of lessons, which must be lived to be understood." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
Monday, September 25, 2006
Monday, September 11, 2006
Saturday, September 02, 2006
In Love (not for the anti-mush)
Most days you just plod through life going through the motions. Most days I feel happy and content but I don't feel deep-seated joy. Most days I care for my husband and know that I love him but I don't feel the gut-wrenching feeling of being in love. Today is not like most days. Since yesterday until today I've been sooo in love with Mark. I've been missing him and thinking about him, feeling like I used to when "mag-crushan" pa lang kami. I keep on remember our little flirtations, the concentrated attention, the pa-simple moves, the double talks, tampuhan, lambingan, the long talks, and our friendship. I keep on remembering how Thea hated us for feeling OP and how I always felt like dressing up just to see the sparkle in his eye. To be honest I think I fell in love with Mark first. We were both attracted to each other but I loved him first. I loved him first but he loved me better. I loved him and still loves him with such a whirlwind of emotions but he loved me and still loves me calmly and perseveringly. I stayed for him when he was down and needed me but I couldn't help him grow and be better. He keeps on being insensitive and sometimes doesn't understand what I need but in the end he manages to help me change and grow to a better person. Sometimes I don't think I'm what he needs and it hurts me like hell but I figure out it's ok because I'm still what he wants. And then there are days when it's quite obvious that he needs me and I sit there quiet beside him savoring the moment. As for me I'm still crazy about Mark. Ask any of my friends. They don't understand and I don't either. He's always been what I wanted and needed.
Words are so inadequate.
I love you Mark.
I love you Pa.
I feel so blessed that I have you in my life. Thanks for not quitting on us. Thanks for giving me Sam. Thanks for not allowing me to lose myself and helping me find my way back. You are my home.
Words are so inadequate.
I love you Mark.
I love you Pa.
I feel so blessed that I have you in my life. Thanks for not quitting on us. Thanks for giving me Sam. Thanks for not allowing me to lose myself and helping me find my way back. You are my home.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Sam and Scrambled Eggs
I just got advise from fellow parents from FPWR to start Sam with scrambled eggs, yougurt, mashed vegetables, etc. Since the only thing available at home were eggs, I cooked some for Sam (with no oil and just a little salt). I was so excited. My problem was that I was a bit nervous since he still has really know idea how to chew. Anyway after the egg cooled down I put in a little water and mashed the eggs further to make them more manageable and then proceeded to feed Sam. At first he just sat there with his tongue out with the egg sticking to it not knowing what to do. So I got some egg myself and proceeded to chew trying to show Sam what to do. I was so happy when he finally closed his mouth and proceeded to do some mashing motions. It was good enough for me. It almost looked like chewing. Even better, after a few seconds (maybe minutes) I looked in his mouth and the egg was gone. I immediately reported our triumph to Mark. We were so proud. I then went back to Sam and gave him his next itty bitty piece of egg and continued to do so everytime it seemed he'd finished each piece off. What a fast learner my baby boy is. After some time though he stopped responding and didn't really want to open his mouth so I picked up the bowl and put it near his face in hopes that it'll make him want to eat more. To my surprise he suddenly grasped the bowl's edge and raised it to his mouth (with me supporting the bowl of course). I got really excited becaue it meant that he really wanted to eat...
Until his cute little tongue stuck out from his mouth and I saw the large globs of mashed eggs in it before he "spat" the eggs out onto the bowl. Oh dear... Being persistent I tried to get him to eat again and gave him an even smaller piece of egg. So Sam, being persistent too, stuck out his hand took the bowl and spit the egg out again.
Result: No egg eaten and a very happy Mama. Not only is my baby starting to make chewing motions (even though ineffective still), he's also well-mannered enough to know that you don't spit on the bed and that it's better to spit food out into his own bowl!!! Sosyal! I'm so proud of Sam. ^_^
Until his cute little tongue stuck out from his mouth and I saw the large globs of mashed eggs in it before he "spat" the eggs out onto the bowl. Oh dear... Being persistent I tried to get him to eat again and gave him an even smaller piece of egg. So Sam, being persistent too, stuck out his hand took the bowl and spit the egg out again.
Result: No egg eaten and a very happy Mama. Not only is my baby starting to make chewing motions (even though ineffective still), he's also well-mannered enough to know that you don't spit on the bed and that it's better to spit food out into his own bowl!!! Sosyal! I'm so proud of Sam. ^_^
Some mothers get something more
Some Mothers Get Babies With Something More
By: Lori Borgman
Columnist and Speaker
My friend is expecting her first child. People keep asking what she wants. She smiles demurely, shakes her head and gives the answer mothers have given throughout the pages of time. She says it doesn't matter whether it's a boy or a girl. She just wants it to have ten fingers and ten toes.
Of course, that's what she says. That's what mothers have always said.
Mothers lie.
Truth be told, every mother wants a whole lot more. Every mother wants a perfectly healthy baby with a round head, rosebud lips, button nose, beautiful eyes, satin skin and straight feet. Every mother wants a baby so gorgeous that people will pity the Gerber baby for being flat-out ugly.
Every mother wants a baby that will roll over, sit up and take those first steps right on schedule (according to the baby development chart on page 57, column two). Every mother wants a baby that can see, hear, run, jump and fire neurons by the billions. She wants a kid that can smack the ball out of the park and do toe points that are the envy of the entire ballet class.
Call it greed if you want, but we mothers want what we want.
Some mothers get babies with something more.
Some mothers get babies with conditions they can't pronounce, a spine that didn't fuse, a missing chromosome, a palette that didn't close or a tiny crooked foot or two. Most of those mothers can remember the time, the place, the shoes they were wearing and the color of the walls in the small, suffocating room where the doctor uttered the words that took their breath away. It felt like recess in the fourth grade when you didn't see the kick ball coming and it knocked the wind clean out of you.
Some mothers leave the hospital with a healthy bundle, then, months, even years later, take him in for a routine visit, or schedule her for a well check, and crash head first into a brick wall as they bear the brunt of devastating news. It can't be possible! That doesn't run in our family. Can this really be happening in our lifetime?
I am a woman who watches the Olympics for the sheer thrill of seeing finely sculpted bodies. It's not a lust thing; it's a wondrous thing. The athletes appear as specimens without flaw - rippling muscles with nary an ounce of flab or fat, virtual powerhouses of strength with lungs and limbs working in perfect harmony. Then the athlete walks over to a tote bag, rustles through the contents and pulls out an inhaler.
As I've told my own kids, be it on the way to physical therapy after a third knee surgery, or on a trip home from an echo cardiogram, there's no such thing as a perfect body. Every body will bear something at some time or another. Maybe the affliction will be apparent to curious eyes, or maybe it will be unseen, quietly treated with trips to the doctor, medication
or surgery. The health problems our children have experienced have been minimal and manageable, so I watch with keen interest and great admiration the mothers of children with serious disabilities, and wonder how they do it.
Frankly, sometimes you mothers scare me. How you lift that child in and out of a wheelchair 20 times a day. How you monitor tests, track medications, regulate diet and serve as the gatekeeper to a hundred specialists yammering in your ear.
I wonder how you endure the clichés and the platitudes, well-intentioned souls explaining how God is at work when you've
occasionally questioned if God is on strike. I even wonder how you endure schmaltzy pieces like this one -- saluting you, painting you as hero and saint, when you know you're ordinary. You snap, you bark, you bite. You didn't volunteer for this,
you didn't jump up and down in the motherhood line yelling, "Choose me, God. Choose me! I've got what it takes." You're a woman who doesn't have time to step back and put things in perspective, so, please, let me do it for you.
From where I sit, you're way ahead of the pack. You've developed the strength of a draft horse while holding onto the delicacy of a daffodil. You have a heart that melts like chocolate in a glove box in July, carefully counter-balanced against the stubbornness of an Ozark mule. You can be warm and tender one minute, and when circumstances require, intense
and aggressive the next. You are the mother, advocate and protector of a child. You're a neighbor, a friend, a stranger I
pass at the mall. You're the woman I sit next to at church, my cousin and my sister-in-law.
You're a woman who wanted ten fingers and ten toes, and got something more.
You're a wonder.
**from Sarah's Blog a mom of 3 pretty daughters youingest being Josie (PWS)
By: Lori Borgman
Columnist and Speaker
My friend is expecting her first child. People keep asking what she wants. She smiles demurely, shakes her head and gives the answer mothers have given throughout the pages of time. She says it doesn't matter whether it's a boy or a girl. She just wants it to have ten fingers and ten toes.
Of course, that's what she says. That's what mothers have always said.
Mothers lie.
Truth be told, every mother wants a whole lot more. Every mother wants a perfectly healthy baby with a round head, rosebud lips, button nose, beautiful eyes, satin skin and straight feet. Every mother wants a baby so gorgeous that people will pity the Gerber baby for being flat-out ugly.
Every mother wants a baby that will roll over, sit up and take those first steps right on schedule (according to the baby development chart on page 57, column two). Every mother wants a baby that can see, hear, run, jump and fire neurons by the billions. She wants a kid that can smack the ball out of the park and do toe points that are the envy of the entire ballet class.
Call it greed if you want, but we mothers want what we want.
Some mothers get babies with something more.
Some mothers get babies with conditions they can't pronounce, a spine that didn't fuse, a missing chromosome, a palette that didn't close or a tiny crooked foot or two. Most of those mothers can remember the time, the place, the shoes they were wearing and the color of the walls in the small, suffocating room where the doctor uttered the words that took their breath away. It felt like recess in the fourth grade when you didn't see the kick ball coming and it knocked the wind clean out of you.
Some mothers leave the hospital with a healthy bundle, then, months, even years later, take him in for a routine visit, or schedule her for a well check, and crash head first into a brick wall as they bear the brunt of devastating news. It can't be possible! That doesn't run in our family. Can this really be happening in our lifetime?
I am a woman who watches the Olympics for the sheer thrill of seeing finely sculpted bodies. It's not a lust thing; it's a wondrous thing. The athletes appear as specimens without flaw - rippling muscles with nary an ounce of flab or fat, virtual powerhouses of strength with lungs and limbs working in perfect harmony. Then the athlete walks over to a tote bag, rustles through the contents and pulls out an inhaler.
As I've told my own kids, be it on the way to physical therapy after a third knee surgery, or on a trip home from an echo cardiogram, there's no such thing as a perfect body. Every body will bear something at some time or another. Maybe the affliction will be apparent to curious eyes, or maybe it will be unseen, quietly treated with trips to the doctor, medication
or surgery. The health problems our children have experienced have been minimal and manageable, so I watch with keen interest and great admiration the mothers of children with serious disabilities, and wonder how they do it.
Frankly, sometimes you mothers scare me. How you lift that child in and out of a wheelchair 20 times a day. How you monitor tests, track medications, regulate diet and serve as the gatekeeper to a hundred specialists yammering in your ear.
I wonder how you endure the clichés and the platitudes, well-intentioned souls explaining how God is at work when you've
occasionally questioned if God is on strike. I even wonder how you endure schmaltzy pieces like this one -- saluting you, painting you as hero and saint, when you know you're ordinary. You snap, you bark, you bite. You didn't volunteer for this,
you didn't jump up and down in the motherhood line yelling, "Choose me, God. Choose me! I've got what it takes." You're a woman who doesn't have time to step back and put things in perspective, so, please, let me do it for you.
From where I sit, you're way ahead of the pack. You've developed the strength of a draft horse while holding onto the delicacy of a daffodil. You have a heart that melts like chocolate in a glove box in July, carefully counter-balanced against the stubbornness of an Ozark mule. You can be warm and tender one minute, and when circumstances require, intense
and aggressive the next. You are the mother, advocate and protector of a child. You're a neighbor, a friend, a stranger I
pass at the mall. You're the woman I sit next to at church, my cousin and my sister-in-law.
You're a woman who wanted ten fingers and ten toes, and got something more.
You're a wonder.
**from Sarah's Blog a mom of 3 pretty daughters youingest being Josie (PWS)
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