You say that as one word: a-bra. And yes, I do mean brassiere. This is a well-guarded secret which I am now about to divulge to the entire world: Gab is a recovering bra-strap chewing addict.
It all started innocently enough. She would ask for a-bra whenever she was upset, insecure, afraid, agitated or simply to sleep with. She would cuddle them (sometimes one a-bra just can’t cut it, she has to have 3 or 4 or more) and she would be immediately soothed. There were instances when she would hold her a-bra to her nose and breathe in its newly-laundered scent. She'd look like a genuine junkie.
Simply put: If Linus has his blankie, Gab has her a-bra.
Just any bra won’t do because Gab’s a-bra (that term is both for the singular and plural) are actually my old tattered nursing bras. She would quickly reject any other. I think I can trace the addiction to when she was newly weaned from the breast and had this annoying habit of groping under my shirt for you-know-what. To occupy her hands – and mouth – I would give her a bra and she’d proceed to chew on the straps. It’s very much like giving nylabone to a teething puppy.
When she started putting names to things and would ask what a bra was, we’d tell her it’s a bra. So that’s how she ended up with that term: a-bra. She’d go: “Mama, can I have three a-bra?” or “Where is my a-bra?”
But since she started school, she rarely asks for her a-bra; so I was thinking maybe I could finally throw them out. However, she has traded this bra-strap chewing compulsion for an even nastier habit: nail biting. She has been so at it that we did not have to cut her nails for weeks since she started school. And when she had chewed her nails as far as she could go at them, I had to put my foot down and make her stop when I caught her chewing on her toe nail.
I found myself wishing that we could go back to those a-bra even for just a little while...
NB: The day after I wrote this post, Gab suddenly and miraculously stopped biting her nails. And these days, when I pick her up at school, along with her proud announcement of how many stars she earned that day, she’d tell me: ‘I didn’t bite my nails’ like it’s a big accomplishment.
And I guess it is.
Friday, October 15, 2004
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Magic Scratch Tape
Gab refers to adhesive tape – scotch tape, masking tape, duct tape, packaging tape – as ‘scratch tape’ (henceforth in this post, ‘scratch tape’ means all and any kind of adhesive tape) and she harbors this idea that scratch tape is the ultimate household solution to anything that needs fixing. Thus she asks for scratch tape to mend broken things be they made of paper, wood, rubber, plastic, aluminum or metal. She uses scratch tape on toys, picture frames, fridge magnets, bags, door knobs and shoes. And her latest attempt, on a drinking glass.
I had a PTC (that stands for Parents-Teachers Conference for those of you who are uninitiated, lucky you) one afternoon at her school so I left her concurrently painting and watching TV in her playroom. I came back home after an hour or so and the first thing I asked Liza, our househelp, was if Gab looked for me while I was gone. Liza said Gab just fell asleep exhausted from crying because she was upset having broken a drinking glass which I, I should say, stupidly left on top of her desk. I asked if Gab had a cut, Liza said she couldn’t tell because Gab wouldn’t let Liza check her hands.
Liza’s complete account was like this: Gab suddenly and frantically called out to her asking for scratch tape. When Liza hurried upstairs with the tape dispenser, Gab burst out crying and said: “Yaya, help me! Help me put it back together” pointing to the pieces of broken glass on the floor.
My poor baby. I found her curled up on the couch, fast asleep, clutching to her breast a shirt of mine which she had taken from the hamper. When I tried to pry her hands open to see if she had a cut, she woke up and immediately her face crumpled while she told me of the accident. I assured her it was okay, that I wasn’t angry with her and that I was thankful she wasn’t hurt. She said she had blood on her hand but I convinced her that she didn’t. Only on the next day would I discover a tiny cut on her finger that didn’t go deep enough to bleed.
She ran a fever that afternoon which I can only attribute to her first experience with broken glass (you can imagine how scary that must have been for her) as the fever didn’t recur that night or on the day after.
We are lucky. Lucky and protected. Lucky because Gab thought of asking for scratch tape right away prompting Liza to check on her. And Gab was protected by her angels whom we remembered to thank that night for having kept our child safe.
We'll be needing a lot more of that scratch tape for all sorts of mending as she grows up.
I had a PTC (that stands for Parents-Teachers Conference for those of you who are uninitiated, lucky you) one afternoon at her school so I left her concurrently painting and watching TV in her playroom. I came back home after an hour or so and the first thing I asked Liza, our househelp, was if Gab looked for me while I was gone. Liza said Gab just fell asleep exhausted from crying because she was upset having broken a drinking glass which I, I should say, stupidly left on top of her desk. I asked if Gab had a cut, Liza said she couldn’t tell because Gab wouldn’t let Liza check her hands.
Liza’s complete account was like this: Gab suddenly and frantically called out to her asking for scratch tape. When Liza hurried upstairs with the tape dispenser, Gab burst out crying and said: “Yaya, help me! Help me put it back together” pointing to the pieces of broken glass on the floor.
My poor baby. I found her curled up on the couch, fast asleep, clutching to her breast a shirt of mine which she had taken from the hamper. When I tried to pry her hands open to see if she had a cut, she woke up and immediately her face crumpled while she told me of the accident. I assured her it was okay, that I wasn’t angry with her and that I was thankful she wasn’t hurt. She said she had blood on her hand but I convinced her that she didn’t. Only on the next day would I discover a tiny cut on her finger that didn’t go deep enough to bleed.
She ran a fever that afternoon which I can only attribute to her first experience with broken glass (you can imagine how scary that must have been for her) as the fever didn’t recur that night or on the day after.
We are lucky. Lucky and protected. Lucky because Gab thought of asking for scratch tape right away prompting Liza to check on her. And Gab was protected by her angels whom we remembered to thank that night for having kept our child safe.
We'll be needing a lot more of that scratch tape for all sorts of mending as she grows up.
Friday, October 08, 2004
Houston, We Have A Problem
The fault is entirely mine. Whenever Gab calls my attention to something be it big or small, I would ask her in this exasperated tone of voice: “What’s the problem?” Like she needs an actual practical problem to warrant my notice. Thus the word ‘problem’ is deeply embedded in her vocabulary and she uses it as freely as she uses the word, say, ‘drink.’
So from little things like being unable to put on her shoes to spilling juice on the floor, her line would be: “Mom, I have a problem.”
We understand each other so this has never been a… er, problem with us. But I was to learn that her vocabulary can cause a bit of a misunderstanding sometimes.
Her younger cousin, JJ, visited us recently. She has never been able to get along well with this cousin of hers. Probably because they can both be pigheaded attention-seeking showoffs. As my brother puts it: JJ’s king at their house while Gab’s queen at ours so when they meet, a fight for territory almost always ensues. Evidently, at their young age they are oblivious to the finer points of ruling a kingdom and as such, protocol and diplomacy are totally lost to them.
At one point during their latest encounter, Gab told JJ: “You are my problem.”
Out of context, this statement’s quite serious until I explained to my sister why Gab uses that term. She was really just laughing it off but only because she thought it amusing that Gab meant something like: “If only you weren’t born JJ, I’d have everyone’s love all to myself and I wouldn’t need to share my toys too.”
Hmm…
I can’t think of a wrap for this one so I’m letting it end with hmm…
So from little things like being unable to put on her shoes to spilling juice on the floor, her line would be: “Mom, I have a problem.”
We understand each other so this has never been a… er, problem with us. But I was to learn that her vocabulary can cause a bit of a misunderstanding sometimes.
Her younger cousin, JJ, visited us recently. She has never been able to get along well with this cousin of hers. Probably because they can both be pigheaded attention-seeking showoffs. As my brother puts it: JJ’s king at their house while Gab’s queen at ours so when they meet, a fight for territory almost always ensues. Evidently, at their young age they are oblivious to the finer points of ruling a kingdom and as such, protocol and diplomacy are totally lost to them.
At one point during their latest encounter, Gab told JJ: “You are my problem.”
Out of context, this statement’s quite serious until I explained to my sister why Gab uses that term. She was really just laughing it off but only because she thought it amusing that Gab meant something like: “If only you weren’t born JJ, I’d have everyone’s love all to myself and I wouldn’t need to share my toys too.”
Hmm…
I can’t think of a wrap for this one so I’m letting it end with hmm…
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Becoming Dora
… The Explorer, that is. If you still don’t know who she is despite all the merchandise, watch Nickelodeon.
Gab discovered her shortly after she turned 3, I think. Since then she’s been a huge Dora fan – a fanatic minus the merchandise. We have a rule not to get her expensive toys without the validity of an occasion so she had to go without the Dora toys. That is, until her sister Carla sent her a doll and a recorder for her 4th birthday and Tita Ginger gave her a purple backpack. (If you know Dora, you’d understand why the backpack is an essential.)
“I turned four then I became Dora.”
A week after their birthday party, I took Gab to the hair salon for a haircut. I instructed the hairdresser to cut her hair very short and to give her full bangs. Gab never had bangs and she'd always worn her hair long so I thought it was time for a new look. With short hair and full bangs plus her natural dark coloring, my sisters started calling her Dora.
It stuck. And I guess it’ll stay stuck until Gab grows her hair long again.
Gab discovered her shortly after she turned 3, I think. Since then she’s been a huge Dora fan – a fanatic minus the merchandise. We have a rule not to get her expensive toys without the validity of an occasion so she had to go without the Dora toys. That is, until her sister Carla sent her a doll and a recorder for her 4th birthday and Tita Ginger gave her a purple backpack. (If you know Dora, you’d understand why the backpack is an essential.)
“I turned four then I became Dora.”
A week after their birthday party, I took Gab to the hair salon for a haircut. I instructed the hairdresser to cut her hair very short and to give her full bangs. Gab never had bangs and she'd always worn her hair long so I thought it was time for a new look. With short hair and full bangs plus her natural dark coloring, my sisters started calling her Dora.
It stuck. And I guess it’ll stay stuck until Gab grows her hair long again.
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
The Hamster Has Left The Building
As of this writing, Stuart’s no longer with us. And I am not trying to be poetic here. Stuart’s no longer with us because I had to give him away. It doesn’t matter to whom. But lest I be accused of being cold and heartless, let me explain.
Right after Gab and Stuart’s photo session capturing what was to be their last happiest moments together, Gab got this idea of putting iodized salt on the carrot that Stuart was eating, thinking perhaps that since it just dawned on her that salt makes otherwise bland foods taste better, why not share her discovery with Stuart?
Early the next day I noticed that something was terribly wrong with Stuart. He was involuntarily throwing his body across his small container; it looked like he was suffering from seizures. Later that day, his lower body—the crotch area—began swelling. And we could not find any other culprit for this condition other than the salt he ingested.
I told Gab that Stuart was very sick so she could not touch him anymore. I sealed his container with packaging tape to make the message clear to her that she was not to put her hand in there. (In pain, Stuart transformed from being good-natured & gentle to temperamental & vicious. He bit me when I tried to give him water through a medicine dropper.) Then I had to prepare her for the eventuality of her hamster’s death. She took it quite calmly and even expressed a sentiment that made it seem to me like she couldn’t wait for that possibility to happen so I asked her outright: “Do you want Stuart to die?” And she said simply: “I want Stuart to feel better.”
Either there is profundity in that statement or it’s just me reading too much into it.
The story of why we had to get rid of Stuart asap doesn’t end there.
That night, Gab’s cough which we have been dealing with for over three weeks now started to get worse. The next morning, she couldn’t stop coughing and couldn’t take in any food without gagging and vomiting. We’ve been managing her cough as you would ordinary colds. After taking her to the pediatrician (who also happens to be an allergologist), I learned that her coughing was due to allergies and that most likely, it was exacerbated by the hamster’s presence in the house.
There was no question as to what was needed to be done.
Our sadness with Stuart’s early egress is alleviated with the thought that he didn’t leave us without a few valuable lessons. First, that hamsters don’t appreciate salt with their food. (A quick google search would turn up this interesting fact: hamsters are prone to having gall bladder stones.) And second, that furry animals are a definite no-no in this household.
That being said, you can more or less expect this post to be the last on pets.
Happier Days
Right after Gab and Stuart’s photo session capturing what was to be their last happiest moments together, Gab got this idea of putting iodized salt on the carrot that Stuart was eating, thinking perhaps that since it just dawned on her that salt makes otherwise bland foods taste better, why not share her discovery with Stuart?
Early the next day I noticed that something was terribly wrong with Stuart. He was involuntarily throwing his body across his small container; it looked like he was suffering from seizures. Later that day, his lower body—the crotch area—began swelling. And we could not find any other culprit for this condition other than the salt he ingested.
I told Gab that Stuart was very sick so she could not touch him anymore. I sealed his container with packaging tape to make the message clear to her that she was not to put her hand in there. (In pain, Stuart transformed from being good-natured & gentle to temperamental & vicious. He bit me when I tried to give him water through a medicine dropper.) Then I had to prepare her for the eventuality of her hamster’s death. She took it quite calmly and even expressed a sentiment that made it seem to me like she couldn’t wait for that possibility to happen so I asked her outright: “Do you want Stuart to die?” And she said simply: “I want Stuart to feel better.”
Either there is profundity in that statement or it’s just me reading too much into it.
The story of why we had to get rid of Stuart asap doesn’t end there.
That night, Gab’s cough which we have been dealing with for over three weeks now started to get worse. The next morning, she couldn’t stop coughing and couldn’t take in any food without gagging and vomiting. We’ve been managing her cough as you would ordinary colds. After taking her to the pediatrician (who also happens to be an allergologist), I learned that her coughing was due to allergies and that most likely, it was exacerbated by the hamster’s presence in the house.
There was no question as to what was needed to be done.
Our sadness with Stuart’s early egress is alleviated with the thought that he didn’t leave us without a few valuable lessons. First, that hamsters don’t appreciate salt with their food. (A quick google search would turn up this interesting fact: hamsters are prone to having gall bladder stones.) And second, that furry animals are a definite no-no in this household.
That being said, you can more or less expect this post to be the last on pets.
Happier Days
Friday, October 01, 2004
The Cousins From Far-Away
To Gab, the word “cousin” is synonymous to “playmate” so imagine her excitement when she met her cousins Angela and Julian who were visiting from Vancouver, Canada. That these two little people speak the same language she does was to her an added bonus. (That language is plain English, by the way, not some secret code that only children under 9 understand. Although it could very well mean that too.)
On the balikbayans’ first weekend here, we took them swimming to Fontana in Clark, Pampanga. That night, Angela (who’s just 2 months shy of 9 y/o thus she considers herself wise and knowing as opposed to Julian and Gab who are both only 4) quickly chose a room in the villa where we were booked and proclaimed it to be the ‘girls’ room’ effectively excluding her younger brother Julian. She asked me for a ‘baby bottle of milk’ for Gab then announced that they were going to bed. Several minutes later when I went to the girls’ room (which happened to be the servant’s quarters) to get Gab, I was pleasantly surprised to find her peacefully asleep with her Ate Angela. That may not sound like a lot, but believe me, even at her age, Gab’s still a little difficult to put to bed and she almost never falls asleep without me by her side. So that was certainly a feat for Angela.
Since the three kids’ birthdays are only about a month apart each, we celebrated their birthdays as one. Their party had the works – a magic show, pinata, pabitin, lootbags, games & prizes and loads of gifts. Of course there were the requisites – food and relatives.
Angela and Julian left Manila with their parents three weeks ago. To this day, Gab still pretends to play with them. She’d tell me: “Mama, you be Ate Angela and Julian, okay?” then she’d talk to me as if I were two kids instead of just one grown-up. On the first few days after the two left though, Gab would insist on seeing them. When I tell her they're back in Canada, she’d ask if we could go to them. Then of course I’d have to go over the whole explanation of how faraway Canada is from the Philippines, etcetera. And if you have ever tried explaining things to a pre-schooler you’d know that an answer just leads to further questions.
It’s rather hard to make clear to a little kid how big – and simultaneously small – the world is. It’s an intricate concept to grapple with… even for us who are supposed to be wise and knowing.
On the balikbayans’ first weekend here, we took them swimming to Fontana in Clark, Pampanga. That night, Angela (who’s just 2 months shy of 9 y/o thus she considers herself wise and knowing as opposed to Julian and Gab who are both only 4) quickly chose a room in the villa where we were booked and proclaimed it to be the ‘girls’ room’ effectively excluding her younger brother Julian. She asked me for a ‘baby bottle of milk’ for Gab then announced that they were going to bed. Several minutes later when I went to the girls’ room (which happened to be the servant’s quarters) to get Gab, I was pleasantly surprised to find her peacefully asleep with her Ate Angela. That may not sound like a lot, but believe me, even at her age, Gab’s still a little difficult to put to bed and she almost never falls asleep without me by her side. So that was certainly a feat for Angela.
Since the three kids’ birthdays are only about a month apart each, we celebrated their birthdays as one. Their party had the works – a magic show, pinata, pabitin, lootbags, games & prizes and loads of gifts. Of course there were the requisites – food and relatives.
Angela and Julian left Manila with their parents three weeks ago. To this day, Gab still pretends to play with them. She’d tell me: “Mama, you be Ate Angela and Julian, okay?” then she’d talk to me as if I were two kids instead of just one grown-up. On the first few days after the two left though, Gab would insist on seeing them. When I tell her they're back in Canada, she’d ask if we could go to them. Then of course I’d have to go over the whole explanation of how faraway Canada is from the Philippines, etcetera. And if you have ever tried explaining things to a pre-schooler you’d know that an answer just leads to further questions.
It’s rather hard to make clear to a little kid how big – and simultaneously small – the world is. It’s an intricate concept to grapple with… even for us who are supposed to be wise and knowing.
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