The force is strong here

I knew I was married to a big-time Star Wars fan. Little did I know that the situation could still be raised to a whole new level.

When we got pregnant, Armand and I took care in making the announcement to friends and family.

My husband’s special way of telling his friends was, though very much in character, quite unorthodox when it came to his metaphors. As I forwarded his email to my friends, I said:

For those who don’t know, Armand is a majorly huge Star Wars fan. He’s loved Star Wars since he first saw it, and has been enamored ever since. He even created a “Star Wars book” when he was around 6 years old, to add to all his Star Wars-related stuff, complete with illustrations and musical score.

We caught the advanced screening of Episode 3 last Wednesday, and last weekend, we had another significant “event” lined up. He recently emailed his friends, they who know how geeky he can be about the saga and everything about it.

* * *

Today I heard something that is more wonderful than the sound of Darth Vader taking his first breath. I heard the strong heartbeat of my baby, three months in the womb. Yes, my dear friends, I am going to be a father. It was the most incredible feeling hearing the baby’s heart beat. I am so in awe of the whole experience. It was as if the baby had said “I am here” and I heard it loud and clear.

Armand

As I expected, it opened the floodgate to endless jokes and teasing. They called the baby in my womb Darth, and many other variations. His friends would say that we should call the baby Luke, just so Armand can finally utter, “Luke, I am your father!”

When Matthew was born, and Armand took on the role of stay-at-home parent, he would usually watch one of the Star Wars movies while doing his baby chores, sometimes even while putting Matthew to sleep. That was pretty much the extent of our intended exposure of the franchise to Matthew, as I thought we’d let him watch the movie when he’s around five or six (Armand was four when he discovered his love for Darth Vader).

Armand submitted this to Starwars.com in May 2006. Matthw was six months old.

It must have started a few months ago, though, Matthew realizing what this was about. Last December, during a visit from Hugo and Mia (who were on holiday all the way from London), the secret closet housing the sacred toys was revealed. Hugo (eight years old) had been looking forward to this much-talked about collection. (I imagine that the stories were pretty hyped up because my husband is still lusting about all the other toys and collectibles that he has not acquired.) Out came light sabers, action figures and other paraphernalia.

For days after, Matthew played with Armand’s beloved Jango Fett.

For Christmas, Hugo presented Armand with a set of little Star Wars characters—and later on introduced Matthew to them. By the end of the day, Matthew knew the names of Ani (for the young Anakin), Jar Jar Binks, and Yoda. Last month, he’s named them all: Qui Gon Jin, Jabba, Darth Maul, Darth Vader, Palpatine (Armand said technically it’s Darth Sidious), and “Droid.”

Oscar, Nick, and Jack help with the crash course

Little did I know that a fixation has begun. Bedtime music began to include the Star Wars theme and he now demands to watch Star Wars on video. We let him watch the musical special after realizing he doesn’t really care much for the film itself, as much as he does for the characters and the music. From there, he’s added more names to his repertoire: R2D2, Obi Wan, Anakin (for the older one), and Amidala. He confuses Janggo with Boba Fett, though (well, I do too!).

Last week, we got him a cheap “light saber,” a sixty-peso knockoff he waves around with flourish. While he was playing one day, we caught him humming a new tune: “mio, mio, mio, mio. Aaaa… aaa… aaa…” He calls it the Darth Maul song, referring to the soundtrack of the epic light saber battle between Darth Maul and Qui Gon and Obi Wan.

Camille took these shots the other day. Matthew and his Darth Maul face [left]; wielding his light saber [right].

Playing with cousin Camille Skywalker

All this at two years old. I have long accepted the fact that I am married to a fanatic. Now, I can humbly accept being outnumbered. Although it’s really quite fun to encourage the obsession—while it’s all still very cute.

We’ve got a clip of the father and son bonding over music and their latest common interest. You can view it on Armand’s site by clicking here.

Riding in cars and more with my boy

Matthew embarks on a new toddler adventure as he enjoys the city’s different modes of public transport.

Having no car in the city can be a hassle a lot of times. It can get quite tedious and uncomfortable to get from one place to another. Add this mad summer blaze, and I’ve chosen to stay put at home and not move if I can help it.

But pressing matters forced me out of my lethargic mode the other day. Disregarding the scorching heat and with Matthew in tow, I laid out my itinerary for the day: four quick stops that should take some two to three hours. I kept my errands near enough each other, hoping that by containing them in a general area I can keep the trip stress-free.

Matthew, though, must have viewed the day in a different perspective altogether. While I was tending to a list of tasks to be crossed out, he was enjoying the different kinds of rides he was taking. A tricycle ride took us to the train station (i.e. the MRT), and another trike ride brought us to ABS. After some fifteen minutes, we were in a cab heading to the Ortigas area where the rest of my errands were. After two quick stops on Emerald Avenue, my boy was getting impatient to get going—to the mall to ride a horsey.

The last stop was in Galleria, where the Summit office is located and where I planned to take Matthew for some kiddie rides at the end of our running around. I made the mistake of telling him about the carousel too early and had him dragging and nagging me about it. Finally, we make it to his little mecca—where he changed his mind about the horsey ride. Instead he gets on the motorcycle and a car, before he noticed the toy store nearby.

I knew that it was time to head home and get the boy to bed for a nap, but I conceded to some gallivanting time in search of Thomas the Tank Engine and other sources of boyish delight. There was no easy exit for this one, though; a tired boy and his coveted toys are hellish to part. After trying reasoning and negotiating, I finally got a brilliant idea. “Matthew, do you want to ride a bus?” I proposed to the indignant child. His eyes brightened and his stiffened body stopped resisting. “A yellow one!” he told me.

We got on a green bus, though. But for my little boy, the color was insignificant. He looked more than thrilled to be on one more vehicle.

I must say, being carless isn’t too bad with a son who simply revels in the alternatives.

Reading up

At first, I really just wanted to keep these all to myself. But it’s taking up a lot of my browsing time online, it must be shared.

Spinning off from one of my favorite websites, Apartment Therapy is ohdeedoh. If you’re familiar with the Apartment Therapy, you would recognize ohdeedoh as what was formerly known as The Nursery. Ohdedoh’s tagline reads: home. design. children.—which really sums up the website’s thrust quite well. I’ve been thrilled to be receiving feeds on children-friendly and -inspired design (interior, furniture, and others), as well as fun product finds. There are peeks into other parents’ homes and lives, as well as raised concerns that crop up. Let’s just say my virtual scrapbook has suddenly been filling up more than it has been.

Rookie Moms, on the other hand, features activity ideas for new moms. The blog owners themselves are “two geeky girls,” who I think address their own concerns and reflect others’ quite successfully. So far among my favorites are Keep a List of Things You Swore You’d Never Do as a Parent, Talk About Something Besides Sleep, and Jump in the Picture. (Granted, there are more there but I haven’t yet combed through every single entry.)

One of the best things, I have to admit, are the slingks (i.e. surreptitious web links to other good sites). Both sites collate and feature so much good stuff, you can be sure I spend a lot of time clicking on those.

Sleepy jam

Bedtime is always an event in this household. We try to keep it consistent, at the very least having a sleeptime soundtrack playing to cue the boy’s time for bed.

Lately, it’s been “Please, Star Wars.” (This obsession is a few weeks old and deserves a separate entry.) But his repertoire also includes Music for Calm Babies and Music for Happy Babies, which are compiled albums of classical pieces under their particular themes.

Armand and I differ a bit when it comes to putting Matthew to sleep. I really don’t mind reading long stories and singing many, many songs. Armand likes to put on sleeptime music and sleep (or pretend to sleep) with Matthew. Both styles usually work.

One night, during Armand’s turn to put Matthew to sleep, the boy was a little bit too hyper. Offhand, he really is quite more hyper when around his father. It was taking forever to put him to sleep. I was downstairs cleaning up, and I could hear talking, tickling, and all sorts of activities going on. I figured, it’s Armand’s turn, let him handle it.

Today, Armand revealed that not only was Matthew being extra precocious, he also pulled out a new trick. At one point, Armand did his pretend-sleep: he closed his eyes and hoped Matthew would follow suit. He had already exhausted the Star Wars song, and decided to put an alternative playlist—his especially-selected Joe Satriani music. As Armand closed his eyes, silence settled in. Peeking at Matthew, Armand got a shock. There was the boy, lying on his pillow, his eyes closed and his hand strumming his tummy!

You bet that was one very long night.

Some more, summer

Overheard:

Matthew (spotting his bucket and sand shapers): Wow! My toys!

Armand: Yes, your beach toys.

Matthew: Beach toys.

Armand: Do you want to go back to the beach?

Matthew: Yes!

Armand: We’ll go to the beach in the summer.

Matthew. Summer. Summmm-mer... Some more beach!

Poor baby

The past week had been stressful, to say the least. When Monday rolled by, we gladly welcomed the holiday, thinking that the rest of the week would be, while totally generic, busy with work responsibilities. The highlight was supposed to be cutting Matthew’s hair—literally sitting the kid on a stool and chopping off hair. I must say, it wasn’t a bad job at all.

Later that day, we found out that a friend had passed away suddenly. We were at the wake by Tuesday night, and I was making plans to drop by again to make lamay and then go to the funeral. But Wednesday night, we were at the emergency room. Matthew had convulsions, the scariest thing I have ever seen in my life. He had a fever, we knew, but nothing told us that he was burning up to 39.2 degrees, which was the temperature we got at the hospital. As procedure dictated, we had to confine him for observations and some tests. We were there for 3 nights, discharged Saturday morning.

Thankfully, it was nothing too serious: a bacterial ear infection, which I am told is totally normal for toddlers. Both sides of the family, pala, has a history of convulsion (my sister, Armand’s brother, and his niece all had it at around the same age). Still, it was really frightening and we felt so bad for Matthew, who proved to be most eloquent as he verbalized his opinions: “Please, I don’t like it the hand” (referring to the IV and splint he had to put up wit), and “Help, Daddy. Help, Mama.” as he pitifully asked to be released from his discomfort, of which there were several: ear drops, 2 kinds of nose drops, a god-awful tasting vitamin supplement (which had a better tasting alternative I find out later). To top it all off, the pedia at the hospital (not our doctor, but we couldn’t be confined without one who was with the hospital) made us switch to lactose-free milk because she suspected that he was lactose-intolerant. Because of this, Matthew did not have any milk for two days, as he rejected any variation in taste of his milk. My poor boy shrunk in the time we were in the hospital.

It’s our third day at home, and Matthew is back to normal. Running around, eating a lot, asking for lots of his milk (after a long talk with our pedia, she said we could go back to our old milk), asking for his toys, bugging me as I attend to my chores, making us read too many books at bedtime and sing Thomas and Friends theme ten million times, and generally being his happy, hyper self.

I’m so glad it’s all over. But I suppose this time around, I’m a bit more protective that I’d ever been. I never want to him suffer so much again.