self-admitted klutz, wicked at times, suffering from multiple irony, but trying to be the best mom and sexiest human being her two children have ever known
October is Breast Cancer Awareness month and today is the last day to spread the word. Well, not really. We could extend this awareness for as long as we can.
Anyway, I was tagged by Ane who is fast becoming a seasoned blogger. Thanks, Ane!
~~Start Here~~
1. Put the logo in your blog. 2. Add a link to the person who shared it with you. 3. Nominate at least 7 other blogs 4. Add your link to the list of participants below 5. Leave a message for your nominee on their blog.
I miss my mother. What I remember most vividly about my mother was her dedication and competence. She always cooked each meal from scratch–marketing, preparation, the actual cooking and even the cleaning up. She never served take-out food unlike the author of this blog whose speed dial consists of all takeout and fastfood deliveries. My mother knew how to sew popped buttons on polo shirts and dresses and torn hem. She knew how to iron properly. She was a mother through and through.
My mother is not dead. She’s just far away. A day away in an airplane. I would like to be that kind of mother who can serve her children with the best. But I’m far too lazy and far too ‘proud’ to learn anything about housekeeping and the removal of choco stains and substitution of ingredients. Actually, my mother tried to teach me how to cook, and God knows what kind of student I was. I was busy with other things. My attention was focused on boys and ‘kakikayan’. I wish I paid more attention.
As it turned out, by the time I had a family of my own, my mother was already in the States. But luckily, I was never asked to wash clothes or iron a man’s shirt. But it would be nice and probably, I would be better off if I had a few of my mother’s skills. Right now, women are not so concerned about housework. Women have jobs now. Balancing work and home is an everyday thing. How many magazines are there targeting the working mom. Our society does not question working mothers about their love for their children nor their decision to have a job. As long as the mother packs her daughter’s lunch, makes sure there is dinner at 7pm and there are clean clothes in the closet, everything is ok. But I guess it would be much better if a mom is present at the dinner table. In my case, I wish my mom is present now because I can’t seem to get my Mechado right. I think I’m missing an ingredient.
My son just enrolled in a driving school this morning. My dad accompanied him and paid for it. I don’t know if it should make me proud because any skill, even driving, is an advantage or it should make me nervous because I don’t how many driving maniacs are out on the road.
That thought has haunted me ever since my son expressed his wish to learn to drive last year. It’s the danger. It makes me want to take a blowtorch and put all driving schools on fire. But that would not have prevented him from learning, anyway. So I just told him that he would have to wait another year. And that time came this year.
But don’t think for one second that his wish wasn’t met with some resistance. I did all I could. Of course, there was the argument of what he would do if the car breaks down. Does he even know the first thing about car repair? And the gas allowance. I told him that he has to pay for his own gas and I won’t give an extra just for that. I know, I’m being paranoid and HARD. But you know how kids are and how they can be so impatient and careless.
This is how my bookshelves would look like. I just don’t know if I could fit all my books in those many holes. I guess I would have to give up some of the books I have considering I would soon move into a much smaller place. This is the consequence of condo living.
I’m taking a break from reading. Against my will, of course. I’ve finished three books in a span of one week. After finishing The Time Traveler’s Wife, I didn’t waste any minute and immediately started reading Twilight and I’m in love with Edward Cullen. If these were real people, I’m what everybody would call a ‘playgirl’. First, Henry and now Edward. Tsk tsk tsk.
I finished reading Twilight in less than two days and New Moon just overnight. I would have loved to finish the twilight saga but I can’t find a copy of Eclipse anywhere. Copies are unavailable and would only be available in two weeks. They’re out of stock. I went to every bookstore near our place and it’s the same thing. What I intend to do is to borrow from my niece (who lives in Laguna) because I couldn’t sit around for two weeks waiting. I can’t be left hanging. It’s just too frustrating.
Anyway, tomorrow is the premiere of the movie’s new trailer. I won’t miss it. That’s for sure.
I love to read. In fact, I enjoy reading so much I forgot about this blog. It’s been days since I last made a post. I finally have a copy of The Time Traveler’s Wife and I must say that it’s keeping me up very late at night. It’s that good and engaging. If only I could read the book from start to finish, I really would. But duty calls and it’s demanding. Anyway, I can’t wait to see the movie.
But the truth is, I don’t want to finish the book. I am afraid that if I did I would feel depressed. I don’t want to know the ending. I’m sensing that it’s not going to be a good one. I couldn’t stand to know that Henry might die in one of his time travels and leave Claire clueless and devastated. So I read a few chapters at a time until the inevitable happens.
Oh, I’m being melodramatic here. Since I’m a lost cause, a hopeless downer, a washed-up crybaby, I decided to drown my worries and my impending love and lust for Henry in blogging. It’s a sign of lack of men in my life. Love stories force you into intimate relationships and compromising thoughts with the lead characters. I’ll tell you a secret about the lead characters. They’re way more fun than real men.
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