While Erin Sleeps…

“Update your FB, ” Auntie Donna teased me at church yesterday.

“I feel so lazy,” I countered.

But maybe my energy is coming back. After a first trimester of headache, fatigue, nausea ( I only vomited once) and only a one pound gain, I think I’m on the rebound now. Last Friday’s “weigh-in” at the doctor’s office showed I already gained three more pounds. I still feel nauseated though, whenever I think of Farm Town. So I’m still stuck at Level 18.

While Bong and I feel so blessed to always have the baby (this pregnancy is just the second) on a single try, I am more cautious this time. Both my mom’s and sister’s second pregnancy ended as a miscarriage. I am thankful I am now 16 weeks pregnant, and the baby is doing well; so active infact that my doctor had a hard time following the heartbeat around my belly with the doppler scan. (I miss the monthly prenatal ultrasound checks with Dr. Monti!)

While my mom and sister had miscarriages, I had a preterm delivery. Erin was born at 34 weeks but again, we thank God that she was born healthy. Because of my “unexplained preterm delivery” history, I started weekly progesterone shots last Friday. I will have them until the 34th week, in the hope of keeping the baby up to 40 weeks. But I’d rather give birth on the 38th or 39th week (some time in November), so in accordance to California education laws, our second child’s schooling will not be delayed. With Erin, I wanted her born before September 1st because Texas law requires that the child has to turn 7 before September 1st to be accepted in school.

It feels wonderful to have a wonderful partner in bringing a child into the world and raising up that child. Bong and I are practically raising Erin ourselves. We have not had the luxury of having relatives to help us, except the first six weeks that Erin and I were here in San Jose and Bong had to stay behind in Dallas. We wonder sometimes, what a big difference it would make if we had a Lola here with us. Day care has never been an option, what with too many horror stories buzzing around.

Since I am writing this entry on the day fathers are celebrated worldwide, let me greet my own beloved man. To the One who has given up so much of himself to raise up our daughter and the coming baby: thank you, I love you and Happy Father’s Day!

April 24th is a highlighted date on my calendar, a milestone entry in the journal that I (try my best to) write for Erin. It was the day that we started to wean Erin.

It was a Friday and I was still having mixed feelings about weaning Erin. I wanted to breastfeed up to July but I was feeling so sore and tender that I finally asked Bong to buy ampalaya leaves from the Filipino store. I was also having doubts about how the ampalaya leaves would work after Joma (hi, Joms!) encountered challenges a few weeks back.

The first time we tried the crushed leaves and Erin started sucking, she drew her head back and had such a puzzled look on her face it was so hard to keep from laughing. Then she started to drool that in such a way that made me want to cry in pity. But I just said, “Mommy’s dede are awee na that’s why it tastes different.” She tried again that night with the same results, but with less puzzlement on her face. Then she stated pointedly, ” Mommy’s dede awee.” That was her last breastfeeding — done in two attempts.

It took one more week for her to end all requests to be breastfed. Our answer seemed to satisfy her and she would softly repeat, “Mommy’s dede awee.” Now, she requests warm (soy) milk first thing in the morning. We oblige.

On May 14th, we bought a simple, white potty chair. I had no intentions of training Erin to use it; I really didn’t observe any  potty training readiness except a few months back when she would say “pee-pee, ” and hold her diaper area but that was just a few times in between. We just bought the potty chair because she has this “big word book” and she recognizes the potty in the book. We decided it wouldn’t hurt to buy one. So while I was thinking that her potty training will be accomplished next year, Erin was thinking of surprising us.

From the time we placed the white potty chair on the floor (we had Erin sit on several potty chairs), she would not get up. She sat on it on the shoopping cart, on the car (she would have sat there too on the way home if she had her way), and when we got home the first thing she said was, “alis diaper, potty.” The potty chair was still in our small living room but I thought, she’s not going to go. Then and there Erin surprised us by indeed, going.

Up to now I have no plans for “formal potty training.” Erin uses it whenever she remembers — which is pretty much often. And then she simply refuses to leave the bathroom. After she wipes herself and puts her potty contents into Daddy’s and Mommy’s big potty, she sits on her little potty again, declaring, “meron pa.”

That puts me in such a bind because forcing her to get up might give her the idea that using the potty isn’t important. Case in point: One time, she said she wanted to use the potty but just kept getting up and sitting down again. I told her she had five minutes to use the potty and after that she had to wash her hands and try again later. Nothing came out after five minutes but while I was washing her hands, she went on to have Number 2 ( that was supposed to be her first on the potty) which made a mess on the floor. She has not used the potty for “poo” since then.

She’s running in and out of the bathroom now, announcing, “go potty,” declaring, “ooh, sarap” whenever she goes. Some days it’s cute, some days it gets to be a little too tedious but still I am not going to do what I have read in “How to Potty Train in Three Days” (or was that a week). I think Erin has already taught us that she’ll let us find out when she’s ready for the next step.

Finally, a single track trail!

Bong and I have have been continually announcing (to ourselves) that hiking in the Philippines is so much better than hiking here. Hiking here usually involves day hikes. What we do in the Philippines is actually called wilderness backpacking over here. That sounds more adventurous right? And then there are the trails that remind us of the Tapulao and Ambangeg trails (DENR - Ranger Station) which are teasingly called: highways!!! Finally Bong cannot trade the muddy trails for rocky ones! 

Well last week we went hiking at Uvas Canyon and fell in love with the trail. It was a trail so much like in the Philippines, the one that gets muddy during the rainy season and covered with dry leaves. The trees shade the trail as it goes up and down the canyon, criss-crossing streams and following waterfalls.

I said it reminded me of the trail at Pulag - right where you have your first glimpse of the peak at the Ambangeg Trail. It also reminded me of Cristobal where the trail is carved into the mountain side and drops into a deep ravine the other side. Bong said the trail reminded him of Halcon, minus the slugs. We both agreed it was a good trail to cure Doc Gulfan’s fear of heights. And what about Erin? I think she agreed the falls where nice to watch, the streams nice to play at, and the leaves and soil really neat to crunch between her tiny hands.

The difficult part was to hike with a one and one-half year old on a single trail with a precarious drop on one side, without a child carrier. She did not enjoy that part of the hike because we had to carry her and she repeatedly shrilled, “baba, baba, baba!!!” I told Bong we should get a carrier so we could hike on these trails some more and Erin would cry less. :)

So far nobody is exhibiting symptoms of Lyme Disease. But I promise that the next time we go hiking, I will never, ever forget to do a tick check!

It’s fifteen till eleven o’clock, every one in the family has a cold, I called in sick, the baby is asleep and Bong and I suddenly want Vietnamese noodle soup.

Now there are several Vietnamese restaurants along Capitol Expressway that serve the noodle soup but Bong’s favorite is from Pho Tau Bay,  a cash-only business, and (lucky us) it is open until midnight. This sends us scouring our wallets and pockets for cash and loose change. We have a laugh over how we count the one dollar bills and quarters — we are legitimate members of the cashless society.

He’s back after fifteen minutes and does this bowl of noodle soup look good!

[Picture insert here]

Ooops… The little girl cried so I had to go and stay with her for a few minutes. By the time I got back, the picture I intended to take was no longer picture-perfect. So I’m wrapping this up and I will enjoy my bowl of Pho Ga!

This is a carrot cake with fondant icing, meant for my niece Elyana’s first birthday party. Her mom wanted it simple so here’s how I designed simple. Unfortunately, the birthday girl was sick on her birthday so the party was cancelled.

I was planning to make a two-layer cake for the party but ended up with this one layer that was good enough for pictorials on Elyana’s actual birthday.  I shared the smaller cake with my dad and hubby then ate all the rest!

Those funky letters look really good now but they were so hard to make, and very brittle to boot! I must have tried half a dozen times on each letter. But I was using fondant maybe gumpaste will be better.

Belated happy birthday Elyana and I hope you enjoy your wild animal baby magazine.

I wrote an essay several months ago that was included in the Naga Viewers’ reunion souvenir program. It earned us free lodging at Camp Wawona in Yosemite National Park. I wanted to publish it here but the file was in our desktop hard drive and its power supply broke down shortly after I wrote the essay. It was only yesterday that we finally replaced the malfunctioning part.

This essay is for everyone who set foot at Naga View, specially those who missed the reunion. I hope to see you at the next reunion in 2010 in Atlanta, Georgia.

Robert Fulghum’s bestseller, “All I Really Need to Know I Learned at Kindergarten,” has been a tremendous inspiration to millions of individuals. It reminds us that valuable guiding principles are learned early in life.

            It was not a book that opened my eyes to life’s credo. Rather, it was a jewel of a place, perched proudly on the slopes of Bicol’s Mt. Isarog. It is a place known as Naga View. There is not one story that I can say plays in my mind the most because each day at Naga View was different. Each experience complemented the other in instructing me, and all of them I hold close and remember well like it was yesterday.

            Activities in Naga View taught me all about teamwork. It was palpable from a simple game during Saturday night socials and the adrenaline pumping Play-for-Pay to none greater than the preparation for Foundation Day. Building sturdy booths that stood on the lawn required that we go in groups to the recesses of Yabu and the ranch to find the best cogon grass, bamboo and coconut leaves so that our booth would be finished right on time for the annual celebration.

            Respect was instilled by the daily flag-raising ceremony. We would line up every day at quarter till seven. With right hands on our chests, our youthful, lusty voices filled the air with strains of “Lupang Hinirang.” Then we recited “Panatang Makabayan” hands held up in a vow. As we raced to our classrooms, the halls echoed with “Good morning, Sir,” and “Good morning, Ma’am.” Yes, we learned respect for each other, our teachers, ourselves and our country.

            Homeroom beautifying contests inspired industry. We painted walls, cleaned, picked-up trash, swept, and decorated the walls with uplifting quotes. The boys scrubbed the floor with such energy known only to youth until the polished floor reflected our ruddy faces. The JS Prom ignited fundraisers to ensure that our monetary contributions were less and everyone in class would be able to attend the gala.

            Perseverance took a human form in my classmates who climbed down the slopes of the mighty Isarog every day. Jose, the brothers Diego and Peñaco, Anita and Analyn came to school withstanding heat and rain. There were a few snickers on days they arrived wet and muddy but they gained our respect. There were the countless working students like the Cortezes and the Vergaras who endured the three kilometer walk from Carolina with a month’s supply of food on their shoulders when no jeepney would venture up the pothole ridden road to Naga View.

            There was always fun at Naga View. Saturday nights were reserved for socials and marches were brokered right after sundown worship.  Film showing was an exciting event long before Betamax and DVD were invented. We filled our pockets with delicious guavas freshly picked from the ranch and held court up in the branches of the mango tree near the Girls’ Dormitory much to Ma’am Perturbos’ dismay. On days the water system broke down, students would still cheerfully walk to Yabu or Inarihan River to take a bath while trading jokes and chewing sugar cane all the way.

            There was love at Naga View. I had my family who filled my heart with love and have been my strength all these years. I had my “foster family” from which I gained new brothers, sisters and countless potlucks each year. And yes, I will not skip the puppy love of high school crushes that highlighted the days. There was love that even came as work: garden plots, bayanihan — harvesting corn and cleaning up the roads, and the annual Ingathering campaign.

            God’s presence was bountiful in the simple life at Naga View. I felt Him with me from the time the sun peeped from behind Isarog’s grandeur until its fiery red glow was replaced by Naga City’s twinkling lights. My relationship with Him was strengthened by midweek, vesper, Sabbath services and that unforgettable sundown worship. I was baptized after Week of Prayer, deeply moved to claim the life that only God can give.

            The basic values of teamwork, respect, industry, perseverance and love that guide a person to succeed in the rat race of this world have been practiced all these years at Naga View. I didn’t have to learn them by attending a seminar or reading a book. And how I learned! This place instilled fun while learning; it showed that simple, childlike fun is everywhere. It thrives even in difficulty.

            Best of all, it taught me about God. While many still strive to find a Higher Being in religions or mysticism, I experienced God early on at Naga View. He molded me through my family, my teachers and my friends at the serene environment of this school. Nothing can compare to having God in my life. This I learned at Naga View.

I was hungering for gluten steak the other day and there were several choices on how to have it. First, eat at the nearby Di Lac, a vegetarian restaurant. Second, head to Maxim’s, the nearest oriental store, and buy some gluten. Third, make my own gluten.

For some reason, I chose the third option. Make my own gluten? It must have been my masochistic self who urged me to do so for I cannot forget the gluten-making process in high school practical arts. Who can forget the kneading and washing of the dough? And back in the Philippines, where flour was already bought in clear plastic bags, it was playing russian roullete as to whether or not you could actually make gluten from it.

But there was a small, whispering voice inside my head that was telling me that there is an easier way to make gluten here in the States. Actually, the small voice was the voice of Ate Arnie Salazar-Baker who told me that four years ago.

So I went to the reliable internet and typed “make gluten” on google. Sure enough, there is a flour called vital wheat gluten. You don’t need as much flour, you don’t knead as much and you don’t have to wash it.

While Erin and my dear hubby were taking a nap I went to Savemart, headed straight to the “flour lane” where after looking at the packages one by one, I finally found Bob’s Red Mill Vital Wheat Gluten Flour. I also found a thirteen-bean soup that exceeds the nine-bean soup I have been looking for. Double success!!!

Once home, I mixed up two cups of the flour, some water, soy sauce and oil and voila! instant gluten after less then ten minutes. I was even able to watch Baby MacDonald with Erin while the gluten was simmering away.

So yes, I finally had homemade gluten steak. And yes, I can make some more gluten without any sweat. Next time I’ll make myself some seitan. Oh, that’s just a fancy name for gluten and yes, it is pronounced as SAY-tan. Care for seitan adobo, anyone?

One of the Christmas songs that I’ve been teaching Erin is “Away in a Manger.”

Yesterday, Erin was humming her tunes and I was eager to create a (Christmas) learning activity so I thought why not re-create a nativity scene going by the song “Away in a Manger?” I grabbed a blanket, the wagon for her building blocks, some shredded paper and a small teddy bear.

I began explaining to Erin that the above objects were pretend manger, hay, and Jesus. Then I began reciting the song’s lines and at the same time elaborating on what they meant. She looked at me interestedly and more so when I said, “Jesus did not have a crib, he did not have a bed.”

Then I began singing. At first, Erin hummed along with her own little tune until I got to “the little Lord Jesus lay down His sweet head,” where she began crying with tears coming out of her eyes.

Our Christmas activity was cut short and I scooped her up and placed her in my lap. As I told her comforting words and explained more about how Jesus loves us and that He’s in heaven now preparing mansions for us, my mind was wondering how much could she have had understood about the song, our little activity and Jesus coming here to save us?

Later in the night while I told her Daddy about what had happened earlier, I began to sing again. Erin was close by and I wasn’t sure if she remembered what had happened but sure enough, she started bawling with great many tears rolling down her cheeks.

I am still not sure exactly what Erin has learned from this but I am sure we won’t be singing “Away in a Manger” for a long time.

I was assigned to a patient who had a miscarriage at seventeen weeks. She was placed on our floor to distance her from the crying babies and the parental joy that fill the MCH floors but would potentially escalate her suffering. She came from the ED with her husband; both were trying to hold their emotions in check. But you could see that their eyes were red from crying.

After we had labelled her room as “last resort” (sad, but my little hospital does not have private rooms except on the MCH areas), the house supervisor called and wanted to place another patient in the same room.

!!!

I tried to explain that it was really best for my patient to have no roommate as she was newly grieving for her loss but I was bluntly told that “We cannot afford to give her a private room at this time, we need that bed.” We called the other house supervisor and tried to get her to side with us but she told us that it was really the other one who was assigning beds that night.

We were trying to be resigned with this ridiculousness when we discovered on the computer that the second patient had a recent elective abortion. Using this new found information as ammunition, we called the house supervisor again. Imagine our disbelief when he said, “It’s up to them to talk to each other.”

THAT was beyond words. THAT was plainly apathetic.

A tiny muscle of humanity must have twitched in his heart for he came up to our floor after several minutes and told us that the second patient was not coming up to our floor anymore.

We were relieved that these women would not be sharing a room anymore. They will not find out how close they could have been in that same room. Neither will they find out that there was a house supervisor who could have exercised better restraint on his words and better judgment on his decisions.