Yui: Mommy, look, the bird with the triangle-shaped tail is flying really fast. The one with the square one is flying reaaaally slow.
And it was only then that I realised it was supposed to be that way. All this time I thought they were just different types of birds.
You were watching way too much videos already so I asked you to come on over to help me beat the eggs. Result: you had a tantrum because you didn’t want to help and just wanted to watch. The tantrum was a confirmation you’ve had too many videos and so I set my foot and commanded you come on over in the kitchen.
The moment you beat the eggs though, you were your usual gay self already and was having fun. Then you volunteered to cut the pechay/chingensay/Chinese cabbage. My first instinct was not to allow you to hold the knife. But you looked so confident that you can do it and I most definitely don’t want to break that confidence. So I grit my teeth and handed you the knife. As you positioned the knife, you said that Sugawara-sensei told you the other hand that’s not holding the knife should be like a cat’s hand; curled like a cat’s hand so that those cutie little fingers won’t get nipped.
I’m loving your head teacher all the more. By the way, you cut those two heads of pechay quite evenly. Good job, Anak! 🙂
When you’re trying to find a pair of socks but what you do find is only ONE of EACH pair. That’s nine could-have-been pairs. NINE!!
Mom friends at the office are organising a small get together this Friday in celebration of our motherhood. Five years. You’re five. I’ve been a mother for five years. Somehow it feels so surreal as it feels like it was just yesterday that you were kicking inside my tummy. Now YOU’RE the one asking for a baby boy inside MY tummy (tall order, little one).
Five. Truth be told, I feel (and know) I’m very far from being the perfect Mom. Sometimes, I feel like I’m so hard and strict on you. But I’m learning by the day little love, and you are teaching me too.
I love your laughter. And your tight hugs. And your sweet kisses (which are sometimes too wet!). And your thoughtfulness. And your empathy. At your tender age of 4, you have comforted me several times, patting my back and my head. In those times, I have only gratitude – thankful of how God has made you and how He is honing you for the future He has planned for you.
During bath time this evening, I asked you what’s your birthday wish. You had an easy answer – love, laughter (you demonstrated it too).
With that kind of birthday wish, I’d say I am a blessed Mom.
Grow up well, Anak. We wish you beauty inside and out, love, passion, a faithful soul, and a kind heart.
No, this isn’t about your first crush. And I know as well that this isn’t the first time that you got broken hearted with a friend. I still remember that morning during your second year in daycare (1 yr old class Futaba gumi) when you reached out to embrace your girl best friend when you saw her arrive, only to be pushed away roughly, just because she was still not in the mood. How you cried then. My heart cried with you too.
Your broken heart today was also with a friend. For the first time, you shared with me your feelings about something that happened to you at daycare. That how one of your girl friends laughed at your right big toe that still has the flaking blue nail polish. You said you were both embarrassed and angry. I hugged you then and asked you again how you felt. Was happy when you said you feel better with the hug.
Saw it as a chance too to teach you the lesson that we should not laugh at other people. That it’s not funny. That you should make a stand and tell the other person how it isn’t funny.
And I warmed as I see you getting passionate and saying that in daycare, Japanese is spoken so you should speak in the language. Asked you how to say in Japanese. And then you translated what you ought to say, perfectly (笑った、だめ!!); complete with the right expression on your face and your hands in your hips.
We did still remove your nail polish but I hope that you learned and will stand up for yourself against bullies.
Be brave my lovely little one.
The day we got back from our Golden week vacation, you asked us to buy the water balloons on our trip to the grocery. And so for more than a week, we pumped water into your balloon, one per bath time until they couldn’t fit the basin anymore. Thankfully, you then stopped requesting to create new ones.
Ever since a week after the first ballon was made, I’ve been egging you to try to burst the balloon by throwing them on the bathroom wall. Anything, just to burst them. I was already starting to cringe as I think of the warm water stored in the balloon that’s getting “older” by the day. Molds. Mildew. Fiends. However you would cry just with the mere mention of “burst”.
A month passed by and I already was on the verge of begging you. Six weeks after and I was already begging you. But you always say no and even asked me to make a promise that I wouldn’t burst them. I asked why? Then you said something magical.
You and Daddy made it. I don’t want it to burst.
And that was it. I didn’t egg you from then on. Second month passed by. Nine weeks. And then early this week when you had your bonding day with Daddy as I took the Japanese exam, Daddy bought you a water gun. The balloons stayed on the bath corner as you got passionate with your gun.
This evening though, you were playing with the balloons and were stretching them. Until one reached its bursting pressure. You cried and then said we could refill it again. Told you it’s impossible as it was already torn. I was already cringing with how the old water inside the balloon went to the water in the tub. And I told you so, about how dirty the water must be inside. And so then, while holding your water gun, you gave your go signal to burst the balloons albeit in a lacklustre manner. You did say bye to the balloons though.
Pretty soon I’d probably be fixating next on the molds on your water gun. And I know what you’d say then – “Daddy bought it for me!”
Keep that lovely character you have, my sweet.