Since we've had Sophie, Christian and I realized that we have less and less time for Warrick (our pet Shih-tzu). Not that Warrick complains out loud, as he is one of the calmest dogs around, but still. In my mind he is silently humf-ing that he is being left out of play time and cuddle time when he sees/hears/smells us with Sophie. He looks especially wounded when he looks at me holding Sophie as she feeds. His big, round eyes cause enough guilt to compete with a Weight Watcher's after he/she has eaten a Krispy Kreme doughnut.
As a result, we spend what time we could to engage him and show him he is still a part of our lives. Christian still walks with him and Sophie and we both cuddle him at night, when Sophie is asleep. I have also lately taken to expressing milk in the early morning in the living room downstairs, and he follows me for a cuddle, just the two of us.
A lot of people will say that we're going through a lot of trouble for a dog - and they might be right. Still, I think it's worth it - after all, Warrick brought Christian and me closer together, and we have so many wonderful memories (to come) to thank him for.
Thanks Baby-Boy Warrick!
Saturday, 31 July 2010
Crepe-tastic!
I went to bed last night wondering what tomorrow holds as I have not felt in control of myself (my body, my schedule, etc) lately. Then, this morning I woke up to MLH (my loving hubby) holding beautiful yellow-red roses in one hand and a yummy Nutella crepe in the other. Things can only get better after that!
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
How To Screw Your Kid Up So She Ends Up Perfect
I am just staring at my just-over-one-month-old daughter feeling sorry for her because I know, in one way or another, I am going to screw her up. It could be as simple as introducing her to a lot of unecessary hair products (one of my main vices), it could be as complicated as deflating her self-esteem on a continuous basis (I have been told that my snide comments have this effect).
I'm sticking my neck out when I say that all parents, no matter how good our intentions, will affect our children in good and in bad ways. It's human nature - we affect our own parents and family members, friends, colleagues and even enemies that way, so why not our own offspring who we will have even more close familial ties with? We can only cross our fingers, say a prayer, and hope that the damage we do is limited, and the joy we bring surpasses any, a lot of, or all of the hurt we will inadvertently inflict.
One of the issues I had with my parents growing up was their seeming paranoia that something bad would happen to me. There were times, especially in my teenage years when I felt like the princess in Sleeping Beauty - afraid that I would prick myself on a spindle, I was locked up and allowed only a few friends and limited activity. For instance, my curfew up until I was 18 was 10pm, and even then I had a nanny or a bodyguard tailing my every move. This is an example of my parents meaning well, because anyone living in the Philippines know that it is anything but safe, but it is also an example of how it made me realize the life I wanted to live was not the one I was living.
Cynics can point out how far I live from the roost now and say: See, she is escaping to a land far, far away. However, optimists (and I am one of them) can point out that because of that experience, I have forced myself to: follow other avenues outside the bubble of my (then) current existence, challenge myself to change the status quo that I was not happy with, expand my horizons and increase my level and capacity for independent living, among other things. Stretches in myself that I would not have thought possible or even necessary had my parents not put me through their definition of protection and my definition of lock-up.
So.
Here I am staring at my just-over-one-month-old daughter feeling a little better for her because I know, in one way or another, I am going to enrich her life in a way no one else can.
I'm sticking my neck out when I say that all parents, no matter how good our intentions, will affect our children in good and in bad ways. It's human nature - we affect our own parents and family members, friends, colleagues and even enemies that way, so why not our own offspring who we will have even more close familial ties with? We can only cross our fingers, say a prayer, and hope that the damage we do is limited, and the joy we bring surpasses any, a lot of, or all of the hurt we will inadvertently inflict.
One of the issues I had with my parents growing up was their seeming paranoia that something bad would happen to me. There were times, especially in my teenage years when I felt like the princess in Sleeping Beauty - afraid that I would prick myself on a spindle, I was locked up and allowed only a few friends and limited activity. For instance, my curfew up until I was 18 was 10pm, and even then I had a nanny or a bodyguard tailing my every move. This is an example of my parents meaning well, because anyone living in the Philippines know that it is anything but safe, but it is also an example of how it made me realize the life I wanted to live was not the one I was living.
Cynics can point out how far I live from the roost now and say: See, she is escaping to a land far, far away. However, optimists (and I am one of them) can point out that because of that experience, I have forced myself to: follow other avenues outside the bubble of my (then) current existence, challenge myself to change the status quo that I was not happy with, expand my horizons and increase my level and capacity for independent living, among other things. Stretches in myself that I would not have thought possible or even necessary had my parents not put me through their definition of protection and my definition of lock-up.
So.
Here I am staring at my just-over-one-month-old daughter feeling a little better for her because I know, in one way or another, I am going to enrich her life in a way no one else can.
Monday, 26 July 2010
Barley Tea and Chinese Wine...
... make you sweat! And we CAN'T take a cold shower?! Give me a break!!!
What No One Says
I am slowly learning that there are a lot of things new moms feel but no one says out loud. It could be due to wanting to make a good impression on the in-laws and others, not wanting to scare other potential moms, wanting maintain a (false) semblance of control, not wanting to hassle other people for a helping hand, wanting to figure things out for ourselves, not wanting to vocalize our fears thereby making it more real... and probably the second biggest reason of all: knowing that admitting these things will cause other moms to gloat in a silent, passive-aggressive manifestation of competition. Yes, this is another truth no one says - rightly or wrongly, all moms are in competition with everyone, most especially other moms.
As I myself want to save face (as a result of my Chinese heritage), let me list only the watered down version of some home truths I learned these last four weeks of new mommy-hood:
- It is possible to fall in love with your child at first sight. It is ALSO possible to fall into a love-hate relationship with everything else.
- Midwives/doctors are there to help you. They are also there to drive you crazy.
- No one will drive you more crazy that your spouse/partner/supposedly better half.
- Okay, maybe your baby will drive you crazier - but at least he/she is cute and is so defenseless you know they do not mean to do it.
- Families are there to help, encourage and support you... it is up to you to let them know where exactly these efforts should be focused.
- Never leave a window open when you are (un)successfully trying to calm your baby down. The world and their brother can peer in and their tsk-tsking will make you mutter swear words under your breath.
- Cry and the world cries with you. This is true if your baby is crying, not when you are.
- A good partnership is based on communication and trust. You should trust that your partner should know when you are not in the mood to talk.
- Nappies are absorbent but only to a certain degree.
- When changing nappies, do so with military precision. Get the new nappy ready before you remove the old one. Sudden gushes can then be caught and contained.
- Invest in a good rocking chair, but make sure it is not too deep to slide your butt out of when you are about to put your baby down in his/her cot. Tush burns when you have just given birth are a no-no.
- Two words: BIO-OIL.
- Babies cry for different reasons, but they do not necessarily cry differently for different reasons. Figuring out their distress signal is trying to troubleshoot problems existing on a five-year old shared office printer.
- Babies can make you forget everything: the pain it caused you to give birth to them, the nine months of lugging extra weight around, the laundry, the dog, the trash...
- When in doubt, refer to What to Expect in the First Year. For home-grown truthful experience, refer to Mumsnet.com.
- Motherhood is not always pretty in the way Angelina Jolie is - she has a S.W.A.T. (Stop and Waylay Any Toddler) team at her beck and call. Us normal people DO NOT.
I could go on and on, but let me leave you with this thought (yes, before I forget). I mentioned the second biggest reason why no new mom would like to admit the above, or anything remotely close or more major that the above; now let me mention the biggest: no one says these things out loud because they drown out their fears, complaints and frustrations with hope. Hope that tomorrow will be better. Hope that one day the baby will settle down/behave/do what it says in the book. Hope that through all the trials and tribulations, the laughter and fun times will emerge triumphant. Hope that some day, one day, we will become better moms and our children will grow up to be stronger than we ever could.
As I myself want to save face (as a result of my Chinese heritage), let me list only the watered down version of some home truths I learned these last four weeks of new mommy-hood:
- It is possible to fall in love with your child at first sight. It is ALSO possible to fall into a love-hate relationship with everything else.
- Midwives/doctors are there to help you. They are also there to drive you crazy.
- No one will drive you more crazy that your spouse/partner/supposedly better half.
- Okay, maybe your baby will drive you crazier - but at least he/she is cute and is so defenseless you know they do not mean to do it.
- Families are there to help, encourage and support you... it is up to you to let them know where exactly these efforts should be focused.
- Never leave a window open when you are (un)successfully trying to calm your baby down. The world and their brother can peer in and their tsk-tsking will make you mutter swear words under your breath.
- Cry and the world cries with you. This is true if your baby is crying, not when you are.
- A good partnership is based on communication and trust. You should trust that your partner should know when you are not in the mood to talk.
- Nappies are absorbent but only to a certain degree.
- When changing nappies, do so with military precision. Get the new nappy ready before you remove the old one. Sudden gushes can then be caught and contained.
- Invest in a good rocking chair, but make sure it is not too deep to slide your butt out of when you are about to put your baby down in his/her cot. Tush burns when you have just given birth are a no-no.
- Two words: BIO-OIL.
- Babies cry for different reasons, but they do not necessarily cry differently for different reasons. Figuring out their distress signal is trying to troubleshoot problems existing on a five-year old shared office printer.
- Babies can make you forget everything: the pain it caused you to give birth to them, the nine months of lugging extra weight around, the laundry, the dog, the trash...
- When in doubt, refer to What to Expect in the First Year. For home-grown truthful experience, refer to Mumsnet.com.
- Motherhood is not always pretty in the way Angelina Jolie is - she has a S.W.A.T. (Stop and Waylay Any Toddler) team at her beck and call. Us normal people DO NOT.
I could go on and on, but let me leave you with this thought (yes, before I forget). I mentioned the second biggest reason why no new mom would like to admit the above, or anything remotely close or more major that the above; now let me mention the biggest: no one says these things out loud because they drown out their fears, complaints and frustrations with hope. Hope that tomorrow will be better. Hope that one day the baby will settle down/behave/do what it says in the book. Hope that through all the trials and tribulations, the laughter and fun times will emerge triumphant. Hope that some day, one day, we will become better moms and our children will grow up to be stronger than we ever could.
One Thing for Sophie
I sang/wrote this when I was changing Sophie's dirty nappy at 2am (to the tune of Barbie Girl, by Aqua):
She's my Sophie girl
In her Sophie world
What a nappy
It's so crappy
How could my little bear
Crap this much everywhere
Excrement-ation
Poo was her creation
Come on nappy
In the trashy
(Repeat as desired, or until you lose your mind)
She's my Sophie girl
In her Sophie world
What a nappy
It's so crappy
How could my little bear
Crap this much everywhere
Excrement-ation
Poo was her creation
Come on nappy
In the trashy
(Repeat as desired, or until you lose your mind)
Thursday, 22 July 2010
Things I Am Thankful for Today
1. My mom.
2. Her little lessons about life and everything therein, even if I don't follow them sometimes.
3. My second brother.
4. His sense of humour.
5. My sister-in-law.
6. Her fashion sense.
7. Her willingness to help.
8. Her Talking Tom app.
9. My husband.
10. Him working during odd hours so he has enough time to spend with us while #s 1, 3 and 5 visit.
2. Her little lessons about life and everything therein, even if I don't follow them sometimes.
3. My second brother.
4. His sense of humour.
5. My sister-in-law.
6. Her fashion sense.
7. Her willingness to help.
8. Her Talking Tom app.
9. My husband.
10. Him working during odd hours so he has enough time to spend with us while #s 1, 3 and 5 visit.
Why Moms Are Like Head Cheerleaders in High School
10. They are very observant and can spot a fault a mile away.
9. They can be critical of faults observed and are not afraid to say so.
8. The power of criteria definition on what makes a newbie good is in their hands.
7. They stick together with other cheerleaders and can gang up on you.
6. They devise routines that would cause most great gymnasts to wail in despair.
5. They insist on respect - after all, they got to the top doing what you do - only better. Always.
4. They raise their left eyebrows in disdain pretty well if you break #5.
3. They protect their reputation and that of their squad quite fiercely.
2. They love their squad and will put them through hell if need be, if it means getting the best out of them by pushing them to their limit.
1. They are the best at cheering you on when the going gets tough.
Gooooooo Mama!
9. They can be critical of faults observed and are not afraid to say so.
8. The power of criteria definition on what makes a newbie good is in their hands.
7. They stick together with other cheerleaders and can gang up on you.
6. They devise routines that would cause most great gymnasts to wail in despair.
5. They insist on respect - after all, they got to the top doing what you do - only better. Always.
4. They raise their left eyebrows in disdain pretty well if you break #5.
3. They protect their reputation and that of their squad quite fiercely.
2. They love their squad and will put them through hell if need be, if it means getting the best out of them by pushing them to their limit.
1. They are the best at cheering you on when the going gets tough.
Gooooooo Mama!
The Picture That Launched A Thousand Awwws
I just wanted to share this lovely picture of Sophie as she gracefully rests her head on her hands. She had just finished feeding and, as you can see, was feeling quite content. I will probably have this picture blown up and printed so I can hang it on her bedroom wall - it's something that will remind me that she was once peaceful and quiet. I'll bet it will come especially handy during her teenage years.
Tuesday, 20 July 2010
Skippidy do dah
I just realized that I skipped writing about the early years of marriage (two) and the pregnancy stage and dove straight into Sophie Ann's birth! Clearly this is why I cannot cut it as a journalist as my timeline is all wrong - plus I am not sure I will remember all the facts after so long a time. However, it must be said that trying never hurts, so here goes: an attempt (or two or three) about the missing links.
In order for you guys to get a clear picture of early coupled/dating life - I have to say it is no different from living in a mixed dorm - the bathroom, kitchen, living room and hallway time is up for grabs. First come, first served, unless the person with the loudest voice decides to use it. In our case, Christian and I didn't really have this issue as he was a morning shower man and I was a "I'll wash when I'm dirty" kind of girl. At that time though, in order to make it seem like I was being a dutiful gf, I passed my flexible bathing regime as "you go first honey, I love you."
It is also never easy sharing a living space with someone who is not physically you. Their habits, cleaning techniques (or lack thereof) and relaxing timetables are all designed to drive you up the wall. In a small space (hello London), these issues are magnified to an nth degree, the "nth" magic exponent being dependent on how much love, compromise, or even "oh I give up" between each couple. Christian and I had a lot of the first and third, so it was better than we expected.
Our first flat was a first floor, one bedroom apartment in a conversion (house that was re-modeled into several flats) in Kilburn. The bedroom was a decent size with enough closet space for him (not for me), but the kitchen was joined to the living room, and consisted of a small dorm-sized fridge (no freezer), a small cooking range (no oven), and a sink. Thankfully the bathroom was modern (no bath, great shower), albeit with weak water pressure. Two plumbers later and the issue still stands - making it take twice as long to have clean hair.
Small as it was, it was ours (meaning, we paid the rent), and that meant something. It was a bit of an independent stake-out; what we hoped would be our first step into the property market (we are still stepping around - more on this later). While Christian's parents came and lamented on how small the space was (I've no doubt my parents would have reacted the same way as the entire flat was the size of my bedroom in Manila), we nontheless appreciated on how it was cozy and made us run into each other a lot which, as new live-ins in the honeymoon phase, was lovely.
The neighborhood was ideal as well, as we were five minutes away from the tube, and ten minutes away from a bustling (if unsafe) high street. We could get groceries delivered (as we were both working), had a park nearby to walk Warrick in (we gave him a daily tour of the druggies, the hoodies with mean Staff dogs) where he had his own posse consisting of two huge rotweilers, several staff pups and a jack russel. In retrospect it may not have been the most secure livng area, but it was what we could afford and what we knew best.
A lot of people don't know this but, when I first came to London, I lived in a rented basement room not far from the flat I was to share with Christian. It was rented out by a family of three who lived above me. The basement had two rooms (so I had several roommates), a small laundry room with a portable cooking range so it also served as a kitchen, and a small shared bathroom with tub and shower. Again, it was all I could afford (£120 a week!) and which made sense at that time as I was rarely there due to work trips. When my mom and Jo visited, she wanted to see where I was living but I was adamant not to take her there. I am sure she would have cried if she saw the only window I had was a small rectangular pane that would show me views of people's feet as they walked by!
This was the reason why the one bedroom was already a luxury for me, as well as for Christian as it meant we could be together in a lively area, for a reasonable cost. If it meant that we could experience London life in that way, even without living like royalty, it was still a good adventure to have with a new husband. It made me realize that small things can make you happy, and up to today, I believe that no matter how small the space, there will always have room for contentment and happiness.
In order for you guys to get a clear picture of early coupled/dating life - I have to say it is no different from living in a mixed dorm - the bathroom, kitchen, living room and hallway time is up for grabs. First come, first served, unless the person with the loudest voice decides to use it. In our case, Christian and I didn't really have this issue as he was a morning shower man and I was a "I'll wash when I'm dirty" kind of girl. At that time though, in order to make it seem like I was being a dutiful gf, I passed my flexible bathing regime as "you go first honey, I love you."
It is also never easy sharing a living space with someone who is not physically you. Their habits, cleaning techniques (or lack thereof) and relaxing timetables are all designed to drive you up the wall. In a small space (hello London), these issues are magnified to an nth degree, the "nth" magic exponent being dependent on how much love, compromise, or even "oh I give up" between each couple. Christian and I had a lot of the first and third, so it was better than we expected.
Our first flat was a first floor, one bedroom apartment in a conversion (house that was re-modeled into several flats) in Kilburn. The bedroom was a decent size with enough closet space for him (not for me), but the kitchen was joined to the living room, and consisted of a small dorm-sized fridge (no freezer), a small cooking range (no oven), and a sink. Thankfully the bathroom was modern (no bath, great shower), albeit with weak water pressure. Two plumbers later and the issue still stands - making it take twice as long to have clean hair.
Small as it was, it was ours (meaning, we paid the rent), and that meant something. It was a bit of an independent stake-out; what we hoped would be our first step into the property market (we are still stepping around - more on this later). While Christian's parents came and lamented on how small the space was (I've no doubt my parents would have reacted the same way as the entire flat was the size of my bedroom in Manila), we nontheless appreciated on how it was cozy and made us run into each other a lot which, as new live-ins in the honeymoon phase, was lovely.
The neighborhood was ideal as well, as we were five minutes away from the tube, and ten minutes away from a bustling (if unsafe) high street. We could get groceries delivered (as we were both working), had a park nearby to walk Warrick in (we gave him a daily tour of the druggies, the hoodies with mean Staff dogs) where he had his own posse consisting of two huge rotweilers, several staff pups and a jack russel. In retrospect it may not have been the most secure livng area, but it was what we could afford and what we knew best.
A lot of people don't know this but, when I first came to London, I lived in a rented basement room not far from the flat I was to share with Christian. It was rented out by a family of three who lived above me. The basement had two rooms (so I had several roommates), a small laundry room with a portable cooking range so it also served as a kitchen, and a small shared bathroom with tub and shower. Again, it was all I could afford (£120 a week!) and which made sense at that time as I was rarely there due to work trips. When my mom and Jo visited, she wanted to see where I was living but I was adamant not to take her there. I am sure she would have cried if she saw the only window I had was a small rectangular pane that would show me views of people's feet as they walked by!
This was the reason why the one bedroom was already a luxury for me, as well as for Christian as it meant we could be together in a lively area, for a reasonable cost. If it meant that we could experience London life in that way, even without living like royalty, it was still a good adventure to have with a new husband. It made me realize that small things can make you happy, and up to today, I believe that no matter how small the space, there will always have room for contentment and happiness.
Saturday, 17 July 2010
Sophie's First Days - In the Hospital
This is one of my first pictures of feeding Sophie. Normally moms are encouraged to breast feed right after the baby's birth, but as Sophie and I needed recovery time (after an assisted delivery), we only got to feed and cuddle an hour after the birth.
Sophie the day after the birth, in her first onesie, care of Kathi and Thommy. Her top fits into the shirt well, but with the nappy, the butt area is quite tight. This was my first experience of putting a nappy on her as the midwives did her first one.
After her first bath, care of a midwife in the hospital. On the baby's first or second day, a midwife passes through the ward to help teach new moms how to give baby their first bath or top and tail (water rinse of the baby's head and tush areas).
Wearing her first "strampler" (German for baby-gro) care of Lisa and Jaime. You can see on her cheek the bruises that resulted from the doctor using forceps on her to drag her out of me. In addition to the bruising on her face, her left shoulder is also affected and we were told by the doctors that it would be sore for a few days. Poor baby.
Sophie strapped in her car seat, ready for home. We managed to convince the pediatrician to release us two days earlier than planned, and it is all due to Sophie's quick recovery from a temperature and her bruises.
A new chapter is about to begin! Watch this space!
Sophie the day after the birth, in her first onesie, care of Kathi and Thommy. Her top fits into the shirt well, but with the nappy, the butt area is quite tight. This was my first experience of putting a nappy on her as the midwives did her first one.
After her first bath, care of a midwife in the hospital. On the baby's first or second day, a midwife passes through the ward to help teach new moms how to give baby their first bath or top and tail (water rinse of the baby's head and tush areas).
Wearing her first "strampler" (German for baby-gro) care of Lisa and Jaime. You can see on her cheek the bruises that resulted from the doctor using forceps on her to drag her out of me. In addition to the bruising on her face, her left shoulder is also affected and we were told by the doctors that it would be sore for a few days. Poor baby.
Sophie strapped in her car seat, ready for home. We managed to convince the pediatrician to release us two days earlier than planned, and it is all due to Sophie's quick recovery from a temperature and her bruises.
A new chapter is about to begin! Watch this space!
My Answer to What the Birthing Experience Was Like
"You know how they say new mothers have selective amnesia and conveniently forget the pain and trauma of childbirth (i.e., how human beings go on to have more children)? well, not in my case :) i think i remember every time i screamed or grunted in pain and how - no matter how painful - in the end when you see that round face (albeit uncleaned) - you see the most perfect thing in the world :)"
-sent to Lisa Andrade-Chacon via email
-sent to Lisa Andrade-Chacon via email
Friday, 16 July 2010
Reviving This Old Blog
I promised my husband that I would write for at least an hour everyday. Never mind if what I produce turns out to be gibberish, bless him, he still wants to read it. Now that is love, if not totally blind devotion.
So, this is the new phase of my writing/ creativity/ method of keeping sane throughout this new experience that is wife-dom and motherhood. Who knew building a family would be tiring, frustrating, and hopefully, eventually, rewarding (yes, strictly in that order)? I hope to approach this with a lot of willpower and a good sense of humour when the will power fades.
Also, I want to make this a beautiful time for my new family - and I want to remember the good times, the bad times, the so-so nothing new times so there is something to look back on when I am old and grey and have dementia. So, here's to new beginnings... and revivals.
So, this is the new phase of my writing/ creativity/ method of keeping sane throughout this new experience that is wife-dom and motherhood. Who knew building a family would be tiring, frustrating, and hopefully, eventually, rewarding (yes, strictly in that order)? I hope to approach this with a lot of willpower and a good sense of humour when the will power fades.
Also, I want to make this a beautiful time for my new family - and I want to remember the good times, the bad times, the so-so nothing new times so there is something to look back on when I am old and grey and have dementia. So, here's to new beginnings... and revivals.
Previously Posted 12 (January 22, 2008)
One of my first ever posts in the old blog (The Leather Diaries). One of the comments my friends made was that if I could write this sentimentally about a pet, what more a son/ daughter? Well, you guys are about to find out, so watch this space!
________________________________________
Baby Boy (re-post from an earlier blog)
It was a whirlwind courtship. The ad said golden brown male with black markings, young and trained. I called the number posted and immediately got in touch with Jonathan, a young, muscular man with a jolly smile and even jollier sense of humour. And, in his arms, was my baby boy. He was only eight weeks old, with huge brown eyes, and golden brown all over with black markings on his ears and muzzle. The minute he climbed over my lap and chest to bury his head in my neck, I was smitten. This was it – I had fallen in love with baby boy Warrick.
Maybe I should backtrack a little – lay the foundation of how this whole thing started in the first place.
My boyfriend of four years had promised me that we could get a dog. He always had one growing up and could remember all the walks and tricks it would do together with him and his family. As all of them were of strong, German stock, the household owned well-exercised pooches. One thing his pets had in common was their dislike of walking in the rain. No amount of cajoling would bring these terriers out when droplets fell from the sky, much less when a steady stream would pour out. My hunch is, they were Gremlins in disguise. Either that, or they sincerely thought they would melt if water hit them.
I also used to have one before my dad claimed allergies (of course, he was allergic to everything) and I had to leave the dog outside the house at night. This lack of attention made her (my dog Jessica) go berserk and slutty, so she slept with a huge amount of mongrels before one finally made her pregnant. Both of them decided to elope and after a few weeks Jessica had run away. Needless to say this broke my heart, and since then I had always wanted to have a dog that I could treat right and love in my own way, allergies notwithstanding.
Anyway, when I turned to my boyfriend, Christian, a gorgeous and caring man, and demanded, “Well, where’s this dog, then?!” This led to a series of discussions about how he didn’t have time to take care of a dog, how I didn’t have time to take care of a dog, and how his earlier promise was made in haste and that he didn’t really think it through. I shortened his definition by calling it an “empty” promise and all hell broke loose. Finally, I said a good compromise would be to get a pet rabbit – something cuddly yet a more low maintenance option than a dog. Christian was on board for the first ten minutes before he started talking to another one of our friends who is a quintessential dog lover (who thought rabbits were only good for eating) – and hell broke loose – again.
Between fighting about getting a rabbit and not getting one, we realized that what we really wanted was a small, can live in an apartment dog that we could love and call our own. Our research online led us to THE ad, which led me to make THE phone call, and which led us to OUR baby boy Warrick.
The night before we picked him up Christian and I stayed up late talking about what we should get him for a puppy bed, what shampoo to wash him with, what type of food we should feed him, etc… We then moved on to subjects such as how having a puppy would limit our social life, at least for the next two months, and how we would no longer be able to afford lavish holidays where pets were not allowed. What followed next was huge bouts of laughter as we didn’t consider ourselves to have a party lifestyle (far from it – our ideal nights include CSI marathons and a home cooked meal) and we were never on any lavish holidays (the most expensive vacation we ever took was a two week road trip around Northern China on a sleeper train with six people per sleeping bunk).
When we went to pick him up, we were a bundle of nerves. I still wasn’t sure if the box we brought along was big enough to keep him from jumping out the minute the tube got dark and scary (in between St. John’s Wood and Baker Street on the Jubilee line, among other routes) and Christian was worried about how I would react if the puppy poo-ed in the box on the ride home. By the time we got to Jonathan’s house and Christian took the puppy in his arms, we were sweating inside and grinning like prize idiots on the outside. In the end, it was the puppy (then not yet named) who suffered the most as it kept wanting to look about and whimpering whenever Christian’s arm would block his line of sight. Why he wanted to study the poise of a pigeon ruining a blonde woman’s hairdo with a little drop of white is beyond me.
On the tube, everyone was staring at him (not Christian, the puppy, although Christian maintains people were also looking at him and going “Awwww, how cuuuuute….”) and he lapped up the attention (Christian, not the puppy). When we were trying to decide on a name, it was like we were trying to name the eigth Disney dwarf (i.e., Fluffy, Scruff, Muffy, Toffee). In the end, however, I wanted to name him after my favorite CSI character - Warrick Brown.
Christian balked at first, saying that Warrick was too hard to yell when we wanted to call the puppy to come, and it would take me, especially, a long time to pronounce the "Rs" in his name. However, I was quite adamant, and so Warrick it was. To this date, Christian is quite happy we named our little ragamuffin "little Warrior"... and all the British people like the name on such a small runt.
Wherever we go to walk him, people stop us on the street and we end up talking about everything and anything, so the dog is a good ice-breaker. One of our friends even asked if he could walk Warrick solo in the park so girls could come up to him and talk to him. And kids - the kids love him! Girls squeal and boys want to hold his leash and run around with him (I let the good ones do it because the bad ones tend to let go of the leash when Warrick outruns them).
Feeding is fun because we taught him how to shake paw, speak (bark - he says "ruff"), be a bear (sit on his butt and lift his entire body straight up) and to wait (we place the food in front of him and he isn't allowed to go near it until we say "okay"... pure torture!). He also knows his name, knows when one of us is happy with him (I say "baby boy" over and over again and Christian rubs his head until Warrick purrs in delight), and he is truly aware when one of us is mad with him. He ends up giving us the round (completely round) wide-eyed, "don't yell at me I'm just a puppy" look and we end up having to turn our backs as we convulse with laughter. Ah... he holds the remote, Warrick does.
Warrick's sleeping now, and I just lay flat on the floor to bump noses against him. That's how I let him know I love him. He then licks my face all over (he especially likes the nose area) to let me know he feels the same way. Sigh... puppy power...
________________________________________
Baby Boy (re-post from an earlier blog)
It was a whirlwind courtship. The ad said golden brown male with black markings, young and trained. I called the number posted and immediately got in touch with Jonathan, a young, muscular man with a jolly smile and even jollier sense of humour. And, in his arms, was my baby boy. He was only eight weeks old, with huge brown eyes, and golden brown all over with black markings on his ears and muzzle. The minute he climbed over my lap and chest to bury his head in my neck, I was smitten. This was it – I had fallen in love with baby boy Warrick.
Maybe I should backtrack a little – lay the foundation of how this whole thing started in the first place.
My boyfriend of four years had promised me that we could get a dog. He always had one growing up and could remember all the walks and tricks it would do together with him and his family. As all of them were of strong, German stock, the household owned well-exercised pooches. One thing his pets had in common was their dislike of walking in the rain. No amount of cajoling would bring these terriers out when droplets fell from the sky, much less when a steady stream would pour out. My hunch is, they were Gremlins in disguise. Either that, or they sincerely thought they would melt if water hit them.
I also used to have one before my dad claimed allergies (of course, he was allergic to everything) and I had to leave the dog outside the house at night. This lack of attention made her (my dog Jessica) go berserk and slutty, so she slept with a huge amount of mongrels before one finally made her pregnant. Both of them decided to elope and after a few weeks Jessica had run away. Needless to say this broke my heart, and since then I had always wanted to have a dog that I could treat right and love in my own way, allergies notwithstanding.
Anyway, when I turned to my boyfriend, Christian, a gorgeous and caring man, and demanded, “Well, where’s this dog, then?!” This led to a series of discussions about how he didn’t have time to take care of a dog, how I didn’t have time to take care of a dog, and how his earlier promise was made in haste and that he didn’t really think it through. I shortened his definition by calling it an “empty” promise and all hell broke loose. Finally, I said a good compromise would be to get a pet rabbit – something cuddly yet a more low maintenance option than a dog. Christian was on board for the first ten minutes before he started talking to another one of our friends who is a quintessential dog lover (who thought rabbits were only good for eating) – and hell broke loose – again.
Between fighting about getting a rabbit and not getting one, we realized that what we really wanted was a small, can live in an apartment dog that we could love and call our own. Our research online led us to THE ad, which led me to make THE phone call, and which led us to OUR baby boy Warrick.
The night before we picked him up Christian and I stayed up late talking about what we should get him for a puppy bed, what shampoo to wash him with, what type of food we should feed him, etc… We then moved on to subjects such as how having a puppy would limit our social life, at least for the next two months, and how we would no longer be able to afford lavish holidays where pets were not allowed. What followed next was huge bouts of laughter as we didn’t consider ourselves to have a party lifestyle (far from it – our ideal nights include CSI marathons and a home cooked meal) and we were never on any lavish holidays (the most expensive vacation we ever took was a two week road trip around Northern China on a sleeper train with six people per sleeping bunk).
When we went to pick him up, we were a bundle of nerves. I still wasn’t sure if the box we brought along was big enough to keep him from jumping out the minute the tube got dark and scary (in between St. John’s Wood and Baker Street on the Jubilee line, among other routes) and Christian was worried about how I would react if the puppy poo-ed in the box on the ride home. By the time we got to Jonathan’s house and Christian took the puppy in his arms, we were sweating inside and grinning like prize idiots on the outside. In the end, it was the puppy (then not yet named) who suffered the most as it kept wanting to look about and whimpering whenever Christian’s arm would block his line of sight. Why he wanted to study the poise of a pigeon ruining a blonde woman’s hairdo with a little drop of white is beyond me.
On the tube, everyone was staring at him (not Christian, the puppy, although Christian maintains people were also looking at him and going “Awwww, how cuuuuute….”) and he lapped up the attention (Christian, not the puppy). When we were trying to decide on a name, it was like we were trying to name the eigth Disney dwarf (i.e., Fluffy, Scruff, Muffy, Toffee). In the end, however, I wanted to name him after my favorite CSI character - Warrick Brown.
Christian balked at first, saying that Warrick was too hard to yell when we wanted to call the puppy to come, and it would take me, especially, a long time to pronounce the "Rs" in his name. However, I was quite adamant, and so Warrick it was. To this date, Christian is quite happy we named our little ragamuffin "little Warrior"... and all the British people like the name on such a small runt.
Wherever we go to walk him, people stop us on the street and we end up talking about everything and anything, so the dog is a good ice-breaker. One of our friends even asked if he could walk Warrick solo in the park so girls could come up to him and talk to him. And kids - the kids love him! Girls squeal and boys want to hold his leash and run around with him (I let the good ones do it because the bad ones tend to let go of the leash when Warrick outruns them).
Feeding is fun because we taught him how to shake paw, speak (bark - he says "ruff"), be a bear (sit on his butt and lift his entire body straight up) and to wait (we place the food in front of him and he isn't allowed to go near it until we say "okay"... pure torture!). He also knows his name, knows when one of us is happy with him (I say "baby boy" over and over again and Christian rubs his head until Warrick purrs in delight), and he is truly aware when one of us is mad with him. He ends up giving us the round (completely round) wide-eyed, "don't yell at me I'm just a puppy" look and we end up having to turn our backs as we convulse with laughter. Ah... he holds the remote, Warrick does.
Warrick's sleeping now, and I just lay flat on the floor to bump noses against him. That's how I let him know I love him. He then licks my face all over (he especially likes the nose area) to let me know he feels the same way. Sigh... puppy power...
Previously Posted 11 (January 23, 2008)
Again, although an oooollllddddd post, I still stand by this selection as some of the best/ most interesting books I have ever read.
______________
Recommended Books - List one (taken from the old blog)
I promise to keep posting about new books I've read and liked... meanwhile, I hope you check the following out as they are really, really good reads!
A Piece of Cake by Cupcake Brown
A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini
Atonement by Ian McEwan
Big Fish by Daniel Wallace
By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept by Paulo Coehlo
His Dark Materials Trilogy (Northern Lights, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass) by Philip Pullman
Love by Toni Morrison
Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt
Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman
Small Island by Andrea Levy
Stardust by Neil Gaiman
The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly
The Comfort Women by George Nicks
The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon
The Devil and Miss Prym by Paulo Coelho
The End of Innocence by Moni Mohsin
The Godfather by Mario Puzo
The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck
The Griffin and Sabine Trilogy by Nick Bantock
The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis
The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold
The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie
The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory
The Other Woman by Jane Green
The Portrait by Iain Pears
The Sandman (collection) written by Neil Gaiman
The Sin City Collection by Frank Miller
The Time Traveller's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
The Wedding by Nicholas Sparks
The World According to Garp by John Irving
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom
Vater und Sohn (collection) by Eirch Ohser
Wild Swans by Jung Chang
______________
Recommended Books - List one (taken from the old blog)
I promise to keep posting about new books I've read and liked... meanwhile, I hope you check the following out as they are really, really good reads!
A Piece of Cake by Cupcake Brown
A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini
Atonement by Ian McEwan
Big Fish by Daniel Wallace
By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept by Paulo Coehlo
His Dark Materials Trilogy (Northern Lights, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass) by Philip Pullman
Love by Toni Morrison
Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt
Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman
Small Island by Andrea Levy
Stardust by Neil Gaiman
The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly
The Comfort Women by George Nicks
The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon
The Devil and Miss Prym by Paulo Coelho
The End of Innocence by Moni Mohsin
The Godfather by Mario Puzo
The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck
The Griffin and Sabine Trilogy by Nick Bantock
The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis
The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold
The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie
The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory
The Other Woman by Jane Green
The Portrait by Iain Pears
The Sandman (collection) written by Neil Gaiman
The Sin City Collection by Frank Miller
The Time Traveller's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
The Wedding by Nicholas Sparks
The World According to Garp by John Irving
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom
Vater und Sohn (collection) by Eirch Ohser
Wild Swans by Jung Chang
Previously Posted 10 (January23, 2008)
Although a posting made two years ago - it still holds true today!
______________________
Magazine Schedule
Monday - none!
Tuesday - Hello or OK, Grazia or Heat
Wednesday - US Magazine and People
Thursday - none!
Friday - none!
Last Monday of the month: possibly Cosmopolitan, Company, one travel magazine, some bridal magazines (see www.becomingfunke.blogspot.com), Marie Claire, Glamour and In Style.
It's an addiction, I know, I know.
______________________
Magazine Schedule
Monday - none!
Tuesday - Hello or OK, Grazia or Heat
Wednesday - US Magazine and People
Thursday - none!
Friday - none!
Last Monday of the month: possibly Cosmopolitan, Company, one travel magazine, some bridal magazines (see www.becomingfunke.blogspot.com), Marie Claire, Glamour and In Style.
It's an addiction, I know, I know.
Previusly Posted 9 (January 24, 2008)
Just Learned That...
Gimp actually means the submissive character in an S&M relationship...and here I thought it was a really cute word.
Gimp actually means the submissive character in an S&M relationship...and here I thought it was a really cute word.
Previously Posted 8 (January 24, 2008)
A Goodbye Poem
If yours was a happy life cut short
I am sorry.
If it was not, then I hope you are at peace
Wherever you are.
If your last thought made you smile
I hope you remember it forever.
If it made you cry
Then I hope your tears washed it away.
I will miss you, as everyone will miss you.
Goodbye, take care.
Give the angels a high five...
If yours was a happy life cut short
I am sorry.
If it was not, then I hope you are at peace
Wherever you are.
If your last thought made you smile
I hope you remember it forever.
If it made you cry
Then I hope your tears washed it away.
I will miss you, as everyone will miss you.
Goodbye, take care.
Give the angels a high five...
Previously Posted 7 (January 26, 2008)
HAZEL CAME!!!
Fact: Hazel is one of my oldest friends.
We met each other or, to be more precise, our nannies met each other when we were both in Nursery (at the age of 3). We were students in a school that had standard brown uniforms (the exact shade of poo) and were sectioned into classrooms that were named after fruits. I think I was in Grape and she was in Orange, or something like that.
Fact: Hazel makes everything funny.
She has this laugh that is so contagious, it's hilarious. Once she starts going on something, it's hard for her to stop giggling, and I've seen her cry from laughing on more than one occassion. I get red when I drink, she gets red when she is happy.
Fact: Hazel gets along with everybody.
Not only does she manage to get free dishes from restaurant owners, she manages to charm even the most cynical person. Just ask her to tell stories about "teribo".
Fact: It's nice to have her around.
Everything was fun - and serious at the same time. We managed to catch up on each other's lives and worries, ups and downs. We went to the salon, the eyelash salon (more on this on becomingfunke.blogspot.com) and lunch at Busaba Eathai today and everything was more fun just by having her there to bounce ideas off of. She also made me open up about how I felt about my current family situation and walked me through a detailed "what if" scenario if they didn't come around.
Fact: It's sad to see her go.
We parted ways at the Kilburn tube six hours ago, and suddenly the apartment seems quieter somehow.
Hurry back Haze.
Fact: Hazel is one of my oldest friends.
We met each other or, to be more precise, our nannies met each other when we were both in Nursery (at the age of 3). We were students in a school that had standard brown uniforms (the exact shade of poo) and were sectioned into classrooms that were named after fruits. I think I was in Grape and she was in Orange, or something like that.
Fact: Hazel makes everything funny.
She has this laugh that is so contagious, it's hilarious. Once she starts going on something, it's hard for her to stop giggling, and I've seen her cry from laughing on more than one occassion. I get red when I drink, she gets red when she is happy.
Fact: Hazel gets along with everybody.
Not only does she manage to get free dishes from restaurant owners, she manages to charm even the most cynical person. Just ask her to tell stories about "teribo".
Fact: It's nice to have her around.
Everything was fun - and serious at the same time. We managed to catch up on each other's lives and worries, ups and downs. We went to the salon, the eyelash salon (more on this on becomingfunke.blogspot.com) and lunch at Busaba Eathai today and everything was more fun just by having her there to bounce ideas off of. She also made me open up about how I felt about my current family situation and walked me through a detailed "what if" scenario if they didn't come around.
Fact: It's sad to see her go.
We parted ways at the Kilburn tube six hours ago, and suddenly the apartment seems quieter somehow.
Hurry back Haze.
Previously Posted 6 (March 10, 2008)
A word about this previous posting: this was written at a time when I felt there was no such thing as unconditional love. I have since learnt that change can occur when you least expect it.
_________________________
To Whom It May Concern
I've written this poem for those of you (you know who you are) who have nothing nice to say and still open your mouth to say it. This is for those of you who use your fingers to text messages that hurt me, the one you supposedly love.
Quite honestly, it's not me you love, it's what you want me to be that you love. I can't live up to that image so, for better or worse, let's just stop the relationship here. If you want it to continue, accept me for who I am, accept my decisions that this is what I want to do.
And, make up your mind. If you want to be a part of my life, then stop giving me mixed signals. Let's be mature about the whole thing, agree to disagree, and let me live my life... to either learn from my mistakes or reap the benefits of a good decision. Either way, I will get hurt, laugh, cry... LIVE.
To Whom It May Concern
It must be hard to live in a glass bubble,
Where no one can touch you,
And you cannot touch.
It must be hard to live in your cave,
Always looking out,
And seldom seeing much.
It must be hard to speak loudly,
And never have to listen,
Or be listened to.
It must be hard to build a wall,
That no one can breach,
And one you cannot break through.
_________________________
To Whom It May Concern
I've written this poem for those of you (you know who you are) who have nothing nice to say and still open your mouth to say it. This is for those of you who use your fingers to text messages that hurt me, the one you supposedly love.
Quite honestly, it's not me you love, it's what you want me to be that you love. I can't live up to that image so, for better or worse, let's just stop the relationship here. If you want it to continue, accept me for who I am, accept my decisions that this is what I want to do.
And, make up your mind. If you want to be a part of my life, then stop giving me mixed signals. Let's be mature about the whole thing, agree to disagree, and let me live my life... to either learn from my mistakes or reap the benefits of a good decision. Either way, I will get hurt, laugh, cry... LIVE.
To Whom It May Concern
It must be hard to live in a glass bubble,
Where no one can touch you,
And you cannot touch.
It must be hard to live in your cave,
Always looking out,
And seldom seeing much.
It must be hard to speak loudly,
And never have to listen,
Or be listened to.
It must be hard to build a wall,
That no one can breach,
And one you cannot break through.
Previously Posted 5 (March 17, 2008)
Things I Live For
Why live if not for love? This was what my first philosophy teacher taught me in Ateneo. Thanks you Ms. Reyes, your lessons lives on now more than ever.
Love’s Philosophy
Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)
The fountains mingle with the rivers
And the rivers with the oceans,
The winds of heaven mix forever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
Why not I with thine?
See the mountains kiss high heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother,
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What is all this sweet work worth
If thou kiss not me?
Why live if not for love? This was what my first philosophy teacher taught me in Ateneo. Thanks you Ms. Reyes, your lessons lives on now more than ever.
Love’s Philosophy
Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)
The fountains mingle with the rivers
And the rivers with the oceans,
The winds of heaven mix forever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
Why not I with thine?
See the mountains kiss high heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother,
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What is all this sweet work worth
If thou kiss not me?
Previously Posted 4 (April 2, 2008)
From Christian
Warrick is a pain in the ass today.
…first he rolls in shit in the park…
…then he nips a bite from my chicken on the table while I am on the phone and shortly distracted…
…and now he liked the chicken so much that he doesn’t want to eat dinner, but keeps complaining and sitting at the table…
What a spoilt brat the little one…
Beste Grüße
Christian
Warrick is a pain in the ass today.
…first he rolls in shit in the park…
…then he nips a bite from my chicken on the table while I am on the phone and shortly distracted…
…and now he liked the chicken so much that he doesn’t want to eat dinner, but keeps complaining and sitting at the table…
What a spoilt brat the little one…
Beste Grüße
Christian
Previously Posted 3 (June 4, 2008)
In The Space Between Spaces
I never thought a profound idea could come to me in the midst of viewing the latest Indiana Jones movie. It was in the scene where Indiana asks, "Where is it going? Into space?" And Oxley answers, "In the space between spaces." What made me smile at an otherwise cheesy line was the fact that I often wondered how to describe "in the meantime" in a more poetic way, and it was ironic that the best definition would come from an action-adventure movie directed by Steven Spielberg.
The reason why "in the meantime" touches me is because there are times in my life, and maybe even in everyone`s life, where I seem to stop moving from one milestone to another. For that brief period in time, I see more than one choice in front of me and I have to sit on a proverbial bench and reflect awhile. For that brief period in time, I am at peace because there is no push to move forward, only my own inertia guiding the pace of my actions. It is at this point where I feel that, regardless of the way I go forward, the way I have come from was not too bad. Until I get to my next point, in the meantime, I at least have these moments to myself.
The space between spaces is where I catch my breath, or draw it in large gulps in anticipation of the next big thing to come. One or the other. This or that. It`s a space for introducing the about-to-be-old-me to the about-to-be-new-me, and surprising myself at the amount of difference that lies between the two. Some would call it the calm before the storm, others would say it is the quiet aftermath. I think it can be both.
Think about this - to have a space between spaces. To have a breather in the midst of an infinite number of possibilities, past and present. If one believes in destiny, then these are interim moments scattered amongst the infinite number of steps towards that end goal. If one does not believe in destiny, then the space between spaces is a the vantage point from whence to view the billions of possibilities that could happen.
I am in a space between spaces as I write this. I am catching my breath after a long but steady run, and I am preparing myself for the next sprint forwards. I think I have stayed long enough in this space to know that I don`t know what tomorrow holds, if it will be better or worse than today or yesterday. But, in the meantime, I take a breath.
I never thought a profound idea could come to me in the midst of viewing the latest Indiana Jones movie. It was in the scene where Indiana asks, "Where is it going? Into space?" And Oxley answers, "In the space between spaces." What made me smile at an otherwise cheesy line was the fact that I often wondered how to describe "in the meantime" in a more poetic way, and it was ironic that the best definition would come from an action-adventure movie directed by Steven Spielberg.
The reason why "in the meantime" touches me is because there are times in my life, and maybe even in everyone`s life, where I seem to stop moving from one milestone to another. For that brief period in time, I see more than one choice in front of me and I have to sit on a proverbial bench and reflect awhile. For that brief period in time, I am at peace because there is no push to move forward, only my own inertia guiding the pace of my actions. It is at this point where I feel that, regardless of the way I go forward, the way I have come from was not too bad. Until I get to my next point, in the meantime, I at least have these moments to myself.
The space between spaces is where I catch my breath, or draw it in large gulps in anticipation of the next big thing to come. One or the other. This or that. It`s a space for introducing the about-to-be-old-me to the about-to-be-new-me, and surprising myself at the amount of difference that lies between the two. Some would call it the calm before the storm, others would say it is the quiet aftermath. I think it can be both.
Think about this - to have a space between spaces. To have a breather in the midst of an infinite number of possibilities, past and present. If one believes in destiny, then these are interim moments scattered amongst the infinite number of steps towards that end goal. If one does not believe in destiny, then the space between spaces is a the vantage point from whence to view the billions of possibilities that could happen.
I am in a space between spaces as I write this. I am catching my breath after a long but steady run, and I am preparing myself for the next sprint forwards. I think I have stayed long enough in this space to know that I don`t know what tomorrow holds, if it will be better or worse than today or yesterday. But, in the meantime, I take a breath.
Previously Posted 2 (August 13, 2008)
My Boyfriend is a Goat...
I have a goat for a boyfriend. He just leaned over, just now, actually, and started going:
"Meh, meh, meh, kuss (the German word for kiss)" over and over again.
It makes me smile.
Sigh. Life is funny and great, isn´t it?
I have a goat for a boyfriend. He just leaned over, just now, actually, and started going:
"Meh, meh, meh, kuss (the German word for kiss)" over and over again.
It makes me smile.
Sigh. Life is funny and great, isn´t it?
Previously Posted 1 (March 14, 2010)
Finding Inspiration
To my to-be baby:
My self-consciousness will come out when you do
I'll never be sure what you think of me
Will you be the greatest fan of my life
Or the biggest critic I've had the luck to breed?
To my to-be baby:
My self-consciousness will come out when you do
I'll never be sure what you think of me
Will you be the greatest fan of my life
Or the biggest critic I've had the luck to breed?
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