Last Saturday, my kid had a cultural presentation and she was a revelation. She was quite the performer that morning and everyone loved her. Her classmates were not bad actually. They delivered a good performance, too. But MG was all smiles the whole time and had a connection with the audience. I think that was her edge.

I was also surprised. For the past two weeks during practice, she wouldn’t follow the steps. The teacher aide was always there beside her just in case she missed a step or two. At home, she would practice the song but would make up new words to Leron Leron Sinta. That’s why everyone was surprised when she did all the steps and sang her heart out for the audience. I was a proud mama. The teachers and other parents came up to me and congratulated MG for a job well done. She even got a prize from her teacher–an extra bag of goodies.

This is a moment that being a parent makes all the hard work, late nights and sacrifices all worthwhile.

The day of my son’s birth was a sunny Sunday. Everybody was busy doing their own thing and I was busy devouring a bowl of ‘Nilagang Baka’. While everybody else was bustling about, I was wracked by a pain so great it felt like someone was squeezing my tummy and taking out the last breath I had.

When Chollo, my first child, was born, Johnny Hates Jazz was playing on the radio while my mind was also playing around the idea of painkiller overdose. I was in too much pain. That was the first time. With MG, I had done nothing. I heard that second births were easy and tolerable. You practically just dropped by the hospital, checked yourself in, picked up your baby and checked yourself out.

Having been through it one whole time, I didn’t worry about it too much. I didn’t worry about the pain but the first few contractions somehow brought it all back. But this time, I asked for the painkillers at once. I learned my lesson already. The first time around, I thought that you should really be in a lot of pain. I was young and didn’t have the courage to ask the big-boned nurse how to stop it.

After the pain, it was just me and my baby. That’s what I liked after giving birth. Our time alone with each other. Getting to know time. On both occasions, I couldn’t take my eyes off them. I told them who they were, and how much I loved them and that we would live happily ever after. I decided it would be so easy to spoil them.

But reality would set in. I wouldn’t want them to grow up spoiled little brats. But discipline is like a thorn in the backside for those who grew up rejecting all forms of discipline. I fear that it would repress and damage them like what it did to me. My father was a disciplinarian. We couldn’t go out. We couldn’t accept suitors. Phone time was limited. We had a driver to bring us to school and pick us up after and always on time. It was unreasonable.

I don’t want to blame my father but my siblings and I married young and a separation resulted from that. Mine. I guess we all wanted to get out of the house and lead our lives with more freedom but were still immature and irresponsible about many things. Now that I’m a parent, I understand what made him do it. It probably was a struggle compounded by the fact that in those times, the father was the house tyrant.

In my house, I have replaced the father as a house tyrant. I’m the authority. As a single mom, I don’t use the word Discipline. I prefer setting limits. Besides, mention the D word and kids go scurrying off to the nearest exit. Having no father figure in the house, I find my allies are those who make my life easier as a single parent whether it’s a good teacher, a reliable friend, a funny uncle or someone like Barney and Baby Bop, who can provide real family entertainment.

That’s why I feel such gratitude for anyone who seems to be on my side. Anyone who understands that setting limits is also discipline with a little more love and openness. My children can question the authority. They can question me. But you might think that in the context of ‘question authority’, setting limits becomes particularly difficult. Not really. They know that if they want to question authority, they can wait until they’re capable of cleaning their own rooms or packing away their toys and books, or getting good grades or proving themselves otherwise responsible.

What am I saying here? I’m not sure. But what struck me is that regardless of class, era, style, or any other criteria or variable, I can always empathize with the struggle to raise a child. It’s different for everybody. There are no set rules. Just hope.

This is my official entry to the Pinoy Parenting Blog Carnival (PPBC) 7th Edition “How Do You Discipline Your Kids?” hosted by The Working Mom.

I was watching Oprah’s past episode about how women handle mid-life crisis. About turning 40 or 50 or 60. While others feel a whole lotta emotion like depression, pressure, identity crisis, others embrace and celebrate it. Which got me thinking, what would be my plan for my fortieth birthday?

Is it not enough that my whole body is starting to feel it? That my wrinkles are showing it? And that my cheekbones are no longer there where they used to? But then this Oprah episode telling us mid-life gals to perform some sort of a ritual to celebrate and not be afraid of of the big number.

So four more years then I’ll be able to write my turning forty story about how I’ve succeeded or lost every battle of my half life. I would probably question how I came to be a mom, a make-up artist, a sinusitis sufferer, a blogger or an alleged adult. I would try to find the point. I would look back over my life. And see the needle in the haystack of memories the very reason that got me where I am.

To celebrate being 40, I would party like a debutant. I never had a party when I turned 18. I just turned 18 and I was very pregnant. I was on my eighth month. Actually I never really had a plan, an ambition. I just wanted a simple life. Nothing melodramatic, just some lovin’, travels, a few margaritas, and a man beside me. I’m not sure why I thought that then. My friends wanted to be lawyers, doctors, flight attendants, dentists, drug pushers. Me, I just wanted a love life. Every spare chance I got, I bought women’s magazines with topics on men and relationships. Then I’d go looking for Mr. Right among the losers scattered around. I felt I should look, find my mate and live my love life. So to speak.

Then everything happened all of a sudden. I got a husband, a son and a perceived love life. No sooner had the dark circles formed under my eyes over those events, then came separation and the unblessed single life. A whole new life. A whole different post.

So when you turn 40 or 50 or 60, what would be your story?

photo: lawrie m

The thing that most people don’t realize about hobbies is how easily they can turn into obsessions. It’s only been half a year since I started blogging and I can’t get enough of it. My day is not complete if I don’t do my usual checking of comments and blog hopping. My sister and nephew don’t bother calling anymore because they know I’m busy doing posts or writing some stuff.

I’m past my 200th post and I’m working on a new blog. It’s a special one because it has its own domain name. I don’t know what it would look like yet or what the theme would be but I’ve posted a few entries and I think it’s on the right track.

Nobody really asked me why I started blogging. I didn’t even ask myself in the first place. I just silently and willingly accepted it, and it became a part of me. I guess you don’t really have to understand it. Either way, it wouldn’t have made a difference.

Nobody taught me how to write either. That’s why my first 20 posts have come out amateurish. I don’t care. I am really an amateur. When I wrote them, I was still laboring under the impression that I should just write those damn posts. That it would be good for my soul. I liked them that way. Then I started getting comments. I found something to admire in each of these comments. Most were words of encouragement and good advice.

Now I can write more freely. My first two months of blogging, I was hesitant to share my thoughts. But I eventually got the hang of it and found myself sharing more and more of my opinions, ideas and thoughts on things. I began talking about my kids, my daily life and even posted photos of my family. But I still have to find the courage to talk about my past relationships. That aspect I’m not ready to talk about. And don’t even ask me why. You’re not going to get an answer.

photo: artbychristi

There’s a lot of bad and stinkin’ stories in this rotten world–economic crisis, war, drugs, rape, murder. That’s why I’m going to write about key lime pie. Today my son treated me to a slice of key lime pie. I don’t normally see this in dessert menus in the restaurants I frequent. So why write about it? You may ask that amidst the steady diet of terrorism, the Iraq war, energy crisis and environmental disasters. What do you expect, anyway?

Do you know that our taste buds deteriorate with age? Well, I don’t know that for a fact. That’s just an observation. I like more intense flavor now like salty bagoong, very sour mangos or very tart sherbets and of course, key lime pie. I tried giving a spoonful of the pie to my kid and she ran like there was dog after her. That’s basically the premise of my observation. Children’s taste buds are sensitive and get shocked easily by intense flavors while adults crave them.

So, where am I going with this? In my wildest memory, key lime pies have actually been sent from heaven to cater to my fondest adult whims–key lime pie saving the world. No doubt about it. As I finished my slice in 10 minutes, I cherished the thought that perhaps it may be true. But in reality, you can actually get your slice at Bubba Gump.

photo: bubba gump

I finally renewed my driver’s license the other day. That is after almost two years of driving without a valid one. Now, I can be a maniac on the road. No more Ms. Nice Girl. No more driving saint behind the wheel. I can now grow claws behind the wheel and honk at every car who gets in my way.

It’s different now. Whatever happens, I have proof that I can drive. If a traffic officer stops me for driving too slow or too fast, I won’t hesitate to stop and explain my way out of a traffic ticket. When just last week, I would never be caught violating any traffic law. That’s the beauty of a having a license. It gives you freedom to do whatever. Especially when you’re inside your car and you’re protected by steel. In your car, you’re anonymous behind those one-way or dark tint and dark shades.

Away from the road, it’s a different story. You can’t honk at the person in front of you even though she walks like there’s a procession or a death march. You can’t cut the person ahead of you in the cashier or elbow your way inside the cinema. You just can’t. Why? Because people might see you. No contraption, no steel, no dark shades to protect you.

Politeness. That’s what happens when you don’t have protection and license.

photo: epak

My friend Bel mentioned that she was going to S&R and was willing to take me. I thought that it was a great idea since I haven’t been to one near our area. I had the feeling that everybody and everyone I know belonged to S&R but me. S&R is the Costco version of the Philippines.

I usually do my grocery shopping in regular supermarkets and paying full retail while some people are out there in their vans hauling boxes of instant noodles and soda. Which I think isn’t fair so I decided to give it a try. And I thought today would be the day to change that.

So I arrived at that windowless warehouse before my friend and her husband, Ronnie. While waiting I decided to check out the appliance section which displayed different brands of flat screen TV and showing Mariah Carey in concert. I looked around some more and was mesmerized to see stereos, electric fans, oven toasters, sofas and washing machines in the same big place as the vegetables, fruits, chips, meat & poultry. You don’t see that in regular groceries.

Hardly noticing that my friend was not there yet, I ventured into the food section to get my morning coffee and got the disappointment of the day. Only decaffeinated coffee was available. I decided to wait it out and watched people grabbed oversized red carts (or orange) and headed inside.

When my friend finally arrived, I got the chance to push my own cart. I began to throw things into my cart. First was the yummy-looking muffins, then rib-eye steak and mushrooms, strawberries and black grapes and finally the Ben & Jerry ice cream. While some people were piling toilet paper, big-sized detergent and pancake mix as if it was a timed shopping and end of the world was near, I got what I just needed for the day.

I would have wanted to lob in everything I saw like that big bottle of Nivea lotion or that lifetime supply of sanitary napkins or even that big pack of frozen strawberries. But I didn’t. I had to calm down. It was also a good thing that my friend was there because it’s probably dangerous to let a newbie like me go to S&R alone. Self-control is needed in places like these. Everything here is a bargain if and only if you buy in bulk.

I suppose I’ll go back. It’s hard to pass up bargains and I’m a sucker for bargains. But there’s something wrong. I don’t think this place is for me. So much consuming in big quantities. And in those oversized red carts. In that windowless warehouse and with no good coffee…

photo: by ruarky99

Life was simpler then. Love and family life. Man had a career and woman stayed home and took care of the kids. Actually, it was this way: they fell in love, got married and had kids. Or they fell in love. An accident happened. Had a kid. Had to get married. Just another variation. But marriage was always “the choice”.

Today it’s more complicated. There are more choices. A typical one might look like this: fall in love, fear commitment, cool-off, explore other partners, take a break, finish college, fall in love again, break-up, establish own business, date (un)exclusively, fall in love, splitsville once more, tour Europe for business ideas, settle for current partner, get married or better yet, live in for awhile, baby planning, have that kid finally, work hard, expand business, not happy with sex life, contemplate on divorce/separation, focus on the kid…

And that’s just the man’s ‘cycle’. Women have to consider their biological clock, careers (whether to stay home or stay at work), child-raising, home management, stress reduction, weight issues, PTAs, sex life or the lack of it, reproductive health…

Gosh, one could go crazy just reading this. No wonder there’s a lot of designer drugs available to calm you down or get you high. We live in a complex world. Why did it get this way in the first place? We are fraught with too many choices. Pick the wrong choice and you can go to hell. Even parenting is complicated. Just look at the selection of parenting books available.

Now I ask you again, why did it get this way? Maybe the problem is we want it all.

photo: by evelyn arthur richman