Week 33: Repaint a Bathroom

That bathroom was asking for it. The walls were the color of dust, the ceiling was peeling, and The Hub hated the shower curtain. It was time to revamp.

And it excited me no end because I love redecorating especially when I do it myself. Strangely, I feel a huge sense of accomplishment when I’m melting in a puddle of sweat while pushing around furniture or installing new shelves. I love breathing new life into old.

But first, a family meeting. The Hub and The Tactless Child wanted to paint the bathroom walls yellow. I wanted shades of blue and green. The One Who Spits wanted all the colors of the rainbow. So obviously, yellow won. It was the perfect opportunity to get some paint mixed to my specifications at the hardware store. I’d always wanted to do that, just never had the reason to until then. I picked a shade called sunburst and got a complimentary color – waterflow – for the window frame and door. I went to sleep that night planning my assault on the bathroom. How exciting is my life?

I started feeling creative energy mid-afternoon. So I gathered paint cans, paintbrushes, roller brushes, and got to work. I momentarily forgot that The Tactless Child and The One Who Spits were minutes away from waking up from their nap. Big mistake.

I was halfway through the first wall when a little voice asked behind me, “What are you doing?” The Tactless Child wanted to help. She picked up a brush and I put her to work on a low ledge. Seconds later, another voice announced, “I want paint, too.” The One Who Spits was up. He got the second brush and started on the wall while standing on the ladder. That was a double treat for him.

Things went smoothly for a few minutes. After doing all the ledges, The Tactless Child decided she had better things to do and left to do them. The One Who Spits kept at his task until the spot he was painting (his short legs limited his reach, you see) was more yellow than yellow. I put him down to wipe off some paint that had dribbled down the tiled part of the wall (good thing I got water-based paint). It was then that I learned never to take my eyes off a child with a paintbrush and some paint. While I was dealing with the tiles, The One Who Spits picked up my roller brush and proceeded to paint the toilet seat cover. He did this very fast and very quietly so that when I turned around he had already started painting the floor. I scrambled for my wits and pulled everything out of reach from The One Who Spits. He had accidentally painted over his toes, too, so I got him to the shower stall and scrubbed away. My focus was on his feet so I didn’t notice that The One Who Spits had dipped his right hand in the can of paint while I was blubbering over the floor. When I looked at his face, I saw Braveheart, only this one was in diapers and had yellow face paint instead of blue.

We didn’t finish the bathroom that day because of a nervous breakdown. Also, we ran out of paint and I haven’t had time to buy more – work stepped up. There is still a faint yellowish hue on the bathroom floor which, I think, will stay forever. So now, we are blessed with one of our bathrooms looking like a star threw up in it. Such is life.

Week 32: Bask in the sun at Angkor Wat

The Hub and I are drawn to a good photo and a good story like The One Who Spits is drawn to a nice pile of sticks. So at the beginning of our short but sweet quasi-vacation in Cambodia, The Hub and I rose at 3:30 a.m. to catch the sunrise at Angkor Wat, Cambodia’s temple of temples. About a hundred other tourists had the same idea. Silently – everyone was still probably dozing on their feet – we all walked toward the small lake in front of the temple. It felt like the scene from the movie City of Angels where the angels gathered at the beach every day at dawn to watch the sunrise. The Hub and I kept walking, though – he had been to Angkor Wat before and wanted to take photos that didn’t look like everyone else’s silhouette-against-the-sunrise shots. So I left him alone to do his photography acrobatics. It was my first time in the temple and I actually forgot that we were there to watch the sunrise. Angkor Wat beckoned to me. So I went in.

It was deathly quiet inside. When I walked, the only sound I heard was the soft slap of my feet against the rock floor. When I stopped moving, there was nothing to hear. It was as if the walls sucked in all sound. And all light. Sunrise had come but as I stood in the middle of a five-foot square chamber, the only light I could see came through an arched passageway at the end of the hall, about 20 feet away. I was shrouded in complete darkness. It was cold, too. The warmth of the sun hadn’t permeated the walls yet. Essentially, it was still night inside Angkor Wat and the peace that overcame me in the temple embraced my whole being.

I thought, this must be how it feels inside a tomb. (Except the residents of tombs don’t really care.) What a relief that only later did I find out that Angkor Wat really is a tomb. In the 12th century, king Suryavarman II built Angkor Wat to honor the Hindu god Vishnu. When Suryavarman died, Angkor Wat became his tomb, as well. Centuries later, other kings who leaned toward Buddhism put images and statues of Buddha in the temples, turning the temples into interesting documentaries of religious history.

It was Buddha who I met at one of the bigger chambers. It was still dark and I was stumbling through the temple, disoriented by the many arched passageways and long, narrow halls. At first, I thought the 20-foot tall Buddha statue was a dead-end wall. When I came nearer, my scream died in my throat and my bladder curdled into itself. It was just Buddha, after all, smiling benignly at my fright.

When I found my way outside, the sun was in the sky, but only just inches above the horizon. Even then, it provided enough light for me to recognize the famous bas reliefs of hundreds of devatas, or female deities, on the wall. The reliefs were almost worn smooth because of the rubbing they got from thousands of eager hands over the decades.

Way led on to way, as Robert Frost wrote, and I kept walking until I reached the edge of a wooded area. Through it, I could see a well-worn foot path going deeper in. There was an elderly tourist walking toward me from the woods, sandals in his hand. Apart from the two of us, no one else was around.

“Takes your breath away, doesn’t it?” I asked him as a form of greeting.

“Absolutely,” he said. An American tourist. “There’s another temple in there,” he added, gesturing toward the woods. “But you might want to find your companions before going in. It’s still dark under those trees.”

A temple within a forest! I forgot about his advice and strode on. It wasn’t really dark, and it wasn’t really a forest, I discovered. All excitement fizzled out when I saw, feet away from the foot path, a paved road. So much for Indiana Jones-ing. The temple beyond the “woods” was small, really just a bungalow made of stone with its roof caved in. But because of the stillness that the trees brought, it felt magical to stand there, welcoming the sun.

The next day, The Hub and I went to another temple, Bakheng, within Angkor. This one sat on top of a hill – the perfect spot to catch the sunset. Walking up the hill, we met many tourists on their way down. They provided us with useful information.

“How far away from the top are we?” We asked one couple.

“You’re five minutes away,” the guy said with a smile.

Five minutes later, we asked another couple.

“Just five more minutes,” they said.

Five more minutes later, with no summit in sight, we asked another tourist.

“Oh, you’re close. Five minutes, tops.”

They were all either optimistic about our hiking abilities or they had varying perceptions of time. It took The Hub and I about 20 minutes to reach the temple.

Finally at the top, we climbed a makeshift staircase of about 50 steps. The temple, much like Angkor Wat and the other temples, was being renovated. What we found were just the ruins of a small tower that had no doors, no ceiling, and no floor. Still, about a hundred tourists were there, most of them sitting on the ground in the shade the tower walls made. All sorts were there to, again, pay tribute to the sun: cranky little kids, noisy groups of friends playing gin rummy, a couple with pierced noses and with limbs covered almost entirely with tattoos, solo elderly tourists using up their retirement fund. The sun brought all of us together. It felt good to be part of the universe.

An hour to go before sunset. When it got cooler, people gravitated toward the west side and waited for the show to start – which didn’t come. The sun decided to set behind a cluster of clouds – no spectacular ball of fire, no burst of colors. Tourists put away their cameras.

“The sunset is beautiful here, sometimes,” I heard a tour guide tell his wards. “But sometimes, the sun is shy.”

But even then, hiding behind clouds, the sun made one thing clear: it was the boss of us, and whenever it decides to put on a production number, we would be there, basking in it.

Week 31: Eat my way through three countries in five days

Two weeks ago, The Hub and I flew to Siem Reap, Cambodia to attend a friend’s wedding (which The Hub also shot). On the way, we did a one-night stop-over in Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam, and then coming home, we stayed for a night in Singapore. Many of the travel books I’ve read have said that eating in these countries is an experience not to be missed. I was already familiar with Singaporean cuisine, but I’d never been to Vietnam or Cambodia. So, adventurous eater that I am, I slid a pack of M&M’s in my hand-carry. I thought it would be my lucky charm; that caressing it in my pocket would ward off any cooked bugs in my meals.

I hardly needed the M&M’s, after all.

In Ho Chi Minh, The Hub and I set off from our hotel bright and early. We were going to Ben Thanh market, a ten-minute walk away. The market is right in the center of Ho Chi Minh and is probably the city’s answer to Manila’s Divisoria, with mounds of souvenirs, jewelry, and clothes. After haggling with persistent salesgirls for a couple of hours, The Hub and I decided it was time to eat.

We wanted to go to a place where the locals ate, too, so we ignored the guide books and asked one of the salesgirls where we could go. She pointed us to the center of Ben Thanh, where there were about 10 food stalls. Unlike in the shopping area, where the crowd was 98-percent tourist, the people clustered around the food stalls were 70-percent Vietnamese. That did it, lunch was here.

We sat at a short white-tiled counter facing a glass partition where, on the other side, we could watch our cooks prepare our meal. They were a couple of elderly women wearing floral aprons. One manned the stove and grill, and the other manned the prep area. On the table in front of them were bowls of fresh vegetables and spices. Over and over, with quick and smooth movements, the sous chef passed her hands over the bowls of ingredients and within seconds, a previously empty white bowl would be overflowing with noodles, vegetables, spring rolls, and anything else her customers asked for. While we sat waiting, an orchestra of aromas flew at us – that served as the appetizer.

The Hub and I had spring rolls, mounds of herbs, rice noodles, barbecue (guess who had that under her noodles and spring rolls), and more vegetables. It was one of the best meals I’ve ever had, and judging by the way he just sniffed up his bowl, it was The Hub’s, too.

By late that afternoon, The Hub and I were in Siem Reap. Immediately, we were swept up into the itinerary of the bride and groom, who were perfect hosts. We had dinner at a restaurant named Pyongyang (seriously) and watched the sunrise at Angkor Wat (worthy of another post).

We were left to ourselves the day after the wedding. So to set the mood right, we headed to the Old Market – a charming block-and-a-half of stalls selling tourist trinkets, clothes, books, and antiques. There’s also plastic kitchenware (which you will swear look exactly like the ones in Manila) and shoes. In the middle of the market, right next to the closet-sized hairdressers’ stalls, is the wet market.

Exploring all these, The Hub and I discovered a charming side street that was lined with cozy restaurants. And in the midst of these was a small place that gave free popcorn as appetizer. Needless to say, The Hub and I ate here. They served really good Amok (a traditional Cambodian way of cooking coconut sauce into fish or chicken, recommended by my friend The Scholar) – the fish and chicken came wrapped in banana leaves and swam in vegetables and thick white sauce. The place was a perfect fusion of worlds – the walls were covered with posters advertising Cambodian liquor, a concert, and travel tours. Then on another wall, the TV was on HBO, and we had lunch to Adam Sandler and Rob Schneider’s antics.

Later on, after watching the sunset on the tip of another temple, Bakheng, which sits on a hilltop, The Hub and I made our way to Pub Street. This isn’t really the name of the street, which leads to the Old Market, but it might as well be with all the bars and restaurants on it. At night, Siem Reap lights up and the tourists weary from walking the temples all day get their second wind. Local restaurateurs line up a wide sidewalk with tables and a portable kitchen. For a dollar and fifty each, The Hub and I had heaping plates of fried rice, chicken, and more vegetables. This wasn’t where locals ate – we sat among fellow tourists – but it was closer to the real deal, I guess, than a restaurant where tourist buses brought their clients to.

Two days later, we were in Singapore to visit my brother’s family and, owing to the city state’s significantly higher standard of living, we celebrated by having lunch in Ikea. We craved Swedish food in Singapore. It was more due to multi-tasking than anything (and not having enough time to do the street food) – I had to satisfy my Ikea fix and The Hub needed to replenish his stash of lingonberries. The meatballs were the same as I remembered them, and the cold cod fish I had was a pleasantly crunchy surprise.

In one of our shelves at home now sits a book on Cambodian cooking. Hope springs eternal.

Week 30: Visit the World’s Largest Floating Book Fair

The Logos Hope carries over 5,000 book titles, a bunch of toys (for sale and for play), and about 400 friendly volunteers from over 45 different countries. It’s now in Subic but when it was docked at the Eva Macapagal Super Terminal (behind Manila Hotel), it warranted a visit from The Tactless Child, The One Who Spits, and I. We went on a weekday and so The Hub couldn’t join us because of work.

Being in the Intramuros/Port Area part of Manila always thrills me. That was where I first became independent – I worked at an art gallery in Intramuros and it was a sweet experience. Driving to the port area, I think I was more excited than the two kids in the back seat combined.

It was their first time to see a ship this close and to actually go onboard. Walking to the Logos from the parking lot, I could already smell the saltwater. I loved it, but The One Who Spits pinched his nose and said, “Dross,” (gross) and The Tactless Child asked, “Why does it smell like feet?” My city kids. We got there mid-afternoon and the weather was perfect: a smattering of clouds muted the sun’s hot rays and the sea kept a strong cool breeze constantly coming our way.

The kids got in for free and I had to pay just P20 at the entrance for myself. Very cool! Aboard the ship, at the lobby, there was a seating area shaped like a row boat, with the benches facing a huge flat screen on a wall. A perky guy had the mic and welcomed everyone who came in. Just past this was the bookstore. Shelves and shelves of books! Most of the titles were for kids, a sprinkling of the classics, lots of animal books, some hobby stuff, plenty of spiritual books, no titles on the New York Times bestseller list, boxes of textbooks, spiritual CDs, and, of course, toys.

The Tactless Child immediately started pulling books off shelves. Not finding a bench to sit on, she settled on the floor, reading aloud to herself. The One Who Spits ignored the books and kept walking. “Where are you going?” I asked him. “Going home,” he said. Until he saw the toy area. And so that was how we spent most of our time on the Logos - with piles of books in front of the Tactless Child, The One Who Spits trying to open packed toys when no one was looking, and myself scooting from one kid to the other while scanning the books.

In the end, The Tactless Child got several books (which were priced very reasonably), The One Who Spits got a yoyo that looks like a sea urchin, and I got a cooking book for kids (hope springs eternal) and one about making over homes (which I just recently discovered I really like to do). No books for the Hub. The only photography books they had were for beginners and The Hub is way past that.

In the hallway outside the bookstore were murals of the story of the prodigal son. Strategically placed speakers led viewers on with a narration that was perfectly suited for kids. It added a nice touch, I thought, and it seemed The Tactless Child also thought so. She looked at the murals seriously, listened to the story. I thought she was taking it all in until, interrupting the story, she asked me, “Can we eat now?” The One Who Spits walked ahead, “Going home,” he kept muttering. Was I the only one appreciating it all?

The i-cafe or International Cafe sat right after the murals, with a play area for the kids. They sold popcorn, some sweet bread, and cookies. By the far wall, a quartet sang praise songs to guitar accompaniment. Crew members walked in and out, friendly but one could feel they didn’t want to intrude.

We must have spent over two hours inside because when we finally left, a full moon was out, glazing everything in silver light. The moon was huge, it was over the sea, and everything became magical. We spent some time basking in it, standing right beside the ship, looking out over the sea.

To keep the mood, I thought we could have dinner somewhere quaint and artistic. But with these two? No chance. We had dinner at Jollibee, bathed in fluorescent light, eating fast food to the din of noisy diners. But at least, it was a Jollibee in the port area. It still smelled like saltwater.

Week 29: Have a Beer with Myself

I remember the first time I had a beer alone. I was working at a men’s magazine – my first job in publishing – and we were in Pagudpud beach shooting the magazine’s first calendar. The night before, I zonked out in bed after dinner, exhausted to my bones from the day-long shoot. The rest of the team, I learned from a member of the resort staff the next day, stayed on, stayed up, and plowed through two cases of beer. Without waking me. So obviously, when I woke up bright and early the next day, everyone else was still snoring. When the resort staff snitch told me what they were up to the night before, I felt so disappointed because I missed out on a night of drinking. So I grabbed a beer from the cooler and had an alcoholic breakfast on the beach while watching the sun rise. At that moment, I felt oddly free. Like an eagle soaring over everything.

I also remember the first time I got drunk enough to throw up. It was my birthday and the guys at the magazine took me out to 70s Bistro on Anonas to celebrate. To the music of The Jerks, I downed my Lolita Carbonara dinner with bottle after bottle of San Mig Lite. I didn’t feel drunk then. I just remember feeling very happy and jumpy. But when I got home, my first stop was the bathroom. Until now, because they provided the soundtrack to my first intoxication, The Jerks hold a special place in my heart. They have no idea who I am, but whenever I hear them play, I feel especially happy.

As I type this, I feel a tingling going down my spine, turning my legs into jelly. My eyelids have become heavy, partly, I guess, because of the late hour, but mostly, I’m sure, because of the half-full bottle of San Mig Lite standing beside my laptop. It still tastes wonderfully enticing, like walking barefoot on freshly cut bermuda grass. It burns down my throat then sends coolness all the way through to the tips of my fingers and toes. But beyond that, I love how it slows down time, how it slows me down and makes me grin like a fool at the screen. The bubbles tickle my lip every time I take a gulp and I have to drink faster because it’s summer now and the bottle will warm faster. No one likes to drink warm beer.

I set the bottle down and marvel at the fact that I have quiet time to enjoy my beer. I think it’s better to have a beer with live music playing somewhere nearby, but what I have now is cool, too. Years ago, I would have turned this into an angst-filled, John-Hughes-infused melodrama fest. But I’ve discovered that the great thing about growing older is that life is more comfortable. Angst gets left at the door and isn’t missed anymore.

So tonight, I drink for the sole purpose of celebrating life (and some quiet time). Cheers!

Week 28: Dinner Without TV

I thought it would be so simple to start imposing the no-TV-during-dinner rule. The goal was to eventually ease out the need or want for TV during meals. The first obstacle was explaining it to the kids.

“But why do we have to turn off the TV?” The Tactless Child asked.

“So we can talk about our day,” I said.

“We can talk about it now so later when we eat, we don’t need to talk anymore,” she said.

I figured if I responded to that, I’d talk myself into a corner. So I tried it another way.

“We need to focus on eating and not on watching when we eat dinner,” I said.

“But I can eat and watch at the same time,” The Tactless Child said. “I think that’s why God didn’t put my eyes inside my mouth.”

Decades ago, she would probably have been made to kneel on a plate of salt for that, but I was actually filled with pride. Gosh, my six-year-old can talk circles around her mother.

The One Who Spits didn’t need reason. “Turn off! Turn off!” he said when he noticed that we were sitting at the table for dinner and the TV was not on. (He has yet to understand opposites.)

After a ten-minute discussion with The Tactless Child, I came to about a hair-width of turning the TV back on. But I stood my ground and finally got the two seated and quiet.

Thanks to the wonderful ability of kids to adapt, we actually did have a conversation over dinner. One of the things we talked about was how The Tactless Child wanted a pet puppy and a pet kitten.

“When you’re older and can take care of them yourself,” I told her.

She said, “How about we get them now and I’ll watch you take care of them so when I’m older I’ll know what to do?”

The One Who Spits amused himself by announcing “Made otot!” to no one in particular every time he passed gas. Had The Hub been at dinner then, this would have merited a discussion. But I was too caught up watching for The Tactless Child’s vocal maneuverings that I couldn’t scold gas announcements at the same time.

The other obstacle was keeping the kids in their seats. Without the TV keeping them riveted, they felt restless, I think. The Tactless Child kept getting up and showing me dance moves. And When he reached his five-minute limit for sitting still, The One Who Spits took to jumping in his high chair.

Despite all that, both kids finished their dinner without the noisy distraction of the TV. I now understand, to a point, why some parents who subscribe to the Waldorf method of education drape curtains over their TV sets to discourage their kids from watching any TV. I’m not sure if we’ll get to that point (and I’m not sure if I want to). But I’ve found a good and healthy challenge in TV-less mealtimes.

It is stressful, sure – we’ve been doing this for a week and, until now, dinner every day is preceded by 10 minutes of lawyering by The Tactless Child. On the other hand, The One Who Spits, who has considerably less vocabulary, has adjusted, more or less. He now accepts that dinner time is no-TV time. He has stuck to his gas announcements routine, though. I hope that by the time Week 52 rolls around, we’ll have nailed TV-less breakfast and TV-less lunch as well.

Supertamad’s New Home

Yes, you’re in the right place. Welcome! I just thought I’d do some renovations and get everything to look more like me. Don’t worry, I’m still me. Everything – except for the stoic blue headboard – is still here, with additions. I’ve put widgets – or sidebars – to make things more accessible. Now you can look through the past weeks more quickly. You can also do the countdown to Week 52 with me. We’re less than halfway there!

I won’t be changing looks often. In fact, I think I’ll stick with this one. I kinda like it. So take a look around and let me know if you like Supertamad’s new home as much as I do. (Wipe your feet at the door and have some laughs. They’re on the house.)

Week 27: Refinish a Medicine Cabinet

This is a step-by-step guide for anyone who, like me, loves vintage stuff and fixing them up. I found an old medicine cabinet (made of wood, with a glass door and no mirror) in our house and thought it would be perfect to store The Tactless Child’s many trinkets. Problem was, the cabinet was old and weary. The outer layers of the wood were peeling off, the glass on the door was about to fall off, and the whole thing was dirty. So, between writing assignments, this is what I did:

Step 1: Using the stick end of a broom and standing on a chair, inspect the entire cabinet. The broom and chair are vital. Otherwise, a lizard might jump out from its hiding place behind the cabinet and land on your arm, causing you to fall over backward in fright and, in the process, whack your head on the cement wall behind you.

Step 2: Once clear of bugs and cold-blooded creatures, clean the cabinet using a damp cloth.

Step 3: Fix whatever needs fixing. To secure a loose glass door, remember that super glue doesn’t work. (It doesn’t matter if they put on their label a picture of a smiling man hanging upside-down wearing shoes that are supposedly super-glued to the ceiling. It was proven this afternoon that if his shoes were super-glued to a ceiling made of glass, this man would fall to his doom.) Instead, be observant enough to notice that small nails are poking out from the bottom corner of the door frame, the corner that’s sticking out. This means all you have to do is nail the bottom frame back in place. This will secure the glass and make less of a mess. Hand a toy hammer to any hovering child to avoid him using the real hammer and dropping it on your foot.

Step 4: Sand all surfaces except for the glass. Make sure to keep crayons and extra sandpaper nearby in case a kid tries to help by eating all the dust from the sanding. (Best to begin Step 1 when said kid is taking his nap. But if he refuses to sleep, your best bets for a successful project are crayons and extra sandpaper. Drawing on sandpaper is new and interesting for young children, and this childlike wonder will prolong your solo minutes on your project.)

Step 5: Decide what color you want to paint the cabinet. To make a quick decision, just use whatever’s available in your home. Coffee can be mixed with water and painted on for a vintage-y effect. Egg shells can be broken in little pieces, washed and dried, painted or colored with marking pens, then glued to the cabinet. Magazine pages can be made into a collage then applied to the cabinet. Without buying anything, you can still be as creative as you want.

Step 6: But if you have leftover paint, and it’s the color you want, then paint away. Two reminders, though: One, line the glass door with masking tape, right inside the wooden frame, to avoid getting paint on the glass. Two, paint with no little children around. I didn’t once and The One Who Spits inevitably became The Red One Who Spits.

Step 7: Leave to dry. Add another coat of paint if you want.

Step 8: Hose down any little child who finds his way to the paint. Don’t use kerosene to remove paint on pudgy hands.

Week 26: Do 3.5 Hours In a Salon

I do realize that this is nothing new to many women, maybe even to many men. But it is to me. Sometimes, I even forget to look in the mirror before I head out because first, of course, I have to help The Tactless Child button her dress. Also, I have to pull The One Who Spits from under the car, where he likes to hide. Who will remember to glance at a mirror after all that?

So when the Hub and I were momentarily free yesterday, we headed to the mall and got our fixes – he fueled his testosterone with 3D glasses and Jar Jar Binks at the cinema and I headed to the salon to get my hair relaxed. To the unaware, with whom I belonged two days ago, getting hair relaxed means taming wild wavy strands (like mine) with
chemicals slapped on the hair. The girl at the front desk told me the
process would take about 2 hours. I was hesitant at first because that
seemed like a lifetime to me, but this hesitation was overshadowed by
my early (and shallow) dream of becoming breathtakingly beautiful. No better time to take breaths away than Valentine season. haha.

So within minutes I had an ottoman under my feet, a pile of magazines on a sidetable, and the stylist’s assistant hovering over me.
He had a pot of some chemicals in cream form, and the smell was beyond offensive. He explained that he was going to smear all that on my hair and let it stand for 20 minutes. I would have thrown up if I were young and immature – the chemicals smelled like they were fished from inside a filled-to-the-brim toilet bowl. But I stayed strong and went on zen mode.

After applying the goop on my hair, my guy wrapped my hair in cling wrap then stalked away. I felt like leftover lunch. I passed the time reading magazines and feeling rich with all the free time I had. I do love taking care of The Tactless Child and The One Who Spits. But sometimes, when someone else is looking after them for me, I get this momentary surreal feeling of not knowing what to do with myself. That, above all else, is what pushes me to find some “meaningful” work and
me-time. So I never catch myself staring at a wall.

Rinsing off the goop was the best part of the process for me. I love having someone shampoo my hair and massage my head. Heaven!

Unfortunately, wetting hair means drying it afterward. And I have thick hair. (Not the missing link, but close.) It took an hour, sincerely, and a couple of blow-driers whirring at the same time to
dry my mop. Gosh, it did feel good knowing that my two stylists were putting their skills to use to make me look nice. After that, they put another kind of goop on my hair. This one had a less offensive
smell, maybe only up to the caliber of a men’s locker room after a good game.

After another round of blowers (don’t know how else to put it), I was done and ready for my date with The Hub! I probably didn’t look breathtaking, but that’s alright. I don’t need to take breaths away anymore. Having nice, toilet-smelling hair is good enough for me.

Week 25: Go on a Field Trip

This is cheating a little bit because I didn’t actually plan on doing this. But The Tactless Child’s class was going on a field trip and each kid needed a chaperone. So I went. And since it’s something new (and my tita reminded me yesterday that a post was overdue, hi Tita C), I thought this could count as my week 25 thing.

We had to be at the Tactless Child’s school by 7:30 a.m. This was the big hurdle of the day – getting up early. I’d had just two hours of sleep the night before because I had to finish a cover story for a magazine; and waking up early is not The Tactless Child’s favorite thing to do. It took a couple of gentle nudges, a few threats, and a big tug at her feet before she crawled out of bed. It was a good thing we lived just 15 minutes from her school.

We were going to Manila Zoo, Pizza Hut, and Seri Fantasy World at the Manila Ocean Park. It was The Tactless Child’s first time on a bus and, apparently, it was a new experience for many of her classmates as well. Getting seated aboard the bus, they screamed each other’s names like long-lost friends, as if they weren’t together just five seconds before boarding. The Tactless Child got the window seat, as did every other kid on the bus. “Wow, look at that jeep! Wow, a bike! Wow, a car!” You’d have thought these kids were kept in cages at home.

I’d hoped for a short nap on the bus ride to the zoo but as soon as the bus rolled, a girl with chipped red nails and carrying a microphone stepped up to the aisle and introduced herself. She was going to be our guide, she said. (I didn’t realize we needed guiding.) She began her spiel by saying, “Hello.” Then after a few seconds, “Hi.” And then, “Hello.” It was going to be a loooong ride. 

Anyway, thankfully, we arrived at the zoo before our guide finished talking about rules on the bus. We got off and immediately, it was as if a flock of little chattery birds surrounded us. It was actually The Tactless Child and her classmates, all talking and squealing at once. For the rest of the field trip, this would be our background song.

Right by the entrance was the elephant – all alone. It looked really sad (or as sad as elephants can look) and bored. It was hanging around outside its enclosure but when we walked up to it, it showed us its rear end then went back inside. We must have been too noisy. I don’t know how exactly to take care of elephants, but I’m pretty sure it was not how Manila Zoo was doing it – all alone (don’t elephants travel in a group?), surrounded by cement walls and floors, with no trees to tear down with their trunks. In fact, I generally don’t agree with zoos, keeping animals away from their natural habitat, stripping them of their dignity. But I knew I couldn’t think like that if I was going to enjoy the trip with The Tactless Child, so I sacked my hippie ideals temporarily and walked on.

Next up were the statue-like alligators. “They’re dead! They’re dead!” the kids screamed. Until we saw one devouring a baby goat. We could see all four feet and the head still sticking out of the alligator’s mouth. With one snap of the alligator’s powerful jaws, we heard the crack of bone and the goat was gone. Mother Nature at work.

There were zebras, a white horse, and three sheep who stood side by side, motionless, until we left. Their enclosure was sprawling, which was good. It was filled with grass, trees, a bahay kubo (for the sheep?) and a stable. The birds – a hornbill, a couple of owls, some other birds whose names I don’t remember –  were in a cluster of dirty cages. The floors were wet, and the birds had a single perch to rest on.

The monkeys looked like they were the happiest animals in the zoo. They stayed in the pen where the lions used to be.(The lions were gone. Died, said one of the groundsmen when I asked, obviously before he could think of a more press-friendly way to say it. The giraffes were gone, too.) And despite the sign saying, “Do Not Feed the Animals”, there were bananas, crackers, chips, and all sorts of food obviously tossed in by non-reading visitors. Two monkeys started to mate as soon as we walked up to them. “Ano ginagawa nila, Mommy?” (“What are they doing?”) one of the girls asked. “Ah, wala. Naglalaro lang,” the mom stammered. (“Nothing. They’re just playing.”) Heehee, never heard it described that way before.

The big attraction for kids at the zoo was the Kinder Zoo, where the animals were supposed to roam freely and anyone could touch them. One petrified turtle got dropped on its shell, a baby alligator’s tail got stepped on, and they all ignored the animal I was most fascinated with: a black pig who was so fat that its belly was one centimeter from the ground when the pig was standing up.

As if to make up for the dismal state of the animals (and such a few animals there were), there was a zipline and wall-climbing area by the exit. Nice save.

At Pizza Hut, the girls made their own pizzas, which the parents gobbled up (because they weren’t cheese pizzas) in the bus. By the time we made it to Manila Ocean Park, the parents were almost done in, walking on pure will power. But the girls were still going strong. We were whisked through a room full of mirrors (which was pretty cool), a room full of trick art (which was even more cool. You just need a camera to see the effect), an indoor playground (which gave the parents some time to sink to the floor and rest their weary old legs), and a 3D theater (where we watched a Korean-produced short film about the flight of birds. Pretty cool, too).

It was a good field trip. Well-planned. And the girls had a fantastic time. I had fun, too. But my legs are happy it happens just once a year.