jeremy&jethro

Out Of Water, Into Hotel

One of the challenges of solo parenting is to make sure all systems are go at home so that the kids are comfortable, there is food in the fridge, there’s milk for the bottles, there’s a stash of diapers at the ready. I try to make sure all that’s taken cared of, but what’s a mom to do when the water runs out in the entire apartment?

Well, short of letting things stink, what can one do but pack up the kids and the yayas and go off to a hotel? Ah yes, kids put a different spin on a crisis. They actually make it a fun break from the routine.

Jeremy thinks the whole business of mama playing hooky is a hoot.

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It can be said that Jethro finally learned to walk inside a hotel room. Perfecting his wobbly technique required lots of pratice. Hold on to the bed, baby Jet!

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Motivation is the key. Set goals high so that kids can extend their reach.

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Head-banging dances are definitely in order.

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That bruise on Jeremy's forehead is par for the course.

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Jethro thinks the lamp is the source of all things. It is to be contemplated most seriously.

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Closets are for opening and closing, mama. Don’t you get it?

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Pink curtains are tacky, yes. Don’t they serve better purpose as parachutes?

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You gotta love boys and their antics.

We stayed up late watching TV, then had a leisurely breakfast the next day. This was followed by more horsing around in the room. A rockin’ good time was had by all.

Later that day, when we finally checked out, I think I was the one who was most sorry to go.
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Bend It Like Manong

Who knows why they do the things they do? Little boys are a constant burst of energy. Here clearly, Manong Jeremy thinks bending to the floor is a good way to pass the time on the ferry.

We were on board such a vessel for the trip back to Cebu from Negros. For 45 minutes, Jeremy explored the air-con deck, grinning at passengers, inspecting the life vests, testing the mechanism of the glass doors.

He did a little dance, and made faces at the TV. I was exhausted, just trying to keep up. He is wearing the Gap shirt chosen by Tita Joy, in a burnt brown color that suits him very well. He looks so grown up, in his long pants and proper boy shoes.

Holy 1-2-3 Batman!

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You are three years old today, and Mama decides on a Batman cake to mark your leaving toddlerhood.

Lovely boy with the almond eyes, you can climb a flight of stairs now, open all cabinets, be choosy with your food, take apart mechanized toys and peer at their guts, count carefully to 10 (seven is vesen?), put together your Lego blocks. You like neatness and order, will spend hours arranging books in a line on the floor, lining up stuffed animals on the windowsill just so.

Snub-nosed boy with such red lips, you are a potato-monster! You devour chips one by one, and wipe away the crumbs. You know which brand you want and will not settle for substitutes. You will pretend to drink from my big glass and then say “aaaahhh” because that’s the way the grownups do it. You can say “French fries” clearly but only if you want to. You nibble at chocolates from my fingers, and demand that I open my hand to see if there are more. Your other favorite is chicken, the drumstick, and you eat it round and round on the bone, mouth open wide. You climb up on my chair at dinnertime, sit on my lap and pick at my food, and we wrestle with the fork.

Happy boy with the bright grin, you can grip my heart in a tight fist when you turn away in a sulk. You send me to sleep with your soft snoring, only to wake me up with an arm carelessly flung at my face. I love the yummy smell of your neck when we snuggle in bed, it makes up for those times when you sneak in your cold feet under the blankets and bury them in my tummy. You can wave and say buh-bye now, and send me off to work, and at the end of the day, I hurry home to your brown arms, to that warm hug.

I am carefully marking the years, you know. I know for certain that childhood days are fleeting. One day, you will run away from me instead of towards me, will no longer plead to be carried, will no longer say,  “Mama lang,” will not seek me out in the darkness as you struggle with a bad dream, will find other more amusing playmates, will miss me less and less as the outside world draws you in more and more. I will love you even then, still. And I will love you always.

Beautiful boy, Jeremy Isaac, first-born, long awaited and prayed for, you are three today.

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Summer Kiss

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You know for sure, one day they'll be chasing each other, screaming bloody murder over ownership of a toy, possession of the TV remote, or playground rights.

You'll be mediating in endless arguments: "He did it!"  "No, he did it!"  "No! He did it!"  "No he did!"

You know you'll have to pull them apart mid-fight, even as they ferociously try to land those small-fisted punches.

You'll be buying two sets of toys, just to keep the peace and possibly, get out of the store with your dignity intact.

Ah yes. You know how it will all be.

But for now, this is how it is:  scampering about in their white sandos on a hot summer day, sun-shiny smiles, their little brown arms locked happily in that child-tight embrace, the wet sloppy kiss.

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Into The Blue

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He didn’t know there would be a pool.

I was afraid that he would fall face-first into the water and be traumatized.

It turns out I needn’t have worried. Jeremy started out by exploring the sides of the pool, walking in thigh-high water, sometimes slipping, but able to maintain his balance.

He’s finally grown into this pair of trunks.

Tito Jet gave him a water gun, but he didn’t quite know how to work it.  So he just shook that thing around, splashed it about, let water drip out.

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Some Serious Sulking

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For the most part of the ride he sat in his Lola’s lap, ignoring me. He is a serious sulker, this Jeremy.

Backstory:  In January of this year, I had to leave Jeremy with his Lolo and Lola, because I couldn’t find a yaya for him. Jethro has Yaying, so he came back home with me and we had to leave manong behind. It wrenches my heart to do this, but I have to work and one yaya cannot take care of a baby and a toddler. But try explaining all this to Jeremy; he just knows that he was the one that got left behind.

Not that staying with the grandparents isn’t fun—Jeremy is the boss at home, hands down. It’s just that, I think when he saw me he remembered that I was gone again for some time. We last saw each other in January, and now we’re back for a Holy Week visit—it is March. 

So we sat side by side in the car in the hours-long drive to my parent’s house. Jeremy is hard to win over. I tried smiling and holding his hand, but he takes it back. He says emphatically, “No, no, no.”  I wait patiently and continue to talk quietly to him, even though he appears to be ignoring me.

After a while, his Lola hands me a bag of caramel puffs, and says with a wink, “Jeremy must be hungry.”

Aha, a break in the case. I pop open the bag and Jeremy sits up, interested. I hand him a caramel puff. He looks at it, looks at me. I smile. He looks at me, a grave, thoughtful expression on his sun-browned face. He gets the puff and puts it in his mouth, not looking at me. I eat a puff and grin at him. This time he smiles, a tiny, impish smile. Soon we are caramel puff conspirators, munching away. A few mouthfuls later, he’s warmed up enough to sit on my lap.

Surreptitiously, I tighten my hug. I lean into his shoulder and kiss the back of his neck. I always, always, always miss this boy.

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Son = Somnambulant

Jeremy is a sleep-talker. And also, a sleepwalker. I remember being woken up from a sound sleep by a sudden noise—I saw Jeremy standing up in bed and walking! I took hold of his arm and led him gently back down to the bed. He lay down quietly and curled up on his side, snoring softly. He didn’t even wake up.

At times like these you just will your heart to stop hammering and try to go back to sleep.

Sometimes it could also be amusing. After a long day of shooting ball into a laundry basket, Jeremy went to sleep earlier than usual. I was in bed, waiting to fall asleep.

Just as I was nodding off, he suddenly raises his arms over his head and says very clearly, “Shoot. Ball.” Then his arms fall back and he goes on sleeping.  I smothered my giggles into the pillow.  Beat that.
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Tooth Guy

I remember Jeremy teething, suffering through that painful spurting of the first set of enamels through gums. He lost his appetite for solids and took to his bottle like an infant. He would slobber what seemed like copious amounts of drool, and get very very cranky. Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night and cry from the itchy pain. What an aggravation. How I wished I could take the pain away.

But, in the same vein, I remember how cute he looked with just his two lower front teeth in an impish grin. Very goofy.

It always seemed to me that he couldn’t stop grinning.

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In Long Pants

My, don't they grow up so fast!

I have been putting off that rite of passage of dressing Jeremy in long pants for quite some time now. I wanted him to remain a baby at least, clothes-wise. Ah, but in life, the inevitable has a way of asserting itself. His Lola May sent us another one of her packages, and among the lot was a pair of khakis with Jeremy's name on it.

It was a perfect fit. So here he is at last, in long pants. But I needn't have fretted, he's still a baby after all—that bottle is a dead giveaway.

Lookit That Smile!

Click on Mickey to see an even bigger pic.

Look at that smile. Jeremy, at age two, is quite the charmer. He doesn’t know it yet, but being cute goes a long way towards getting what you want.

One time while I was trying to get him to take a nap, he kept distracting me with smiles and all sorts of mischief. He would half-close his eyes and pretend to be asleep, then when I would look at him in the face he would burst out laughing. Before I knew it, two hours have gone by and all we did was horse around, nap time forgotten.

There was that time also when we were all at our wit’s end telling him to keep off the refrigerator. He was constantly opening it and pretending to be choosing something to take out. After about fifty thousand instances of chasing after him to the kitchen, I was exhausted. I plopped down on a chair and was soon absorbed in watching TV.

For a full five minutes there was silence, then I heard a soft chuckle behind me. I turned to see a grinning Jeremy, eyes twinkling. Grasped tightly in both hands was the bottle of wine we were chilling for New Year’s. He was so proud of himself, pleased that he was able to lug that bottle from the kitchen fridge, down two steps of stairs, and into the living room where I was sitting. It’s a good thing that I do not startle easily.

How can you scold such a charming mug?  I tell you this boy has a killer smile.