Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Casualties of LIfe

Like casualties of war, there's a joyous elation in surviving and living.  Then, on the flip side, there's the bereavement and grief of loosing a life to death.  But even with the tragedies and casualties of life, we manage to live on and press forward.  Ever hopeful and ever auspiciously optimistic.  To be anything less, would be like submission to defeat and then where would we all be?

This past week, with the magnanimous festivity of Thanksgiving, we express our gratitude to the Almighty God.  For bounteous blessings of this land and this life and the awesomeness of it all.  To breath, exist and just being alive is a miraculous wonderment in itself.   That you are you and I am me.   That together, we all play a significant role in this circle of life.  Makes me wonder sometimes, how life would be, had I been born someone else entirely.  Do you wonder too?  If a different soul was wearing my skin and my face? 

This past week, a dear friend of the family died in a car crash.  She was a childhood friend of my husband.  It's a sad loss indeed, for she was a sweet, amazing mother, sister and woman.  This past week also, a surprise came inside a check-book box, of an image of an ultrasound of a baby in the womb.  My nephew and his wife are expecting their first.  One making an exit and one in the process of entering life.  A loss and a gain.  Life in reciprocity.  Tears of sadness and bubbles of laughter.  All on Thanksgiving week.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Why I Blog

After hearing a very good friend of mine remark that she's been following my blog,  I started to ponder again on the many reasons why I decided to join the blogging world.  Having always been a very private person with a relentless passion for writing, this was an irresistible way for me to hone and sharpen my writing skills.  Not that I didn't love writing things down with a pen on a paper, the thrill of pounding away on a keyboard was tremendously satisfying that it sealed my indecisive mind into an outright pouring and sharing of thoughts and feelings into a blog.

Much so, that there's no desire to return to simply writing things down with a pen and paper.  However, no way am I giving up writing over to blogging.  The primitive method of mating a pen and a paper will forever be the ultimate method of journaling, diarying and keeping notes.  Blogging, let's say, is the new kid in town.  So exciting, thrilling and intriguing that it's undeniable.  Apart from striving to improve my writing, I'm finding that there's so many other reasons behind my desire to blog.

*  It's a convenient outlet to let it all spill out.   Very therapeutic.  Does a lot of good for my sanity.

*  I like sharing my fears, anger, doubts, dreams and visions with others.

*  My children are extremely musically talented that I wanted a way to publicize those talents.  

*  Through blogging I've met so many wonderful people that I'd never have met, had I not blogged.  

*  Extremely enlightening and highly educational.  I'm learning a lot of things from other bloggers.

* Why not blog?  I'm always one to try new things and so far I love it.

This year commences my love affair with blogging.    There's still so much to learn about this blogging business but I'm gradually getting the hang of it.  With time, the possibilities are endless and outrageous.  It's a whole different world out here in cyberspace and I might as well create a niche in it.  

Thursday, November 17, 2011


No, I'm not psychotic but my relationship with food is.  Psychotic, Neurotic and Hypnotic.  I've lost track of how many times I embark on dieting.  But it always ends up the same.  A loosing battle.  I'm confused whether it's a mind thing or a stomach and mouth thing.  Being the two against the one. 

Mind:  "Don't forget we're on a diet people!"
Stomach and mouth:  "What!  Again... Nooooo.  We're not dieting. Uh Uh.  We refuse to diet.  WE WANT FOOD, WE WANT FOOD, WE WANT FOOD."  (Yes they chant)
Mind"Fine, we'll grab some to-die-for vegetables or fruits. Think skinny won't you.  Lawd knows we need it all around here, here and here" (Pointing to the butt, stomach and um the all over the body)
Stomach and mouth:   "Oh but we're hungry for real food.  You know... our usual.  Oreos, Chocolate Chip Cookies, uuuhhhh some chewy double chocolate fudge brownies.  Oh oh and how about a big juicy, mouth-drooling burgers...  What do ya say?  Can we, could we, ought we?  Pretty please!"
Mind: "Fine then!  You guys talked me into it.  But only a little bit.  OK.  A little taste that's all."

(Like Eve tempting Adam with the apple)  

And then all hell break loose.

Mind:  Well, one of these days, I really have to run it off.  Really! How about Zumba, Insanity and Mountain climbing.  Right......(and I'm singing in the rain)  

I know, I know,  I'm terribly weak.  Oh so weak.  But if I don't get my daily overdose of Oreos I can get Psychotic.  A raving lunatic.  Yes, my children and my hubby won't like me at all.  So for world peace and home peace, I have to have my Oreos thank you very much.   


Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Perfect Timing

Could a minute too soon change a whole destiny?
How about a second too late?
If we could have done anything differently, would that it matter?
Is our fate or destination set?  Carved in stone?  

There have been many times where I've wished I was a second late or a minute early.  Have missed many opportunities and then live to realize I was better off missing them.  The above dilemmas was written while watching 127 Hours at the beginning of this year, on the plane during our flight to Hawaii.  It's the story of Aron Reister.

This rock... this rock has been waiting for me my entire life. It's entire life, ever since it was a bit of meteorite a million, billion years ago. In space. It's been waiting, to come here. Right, right here. I've been moving towards it my entire life. The minute I was born, every breath that I've taken, every action has been leading me to this crack on the out surface. 

It's hard to believe that a few seconds in time can create a significant or a dreadful difference in our destinies. 

A traffic ticket could have been avoided, had we weren't running late and had to rush. 
An accident would have been avoided had we went straight to our destination instead of stopping at 7-11.
An early detection of cancer could have saved her life, had she gone in for an early examination.
Had he gotten on that plane, he'd be killed on that crash.

Is timing everything?  Does every tick of the clock count?   No, I don't believe our destinies are carved in stone.  However, I do believe that timing whether perfect, late or early can make a world of a difference in each of our different destinies.  .

Friday, November 11, 2011

Diaper changing and Sleepwalkers

In horror I tried to see the end coming.  I calculated that since I've been changing diapers for 365 days of his first year I'd have 730 days more to go before he's comfortably out of diapers.  Some babies refuse to be potty trained at 2 not to mention some goes on the 10.  And it's not just one diaper per day, uh uh, correct me if I'm wrong but isn't it between 7-8 times a day or more if they have the RUNS?  I shivered.

But another one came and another came and I realize I'm in knee deep, probably, up to my nose deep in s***!!  Holy horse manure, with 7 babies and about 2 to 3 years each in diapers, I was felt like crying.  But they were so adorable and cute that I didn't mind it, even though at times, it was so vile and foul I felt like throwing a tantrum!  At least have the decency to produce pleasant smelling turd.  These kids better be good to me when I'm old.

Am I being punished for having too much fun?  ( And I won't go into detail in that area if you get my drift).  Really,  I didn't see the end coming.  But I sucked it up, like everyone loving mom, smile and remembered that  diaper changing is suppose to be a bonding moment of coooing, awwhing, oh you're so adorable baby, mommy loves you baby, unless they decide to squirt in your hands or face, which always happens with newborn babies. 

Now, my youngest in 10 years old and yes, hip hip hooray, we're over the diaper changing stages.  Have been for many years now and I definitely don't miss it.  However, Bev refuses to sleep in her own room.  If she does,  she pretends she sleepwalks into our in the middle of the night, or she just sneaks in and make her bed on the floor by my side of the bed.  As you can imagine, I have a very pissed off and unhappy husband.  I blame myself in this.  I think I nursed her too long that she got permanently attached to my chest.  Four years of nursing her and it's a wonder my womanly instruments still exists at all. 

But I remember when my two oldest sons were toddlers and I was pregnant with our third.  Boy we did a lot of night traveling.  We lived in a two room apartment back then and they'd invade our room every single night.  Their blankets in their little hands, they'd crawled into our beds and we're all squashed in.  Having a gigantic belly did not sit well.  Then my husband and I decided we'll go to their room since they share a double bed.  Well, after a while, they're looking for us in their room.  WE come back and forth and it went on all night.  It reminded me of the Pioneer song:  "Here comes the oxcart oh how slow.  It's pulled by an ox of course you know...."  By morning,  we look like drunken oxes who's been out all night partying.

To-day, I look back and smile.  We still have a problem with Beverly but in time it'll stop.  I don't give a fig if my husband minds.  I'm not going anywhere.  When they're gone I'll still be around.  Then he'll have me all to himself.  But the silky voices of country hunks Lonestar always come to mind:

"So let them be little 'cause they're only that way for a while
Give them hope, give them praise, give them love every day
Let them cry, let them giggle, let them sleep in the middle
Oh just let them be little"

Before I didn't see the end coming  Well it has come and gone and some are grown and gone.  Yet the memories linger on.  Was it so bad?  Those diaper days and sleepwalking nights, I say not at all.  It was all so worth it.  But I won't want to do it all over again.  HE HE HE HELLL NOOO!

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Where's my anti-aging cream people?

Frantic is the the word to use when I have to search for my anti-aging face cream.  Lately, I refuse to buy cosmetics because with 4 daughters and a puppy, they all end up taking over my make-up.  The puppy wears the lipstick.  But the worse, the worse part is when they dip into my precious "no brand" anti aging cream.  I have to practically holler in distraught due to the fact that they do not need anti-aging anything.  My body may be 50 but I'd like my face to be 35 at least.  I'd like to fool my grandchildren, if they'll ever arrive in this world, that grandma still look like a grandma instead of the great ancient grandma.  I can't afford to go a day without it. 

But every morning it seems to have its own two feet.   And if I hide it, my ears will fall off with screeches of questions:
"Mom, where's your face cream?  I need it."
Annoyed I'd ask, "Can't you guys just use regular lotion?"
 "No mom, yours works better and feels better on our skin"
"You guys don't need it, you don't have wrinkles.  Plus that's a $20 face cream."  I quiver just thinking about the price. It's $5 less then the brand-name ones but I'm cheap and frugal simply because, well,  we're always broke.  That cream is suppose to last me 3 months.  Normally, it's only suppose to last a month but I use it SPARINGLY!  Now I have to share it with my children who shouldn't even worry about wrinkles for about 30 more years.  Let alone my son Mahonrai uses it when it's easily access to him. 

Anti-aging creams are suppose to be a womans weapon to fight against aging.  Yes, some of us are threatened by aging and imagine ourselves going into battle against it.  No, we refuse to "GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT", as the great poet Mr. Thomas puts it.  Of course he was referring to death but in this case, I refer it to aging.  It's the death of us.  We women like to look good for the rest of our good-looking lives.  So these anti-aging creams can do the tricks and fight till the end to defeat if not prolong our skin from deteriorating and folding in on us.  They:  ILLUMINATE, ELASTICATE, SHIELD, HYDRATE, EXFOLIATE, SMOOTH, SHINE, FIRM and DIMINISH HYPERPIGMENTATION whatever that means.  But if you're not broke like me, then you can always afford to have PLASTIC SURGERY, SHOTS OF BOTOX AND LYPO-something.

I love my anti-aging creams.  It's a wonder that my face should be smooth and soft like a baby's bottom and light up like a fluorescent lightbulb!   So fantastic the things it can do and now if only I can get my kids hands off of 'em. 

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Clone Me Please!

I'd have made one hell-u-va race car driver.  Yesterday was one of those days where I literally spend inside a car.  Whisking my people here and there, sudden stops, drop off and pick up.  From work and school.  Running errands.  Unloading and loading shopping.  Until after 6pm just to rush home and start dinner.  Heaven forbid anyone  else can start dinner.  Hubby was sick and the younger children complained of food deprivation as if there wasn't a refrigerator loaded with food they can munch from to carry them over until dinner's ready. 

Took about half hour to cook a dinner that was gobbled up in less then 10 minutes.  Gathered the children for a quick family home evening to say grace and get a dose of scriptures just to end up with another half hour scowling them for misbehaving during prayer.  I shudder to think I've failed in teaching them to be respectful and reverent during prayers.  One eye open, one hand reaching knocking over the candle holder, another slouching at the corner and one with both eyes wide open just staring at nothing.  A bolt of lightning might just blaze down from the Heavens and strike our house down.   Then where would we be?

Goodnight kisses, hugs and I'm at my computer getting ready to log in at 10pm. to work.  My youngest Beverly has the chills.  "Mom I'm cold."  During our family home evening, I had given her an Excederin for she was complaining of headache and body ache.  My children, being big for their age, hardly ever take childrens medicine.  They take adult medicine but not at adult dosage as soon as they're able to swallow a round size ibuprofen.

I couldn't keep her from shaking and feared she was going into a seizure.  Got my dad to administer to her just to hear my husband from the living demanding to have my dad administer to him too.  Freak!   I'm thinking.  You're on your own buddy.  I've never had any experience with seizures before.  I had my youngest son carry her into the living room couch and did what I've only done once before, when my oldest son broke a femur, I called the Paramedics.  My husband looked at me as if I'm nuts for calling the paramedics.  "Well, can't you see, she can't stop shaking."  He stressed, "She is fine!"  I shrieked, "She might be going into a seizure!"  He glared then said, "She doesn't have the symptoms of a person going into seizure".  I'm thinking: When did he become an expert in seizures.  

Then my think-she-knows-it-all daughter Sil came up.  Felt her sister's forehead,  "Mom what kind of medicine did you give her?"   Irritated that she should question my ability as a nurse (I might as well be one) I said, "I gave her an Excederin for she was complaining of headache.. " and  I didn't finish my sentence, her voice raised "Did you give her adult dose Excederin because you always do that mom".  When in the blooming hell did she know more then me, I wondered.  They survived infancy, youth and adulthood through my nursing skills.  I shout, "stop yelling at me!"

Bev keeps gazing at the door impatient for the paramedics to come and whisk her away.   I yelled at my son Mahonrai to wait for the paramedics outside.  He's walking around already asking, "Mom can I miss school tomorrow because Beverly is sick?"  Is that all he cares about?  His sister is dying and he all he think about is ditching school.  We should be hearing the siren but for the life of me it takes them eternity to get here.  Through the back window I saw the Paramedics without the siren on.  I guess they sense it wasn't a matter of life and death but what if it was?

The paramedic leader, strolled in.  Take one look at her.  Shove something in one ear and another up her fingers.  After a few seconds he explains, "She has a fever of 102.  That explains the chills."  
I looked at him questioning, "Isn't she going into seizure?" 
He replied, "No ma'am.  Her body is just reacting to the fever.  Just give her some Tylenol or Advil unless of course you want us to take her to the hospital.  Or you can always take her yourself." 
Can the floor just swallow me up
"Are you sure she's not going into seizure?"  Instantly relieved.
He goes on gesturing his arms,  "Ma'am, if this was a seizure, her hands and her body would be tightening up...curling into a ..."  and I didn't want to hear anymore because obviously I've just been moded for the first time in the area of mother-nurse.

As the paramedics took their leave, my great aunt Peta, limped into the hallway inquiring; "Where's the paramedic?"  I looked at her and said, "They've left".  She raised her voice:  "Why didn't you tell them to come and take me to the hospital!  I'm sick!"  Holy Crap!!!  She didn't look like she was about to roll over and die. 

And the night ended quietly with everyone drifting off to a Heavenly sleep while I logged in and work until 2am. Then I crawled like the Grudge, exhausted, into our crowded bed as a sick husband and a sick child sandwiched me in without a pillow!!  and the rest of the house in chaos awaits me bright and early this morning.   It's days like these where it'll really make me shrill in pleasure if there were two of me.  Can I be cloned?  Just for one day so I can catch up with everything....Clone me please!  A helping hand would do nicely.

Friday, November 4, 2011


I can't comprehend anyone, child, teenager and adult who would not keep  a journal, diary, a book of rememberance.  I'd be lost without a pen and a paper.  Totally lost if I can't write down my thoughts, feelings and opinions.  To not have any outlet to unleash, share, express and direct my feelings, I'd simply shrink and disappear into nothingness.  Vanish into a silent world where I have no voice and no one can hear me.  

Writing defines me.  What I write about.  What my feelings are.  How I feel towards others and things.  It's almost like a lifeline.  Where, if I'm sinking in despair and swallowed up in darkness, the moment I jot those feelings down on paper, I begin to emerge, lighten by every stroke of my pen, freed by every worded ink that stains that paper, until I'm weightless like a feather and instead of sinking, I'm floating on the surface and can breathe easily again.    This is why I write.

Everywhere I go, I always make sure I have a pen and a paper just in case I need to write somethig down.  I get inspirations all the time from both likely and unlikely places.   In the Shopping Center, a movie theatre, While I'm driving down the street, when my children are talking to me, at work.  Everywhere.  That's why I'm never without a pen and a paper. 

In addition to writing, it's reading.  I never, ever leave home without a book.   My children reads.  However, they don't have a passion for writing such as I do.  Perhaps one day, they'll acquire a love for writing.  I only hope it's sooner instead of later.