Party time

My son turned two this month, and we celebrated with a play party. Truth be told, this party has been preoccupying me for weeks. I would like to say that I was a cool and calm mum, who went through her lists and tasks effortlessly. Unfortunately, I was wound up most of the time—and trying to pretend to be otherwise.

I had read somewhere that we Filipinos tend to give quite lavish children’s parties. We like them with our games, our entertainment, our decorations and our endless amount of food. Growing up, I’m sure most of us thought this was not just acceptable, but even expected. As a parent, it’s a whole new, stressful ballgame.

When Matthew turned one last year, Armand and I decided—on the day of Matthew’s birthday itself—to throw a little party. It consisted of convening with family and friends at a restaurant for a merienda buffet. Simple, easy. No games, but lots of food. We figured, Matthew wouldn’t even understand the concept of his birthday, much less a party for him. With a customized cake, a birthday banner and balloons, we had a happy, trouble-free celebration.

This time around, as Matthew’s birthday started approaching, I began exploring my options, which were restricted. I had to face my limitations. Firstly, there was no house with a space big enough to accommodate some 50 to 100 guests, a third of which would be children. We would need to find a suitable venue that would not blow our budget. Secondly, I don’t cook and I have no helper. Food will mostly have to come from a caterer or a restaurant. Third, I wanted something my two-year old would enjoy as well as the older kids and the adult guests. How to please multiple age groups with one event is no easy task.

Somehow, things did fall into place. Last Saturday, we all trooped to Matthew’s beloved Gymboree for an hour of play for the kids and tons of food for the guests. After much deliberation, calls, and number-crunching, I found out that our friendly neighborhood Red Ribbon serves fairly good spaghetti and chicken lollipops. Having my “real food” figured out, I developed the rest of my menu: different kinds of cheese, seedless grapes, Fita crackers, chips, dip, carrot sticks, Jack n Jill chocolate pretzels, and juice. I would go from worrying there was too much food to thinking there was not enough. As it turned out, I had too much spaghetti but not enough chicken.

We selected the theme “All Aboard Trains” for the activities, and carried on with the train theme onto the cake design. I found a supplier who could create a 3D train cake, and I think it was quite a success when all the kids gathered around it. (It was either that or the chance to blow out the candle. Sancho blew out the candles before Matthew had the chance, and Iñigo asked for his turn after Matthew finally had a chance.) Alas, no one got to try the cake—I was just a little too frazzled to actually serve it.

I would like to think that we had a successful, memorable event that day. Now if I could only get my hands on the video so I could actually see what happened. Between refilling the buffet table to checking on people, I sort of missed out on the party experience; I didn’t even get to eat anything except for one piece of chicken lollipop! But the guests left with smiles—something I’d take for a very good sign.

Until next year, then. For now, enjoy the pictures.

Two years old

Matthew turned 2 last November 7th. Yesterday, was his birthday play party. We are very tired now, after a very full weekend.

A better report shall be up soon.

Bedtime Bliss

A few months ago, Matthew and I attended a press launch for the new bedtime line of Johnson’s Baby. Among its many activities was a talk on sleep routines and a recommendation for baby massage, which I pretty much disregarded. I didn’t feel much of a need for such, as bedtime for Matthew meant a story, calm music and lights out, and waiting patiently for him to fall asleep. I also could predict when it was time for bed, the time when he’d be too tired to resist vigorously.

I don’t think I was prepared for the months that came after, however. Matthew, my lovely boy, has grown in leaps and bounds, marked by increased activity, speech and curiosity. He seems to be quite tireless, a boy of boundless energy who always wants to be busy with something. Bedtime started becoming a battleground—I seeing a tired toddler, and he never wanting his day to end—and tension and tempers were becoming hard to manage. The endless requests for stories frayed on our nerves, so we figured we had to do something else. Sometimes, I would choose to tire him out the entire day just so he’d fall asleep out of pure exhaustion. Other times, we’d take him for a drive and lull him to sleep in the car. And then other times, we let him cry it out in the dark, but this can turn out to be quite ugly as the child would wail and stomp.

Last week, I remembered about the bedtime routine. I had actually tried it out before, and while effective I thought it was an insignificant change back then. This time, it worked wonders. Apparently, Matthew also remembers it. When I asked him if he wanted me to rub lotion on him, he quickly settled down, calmed himself and waited for me to soothe him. I start with the feet, then up the legs, the back, the chest and tummy, to the arms and then the forehead. My boy was in blissful baby heaven—you could see it on his face.

Today, I tried the massage for his nap. It was one of those days when his drowsiness passed (“nalipasan ng antok”), and he was gearing up for his second wind. I could see though that rest was needed and, finally, I asked him if he wanted lotion on his feet. The running around, the pranks (with matching naughty comment, “It’s funny!”), and the distracted playing with toys stopped instantly. I put on his sleep music and started rubbing his feet and legs. He was in dreamland in less than ten minutes.

I am a true convert now.

Horsey! Horsey!

I don’t know when this started, but Matthew has developed a new mantra. “Horsey! Horsey!” he’d call to us anytime we’re in Shangri-la Mall.

Now this is tricky, because we go to Shangri-la for his Gymboree classes, and the “horsey” he calls for is right smack in the middle. If I have errands to run or need to kill time in the mall, I will have to diligently avoid any sight or sound of the carousel. It used to be that Matthew would only want to watch, whether it be right beside the carousel or some floors up. We were actually too excited for him to try it out, and disappointed when things didn’t work out initially. Three attempts went wasted—he would ask to be taken off the horse prematurely.

The frustration became delight one day, when he finished an entire ride with no complaint and with a hint of self-satisfaction even. This delight has developed now into something like fear, because Matthew’s earlier smugness has turned into an obsession. The carousel is a happy place for this toddler, and riding this one particular horse must be heaven.

One time, when I had to attend to a meeting, Armand treated Matthew to a carousel ride. When the boy wouldn’t budge, Armand bought the package 3-for-P100 ticket, hoping to appease Matthew. It turned into a nightmare. It was already late, and Matthew was tired and cranky. After the last ride, he had to be taken off by force, and he would not stop crying. Literally. The Thomas train set would not pacify him nor the department store toy section where he’d usually try out all the cars. Instead, for more than an hour, he kept on crying for “Horsey! Horsey!” It was heartbreaking, but there was no way of reasoning or explaining—he is a toddler—that would calm him.

We avoided the mall for a while after that. Some ground rules had to be in place: no more rides when tired or when late in the day, no more multiple consecutive rides on the carousel, no using of the carousel as a treat or as a reward. We’ve been successful, most of the time; the worst scenario we had to experience was the repeated request for “Horsey! Horsey!” but, so far, no more wailing demands.

There was one funny incident that told us how serious the boy is about it. Late one night, Matthew woke up with a jerk and like he was in the middle of something. He looked at us confused. Then he moaned quietly, “Horsey.” Armand asked him if he was riding a horse, and he gave a little sob and said yes.

The obsession has developed and differentiated into riding rocking horses at toy stores and those token rides at Megamall. But nothing quite like the love for the carousel. I wonder how he’ll feel when we take him for his first real horse ride. It’s something that I am both excited and dreadful about.

My happy boy

A Change in Footwear

When I was in college, my friends knew me as the one who would never wear jeans and sneakers. It must have been my preference for a more feminine look; I really enjoyed my dressy outfits. My yearbook writeup, in fact, is testimony to this particular inclination, as it took note of a trip to I took to a building rooftop to hang a streamer for a project—in slacks and heels.

Even when I started dressing down for the rock bands I managed, I never quite gave up my heels. Whether it meant setting up onstage or working on events, I could never completely get the rugged look. Being dressed meant dressing up, complete with the pretty clothes, makeup and shoes.

These days, though I longingly look in shoe stores for a new acquisition, I am constantly being drawn away to more practical choices. I did not just skip an entire level of dressing down and going for cute flats, I am actually looking into the trainers category. I, who for years only owned a pair of sneakers that my brother gave me that was neither attractive nor cool, have been eyeing Chucks and Pony and Adidas.

I had my first taste of these so-called rubber shoes in years when I bought a pair Chuck Taylor high tops. If I am not mistaken, the last time I really wore anything remotely close to them was during PE classes. And maybe the occasional gym session that I would go to once a year.

I haven’t given up the pleasure in being stylish, but there has been a complete change of style instead. The change of footwear certainly reflects it.

It may seem so trivial to be obsessing about a choice of footwear, but when the time comes that I can indulge myself with a bit of a shopping spree, I have to decide if I will get a fabulous pair of stilettos or some funky sneaks. Now that spending on myself is far and in between many other practical matters, the shoe choice counts tremendously.

Recently, I’ve been wearing my heels again, reclaiming the joy in the added height and the ladylike posture that comes with it. But try juggling an enormous pushchair, a nappy bag and a toddler on those, and it starts sounding like a bad idea. Painful, too.

I might have to bite the bullet and get some sturdy, but cool, trainers soon. There’s always next time for the pretty options. I suppose what I’m really hoping for is the budget to accommodate both options. Motherhood has not separated the woman from her footwear, it has just given her more factors to consider and take into consideration. And, truth be told, I’ve always found a way around to wearing the “impractical” footwear. Anytime my husband is around to handle the heavy work, I can slip into them comfortably. Plus, a girls’ nights out is always a ready option for some glam time.