Falling Back

Chores caught up with me and held me hostage all day yesterday, leaving me exhausted and incapable of reflecting on our little weekend of wonder. In spite of the threat of rain, Saturday, we drove about a hundred miles south to Monterey Bay to take Mandarin to the Monterey Bay Aquarium - to make memories. There will always be room for memories in this house. 

It really got me thinking; the huge responsibility we have as parents to give our children the gift of experiences and good memories before they venture out into the world on their own. And if you as a parent haven’t realized it yet, planning ahead is key, and a change of lifestyle definitely factors in. Children pay attention to every. single. thing. Yes. They’re watching you - not Children of the Corn watching you - but learning from you by example. These lessons and the bank of memories they carry with them will shape them to be the kind, responsible, brave, smart and happy adults we all hope them to be. 

Every second, the frame of a memory is created. We memorialize the occasion by remembrance, much like the very act of framing a photograph; the physical manifestation of memories.  It is terribly easy to take specific things for granted. I talk about gratitude and savoring the small things a lot because there are many days when I struggle to be thankful and complain about the silliest things. Today, it's my horrible pillow that keeps giving me stiff necks. It gets flat as a pancake. I should toss it. But then, gratitude...thank you for five hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Ok. So I'm still really learning how to use my camera in low light and as you can see in one of those photos, Mandarin is terribly whitewashed with the flash, though I liked the idea that I did get their reflection from the glass.
Much more lessons to be learned.  

Thank God for photos because, let’s be honest though: she will not remember. Not the fries and halibut she tried for the first time for lunch at Phils Fish Market or the glowing jelly fish that floated in a ballet spectacle right in front of her in a dark room of awed guests, or that while making our way through the crowd surrounding the display of Puffins, Mandarin turned around uninterested by bathing birds because she was more interested in watching the chorus of people watching the puffins. Too young to remember for sure, at least not this deep into her childhood and I cannot begin discuss how incredibly fortunate I feel to be be there. To be HERE. To be present during possibly the most significant and important years of her life. The part where she learns about love - and pretty much everything else that will build character in her later years. 

You know you want a bite. 

I am not a parenting expert, but I am a parent and I've come to realize that at the heart of my daughter's understanding and discernment is her sensitivity to feeling.  Children, I would assume are all similarly the same. They can feel if they are very much loved or neglected, sad, happy - all of which precedes language before they even fully understand what those emotions mean. 

I want her to always feel loved, appreciated and happy - all while she's still oblivious to the wiles of the world. I want to prolong her innocence for as long as I can because that is one magical thing that once lost, they may never get back.

Let's see. Who seems more excited for the splash of water?

So. Monterey Bay. This coastal town delivered wonders for our weekend. Glowing wonders. Mandarin touched a starfish for the first time, the cold water iced her fingers and the feel of the starfish, I could imagine it must have seemed so exotic. She had an unexpected close encounter with a Bat Ray that startled and fortunately, didn't scare her. And those moon jellies, simply put, were stunning and hypnotic in the blue glow that surrounded them. 

It almost felt heavenly. 

 Every second has to count. How to make it count; therein lies the challenge of parenthood. It is both difficult and similarly exciting. Especially with the holidays coming up, there are more occasions to celebrate, more memories to create. Memories that aren't just for her, they're ours too.

While on the subject of taking the time and making time to celebrate, it's - well - timely that we gained back an hour over the weekend too. A full hour to read a book do laundry do watch Oddities or learn how to put together a Beauchene skull. ..... I'll have to figure this one out in the next few days. 

These days the sun dips into the horizon by 5:30pm and the day settles into its jammies much earlier and so, snuggles are definitely in order. Books before bedtime, too (I've started reading her Christmas stories to acquaint her with Santa Clause, christmas trees, elves and all the trims of the holiday season).

And yes we've started brushing our tooofees (her teeth came out pretty late).  

She may not remember all the details. So we'll be here to remind her.  Tell her stories of how she cooed out for the birds, and called out to the fish and how when she saw the Kelp forest and all the fishes for the first time the shape of her dainty mouth was a perfect "O" for a most wondrous and perfectly uttered WOW. 

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Tuesday Musings

Perusing through the virtual isles of Anthropologie on a cozy and foggy Tuesday while the baby sleeps is like rowing down a chocolate river with a giant straw for an oar while an Oompa Loompa watches over your shoulder. 

Just one sip, you think. But of course. Restraint as always. 

Even with this: The incredibly gorgeous Hip Cinched Blouse. I've had my eye on you for awhile now. And look - mustard!!!! 

Torture. Gorgeous.

or this

Because why wouldn't you need want the perfectly coordinated design of this Spanish motif of the Calvia Serving Bowl? With polka dotted glazed handles. 

Moving on. Merrily merrily merrily merrily, life is but a dream. 

A quick weekend roundup consisted of a generous swirl of family fun. A trip to premium outlets and a Sunday backyard BBQ. But with the transitional weather of warm days and cooler evenings, the sniffles have returned for both Mandarin and myself, and while we're thrilled to fall back into the season of snuggles, getting sick is not for happy-happy-joy-joy moments. 

The sun barely made an appearance today - the fog barely lifting above the hills like the droopy eyelid of a sleepy day. And that’s exactly what today feels like. Time for a warm cup of tea with Mandarin kisses. No need for concern on whether either one of us will catch the sniffles from each other.We’re sharing blankets - and a cold too.  

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Weekend Warmth

This weekend peaked with summer warmth. Never mind the threat of a cold. Things needed to get done, regardless of airborne viruses and congestion and the day was far too lovely to waste. Saturday morning we drove down south to spend some much needed time with family, a quick stroll around the local farmers market and a korean BBQ lunch.  

I don’t know why I get so giddy with farmer’s markets. It it the fresh organic produce? The banjo playing on the street corner? Freshly popped kettle corn, parisian bread, flowers? It’s probably everything and a few things that vary from trip to trip. 

fresh cherry tomatoes

huge sunflowers and gorgeous lilacs

Itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny Zucchini!!!! They’re adorable. I want to adopt one. 

Fresh organic berries and fruit preserves!

Sweet Baguettes!!

I always get caught in these situations. So many pretty things to take photographs of and the achingly familiar line I keep uttering to myself. I should’ve brought my camera. 

There must be an easier way to travel with the bulk of an SLR camera and all the necessary accouterments of parenthood: stroller, handbag, diaper bag - and child! Even my trusty point and shoot was left behind, all I had for the weekend was my blackberry which has never failed to capture the fleeting moments of our days. Probably would be better if the BB community had Instagram too! 

I love photo opportunities, but find it difficult traveling with my camera, unless I’ve planned for a shoot that day. And while I COVET the Kelly Moore bags just like everyone else out there, I find the price too steep and will simply keep it within my crosshairs’ sight of a mega sale (if there even is one).  I’ll just have to settle with my painfully obvious yet exceptionally functional Nikon camera bag. 

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Into the Woods

 Today I will let the pictures speak for themselves. Taken on a perfect summer's day a few weeks back - we finally made it to Muir Woods after putting the trip off for quite sometime now. We couldn't have picked a more perfect day to cross the Golden Gate Bridge and take in the sights of our lovely city!

Lucky shot ... in passing.

My 3rd Eye.

Hello, Love.

Sweet Pea

Walking through the trail was humbling to say the least. To be in the company of Redwood trees that reached far up into the sky like hands outstretched for blessings; giving air to the the solemnity of its space was a spiritual experience to say the least. The energy of nature thrives within us and is fully awakened when we remove ourselves from the daily clutter of our lives.

Sacred.

A guest arrives - or rather the host perhaps? It was I that was the curious guest. Our little friend here was merely going about her business. 

And so it goes with the Chipmunks

The past two weeks have been a blur with guests staying with us and sadly no opportunity to take new photos and brush up with my on-going education and affair with photography.

Looking back at these photos, the stillness of time is revealed, the sacred moment of when we passed through and how the forest embraced us with the nurturing bliss of nature and the verdant clarity of what it means to grow and thrive. Renewed, you leave the woods feeling dwarfed in the general order of things with your enlivened spirit now walking tall among the trees.  

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Oh, The Backyard.

The neglect of our backyard has once again led to a willful microcosm of blooms and wilderness. Weeds are prime examples of survivors belting it out at the bottom of the food chain and being heard - mind you - with such emphatic discord. Yet in the minutia of things, they are sights to behold up close. There is a note of innate beauty and tenderness in its organic hankering of mass destruction. They are delicate and harsh, stubborn and unforgiving, let’s not forget: a sore sight to behold.

The weeds per se aren’t entirely to blame for our poorly executed backyard. Seasons shifted, lemons grew and roses bloomed all with just the nurturing hands of nature, fertilized and nourished by my neglect.  And I say this without remorse. I simply shrugged my shoulders and went “hmph!” oh well. 

And because I have no control over the wildlife in our backyard (in my attempt to liven up the vibe of our borrowed 80's house) we’ve adopted a Peace Lily, which I admittedly had no idea was called that because as far as the grocery tag goes what we have is a $9.00 Spathiphyllum.  It caught my attention because it was vibrant and verdant, the perfect size for the cobalt blue pot I bought for $5.00 months ago, and because it undeniably bore a resemblance to Vulcan ears, that we simply couldn’t help but name (him), Spock. 

Spock, the Peace Lily meet...the internet. 

And Spock's distant cousin, Gene. 

The fact that I had to Google How to take care of a Peace Lily plant  means: A. I have no idea what I’m doing. B. I am still capable of killing the most house friendly plant there is. C. It turns out I didn’t inherit a single green gene from my grandmother, the plant whisperer. She can pull a Moses make a dead twig come to life. 

Nonetheless, I found it to be the perfect opportunity to start bringing in some flowers inside our house and while on a creative spell somehow managed to use a bottle of Sweet Basil Pasta sauce to and a bit of old gingham fabric from Mandarin’s blanket as a shabby chic vase. These flowers take such little space in the home but makes all the difference. They bring an air of renewing energy with a hint of nostalgia. 

No matter how bad a day must seem, the roses are a dependable bed to fall on. Their unkempt nature only adds to the charm, and glancing at them once in awhile makes a foggy day look ever so hopeful.  

And the weeds... 

So delicate.

Never mind the weeds. 

As long as they don’t completely take over.  Either way, they’re poignant reminders that there too is something wild and free quietly thriving in the shadows of the most organized facets of our routine-laden lives.  

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Where It's At

Here is where it’s at. 

The leak from the bathroom on the top floor to the guest bathroom has gotten worse. Much worse.  There are soaked towels laid out on the tile and the dripping sound of water instead providing Zen calm, has stained the general surrounding area with thoughts of ancient torture techniques. Surely back in the day someone must have gone mad just hearing one drip after another.   

While on the thoughts of torture, that’s what Mandarin’s face looked like as I gave her a spoonful of pureed zucchini. She gagged and shot me a horrified look reminiscent of green beans and pursed her lips and held up a closed for business sign.  How can she hate zucchini!? I can eat their healthy goodness everyday and now the batches I made for her either I will have to eat like an 8 month old - or the kitchen grinder will. Even the zucchini-carrot purees I made have gone to waste. She loves carrots on its own, I thought it would have been a good mix. 

Last night whilst reading Is your Mama a Lama before bed, she threw up everything she ate for dinner; what seemed to be a whole jar of Earth’s Best carrot tomato puree and her 6 oz bottle of milk. All over me, my PJ’s, her book, the WHITE duvet, our pillows and my computer. 

Yessssss. This calls the one defining photograph that speaks across generations and a wide spectrum of emotion: 

Here’s hoping the rest of the week goes smoothly!

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Goodnight, Lullaby Lane...

I am distraught to find out that after 64 years, Lullaby Lane, an independent shop here in the Bay Area has closed it’s doors to its patrons. The economy must have hit them hard - generally known as a shop that catered to less commercial baby things, more expensive things, pretty things. 

I haven’t been here long enough to claim that it was a landmark of my childhood, however there still are strings being played on in the chord of nostalgia. 

When I was pregnant last year my husband and I would take frequent trips there (apart from Target and Babies R Us) just to look around and see a wider variety of strollers, cribs, baby things we dreamed of and got excited about. I strolled around there up until my 9th month, dragging my swollen feet across the shop chatting it up with other expectant mothers,    and rubbing my belly with the enkindled vibe of motherhood. 

Fathers, boyfriends and significant others can usually be found nesting by the gliders and rockers, aghast over the $500 price tag. On Sale. But oh so comfy. 

This is the little patch of memory I have with Lullaby Lane. 

There were simply some things in there that cannot be found in other shops. 

Goodnight Lullaby Lane. You will be missed. 

http://lullabylane.com/

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What Makes a Home.

I’ve lived in this house for four years. It's not ours but rather a guest house that belongs to my family, which they have graciously allowed us to inhabit while we get our bearings. My husband and I moved to the Bay Area from Manila four years ago which in hindsight was a privileged life of domestic freedom - from chores and other things but that in itself is another entry. 

I’ve become the accidental homemaker in the past years and was completely unprepared when we moved here. 

This house, albeit, severely outdated, has been good and kind to us.   It’s stocked with pretty much everything you might need for a short vacation. Linens. Pillows. Towels. Pots and pans. Washer and Dryer. It is a house that provides, thanks to my thrifty grandmother’s twenty plus years of foresight and an awesome aunt who took care of it for years.  Case in point: I needed a desk - and there it was, though smaller than what I’m used to, but it was there. Or that one time I needed laundry baskets and there were five of them piled up in the garage. Oven mitts, three in the kitchen drawer. And don’t even get me started on the deluge of dinnerware (still bought my own - I find that it is important to have your own dinnerware). Extra storage, a seven drawer mini chest with wheels!  It’s like the house is a genie of sorts, rub it the right way and pooof. There it is. Well, maybe more like a new friend that you make much later in life as an adult. You meet and bring both your life history with you and like pieces of a puzzle there is a shapely spot with the right fit. More than mere structure, or a roof over our heads, it gave my husband and I countless opportunities to learn from each other.

The rooms are themed in hardcore eighties swag. It’s a time machine. Three rooms each splashed with a specific color: pink, green, and blue. The curtains, beddings, lamps, art, and all details large and small considered for thematic consistency. 

Which of course, I am instinctively opposed to. I’m all about the mixed and the unmatched. 

Also, all my life, pink was the enemy. I stayed away from anything pink and sweet and everything that resembled a blushed state. And where else would I end up but in the Pink room. Which now we simply refer to as, our room. We accepted the space, and likewise, the space embraced us with the warmth and comfort of a bedroom ---  and a new appreciation for all shades of pink. 

And yet there is also a deep sense of nostalgia. Maybe because in all the years that my family and I have been staying here - nothing has changed. The furniture is the same, the layout;   it even smells the same. Memories of this space float about like tiny white specs suspended in snow globes.  Even deeper still, it is the house that I have now brought my daughter into and will raise her for who knows how long. I can pretty much say with certainty that the first year of her life will be spent growing up here. Who knows when we can afford our own place. 

I continue to dream...

A rundown of details includes, a very old (yet working) dishwasher, popcorn ceilings, band of wallpaper where a cornice would otherwise be, hi-maintenance curtains, outdated kitchen cabinetry, brass fake fruit bowl with crystal chandelier drops, faux plants,  a horrendously shabby backyard with no upkeep, rusted gate. There is quite literally a laundry list. 

I can feel myself growing reluctant roots in here mostly because this house is not mine and I know that there will come a time when we will have to move and settle down elsewhere. 

Possibilities.

  

It was only after the birth of my daughter that things took drastic measures of change. And how could it not. A pile of laundry, bouncers, a swing, toys, rattles, baby gyms. Everywhere. So many things, for such a little girl. Our little Love brought light into this house and NEVER would I have ever thought - back then as a child, as a teenager on spring and summer vacations here that my girl, my baby - would light up the empty spaces of this house and change it’s energy forever. The walls of this house have witnessed the unfolding of a life from birth onwards and the vibrant flow of that energy will always be the glimmer that makes this house a home. 

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