Baby Things

I don't usually pop in on weekends for a post but these darling things are too adorable for the week to wait so here I am dropping in for a quick while to post some Baby Things I love.

1. White and Pink Bishop Dress via Zulily  2. Lovely Green Moon stitch Bow via Hairbow Depot  3. Yellow Polka Dot Mary Janes from Puddle Jumper Shoes 4. Avent Sippy Cup via Amazon

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Friday Five: Six

1. Craft Store Magic and creativity.

2. Mandarin's play room. A good day = A messy play area.

3. My daughter, the toy destroyer. So long, Apple/Fruit Piano.

4. Unexpected book of interest which found in the nooks and crannys of the house.

5. My stand mixer in the perfect shade of red.
(It was intimidating (to use) at first, but we're now becoming fast friends)


♥


What inspired and brought even the whisper of a smile to you throughout the week?


Happy Friday!

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Good Day, Sunshine?

We wake up to say Hooooray for pony tails! Mandarin's hair is long enough for it; I still see no reason for her to get a haircut despite my mother's hankering to do so. I don't have the desire for her to have it grow out to mermaid stature either. I suppose I just like a good manageable length that can easily be styled so when she reaches her teen years she can curse me for the number of ribbons I've lovingly clipped on her. :)

I've been meaning to get a chart for her to track her growth progress but couldn't wrap my head around how  expensive some of them are! Although extremely dreamy and adorable, this little pet of a growth chart would set me back $40 in lieu of the kitchen pantry door, a ruler and a sharpie. However, as a memento, I can't exactly break off the pantry door and display it in her bedroom. 

But oh so cute. 

Nonetheless, I did find better deals with Amazon! Undoubtedly sweet and adorable just the same. 

The garden variety of of this chart, the obvious beckoning of Spring and Summer as I am ready to part with my Ugg boots in lieu of flip flops and neon nail polish and long maxi skirts. 

But wait.

Petrichor: The smell of rain on dry earth.
Who knew there was actually a word for that!?

A line of storms are making its way up from the Pacific this week, one rainy day after another. Winter makes a dramatic comeback after its relatively mild and dry (even warm) weather just days before Spring. Just when I was this close to packing up all the bulky sweaters and coats for lighter and brighter apparel. Nonetheless, we make do with it and enjoy what's left of the season. 

 I do love the rain. While it may be inconvenient to most, it never fails to get my mind to slow down and shift gears into clarity of thought. 

Now for some reason, every time it rains something in me calls out for Chicken sopas - literally Chicken soup. It's always been comfort food for me as a child, and now as an adult I liken it to a warm blanket that I snuggle with on the corner of the couch. 

Mandarin can't get enough of it either.

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Ordinary Days

Sometimes all one needs is an ordinary day to get back into the groove of things. Ordinary days anchor us into the grit of our daily struggles, our pain, our joy. So when an extraordinary day pops up it catches you by surprise, and makes it all the more significant.

I'd like to say that we just jumped in the car in a spark of spontaneity and wandered around the city, landing in a fantastic Mediterranean cafe, bestowed heavenly blessings from the Goodwill gods of thrifting to land the holy grail - my holy grail of pre-loved things . A ten dollar (ha!) Le Creuset dutch oven, maybe a designer handbag, and a fabulous vintage dress.  

But we didn't.

In fact it was a loosely planned day to strut around Fillmore street. There was, in fact, a fantastic Mediterranean meal (which we found on Yelp) of shared vegetable moussaka and a sample platter of La Mediterranee's Best: spinach and feta fillo, armenian potato salad, chicken pomegranate, hummus, warm pita and a warm glass of morrocan mint tea. 

Thrifting too, was on the up and up. A couple of (new) belts, a pair of sunnies, and a Beatrix Potter illustrated book of rhymes for Mandarin all for under $7!!!

As for my dutch oven. Not even close. No cigar.

.99 cents, yo!

Just looking at this makes me hungry. Let's not forget Mandarin's grilled cheese with feta! So good, I couldn't help myself with a serving.

cookie monster

Winding down at home reading the Anthropologie catalogue with freshly baked chocolate chip-toffee cookies and some french roast coffee. 

And finally, topping the day off with some home made Chicken Alfredo sauce with Wild Mushroom Fettuccine.
Some ordinary day - which of course, turned out to be more than what it started out to be! 

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The Hard Truth

This was the thought that arrived on a cloudy Saturday morning while my family and I were still huddled in bed. This is the hard truth of motherhood - motherhood in migration.

I was of course being reflective of the events of the precious evening when Mandarin blatantly reminded me of my place

1. What was I even thinking bringing a toddler to a restaurant catering all-you-can-drink sake bombs to twenty-somethings who barely understand the meaning of pacing your drinks. This was irresponsible on my end; hunger, the lure of Japanese Shabu-Shabu, and admittedly just to be out with  (pretty much) everyone got the best of me. Had I known it was as bad as it was going to be, I wouldn't have even considered taking her there.

2. When going to the said place, given a very late reservation of 9:00pm means you will be seated at 9:45 and start eating a little past 10:00.

3. Toddler bedtime + short afternoon nap + belligerent and drunken crowd noise = mommy and me meltdown. The best thing to do was to leave, mid-meal before the next round of paper thin slices of beef even had the chance to cook because my instinctive solution was to remove her from that environment.

While I can easily say that all mothers out there completely understand this scenario, the hard truth that immediately commanded my attention was that - while all possible mothers there had someone to leave their children with, I on the other hand, did not.

I've heard several opinions about this and it's easy for someone who has a parent or grandparent or a sibling to leave their child with at a wink's notice to say that they should learn how to cope with their environment. Knowing what I know about my child; that she is very much opinionated, knows what she wants and is capable of traumatizing an adult in the manner in which she cries, that she can set off mass chaos with the voracity of her howling protest- how can I possibly leave her with anyone and not feel any sense of guilt? Guilty for the person watching her, that is. It is debilitating to say the least. Embarrassing (at times) even. Because I have no more excuses. Whether she's tired, hungry, sleepy or groggy - the reason she cries the way she does is because I am her only sense of comfort and security. This of course is expected, being a stay at home mom. 

And if it were a process, it will be a long and treacherous one. 

This was something I didn't foresee when we moved here. Getting lost. The sense of emotional space I would have to deal with as a mother, without close proximity to the people I would otherwise - ask for help. 

*  *  *

I wrote that draft a few weeks ago, with every intention of finishing it but hit a dead end when I fell short of  finding transcendence in my struggles. Because there always is; says the adult in my head. I could've just deleted the draft and moved onto other things, but felt that that particular evening was definitive of how I've now decided to alter my perception of  how things are versus how I think they ought to be. 

So this weekend I tried to find my bearings by taking Mandarin to a park to simply let her be. The girl loves to run and explore. Allowing her to play and discover to her hearts content was liberating, the fresh albeit cold air, cathartic. It is simple days like this with my family that I like to pitch in my anchor and steady my sails for the bliss and battles to come.

Happy Baby  =  Happy Mommy  =  Happy Family.

The internet (surprise!) harbors an alarming hoard of inspired words to live by. One in particular that I came across with:

"Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass...it's about learning to dance in the rain."

                                                                            Source: sodahead.com via SevenHurricane on Pinterest

Of course, it's got me thinking: Migration is a bitch. There is it is. The simple truth. The hard truth. There are blessings of possibility and curses of detachment.  It gives you opportunity with a side of isolation and pure moments of bliss with dismal echoes of gray discomfort. It is the constant turning of these binaries that can sometimes make settling into a life difficult. Manageable. But difficult at times.

I moved to a country known for vast spaces, interstate freeways and super sized opportunities and dreams only to find myself living a limited fraction of what I know I am fully capable of - with the biggest responsibility of my life nonetheless - Mandarin and motherhood.  Now that I've finally (and painfully) admitted this to myself, I take it to duty to sift through my cluttered thoughts to find MY voice. To find MY place in the order of things, and ensure myself that I will have the tenacity to never get lost again.

When was the last time you danced in the rain?

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All You Need Is Love.

Image via: heythingschange

Even nature knows that love abounds. 

Simple and understated is how our Valentine's evening went. I got a bouquet of perfectly red long stemmed roses (I may not be the sappy romantic, but I would take flowers any day) and Mandarin was lovingly handed a heart shaped balloon, that she of course brought to bed with her.  A home-cooked meal; a nice fat juicy steak and herbed potatoes, a good movie and some family snuggle time is all the lovin' this family needs. 

Happy ♥♥♥'s Day!

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Feeling Good, February.

This weekend gave us a double take with 65 degree weather, full on sunshine, blue skies and all the shades of summer - except that it's not. It doesn't feel like winter 'round here and we're not complaining.  So the family and I packed up what little gear we had, took our bikes and the baby trailer on the road to have our day in the sun with some much needed heliotherapy. I say this, sounding like the ultimate bike enthusiast, but truthfully up until Saturday I have NOT ridden a bike on a paved road for at least ten years. Let’s just say, it’s a good thing that one doesn’t forget how to ride a bike and found my stride within a few minutes and partially went numb (legs) within the first mile or so. So out of shape. The water and the day’s clarity and warmth, the smell of salt in the air was a nostalgic invitation into beaches I have not driven my toes into for years.  Either way, it was a good day to be out - even if I was on wheels. 

The week also delivered lovely surprises. Mandarin learned to say the shortest word she’ll ever come to know. NO. Just when I thought she finally understood what I meant by saying it every time she toggled with the knobs of the stove, in spite of the fact that it already is baby proofed. I’m surprised she didn’t learn it earlier, opting to say more syllable friendly words like apple, purple, ball and a good number of animal sounds from Old Macdonald’s farm. I’m pretty sure the word stop is also in the forecast of her ever expanding vocabulary. While I am amazed at her development I am even more pleased that she has awakened into the value of choices. The fact that she has an opinion about the daily options of her precious little life reminds me of the miracle of every child’s prodigious growth and development. While she may have mindless moments of saying no to every single thing now as a toddler, the weight of this word carries the full embodiment and integrity of choice. As an independent individual, this will prove useful in her teen years when peer pressure comes into play. 

What can I say…the girl knows what she wants as early as now. And I’m fairly certain that when it comes to the Nth serving of cheerios though, it’ll always be a yes. 

In true mommy and me style, I also learned to say NO on a few things around the house this week. Old school kitchen tiles which I can’t really do much about, twenty year old wallpaper and our couch’s outdated blue fabric. On a whim I googled what-to-do-with-ugly-sofa and was entertained to find that there is in fact a contest on The World's Ugliest Couch, which admittedly made ours look more like Pottery Barn’s finest, as opposed to some of the Cosby sweater couches on there.  Some couches were so incredibly bad that if you threw it,  the dumpster would spit it back out. Incidentally my search also led me to Ugly Sofa a company that sells Brand X slipcovers for much much much less. I always knew I would never spend a ridiculous amount of money for what is essentially a sheet over your couch, I would gladly do it for a fraction of the cost.  

I was ecstatic. Over the moon. I gleefully made my way to the living room stood right in front of both couches and barked “NO” wagging my finger as if it offended me. No! No more. There is hope and salvation from the chokehold of eighties furniture after all. Just a few more weeks until the living room can actually have a fresh makeover into the current century. So I turned up some Led Zeppelin and danced like a madwoman.  All while saying, Yes. Yes. YES!

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Oh, Hello.

I just packed up Christmas at our house. Say what? Yes. It’s nearly the end of January and today was the only day I found time to box up the tree, the family of snowmen, stockings and ornaments. Back in the box. Back in the garage. It’s not all the product of procrastination either. The variables that factor into this delay include an appendectomy, a stroke, emergency rooms, a mistaken and mindless comment from a a clueless ER doctor stating the presence of metastatic prostate cancer, a pandemic of hypertension among family members, and a daughter who has now entered the Cling-on phase. All she does is cry out for me the second I put her down or leave the room for a nano second; and may I just say that this girl’s crying voice is of the disarming variety.  All these and a tumultuous uproar of emotional (personal) noise. Some issues at hand that make me want to: A. Seek therapy.   B. Meet up with an old flame - the cigarette (which I probably won’t because it’s too much of a hassle to quit - again). C. Be a porker and shove an entire box of chocolate covered macadamia nuts in my mouth.  When the ship you’re sailing is rocked, finding one’s bearings is seemingly dim. Eventually the day breaks and calm waters do ensue but until then or at least for now I’m just coming up for air. 

That’s what I wrote last night. This morning I woke up feeling like myself again and not the the growling monster I went to bed as. It felt peaceful waking up next to Mandarin this morning and seeing her so easeful and calm gave me the serenity to get over the occasional stress of motherhood. My palm still perfectly fits the side of her face just like it does with my hubby’s face and I find it meaningful that the emancipation - the mere act of opening one’s hands begets forgiveness and receives it just the same. All while being open to all the good  that we forget is always there. I want to take this moment of clarity and put it in a locket to take with me anywhere I go as a constant reminder of hope.

January keeps trying to knock me down, but I’m still standing. And all I have to say to that is: Yes. Thank you. More please.  I’ll be ready, February. 

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Friday Five: Five

1. Good morning, Sunshine. ♥

2. Tori Amos Night of Hunters Tour at the Paramount Theater (Oakland). Easily one of the most phenomenal shows I've ever attended. 

3. Teething. Bites. 

4. We rocked Holiday pancakes! 

5. Changing Lights at American Cupcake!

Happy Weekend! 

♥♥♥

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A New Year.

Not exactly my idea of a celebratory new year's eve - and day.

Lunch and Dinner of watered down coffee and a cold PB & J sandwich c/o the hospital vending machine because the cafe was conveniently closed on weekends.
The Kindle never fails to entertain. 

It came out of nowhere. The sharp pain in his abdomen that shortly followed our Skype calls with family in Manila. It was twenty minutes to midnight there and almost eight in the morning here. The fog had just barely lifted and the sun was slow and steady in its waking. It was a peaceful and reflective start to the last day of the year.  

I made breakfast (festive holiday pancakes of snowmen and christmas trees) carefully scaling down my recipe to accomodate only two servings instead of the usual four. Leftover pancakes are no good. Hubby couldn't eat, writhed in pain and decided to head back upstairs to sleep it off. What we initially thought was the stomach flu, indigestion, and at some point a urinary track infection turned out to be appendicitis. Too see someone you love in pain is pain inflicted on yourself just the same. Of course it took 17 hours before we figured this out and finally decided that the ER was the best place to be. Blood tests, a CT scan and the best indicator yet - a hand poking around the abdomen to make you feel, Yeah, that's an inflamed appendix you got there. 

This is all new territory for both of us. He's never been hospitalized before, and I've never seen him so helpless in all our 15 years together. It was difficult being in the waiting room alone. There was literally no one there with me except crickets, possibly a tumbleweed rolling across the filthy hospital carpet with dust trailing behind it and my racing thoughts of worst-case-scenarios. The procedure which only took a little over an hour seemed like a five hour wait. I get nervous like that. I paced around the hallway wondering which door my Hubbs would come out of that I unknowingly and conveniently hung around long enough just in time for a middle aged nurse with a warm smile to come out and call my last name. 

"The doctor will be out to speak with you." 

She's smiling so it must have gone well. Look at her eyes. Smiling. Good. 

A few seconds later, the doctor walked out the thick swing doors like a rockstar strutting back on stage for her encore performance. Confident and happy. She actually took a picture of Hubbs' appendix and graciously shared it with me - I would have set it nicely on Instagram and shared, but knew better that vintage looking filters still won't amp the cool factor of an inflamed internal organ.  An appendectomy is a standard hospital procedure, not exactly your hardcore medical variety, and hundreds of it are probably performed everyday, but there is still a very short percentage of things going wrong in the operating room. I was so relieved when the nurse walked out smiling.     

Now that we've all taken a breath and it's all recuperation and recovery from this point on, I must admit that celebrations are in order.  Sometimes we are faced with situations that run against what we believe is how things should be, such as, this is how a holiday should be spent and that everything else that contradicts that would be considered a cessation of all things good and happy. 

This was not my idea of a celebratory start button for the year, but it was a damn good way of making the essential things come into view, setting the tone for the months ahead. To be thankful for life and to celebrate it in every possible way I can. Thankful for family (who would take care of your daughter, no questions asked - in spite of exhaustion and sleep deprivation, who will  pick you up, drop you off, and bring things to the hospital for you when you need them).  Thankful for excellent doctors and wonderful nurses. Thankful for friends who sincerely care about you. 

This new year brought an alternate view to celebration. There is much more to applaud and commemorate in it that than a silver, shiny ball dropping at midnight and the clink of champagne glasses. 

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