Health advocates will probably castigate me for this, but I still find myself swearing off to using pure palm oil in any way conceivable.

Palm oil contains zero cholesterol and is fortified with Vitamin A. It’s perfectly good for those wanting to maintain a healthy lifestyle.

Research likewise shows that it is many times richer in beta-carotene than carrot. FYI, beta-carotenes act as anti-oxidants and can combat several types of illnesses such as Alzheimer, dementia, cataracts, arthritis, heart ailments.

When hubby started manifesting signs of hypertension, we also decided to be more careful with what we take inside our body. That included choosing palm oil and other vegetable oils in meal preparation. My children love to eat fried chicken, fried hot dogs, fried fish, fried eggs, oh – everything ‘fried’ actually.

However, with all the benefits mentioned – I couldn’t imagine how palm oil manage to mangle my sunny disposition each time I use it for frying. It gave me a collection of frying injuries on my arms and hands. That would’ve been forgivable. Burns heal quite easily on these areas. But recently, it created an ugly map on my forehead, nose, and upper lip! Hurts real bad. Thank God I have a nourishing cream. The searing sensation momentarily stopped yet the marks have darkened.  I think it’s about time I try other vegetable oils, particularly those that won’t ruin my day. More frying injuries like this and you’d see a global map scattered around my poor face. Heavens, I didn’t wish for the whole universe to be engraved on this face! (chos!)

Sundays have become the customary grocery day for most Filipino households. And this holds true for middle class families who have work and children to attend to during weekdays. For nearly eleven years, on this day of the week – the ever reliable wife, meaning yours truly (yeah right!) marches out the house with her equally-dependable grocery list. Needless to say, lists have earned an ubiquitous reputation for the scatterbrained denizens of the world.

A shopping trolley doesn’t really serve a purpose in my case, not all the time. What good is it that God gave me these tough, sturdy muscles for nothing? In fact between the two of us (husband and wife), I seem to possess more of the manly traits when it comes to performing chores. Well surprise! I do not wait for the guy to carry the sack of rice next to the fridge. I can lift our bed any time I want to, or whenever I got bored with its position. I definitely can deliver a few punches to anybody who will have the mistake of attacking me.  Maybe I am not that feminine or girlish after all.

All these cutesy pa-tootsie thing, all the narci-show is simply to cover my male, tyrannizing side. Hahaha!

I asked the husband to run through my list should he need to add any vegetable or fruit of his liking. I usually divide my list into three – 1) fruits and vegetables, 2) fish and meat, and 3) dairy products. All the other supplies not available in the wet market can be bought anyway at the nearby super mart. After scanning, he wrote lettuce and broccoli. He developed a particular liking for broccoli after watching a cooking show over at Fox, I guess. Okay, so I bought those although I was a bit frustrated with the overpriced lettuce. It’s not even Christmas yet but these vegetables are pegged at sky-rocketing price. Sometimes, vendors bring to mind politicians!

What’s even funnier, it isn’t lettuce he actually wanted but c-a-u-l-i-f-l-o-w-e-r! Welcome to Alzheimer’s world, hunnybunny.

Knowing how lettuce’s life span can be short-lived, we decided to be a little creative. Prepare the lettuce I did. Next, I scoured the cupboard for other possible ingredients for my green salad. A dash of salt and pepper, slices of ripe mango, a drop of vinaigrette, few slices of tomato, plus the Manhattan dressing. And presto! I enjoyed a yummy lettuce salad!

A courier service messenger came with a package for me the other day. This is unusual, I thought. I seldom receive gifts now that I’m a parent except from generous girl friends who happen to have the same initials (my kumareng M, and my good friend M). I was puzzled while alighting from the tricycle as to where it could’ve possibly come from. I signed the tracking form and found out it came from Johnson and Johnsons. Weeeee!!!! Faith loved them and asked if we could share using the products. The violet-colored container (Johnson’s Body Care melt-away stress) suits me well because of its calming effect. Daughter prefers Johnson’s Body Care (24-hour lasting moisture).

share the softness with your friends

mild scents

Faith hiding her mumps

I unearthed two of the numerous poems my husband wrote for Faith and Elmo (almost a decade ago).

Baby Talk
(for our 4-month-old Elmo)

Ang sabi sa babasahin,
kausapin lang raw kita.
At maipupunla sa isip mo
ang mga binhi ng aking salita.
Maaani ng iyong dila
sa pagtanda, upang patalasin
ang bawat katagang
lalaya sa iyong bibig at diwa.

Sta Romana Village,
San Jose City, Nueva Ecija,
August 27, 2000

Leap of Faith
(for Faith, my 19-days old daughter
practice ng stream of consciousness, kung anung pumasok sa isip, siyang sinulat)

This is a poetic irony. Mute as I am,
Here, unable to glue my collections
Of birthing images. So helpless
I might blanket my self in a curse,
But in thinking so, had myself resurrected
From a long death. Only to be remurdered.
Perhaps I should summon spontaneity to choke
Every gap and reason, and let my fragmented
Assortments pair themselves as they please.
Let them speak. Let themselves speak.
Gag my learning of poetry and let it thread
Thru their intestinal souls like your gentle yawning
At the crack of dawn:

Orange-stripped cat with an expectant father,
Barefoot as the female guard calls his wife’s
Name. Grandmother selling us her
Earrings to buy her daugther-in-law’s
Medicine. A hall of visitors waiting
For the clock to strike five and aunts hiding
Formula milk for their nieces and nephews.

And if these seem not enough, recall those
Beads you’ve touched at your fatherly senses
Reciting prayers for last minute miracles
The way God had turned water into wine.
She can be pretty, she can be ugly,
But please let her eyes stay two.
An extra in between is cute for Greek
Myth but we’re more comfortable at the company
Of each for each eyebrow. Curve her the lips
Of Miss Piggy or Kermit but never rest a fault
That would crack the banshee wails and mermaid
Serenades of her chordless adolescence.
I’ll be the best father there is but please, please,
Let her be normal as she ought to be,
No pig’s tails, nor frog’s feet.

But then how should I part this chopped up prose,
When I failed to mention about the illegalities
Of bottle feeding hospital-born babies
After my indented stanza or when at citing my litany
Of prayers I failed to mention the texts messages I’ve sent
Asking for more prayers — my wife’s at the delivery
Room at the moment, pray for her and our daughter,
Please. This is another case of my first son
Repeated. Of communist and atheist fathers
Turning to prayer when a child is in the offing.
Those  Sunday afternoons at UP chappel,
While in-between the Philcoa trip and I is a vast
Sunken garden opening my lack of faith to the fires
Of a moment’s emptiness and distrust. Forgetful of how
A sea is turned into blood and parted at a swish
Of Grandpa’s walking stick. Much like a stream
Of consciousness in paper, violating every rule
There is about norms and order. Just like this moment,
When after Basil had finished his romance of an
Afternoon rain would later court the amplified speaker
Loud with a promise of rerouting to past emotions long gone.

And there you were after four hours of waiting.
Asleep across the silicon window,
Wrapped in your elder brother’s baby clothes.

Here I’ll lay mute images, feelings deaf of spellings —
For gaps after gaps after gaps, we were there,
Feeling each other’s heartbeat in a stretched arm’s silence.
I trace your facial lines the way I mastered my first
Geometric figures when I was three. Comparing your
Features with us. Ah those are not your mother’s lips
This time! Haha. Your nose seems mine but triangular holes reject
My claims otherwise. Which is good.  Very good indeed.
And there is no pig’s tail, there are no frog’s feet.

Then I might have not cut your umbilical cord this time
But something spatial has traversed
The glass partition in between. Connecting us to an
Indescernible point of tangency where the courage
Is paired helplessly with faith to borne forth rhymes
From the pages of the miraculous walking stick.
Seal the lines, bring in the last dot.
This is end, most wanted, most expected.

26 December 2001

But I am sure that I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round… as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely. – Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

my daughter loves to pose for the camera

One more week to go and we’ll be celebrating the most fun-filled event of the year. Christmas in the Pinoy tradition is considered the merriest season for it allows people from all walks of life to share blessings, material or otherwise. Old grudges are erased and genuine acts of forgiveness are welcomed. Chilled hearts are defrosted and mirth is spread to one and all hence, bringing us closer to the Great Example that is Jesus Christ.

Children are especially thrilled to receive avalanche of gifts from ninongs, ninangs, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Never forget as well how they look forward to Santa Claus’ presents. For adults like me, it can mean ignoring the temptation to pig out which can be quite too hard to resist. Or forgetting about the ordeal one has to go through just to have a decent weight. It’s a time when one can take a pass at constantly estimating cholesterol intake.

As a true blue Pinoy, I definitely wouldn’t want to miss the fun that this joyous season brings by dwelling on negative emotions. There may be some gripes (thanks but no thanks to recession, calamities, and forces beyond human control) but hey, wouldn’t it be nice to end the year and start 2010 with happy thoughts? Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche, a humble Tibetan Lama, guru and a master of well being said to attain happiness is akin to what experts do.  Constant practice. That being said, I am channeling positive (electrically-charged) energies! Don’t get bothered if you see a lady laughing like crazy. That person might just be me.

Anyhoo, this year we didn’t have a tree but it’s okay. What counts is the Yuletide spirit within us. After all, Christmas cheer does not depend on the amount of lights or trees or decors you put inside your home. Initially, we planned of disposing the  old tree to make way for a new one. Its been with us for two years or so, you can literally visualize the battered branches and faded color. Unfortunately, hubby’s been neck-deep with work. It was impossible to scour the nearest malls and supermarkets for decors. Nevertheless, I still found a way to make full use of it by recycling. Using a small pliers, I cut some of the parts and formed them into circle, placed christmas balls and ribbons around, and voila! Got a colorful Christmas wreath.

In the spirit of Christmas, I say sorry to those whom I have offended. Sorry everyone. Hihihihi. For those who gave me heartaches, headaches, tummy aches, toothaches (all the aches there is!) – I forgive you. Peace, love and happiness be with you all!

Maogmang Kapaskuhan satuya gabos. Dios mabalos!

Eight years ago, at this very instance, I was counting from one to five  in an attempt to overcome painful contractions. Then I’d take long, deep, breaths. One-two-three-four-five….breathe in, breathe out…one-two-three-four-five…breathe in, breathe out…

The vehicle’s accelerated momentum, hubby’s gentle reminders and instructions, all the previous Lamaze infos blurred instantly. What was clear then was the excruciating pain brought about by an effacing and dilating cervix, as if a giant’s pushing hard from within me. I thought, my goodness, it doesn’t make any difference at all whether you’re a first-time mom or a second-time mom. Why didn’t I have the same luck as other women who can deliver a child just by standing!?

You’ll know the baby is coming out once labor pains happen at regular, closer intervals. And so I distracted myself from birthing anguish by counting. Did it made things easier? Partly, yes but I still made a promise not to have another pregnancy. My only concern was to make it through our destination without my daughter dangling between my legs. When I reached the hospital, the scenario was even weirder. They took a blood sample from me since my skin had a pallid-yellowish color. The doctor suspected I might have had a jaundice. Right after that, I was told to undress and put on a green gown with the entire back area exposed, was put on a stretcher, and was told to wait until the dilation reaches 8-cm. Other would-be moms beside me were wailing endlessly, commanding the attending nurses to call the doctor and send them to the Caesarian section. They were like “Dok, biyakin nyo na…” I was suppressing my laughter while the others were in their semi-acrobatic stint. Kanya-kanyang porma na. May nakatuwad na, may nakadapa, may nakataas ang dalawang paa. Hala.

Somehow, I was proud that I managed to keep my cool, despite the throbbing sensation. I shut my mouth and observed instead. The pain was no joke! It felt like the baby’s boxing my innards out. Twice I gave birth, but during those times, it was only myself and the husband. I did not experience giving birth with my mother’s comforting presence beside me. Despite that, and deep inside — I know my mother was praying hard for me and her grandchild’s safety.

After two hours of laboring, my second and youngest child was set to see the world. But being the KSP that she is, the entrance must have with it some drama. It has to be grand. My MONTHS of practice and breathing exercises did not work. I was battered and hopeless. I told myself, alright, you’ll have to do this one last push okay. What I did instead was to shout horrendously while pushing hard. The doctor, who was gentle at first, started to panic. I was really shouting at the top of my lungs, the other moms outside thought I was dying! Finally, Faith came out. And she came with the loudest cry a newborn infant could muster. The doctor said, “o yan tuloy misis–nagmana sayong anak mo, ang lakas humiyaw!”.

Happy 8th birthday, Faith! We are so blessed to have a daughter as sweet, as bright, and as loving as you are.

Greek couple

Ireland couple

USA

UK

Serbia

Poland

Source: http://www.thatwasfunny.com/husband-of-the-year-awards/1492

The thing with too many blog templates is that it makes you downright schizophrenic. WordPress has a wealth of really nice ones. I tell you, the designs are so awesome you would want to try all of them at once. Themes saved in my dashboard numbers up to thirty nine. Figure that out, 39! And I sooo liked all of them. But for now, I settled with this template called brainstorming. Hubby was also quick to offer his two cents: pwede ba, wala nang identity yang blog mo, palit ka nang palit. Well, I deserved it. I’ve been bugging the poor guy to download every new set of templates I find online.

On a different note, I was invoking my natural abilities to create so I can kill my number one enemy. Boredom. The leftover paints stuck on one corner of the house seem to tell me, pansinin mo ko. Maybe I can use it to do a makeover of an old dresser that’s about to collapse.

Here’s my newly-painted (red) dresser (it used to be mahogany-colored).

I also used the paint to add color to these pots!