TROY MEETS DR. QUACK-QUACK
Troy, my sweet little toddler, has been under the weather lately. Last Thursday night, his temperature went up to 102.8. I gave him his usual Tylenol, hoping this would take care of it, but when he woke up, it wasn't much better at 102.4.
I wasn't too worried, because his usual sunny demeanor was unaffected. I attributed his fever to teething, since I felt his gums and there were telltale bumps at both ends of his lower jaw. Lorenzo and I treated the kids to breakfast at McDonald's, where Troy ate with his usual gusto. After our meal, we proceeded to Lance's pre-school. It was their last day of school before a month-long spring break, and they were celebrating with a family kite-flying picnic.
Troy was excited to be out with his kuya's classmates. He raided Lance's brown bagged lunch and came up with an apple. Troy and I have a system when it comes to unpeeled apples away from the homefront. Troy would pass the apple to Mommy so I can take a bite, and then I would pass the apple back to Troy and he would gnaw at the naked patch, passing the apple back to me for another bite so I could take more of the pesky skin off.
Between the two of us, we decimated the red delicious down to the very core while Lance and Daddy tried to fly Lance's school-made kite, which he decorated with squiggles of paint. (Actually, it was a Daddy-made kite, since Lorenzo was a parent volunteer the day before, assigned to make the kids' kites.) Lance was having a hard time because his kite wouldn't stay aloft. Daddy made some design adjustments using Mommy's earring, which he used to poke more holes into the kite so he could thread the string more strategically.
Troy was still in high spirits when the class went back in for some indoor activities. He watched videos beside his kuya, participated in the music circle, and even made his own police car with paper and glue. But when snack time came, the fever returned and he wasn't his old self anymore.
By the time I took him to the Urgent Care clinic, his fever had escalated to 103.9. By then, my poor baby was miserable, and the dreaded doctor's office was the last place he wanted to be in. He started crying when they put him on the scale, and didn't stop until the doctor came in to see him. The following is a transcript of my conversation with Doctor Quack-Quack.
DR. Q: What symptoms does he have?
RENEE: Just a persistent fever. His temperature's been anywhere between 102.4 and 103.9 for the last 24 hours. Tylenol doesn't seem to help because it comes right back again.
Dr. Q: I have to have more to go on than that. Otherwise, I'd have to send you to the Emergency Room, and that's easily a 10 to 12 hour wait.
RENEE: Well, he doesn't really have any other symptoms.
Dr. Q: I don't know if you'd noticed, but he's already coughed three or four times since we started talking. Has he been coughing at all today? (He looks in Troy's ear. By this time, poor Troy was hysterical)
RENEE: No, he's coughing 'cause he's crying.
DR. Q: I also noticed that his nose is runny and he has some mucus in there. Was he sneezing at all today?
RENEE: His brother had a kite-flying activity at school. He was sneezing a bit, but it was more like an allergy than anything else.
DR. Q: See, you weren't telling me about the sneezing as a symptom because you already decided for yourself that it was an allergy.
RENEE: His sneezing stopped as soon as we went inside. That's why I was quite sure it was an allergy. I didn't hear him sneeze any more after that.
DR. Q: Well, I have to have more to go on than just a fever.
RENEE (napipikon na): And I'm not about to manufacture any symptoms just so we could come to a convenient diagnosis. How do his ears look?
DR. Q: They're bloodshot.
RENEE: Meaning they're red?
DR. Q: Well, they're not red, but the blood vessels are quite constricted.
RENEE: Could teething account for the fever?
DR. Q: Teething CAN cause high fevers, but they're usually more evanescent, you know, like more short-lived.
(I oh-so-wanted to say "I know what evanescent means, you condescending @*&$%!" but I just held my tongue.)
DR. Q: Anyway, I'm just gonna write it down as an upper-respiratory infection 'cause he's quite congested, and he might just be starting to cough and sneeze.
Dr. Quack-Quack jots down a prescription for some albuterol (a broncho-dilator), guaifenessin (for coughing) and acetaminophen (for fever) and hands it to me with a smile, saying:
"One thing your son's got going for him is a very sophisticated Mom. I'm sure you're so attuned to him that you'd be able to pick up any subtle changes that come along."
At nambola pa'ng kumag!
(POSTSCRIPT: Troy's fever lasted a couple more days. We let him sleep with us while he was sick, so we could monitor him more closely. He hardly slept at night, which rendered Mommy and Daddy zombie-like for most of the weekend. Very early Sunday morning, after much tossing and turning, we heard a little voice say, "My ear hurts." Sure enough, poor Troy woke up the next day with an angry red ear. We brought him back to the same clinic, where another doctor saw him. This time, we got a prescription for the proper diagnosis, an ear infection. And now Troy's back to his sunny self again.)
Sunday, February 29, 2004
THE NAME GAME
I've been receiving comments on my websites, asking about my true identity. It seems the term "newsbabe", which I fashioned to alter the more frumpy-sounding "newshen", has titillated it's own share of mildly curious readers. Well, to set the record straight, I am now dishing the dirt on Prada Mama, the gabby newsbabe behind Pansitan.net's "87 GENTLE STREET" and "The Prada Mama Chronicles".
First of all, I would like to officially declare my disdain for the word "newshen", which conjures up images of fat, dumpy, bespectacled women behind typewriters. Whoever coined this term deserves to be shackled to a noisy teletype machine. I much prefer the title "news personality", thank you.
It was a chance encounter at the UP sunken garden which determined my destiny: I was walking to our "Home", the sorority house of UP Delta Lambda Sigma, when I bumped into a fellow-Deltan, Coco Quisumbing, who was then the sexy voice behind "Coco Q" of RK96-FM. After the prescribed beso-beso, she asked me if I was interested in her job because she was moving to another radio station in Cebu. Coco would later become my best friend in the world among other things, CNBC Asia news anchor included, but that's another story.
I can't believe I was only 17 when it all began. I started out by doing radio news, completing my on-air training in RK96 and 101.1 KISS-FM in the mid-80's before doing newscasting for FM stations like NU-107 and 99.5 RT. In radio circles, I was known by the name "Rima", my real-life nickname.
After five years in radio, I decided I had mustered up enough confidence to try my luck at TV newscasting. I auditioned for, and was accepted as weekend news anchor for RPN News. My new boss at the time, Channel 9's Frank Abao, decided he preferred my baptismal name, "Renee", because it sounded more formal. Not too many people agreed. Korina Sanchez, who was one of the first people I called after landing the job, said she preferred "Rima" because "Renee" sounded too much like "a model's name", but it was my boss' opinion that counted, so I made my television debut under the name "Renee de los Santos".
So there I was, at the young age of 21, finally doing Gulf War updates alongside my former news idols, Harry Gasser, and of course, my sorority "sis", Coco Quisumbing. Even though I was officially hired as weekend news anchor, I was often called to pinch-hit during the week, co-anchoring with Charlie Ysmael and Kathy Santillan. It was also a source of our sorority's pride that aside from Coco and me, another Deltan was in Channel 9's news lineup: Cielo Villaluna, whom I would later join in anchoring "NewsWatch EveningCast".
When I first started at RPN News, I was known by my maiden name, de los Santos. After a couple of years, I left for the States, Canada and Europe, taking a three-year hiatus to get married and raise a family. When I returned in late 1995, I was blessed to regain my weekend anchor position almost immediately. By then, I was known by my married name, Renee Caplan. In a couple of months, another RPN news anchor, Cristina Peczon, would resign from her post, relinquishing the plum prime-time co-anchor seat to me!
I couldn't believe my luck. I had gone full-circle, from radio neophyte, to TV ingenue, to relative obscurity as a young wife and mother abroad, and finally, a triumphant return as co-anchor of Channel 9's "NewsWatch EveningCast"!
Our show was the only English newscast in its time slot, so most of our viewers were expats and the AB crowd. However, when RPN's former GM-turned Congressman Jose Mari Gonzalez, scheduled the Mexican telenovela "Marimar" after our show, we managed to grab a monster share of the viewing market, even besting "TV Patrol" at one point. ABS-CBN soon became savvy, adding other Thalia starrers to their lineup, and we were once again relegated to high-brow obscurity.
My ex-husband and I ended up divorcing after six years of marriage, but I kept on using the name Caplan. However, by the time I left Channel 9 to go back to the States for good, I was already known by my present name, Renee Sereno. By then, I had met and fallen in love with my present husband, Lorenzo, (aka Lapu-lapu, see "About"), and we were going to the States to have our baby, Lance. In October 1999, I filed for maternity leave from RPN News and never returned.
After Lance was born, I decided to try my hand at broadcasting here in the U.S.. I was blessed to be hired as stand-in producer and anchor of "The Filipino Report", a daily newscast produced by KTSF-TV26 in San Francisco. The show was geared toward the Filipino market in the Bay Area, and it received heavy viewership due to its time slot between "TV Patrol" and "Balitang K". Looking back, it now strikes me as ironic that the first time I ever produced and delivered a newscast in Tagalog was when I finally moved to the US.
So there you have it, a brief glimpse into Prada Mama's persona, and her many names that go with it. These days, I am simply known as "Mommy", (or as Lorenzo sometimes teases me, "Preggy"), content to while away my days at home in Modesto, CA, away from the lights, cameras and wire services. My life now revolves around my husband, our two boys, Lance and Troy, and our rescue Pit Bull, Spot. Together, we await the arrival of our newest family member, our first daughter, Reanna Loren, who will be ready for her close-up around June 4.
Of course, Lapu-lapu, the other half of this on-cam partnership, has his own stories to tell, but I will leave that for another time. Suffice it to say that my husband is the more recognizable of us two, having played the muscle-bound lead in a very popular commercial, uttering five words which would etch themselves into the threads of Filipino popular culture:
"Don't forget the muffins ha?"
(MORE SUGGESTED READING: TALES FROM THE NEWSROOM.)
I've been receiving comments on my websites, asking about my true identity. It seems the term "newsbabe", which I fashioned to alter the more frumpy-sounding "newshen", has titillated it's own share of mildly curious readers. Well, to set the record straight, I am now dishing the dirt on Prada Mama, the gabby newsbabe behind Pansitan.net's "87 GENTLE STREET" and "The Prada Mama Chronicles".
First of all, I would like to officially declare my disdain for the word "newshen", which conjures up images of fat, dumpy, bespectacled women behind typewriters. Whoever coined this term deserves to be shackled to a noisy teletype machine. I much prefer the title "news personality", thank you.
It was a chance encounter at the UP sunken garden which determined my destiny: I was walking to our "Home", the sorority house of UP Delta Lambda Sigma, when I bumped into a fellow-Deltan, Coco Quisumbing, who was then the sexy voice behind "Coco Q" of RK96-FM. After the prescribed beso-beso, she asked me if I was interested in her job because she was moving to another radio station in Cebu. Coco would later become my best friend in the world among other things, CNBC Asia news anchor included, but that's another story.
I can't believe I was only 17 when it all began. I started out by doing radio news, completing my on-air training in RK96 and 101.1 KISS-FM in the mid-80's before doing newscasting for FM stations like NU-107 and 99.5 RT. In radio circles, I was known by the name "Rima", my real-life nickname.
After five years in radio, I decided I had mustered up enough confidence to try my luck at TV newscasting. I auditioned for, and was accepted as weekend news anchor for RPN News. My new boss at the time, Channel 9's Frank Abao, decided he preferred my baptismal name, "Renee", because it sounded more formal. Not too many people agreed. Korina Sanchez, who was one of the first people I called after landing the job, said she preferred "Rima" because "Renee" sounded too much like "a model's name", but it was my boss' opinion that counted, so I made my television debut under the name "Renee de los Santos".
So there I was, at the young age of 21, finally doing Gulf War updates alongside my former news idols, Harry Gasser, and of course, my sorority "sis", Coco Quisumbing. Even though I was officially hired as weekend news anchor, I was often called to pinch-hit during the week, co-anchoring with Charlie Ysmael and Kathy Santillan. It was also a source of our sorority's pride that aside from Coco and me, another Deltan was in Channel 9's news lineup: Cielo Villaluna, whom I would later join in anchoring "NewsWatch EveningCast".
When I first started at RPN News, I was known by my maiden name, de los Santos. After a couple of years, I left for the States, Canada and Europe, taking a three-year hiatus to get married and raise a family. When I returned in late 1995, I was blessed to regain my weekend anchor position almost immediately. By then, I was known by my married name, Renee Caplan. In a couple of months, another RPN news anchor, Cristina Peczon, would resign from her post, relinquishing the plum prime-time co-anchor seat to me!
I couldn't believe my luck. I had gone full-circle, from radio neophyte, to TV ingenue, to relative obscurity as a young wife and mother abroad, and finally, a triumphant return as co-anchor of Channel 9's "NewsWatch EveningCast"!
Our show was the only English newscast in its time slot, so most of our viewers were expats and the AB crowd. However, when RPN's former GM-turned Congressman Jose Mari Gonzalez, scheduled the Mexican telenovela "Marimar" after our show, we managed to grab a monster share of the viewing market, even besting "TV Patrol" at one point. ABS-CBN soon became savvy, adding other Thalia starrers to their lineup, and we were once again relegated to high-brow obscurity.
My ex-husband and I ended up divorcing after six years of marriage, but I kept on using the name Caplan. However, by the time I left Channel 9 to go back to the States for good, I was already known by my present name, Renee Sereno. By then, I had met and fallen in love with my present husband, Lorenzo, (aka Lapu-lapu, see "About"), and we were going to the States to have our baby, Lance. In October 1999, I filed for maternity leave from RPN News and never returned.
After Lance was born, I decided to try my hand at broadcasting here in the U.S.. I was blessed to be hired as stand-in producer and anchor of "The Filipino Report", a daily newscast produced by KTSF-TV26 in San Francisco. The show was geared toward the Filipino market in the Bay Area, and it received heavy viewership due to its time slot between "TV Patrol" and "Balitang K". Looking back, it now strikes me as ironic that the first time I ever produced and delivered a newscast in Tagalog was when I finally moved to the US.
So there you have it, a brief glimpse into Prada Mama's persona, and her many names that go with it. These days, I am simply known as "Mommy", (or as Lorenzo sometimes teases me, "Preggy"), content to while away my days at home in Modesto, CA, away from the lights, cameras and wire services. My life now revolves around my husband, our two boys, Lance and Troy, and our rescue Pit Bull, Spot. Together, we await the arrival of our newest family member, our first daughter, Reanna Loren, who will be ready for her close-up around June 4.
Of course, Lapu-lapu, the other half of this on-cam partnership, has his own stories to tell, but I will leave that for another time. Suffice it to say that my husband is the more recognizable of us two, having played the muscle-bound lead in a very popular commercial, uttering five words which would etch themselves into the threads of Filipino popular culture:
"Don't forget the muffins ha?"
(MORE SUGGESTED READING: TALES FROM THE NEWSROOM.)
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
THE SWEETEST TABO
I have a shocking confession to make. I am probably the only Filipina unfamiliar with the tabo system. This was one of the many mysteries my mother failed to shed light upon during my formative years. As little girls, me and my sisters never had to use a tabo to cleanse ourelves after our private sessions en toilette. In 87 Gentle Street, we had bidets to take care of the dirty little details.
Everyone I knew had bidets in those days. Some of my friends had free-standing bidets. We had the more practical version, ingeniously incorporated into our porcelain bowls. I am referring to those gracefully curved water tubes discreetly tucked into the plumbing system, strategically positioned to shower a cleansing stream of water right where it matters most.
You can imagine my rude awakening when I first moved to the States. In all my years as a US resident, I have yet to find that familiar lavatory/bidet combination, so commonly seen in Manila. Sure, I've encountered free-standing bidets here, mostly in swank hotel rooms, but the average, run-of-the-mill single family home is usually equipped with the average, run-of-the-mill, standard-issue commode. The irony of it is that our toilet bowls back home were called American Standard!
Enter childbirth, and its many wonderful accessories. Each time I am sent home from the hospital with a brand new baby, I get a goody-bag along with my discharge papers. This bag usually contains some diapers, sterilized gauze, breast shields, a rectal thermometer, a suction bulb, and some formula samples. I feverishly root through all the freebies until I find the most important accessory of all: a cleansing bottle. Only then do I allow myself to be wheeled out of my room with my precious little bundle of joy.
To the uninitiated, a cleansing bottle looks quite unspectacular. In fact, it is nothing but a slim white plastic bottle, with one important exception: a directional spout. This enables new mothers to spray themselves with a soothing stream of water, gently washing away all traumatic traces of the birthing experience. I carefully kept both of my bottles after having Lance and Troy. These are now regular fixtures in my upstairs bathrooms, ready to fill at a moment's notice.
But my house has a third bathroom. A powder room downstairs. These days, I am forced to keep a bottle there, since I am too far along in my pregnancy to be rushing upstairs when nature calls. The other bottle is constantly juggled between my master bath and the children's bathroom, both located in our second floor. I don't mind the hassle. At almost 26 weeks gestation, I won't have to wait much before I complete my collection. Come June this year, all three of my bathrooms will be equipped with their own portable Bidet-in-a-Bottle.
The tabo system for the 21st century!
I have a shocking confession to make. I am probably the only Filipina unfamiliar with the tabo system. This was one of the many mysteries my mother failed to shed light upon during my formative years. As little girls, me and my sisters never had to use a tabo to cleanse ourelves after our private sessions en toilette. In 87 Gentle Street, we had bidets to take care of the dirty little details.
Everyone I knew had bidets in those days. Some of my friends had free-standing bidets. We had the more practical version, ingeniously incorporated into our porcelain bowls. I am referring to those gracefully curved water tubes discreetly tucked into the plumbing system, strategically positioned to shower a cleansing stream of water right where it matters most.
You can imagine my rude awakening when I first moved to the States. In all my years as a US resident, I have yet to find that familiar lavatory/bidet combination, so commonly seen in Manila. Sure, I've encountered free-standing bidets here, mostly in swank hotel rooms, but the average, run-of-the-mill single family home is usually equipped with the average, run-of-the-mill, standard-issue commode. The irony of it is that our toilet bowls back home were called American Standard!
Enter childbirth, and its many wonderful accessories. Each time I am sent home from the hospital with a brand new baby, I get a goody-bag along with my discharge papers. This bag usually contains some diapers, sterilized gauze, breast shields, a rectal thermometer, a suction bulb, and some formula samples. I feverishly root through all the freebies until I find the most important accessory of all: a cleansing bottle. Only then do I allow myself to be wheeled out of my room with my precious little bundle of joy.
To the uninitiated, a cleansing bottle looks quite unspectacular. In fact, it is nothing but a slim white plastic bottle, with one important exception: a directional spout. This enables new mothers to spray themselves with a soothing stream of water, gently washing away all traumatic traces of the birthing experience. I carefully kept both of my bottles after having Lance and Troy. These are now regular fixtures in my upstairs bathrooms, ready to fill at a moment's notice.
But my house has a third bathroom. A powder room downstairs. These days, I am forced to keep a bottle there, since I am too far along in my pregnancy to be rushing upstairs when nature calls. The other bottle is constantly juggled between my master bath and the children's bathroom, both located in our second floor. I don't mind the hassle. At almost 26 weeks gestation, I won't have to wait much before I complete my collection. Come June this year, all three of my bathrooms will be equipped with their own portable Bidet-in-a-Bottle.
The tabo system for the 21st century!
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
ONE DAY ISANG VALENTINE
For Valentine's Day, I wrote a tribute to my husband at 87 Gentle Street, entitled "Seven's A Charm (A Valentine's Diary Through the Years)".
After he read my lengthy love offering, Lorenzo turned to me with an rakish smile. He told me he was now inspired to write his own Valentine's diary. He said he would entitle it "Valentine's, Behind the Scenes".
Upon further questioning, my husband disclosed that it would be exactly like my diary, except he would detail EVERYTHING that happened when we were alone, after the Valentine celebrations were over!
Of course, his plans didn't get past the Board of Censors (aka his wife!). Instead, he wrote a very tender poem in his site, which he dedicated to me.
Now my husband is very shy when it comes to his poetry and prose, and I know how much of a struggle it is for him to bare his heart for all the world to see. He's come a long way, and I'm very proud of his efforts.
In this light, I would like to present to you "One Day Isang Araw". This is Lorenzo's verbal canvas, his showcase during those times when the muse ensnares him, and his only escape is to blog his way out!
Keep up the good work, my Love. I can't wait to read more!
For Valentine's Day, I wrote a tribute to my husband at 87 Gentle Street, entitled "Seven's A Charm (A Valentine's Diary Through the Years)".
After he read my lengthy love offering, Lorenzo turned to me with an rakish smile. He told me he was now inspired to write his own Valentine's diary. He said he would entitle it "Valentine's, Behind the Scenes".
Upon further questioning, my husband disclosed that it would be exactly like my diary, except he would detail EVERYTHING that happened when we were alone, after the Valentine celebrations were over!
Of course, his plans didn't get past the Board of Censors (aka his wife!). Instead, he wrote a very tender poem in his site, which he dedicated to me.
Now my husband is very shy when it comes to his poetry and prose, and I know how much of a struggle it is for him to bare his heart for all the world to see. He's come a long way, and I'm very proud of his efforts.
In this light, I would like to present to you "One Day Isang Araw". This is Lorenzo's verbal canvas, his showcase during those times when the muse ensnares him, and his only escape is to blog his way out!
Keep up the good work, my Love. I can't wait to read more!
Thursday, February 12, 2004
OUT OF THE MOUTHS OF BABES
(OVERVIEW: After viewing my kids' favorite DVD, "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone", Lance, my precocious 4-year-old, was arguing with his 8-year-old cousin, Christa. They were having a heated discussion about how Harry Potter was able to break a bottle while trying out a new wand at Olivander's...)
LANCE (righteously indignant): It was magic!!!
CHRISTA (in her most know-it-all, I'm-four-years-older-than-you-tone): No it wasn't.
LANCE (getting more defensive): It was magic!!!
CHRISTA (in her smuggest tone yet): No. It was special effects. Someone shot the bottle when he waved his wand!
(Now who can argue with an 8-year-old's logic?)
(OVERVIEW: After viewing my kids' favorite DVD, "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone", Lance, my precocious 4-year-old, was arguing with his 8-year-old cousin, Christa. They were having a heated discussion about how Harry Potter was able to break a bottle while trying out a new wand at Olivander's...)
LANCE (righteously indignant): It was magic!!!
CHRISTA (in her most know-it-all, I'm-four-years-older-than-you-tone): No it wasn't.
LANCE (getting more defensive): It was magic!!!
CHRISTA (in her smuggest tone yet): No. It was special effects. Someone shot the bottle when he waved his wand!
(Now who can argue with an 8-year-old's logic?)
Saturday, January 31, 2004
BUTONG PAKWAN BLUES
Crack! (chew...swish...) Crack! (chew...swish...) Crack! (chew...swish...)
These were the sounds that accompanied our frenzied foray into the Bay Area. We were running late for my prenatal appointment at Kaiser. I was very lucky to get this appointment at all because my insurance expires at the end of the month, which just happens to be tomorrow, a SATURDAY at that, and Kaiser makes no OB-Gyn appointments on Saturday.
Crack! (chew...swish...) Crack! (chew...swish...)
I look at the source of my stress. My husband, Lorenzo, is absently digging into his butong pakwan stash on the floor between us. He finds a perfect seed and positions it between his front teeth, blissfully unaware of my growing irritation.
Crack! (chew...)
In spite of my annoyance, I couldn't help but be dazzled by my husband's dental prowess. I come from a long line of denture-wearers on my Dad's side. So far, I have managed to hang on to all my teeth, owed to a religious regimen of furious flossing twice a day. My teeth would never be able to withstand a siege of watermelon seeds, such as I am bearing witness to at the moment.
(swish...)
Lorenzo discards the shells on a separate plastic bag, precariously perched on our cup holder. He flashes his pearly whites at me, happily digging into the Ziplock bag on the floor between us. The bag is still quite full of butong pakwan from Divisoria, one of the pasalubongs from our cousins BatJay and BatJet, who recently visited us from the Orient. "Serves you right", my taray nanay alter ego castigated me, "You had first pick of the goods. You should've gone with two bags of kornik."
Crack! (chew...swish...)
I had to do something or I would go out of my mind. That rhythmic cracking sound was forming cracks in my shell of sanity. To make things worse, all this cracking and swishing was occupying his right hand, which meant he was driving with his LEFT, and Lorenzo is right-handed. I steal a glance at the speedometer. We were doing 90 mph, a full 25 miles above the speed limit. This was obviously nothing new to him, my husband being a seasoned commuter. He one-handedly wove in and out of traffic with a deftness and dexterity borne of daily drives to a distant workplace 80 miles away.
Crack! (chew...swish...)
I was getting quite angry at myself for being so agitated. I tried to calm myself. I obviously had no problem with his speeding, since we were running late anyway, and I never complained about his one-handed driving when he would hold my hand during our long drives. It was those blasted butong pakwans! I glanced down at the offending bag. What was it about these seeds that transported my husband into a trancelike state, sharpening his senses to the repeated rhythm of Crack! (chew...swish...), the very sound a mantra in itself?
I absently pick one out. Without even knowing it, the seed makes its way into my mouth and its sweet saltiness thrills a path down my tongue. I maneuver it between my molars and...
Crack! (chew...swish...)
I guess the darn things aren't too bad after all...
Crack! (chew...swish...) Crack! (chew...swish...) Crack! (chew...swish...)
These were the sounds that accompanied our frenzied foray into the Bay Area. We were running late for my prenatal appointment at Kaiser. I was very lucky to get this appointment at all because my insurance expires at the end of the month, which just happens to be tomorrow, a SATURDAY at that, and Kaiser makes no OB-Gyn appointments on Saturday.
Crack! (chew...swish...) Crack! (chew...swish...)
I look at the source of my stress. My husband, Lorenzo, is absently digging into his butong pakwan stash on the floor between us. He finds a perfect seed and positions it between his front teeth, blissfully unaware of my growing irritation.
Crack! (chew...)
In spite of my annoyance, I couldn't help but be dazzled by my husband's dental prowess. I come from a long line of denture-wearers on my Dad's side. So far, I have managed to hang on to all my teeth, owed to a religious regimen of furious flossing twice a day. My teeth would never be able to withstand a siege of watermelon seeds, such as I am bearing witness to at the moment.
(swish...)
Lorenzo discards the shells on a separate plastic bag, precariously perched on our cup holder. He flashes his pearly whites at me, happily digging into the Ziplock bag on the floor between us. The bag is still quite full of butong pakwan from Divisoria, one of the pasalubongs from our cousins BatJay and BatJet, who recently visited us from the Orient. "Serves you right", my taray nanay alter ego castigated me, "You had first pick of the goods. You should've gone with two bags of kornik."
Crack! (chew...swish...)
I had to do something or I would go out of my mind. That rhythmic cracking sound was forming cracks in my shell of sanity. To make things worse, all this cracking and swishing was occupying his right hand, which meant he was driving with his LEFT, and Lorenzo is right-handed. I steal a glance at the speedometer. We were doing 90 mph, a full 25 miles above the speed limit. This was obviously nothing new to him, my husband being a seasoned commuter. He one-handedly wove in and out of traffic with a deftness and dexterity borne of daily drives to a distant workplace 80 miles away.
Crack! (chew...swish...)
I was getting quite angry at myself for being so agitated. I tried to calm myself. I obviously had no problem with his speeding, since we were running late anyway, and I never complained about his one-handed driving when he would hold my hand during our long drives. It was those blasted butong pakwans! I glanced down at the offending bag. What was it about these seeds that transported my husband into a trancelike state, sharpening his senses to the repeated rhythm of Crack! (chew...swish...), the very sound a mantra in itself?
I absently pick one out. Without even knowing it, the seed makes its way into my mouth and its sweet saltiness thrills a path down my tongue. I maneuver it between my molars and...
Crack! (chew...swish...)
I guess the darn things aren't too bad after all...
Friday, January 30, 2004
WELCOME TO MY PIED-A-TERRE!
Prada Mama is beside herself. Her two websites are now up-and-running, thanks to the generosity of her benefactors, Ate Sienna and Super BatJay. It's been hard being homeless these past few weeks, but now I can't wait to try out my new digs at Pansitan.net!
To those of you who used to seek shelter at 87 Gentle Street, don't worry, the old homestead is still there. I consider this new site my pied-a-terre in the city, a place I would go to when I feel I have to jot down a word or two. Pero huwag pong mabahala, at hindi po nag-alsa balutan si Prada Mama at tuluyan nang nilisan ang kaniyang country estate sa 87 Gentle Street. Kung nais ninyong magbasa ng mala-nobelang litanya, naroon pa rin siyang naghihintay sa inyo. Bagong facelift pa nga, courtesy of my favorite Manilena, Ate Sienna!
Kaya welcome sa aking bagong site, pero huwag isnabin ang luma! Pareho silang bukas sa inyo sa kanilang bagong "gated community", ang PANSITAN.NET!
Prada Mama is beside herself. Her two websites are now up-and-running, thanks to the generosity of her benefactors, Ate Sienna and Super BatJay. It's been hard being homeless these past few weeks, but now I can't wait to try out my new digs at Pansitan.net!
To those of you who used to seek shelter at 87 Gentle Street, don't worry, the old homestead is still there. I consider this new site my pied-a-terre in the city, a place I would go to when I feel I have to jot down a word or two. Pero huwag pong mabahala, at hindi po nag-alsa balutan si Prada Mama at tuluyan nang nilisan ang kaniyang country estate sa 87 Gentle Street. Kung nais ninyong magbasa ng mala-nobelang litanya, naroon pa rin siyang naghihintay sa inyo. Bagong facelift pa nga, courtesy of my favorite Manilena, Ate Sienna!
Kaya welcome sa aking bagong site, pero huwag isnabin ang luma! Pareho silang bukas sa inyo sa kanilang bagong "gated community", ang PANSITAN.NET!
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