The erupting battle

Now that bedtime is conquered territory, I have to be careful about being too smug about the new accomplishment.  We did it: a scheduled routine that includes early dinner and early bedtime.  No more waiting for the boy to fall asleep.  No more reading and singing a million songs into the dark of the night.  A firm goodnight actually works, and a few bedtime checks leave me free for hours before my own bedtime.

There has to be a snag somewhere, right?  Of course, and it happens when it’s time to clean up.

“I don’t like a bath.”

“No, please. No, please, no.”

“Feet only!”

“Don’t wash my hair!”

“My hair! You forgot, mamaaaa!!”

It takes a good ten minutes for me to pour water, soap, scrub, rinse (and that hair is too long for a quick rinse).  Those moments also require adeptly getting all the body parts squeaky cleaned without any untoward injury, like slipping or getting soap in the eyes, while all the struggling and squirming take place.

When bath time is all over, the next round of fire is released.

“I want to stay!”

“I don’t want to go!”

“I want to stay in  the bathroom!!!”

“Nooooooo!!!!”

It is no proud or poised moment when I haul the child off wrapped in a towel howling for the bathroom.  Does he really want a bath? Of course not.  He just wants to pour water into the bucket.  And onto the floor.  And on the walls.  And on the faucet.  He wants to give the bathroom a bath.

Dress up time: everyone is annoyed.  Until the joker decides to run around butt naked.

“No clothes!”

A little night of Matthew

Matthew loves to sing. He’s always singing. Even as he plays he’s always choosing humming over sound effects. Finally, we managed to capture a snippet of the singsong boy before bedtime.

When did I cross to the other side of the generation gap?

Because of work, I’ve been pouring over parenting articles by the truckload.  To make the things more manageable, I’ve been tackling the work by subject matter.  Today was “sleep.”  It was nothing very new to me, I would say, but that doesn’t mean I had nothing to learn from all my reading.  Bedtime has always been a situation I hope to have a better control of, so I decided to put my refreshed lessons to good use.

Admittedly, we never strictly enforced bedtime hours.  We had some semblance of a routine, but that won’t work very well if you don’t stick to a consistent schedule.  I was hoping to try my hand at proper bedtime habits tonight, and it was promising: Matthew was cooperative and seemed ready to settle down after brushing his teeth and changing into PJs.

We read two books and sang songs, and my plan was to let him stay in bed alone with me checking every few minutes, and at longer intervals each time  until he falls asleep.  The first part was easy: Matthew chose two (thankfully short) books which he enjoys  — Blue Hat, Green Hat and Go, Dogs! Go.  When it was time for songs, I couldn’t ignore what was going on next door: guffawing, shrieks, loud talking.  Obviously, my neighbors were having a party.

I tried to ignore it; I think I did for about 15 minutes.  But I just couldn’t stand it.  It was 11 o’clock at night already (we arrived late from the mall tonight), and Matthew was still up.  I already didn’t get the time for sleep right, I was at least going to get the atmosphere right.

So I told Armand to sub for me and I marched out to ring the neighbor’s bell.    While I was figuring out which doorbell was theirs, a guy approached their gate.  He was a guest, and I nicely (really, I was sweet) asked him to tone it down because I was trying to put my 2-year-old to bed and the noise was right beside our bedroom window.

He was nice and apologetic, and I happily went back home without another word.  I did wait for some minutes for the noise level to go down.  Perhaps there was a little change, but I don’t think the message was clear enough.  I had to go and try again.

This time, I rang the doorbell and asked the helper to let me talk to the person in charge.   I waited for a good five minutes.  I knew what to expect: young, maybe college, kids having a good time.  Trust me, I know what that’s like.  But I couldn’t simply just understand that they were only having fun — I have other concerns now.  Eventually, after a second ring, the (I assume) party host came out saying that he was trying to quiet his guests down.  He was very polite, I must say, making me feel like he was a student and I was his teacher.

And it hit me: I’m not considered to be part of the younger generation anymore.  I know I hit my thirties already, but it never occurred to me that I had really crossed to the other side –  to those kind of people who tell you to shush, who prefer quiet dinners over loud drinking sessions, whose idea of a good night is watching her child look so angelically asleep so she can finally attend to some unfinished chores at home.

So now, I know, and so does my young neighbor, that I’ve become part of the elderly.  I sure got the message when he said “po” — that word that truly signifies respect of the older ones.  But I have to say, I’m quite glad to have gone to this side, it’s actually quite nice and peaceful here.

After the big move

It’s been a while, I know.  We’ve been, well, busy.  Busy, tired, busy, working, busy, trying to get everything done.  Which, of course, never gets done, because “everything” has a tendency to mutate and grow everyday.

We moved some one month and a half ago, in the middle of two projects and my regular work, between Armand and me.  Stressful only begins to describe those days, but it was accompanied by several other emotions that conveniently lent us the rose-colored glasses we needed to get through them.  There was relief (about finally physically packing up and transferring), excitement (about the potential of the new home, and hence, a new life chapter), and gratitude (feeling very lucky to find a home that suit as well).

Here's a "before" pic, taken on the day we signed our lease.

But it certainly wasn’t smooth sailing.  The painters weren’t done for another week and a half, we had no working stove, so we had to eat out or buy food for our meals.  We had no internet, for weeks and weeks, which almost killed me because I really needed it for work.

Until now, we haven’t finished furnishing, but things are finally moving.   With our modest budget, we first bought a range and I have reclaimed the joys of shopping for and preparing meals.  We finally found a sofa set that Armand and I agree on, fits the aesthetic and size of the living room, and didn’t cost us both our arms and legs.  And we resolved the internet problem, almost too late.

(On a sidenote about that internet issue: We had a major problem with our BayanDSL installation.  Application was quick; they responded and followed up with us religiously, and when I finally went and paid, we got our phone connection — which was bundled with the internet — soon enough.  But then, we were told that there was no port for us.  This, they tell us, after I categorically asked them if they could accommodate our application, indicating that it was urgent and giving our location.  They answered in the affirmative.  A week after the bad news, the tech guys came to install and told us that something was broken.  We called and called CSR — which can really infuriate me, I have to say — to be told that they didn’t know when they could fix the problem.  Finally, we told them we wanted to discontinue the application.  We went to SmartBro to ask if they could just transfer our still existing account, which they did in three days — last Monday.  Today, BayanDSL surprised us with a call.  They were coming.   After discussing our options, we decided to just bite the bullet and let the Bayantel guy come.  Thankfully, the fast speed is keeping us happily forgetful about the misfortune of being internet-less for a month.)

The other week, I had to leave Armand and Matthew for four days for a business trip in Singapore.  It was the longest I’ve been separated from my son, but as many friends assured me, the four days went fast.  It was too bad that I wasn’t able to really enjoy my trip and look around, but I met with Asian colleagues which was great.  I always think that Singapore will be Matthew’s first trip abroad; I love how it is so orderly, safe, and convenient there.

In the meantime, Matthew received a most treasured gift from his Tita Mia — a Thomas the Tank Engine starter set.  We’d been holding out on this for months because we were waiting for the right time, the budget, and also the toy store inventory to get replenished.  It’s a new obsession, I think, that has become infectious.  One night,  after strictly sending the boy to sleep, he was perplexed and shocked to catch his parents playing with his train set.  Oh, the look on his face was priceless! We really should be more ashamed than amused.

Now that the last quarter of the year has crept on us quite quickly, I feel its many implications.  First, Matthew’s birthday is coming up.  That begins the many holidays and occasions in monthly succession: Christmas, New Year, my birthday, and Armand’s next year.  And it brigs to my attention one of the reasons I wanted to move: to host parties and gatherings here.  Which means that I really need to  finish all my home projects.

This quarter also reveals something I’ve been working on for the past few months.  We’re cleaning up and polishing off for a soft launch, and I’ll be  thrilled to make a real announcement soon.  Work-wise, it’s been an interesting, though, exhausting year, with a big chunk lately involved getting to work as husband-wife team.  I really thought that we’ve shelved that option; maybe we’ve grown, maybe we’ve changed, but we did very well as a team.  Maybe it’s the fact that we know it’s not the only thing we do — professionally and personally, we have our separate spaces too.  Physically, we’ve finally managed that, by making sure we have our own offices too.  It has worked wonders on our relationship.  Everyone needs a refuge.

Matthew, too, is enjoying a taste of independence.  With his own room and his own space, I’ve seen him change:  he has more freedom, more choices, and more room to explore.  Whatever I’m paying for in rent feels so justified when I see how he’s grown into this funny, interesting, talkative, inquisitive, demanding, obsessive, opinionated toddler who is proving that he has a mind of his own.  Now, he is not just thriving, he is flourishing.