MAMA GOOSE

What are little girls made of, made of?
What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice and everything nice
That's what little girls are made of.




What are little boys made of, made of?
What are little boys made of?
Snips and snails and puppy dog tails
That's what little boys are made of.




What are great weekends made of, made of?
What are great weekends made of?
Babies and balls and warm bubble baths
THAT'S what great weekends are made of.


Weekend Quote:
(Heard while watching the "Godzilla" DVD...)

TROY: Mommy, what's a marshmallow cloud?
MOMMY: Anak, "mushroom cloud" ang tawag doon.


(PLUGGING: "Royal Holiday", the first in a new series of the same title in
87 GENTLE STREET, and additional unseen pictures in BRAG BOOK.)

BETTA CARE TEAM



Something fishy is going on in my household.

Actually, make that TWO fishies.

Two fishies who now make their home in my boys' room, one housed on top of the nightstand, and the other one adorning the bookcase.

Meet "Squeaky" and "Pretty", the newest additions to our family. Squeaky and Pretty are Betta splendens, a.k.a. Siamese Fighting Fish.

I have always found these fish to be quite beautiful. They also seem to be very hardy, which is perfect for my two boys. Every night, Lance and Troy feed their new pets, delighting in their aquatic antics.

Which sounds wonderfully normal, and not in the least bit fishy, that is until we get to the subject of actually NAMING the fishies.

Before Troy even handpicked his red betta from the pet store, he already declared that he wanted a fish named Squeaky. Don't ask me why. My eldest son, Max, got his first fish at around the same age. He named his Chubi (pronounced Choo-bee). Couldn't figure out THAT one either.

I personally think the betta Lance chose was prettier, although I would never say this out loud for fear of hurting Troy's feelings. Lance's fish, Pretty, is white with rainbow-like colors around its fins. Unlike it's peer however, THIS fish was named using some semblance of logic. It is, after all, a pretty fish.

And then Daddy broke the news. Pretty was a he.

I must say I admire the way Lance stuck to his guns. The boy does not have a single indecisive bone in his body. Upon serious consideration, my son announced that his fish would still be called "Pretty", even though it was a boy. He insisted, however, on adding a family name.

Sereno.

Two boys. Two fish. Two names.

One bizarre and devoid of all logic. One so logical it's borderline unimaginative.

Yin and Yang. Vive le difference.

Each one is a planet waiting to be discovered.

And both are loved without question.


(PLUGGING: "Royal Holiday", a new series about our family's Christmas vacation in 87 GENTLE STREET, and more unseen pictures in BRAG BOOK.)

INDOOR CAMPING



I used to think this term was an oxymoron.

But it can happen, given our boys' vivid imaginations. And in our case, an indoor camp turned out to be just the beginning of one delightful weekend adventure.

Last Friday, my in-laws gave Lance and Troy their own mini-camping kits, with backpacks, sleeping bags, flashlights and water canteens. These came just in time for the long Martin Luther King, Jr. weekend. The timing couldn't have been more perfect.

And so, on Friday night, Lorenzo set the boys up in their sleeping bags at the foot of our bed. This was a special treat for the two, since they seldom get to sleep in Mommy and Daddy's room.

Instead of a campfire, the kids were bathed in the glow of our TV set. We had just bought a new DVD/VCR player for our bedroom, and everyone quickly settled in to watch the whole "Harry Potter" series, which turned out to be quite an ambitious venture as ALL Lorenzos were asleep even before the Hogwarts Express reached Hogsmeade Station.

The next day, we were delighted to discover that Lance and Troy actually slept LONGER in our bedroom, probably since our blinds were more effective at blocking out light than the ones in the boys' room.

I now wonder why it took me so long to buy a second DVD/Video player. Indeed, since we got one for the Master bedroom, my husband has been sleeping longer and my sons fighting less. My baby daughter has also discovered the delights of crawling on my bedroom floor, but that's another story altogether.

Thanks to this new addition, the long weekend was spent in silent solidarity in front of the our bedroom TV. Lance and Troy settled into their sleeping bags while Reanna made friends with the dust bunnies under our bed. Best of all, Mommy and Daddy got to sneak in a snuggle while the family watched the entire "Harry Potter" series, "Troy" and "A Knight's Tale" in quick succession. If you have three young kids, you'll know how priceless it is to be able to relax under the covers, nestled in each other's arms, knowing your brood is safe and sound at the foot of your bed.

And when Lance and Troy got bored, they got their flashlights from their camping kits and embarked on expeditions of discovery downstairs, where it was pitch-black with the lights off. It was priceless to hear snatches of their voices carrying upstairs: "Look, a snake!", "No, it's a brachiosaurus!" And then they would come running upstairs, breathless, their flashlight beams announcing their arrival.

I know it doesn't sound terribly exciting, but with winter taking a turn for the worse, nothing warms the heart more during dark, damp and dreary days than having your family around you, even though they're engaged in nothing more exotic than vegetating in front of the TV and eating take-and-bake pizza.

Aaaahhhh...nirvana!


(PLUGGING: "Royal Holiday", a new series about our Christmas vacation in the Magic Kingdom at 87 GENTLE STREET, with additional pictures in my photoblog, BRAG BOOK.)

December 2004 to January 2005 193

A SIGH OF RELIEF

And now the story can be told.

Last January 9, my father-in-law celebrated his 74th birthday.

The next day, he left home for a routine checkup. It was the last he would see of his house until last weekend.

What followed was a time of uncertainty which had my husband's family rallying around their beloved patriarch.

Indeed, straight from his checkup, Tatay was sent straight to Kaiser Santa Clara, where they discovered blockages in three major heart arteries. Before the week was over, he would see the interiors of two more hospitals: the Good Samaritan in San Jose, where he underwent an angiogram and failed angioplasty, and Alta Bates Summit in Oakland, CA, where they performed a triple-turned-quintuple bypass on him.

We visited Tatay in Oakland the day before his bypass operation, and found him in good spirits. He introduced us to Dr. Lee, the cardiac surgeon who would be performing the operation (who alarmingly looked like he couldn't have been much older than Lorenzo and me). When Dr. Lee turned to leave, my father-in-law jokingly told him to "Take care of his hands!". It was good to see his sense of humor still intact.

And so Tatay spent the eve of his operation with his three grandchildren. He enjoyed playing with Reanna, who couldn't keep her hands off his telemetry device. Lance and Troy kept asking their Lolo questions about his chest and his heart, which he gamely answered. I'm sure the light banter kept his mind off the daunting procedure.

And then the crotchety night nurse came to drive us away, and the spell was broken. Lorenzo and his siblings would come back the next day and watch over him in the recovery unit, but Tatay didn't regain consciousness until the day after. By then, my husband was already back at work.

Sadly, despite the fact that it was OBVIOUSLY a family emergency, Lorenzo was still written up for his two-day absence.

I wonder if these very same scrooges at work would've still put in their nine-to-fives if it were their OWN parent's lives hanging in the balance? Based on their insensitivity to my husband's plight, probably so. And we wonder why this world has gone to the dogs.

Yesterday, I got to speak with my mother-in-law, who said Tatay was recovering well. He had already been sent home on a clean bill of health.

And so I now thank the Lord for answering our prayers, by keeping my father-in-law safe and sending him back home sound.

Praise GOD.




(PLUGGING: more pictures in BRAG BOOK.)

GIRL WITH A PEARL EARRING



She's no Hollywood ingenue like Scarlett Johansson, but she is lovelier than any Vermeer in my book.

I'm talking about my baby daughter, Reanna, with her brand new pearl earrings.

Last December 20, I finally bit the bullet and had Reanna's ears pierced. The appointment was set for 5:30 PM with Leti of En Vogue Salon. We came straight from the doctor's office, where my baby just had her second flu shot. I figured I'd lump all of her misery in one single day.

Before Leti could start, I had to sign a waiver, which she said was quite standard these days. I gave the form a quick once-over, glossing over such terms as "infection" and "allergic reaction". I wasn't too worried about complications. I had my ears pierced when I was a newborn in the Philippines, sporting matching knotted strands of black thread when I was barely a day old. Reanna, who was a week past seven months, was positively geriatric in comparison.

I turned in the paperwork, and was handed a tray of eye candy featuring jewels and birthstones of all colors of the rainbow, clearly designed to distract me from the fact that I had just basically signed away all rights to sue the snooty salon should my baby's earlobes, perchance, fall off.

Leti helped me in my selection, offering me gold and silver studs of all shapes and styles. She asked me if I was interested in a birthstone for Reanna, an emerald for the month of May. I personally thought a bright green stone was too flashy for an infant's ears, so I steered her away from that line of thinking. Besides, a dainty pair of tiny pearl earrings set in gold stars had already caught my eye.

And so it was just a matter of marking my baby's ears and distracting her while Leti took aim. I gave Reanna my cell phone and repeately played my ring tone, a recording of a conversation between Daddy and Troy which never fails to get her attention.

It was over in a couple of clicks. Tears were shed, but not in the bucketfuls I expected. Despite my misgivings, the experience turned out to be far removed from the harrowing ordeal I first envisioned.

And now my princess sports two tiny pearl earrings in her perfectly proportioned ears. In a few years, she will be trading these for a pair of half-carat diamonds, which Mommy happens to be sporting in her own ears this very moment.

Hopefully by then, Daddy would've replaced them with the heart-shaped diamond studs Mommy's been wanting all these years.

Bezel-set in gold, okay Babe?




(PLUGGING: "Brag Book", my latest post at 87 GENTLE STREET, and "Cheesin' Quackers", the first entry in BRAG BOOK, my new PHOTOBLOG at http://pradamama.fotopages.com.)

MRS. INCREDIBLE




Pssst...can you keep a secret?

I am positively convinced that I come from a family of super heroes.

This epiphany came when we took the kids to watch "The Incredibles". After the movie, Lorenzo and I had a hard time keeping up with our two boys, who were speedily running up and down the aisles. It didn't take us long to figure out the source of this sudden burst of energy. Lance and Troy were both convinced they were DASH.

Reanna, our unica hija, could very well play VIOLET. All it takes is one whiff of her full diaper and you'll notice an invisible force field form around us, clearing our path to the nearest garbage can.

And of course, Lorenzo, with his muscular physique and striking good looks, can play MR. INCREDIBLE anytime. And I mean Mr. Incredible in his prime, before he got all paunchy and jaded. He even has Mr. Incredible's good heart, often choosing to clean and vacuum around the house and whip up delicious brunches for his family during the weekend, when he should just be catching up on his sleep. I married my very own personal Superman. How can I be anything but head-over-heels in love?

There's no doubt about it, I am one lucky girl to be be blessed with such a beautiful and INCREDIBLE family. But being lucky is not necessarily a super-human trait. I am, after all, THE Prada Mama, matriarch of the Lorenzo Serenos. I simply HAVE to live up to their super-hero standards.

Now, while I can boast that I can reach my nose with my tongue, and (if I arched my back far enough), I can still fold my hands in a prayer position BEHIND me, I am still a long way from being ELASTA GIRL.

But super-heroes are often born out of crisis situations. And since it takes a super-human effort to smile and be civil to people who tear you down and spread malicious stories behind your back...reminding yourself that now is the time to bury ALL differences and rally around a common loved one... FORGIVING, while not necessarily FORGETTING their LIES is no less heroic.

And so I guess I can lay claim to the title Super-Hero after all.

Just call me The Incredible PLASTA GIRL.


(Finally...an UPDATE at 87 GENTLE STREET! PLUGGING: "The Mighty Ducks", following your input and advice on posting pictures at "So Big!". Thanks to all!)

MY LEFT EAR (x3)

The verdict is in.

I took my kids to their pediatrician today, where they were alternately prodded and poked to determine the exact nature of their ailments.

The diagnosis? Ear infections. Across the board.

Now, ear infections are not that unusual for children aged like mine. What boggles the mind is that all THREE of my children, Lance, Troy and Reanna alike, only have it in their LEFT ears.

Go figure.


(PLUGGING: "A Sobering Start", my New Year's post at 87 GENTLE STREET. Yup. no updates there yet.)

RECIPES FOR A WONDERFUL WEEKEND

It's just a few minutes past nine in the evening, and all is still through the house.

Those who have met my family personally know that this is highly irregular. Lorenzo and I are incurable night owls, and all appearances indicate that we have passed these pesky genes on to our progeny.

Yet here I am, wrapping things us, ready to call it a day, before 10 P.M.!

What happened, you ask? Well, it was more of a combination of factors, actually.

ONE, all of our kids are down with a respiratory bug of some sort. Now, while I am far from rejoicing over this inconvenient little detail, I must say it's deterred them from bouncing off the walls quite effectively.

TWO, we just had a very satisfying MOVIE NIGHT. Today's Feature Presentation: "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban", shown back-to-back. Yes. Twice.

(And if that wasn't enough to lull a whirling dervish into submission...)

THREE, everyone had a steaming bowlful of Mommy's arroz caldo, whose strange soporific effects have just been demonstrated again, this time beyond the shadow of a doubt. Indeed, even as I type this, I can feel my eyes getting heavier...heavier...heavieeeer...

So for now, I abandon the task of imparting to you my secret recipes for a wonderful weekend. Suffice it to say that it's quite literally a KNOCK-DOWN combination.

You can just take my word for it.

Zzzzzz...


(PLUGGING: "A Sobering Start", my New Year's post at 87 GENTLE STREET.)

SO BIG!

Okay, I love my family and I'm proud of it, but this is a bit too much, even to a self-confessed doting-and-super-besotted uber-MOM. (Hyperbole intended)

I was trying to find alternatives to using Hello software to post pictures. I tried using Blogger's Uploading feature, and got this:

(Testing...)



Now, although this picture charmingly captures our matching wedding rings while thoroughly exposing thousands of dollars worth of dental work and orthodontia (in my smile) and flawless genes (in Lorenzo's) IN FULL DETAIL...

It IS undeniably OVER THE TOP.

I am now calling out to my many blogger friends out there, who happen to know how to shrink this down to size using Blogger's Uploading feature.

Better yet, are there any other picture-posting alternatives out there, which do NOT use up as much bandwidth as Hello?

HEEEEEELP!!!!!


p.s. The picture above has already been edited. The darn page took too long to display. Believe me though, that picture was MUCH bigger. (Prada Mama, February 15, 2005)

(BETTER LATE...Please pardon my manners and allow me to invite you to read "A SOBERING START", my New Year's greeting to all in 87 GENTLE STREET.)