Our classmate Senen is getting married!
I'm not going to give him any wishes for a peaceful married life. Get real. Instead I'm giving him this list, compiled over my own ten years of (mostly) peaceful marriage. If he takes this by heart, I can guarantee a measure of peace until at least his tenth wedding anniversary. :-)
Here goes:
Things I Wish Men Knew About Women:
1. Women need to be listened to.
2. They do not encourage rapists.
3. Perfume turns them on.
4. They crave romance and tenderness like drowning men crave life rafts.
5. They do flirt.
6. They like hearing 'I love you' but they have an ear for the words that ring true.
7. They need to have birthdays and anniversaries remembered with the same enthusiasm as boxing fight dates.
8. Their breasts need to be fondled, not mauled.
9. They do not get immense joy from cleaning kitchens and bathrooms.
10. They understand children intuitively, because the children grew under their hearts.
11. They cry, not because they're weak, but because they're in touch with their feelings.
12. They think with their minds but act with their hearts.
13. They can be like cotton candy -- sweet and soft outside, a hard stick inside.
14. To have husbands who are unfaithful is an injury to their souls.
15. They are all mothers at heart -- for small children and big men.
16. They like it better with a foreplay.
17. Menstrual periods do not make them crazy, unclean, or prone to attacks by rabid dogs.
18. They would sometimes like to give the flowers.
19. They like to be held when they're happy, when they're sad, and in-between.
20. They may not have looks that kill, but they can kill with a look.
21. They can feign indifference but can never hide pain, nor love for that matter.
22. They like having their new haircut noticed and commented on favorably, if not enthusiastically.
23. Making love thirty seconds after a woman has gotten dressed to go out is not spontaneous and fun.
24. They sometimes need to be left alone.
25. They need to be loved, desired, trusted, and respected, not just during courtship, but forever.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
the luckier one
My problematic daughter had one of her issues again. We were peacefully eating spaghetti last weekend when she announced, out of the blue, that her classmate Taketoshi said she was lucky because her mother was around. I said, Why, where is Taketoshi's (or was it Matsunori?) mother?
In Japan, she said. Like Robelyn, whose mother is in Dubai.
I see, I said. I vaguely remember that Robelyn was the classmate who had really neat toys, and had pretty dresses. Taketoshi-or-Matsunori was one of those little boys who usually had the latest gadgets and knew all the anime characters on Saturday-morning tv.
So they think you're lucky because you're with your mother? I asked. I was checking back how many mornings I brought her to school this year and socialized with her classmates. They were quite few. I was also remembering all the times I forgot to buy her pad paper or a plastic globe, or forgot to pay for her class picture, and of course I had guilt attacks.
These thoughts occurred in a matter of seconds, because her next statement was this:
Yeah, but Melissa is luckier. Because you see, her mother doesn't work. Then she looked at me meaningfully.
I could have spent the next hour equating kids' luck, and explaining the advantages and disadvantages of a working mother, but I lost heart and attacked the pasta instead.
She's a long way from the four-year-old who wanted to send her yaya to the office in my place so I could stay home and take care of her, but the issues remain the same. It's one of those things that kids will not really understand, no matter how much their parents try to explain. The funny thing about life is that she will learn all about it... when she has kids herself.
So I nodded and said that like her, Taketoshi-or-Matsunori (I never did get that kid's name straight), Robelyn, and Melissa all have mothers who love them, and mothers have different ways of loving, so one kid is not luckier than another.
Being lucky, like being loved, is a matter of perspective. But try explaining that to a kid.
In Japan, she said. Like Robelyn, whose mother is in Dubai.
I see, I said. I vaguely remember that Robelyn was the classmate who had really neat toys, and had pretty dresses. Taketoshi-or-Matsunori was one of those little boys who usually had the latest gadgets and knew all the anime characters on Saturday-morning tv.
So they think you're lucky because you're with your mother? I asked. I was checking back how many mornings I brought her to school this year and socialized with her classmates. They were quite few. I was also remembering all the times I forgot to buy her pad paper or a plastic globe, or forgot to pay for her class picture, and of course I had guilt attacks.
These thoughts occurred in a matter of seconds, because her next statement was this:
Yeah, but Melissa is luckier. Because you see, her mother doesn't work. Then she looked at me meaningfully.
I could have spent the next hour equating kids' luck, and explaining the advantages and disadvantages of a working mother, but I lost heart and attacked the pasta instead.
She's a long way from the four-year-old who wanted to send her yaya to the office in my place so I could stay home and take care of her, but the issues remain the same. It's one of those things that kids will not really understand, no matter how much their parents try to explain. The funny thing about life is that she will learn all about it... when she has kids herself.
So I nodded and said that like her, Taketoshi-or-Matsunori (I never did get that kid's name straight), Robelyn, and Melissa all have mothers who love them, and mothers have different ways of loving, so one kid is not luckier than another.
Being lucky, like being loved, is a matter of perspective. But try explaining that to a kid.
raising kids
In one of my blogs, When Death Do Us Part, I described my daughter's preoccupation with death. I thought we had finished the discussion. Then one morning last week, as I had finished fixing her ponytails before her school service comes, she burst into tears. I was startled and I started asking why. The more I asked, the harder she cried. My first thought was that her computer broke down again, then I thought someone had hurt her. Then I became worried that she'd go on crying until we're both late, and I was thinking of excuses to tell my boss.
She said, between sobs, that she did not want me to die. Oh, so that's it.
I sat her down and asked for more details. Apparently, one of her classmates informed her that all parents would die. I explained, carefully, that yes, all parents die. But hopefully, not too soon. I said I understand that she did not want me to die, and I myself do not want to die yet. But we never know when death will come. I did not add that I could easily die on my way to work, or never wake up at all one morning. I don't think I can handle a hysterical eight-year-old.
I said it's okay to get upset about it, but she has to understand that death is part of being human. And she cannot go on thinking about me dying. I told her I hope to see her children before I die. And I hoped her school service would be late while I explained further and fixed her face.
I think we did fine. Now whenever she hears things from other children, she clears them with me. Mama, is it true that when you take a bath at night, you'll become sickly? No, you'll just sleep better because you're fresh and cool. Mama, my friend said if I lay down at night with wet hair, my eyes will cloud over, and I'll get white hair. No, honey, it's just an old wives' tale. You have weak eyes to begin with, and no third-grader ever grew white hairs. Mama, what's an old wives' tale? Honey, it's a long explanation. Ask me about Facebook instead.
I'll take those eight-year-old tears and gladly explain why people die. But with it came the realization that before long, she'd come to me in tears because she'd broken up with her boyfriend, and it would be harder to explain why hearts break.
In time, she would learn that as much as mothers love their kids, mothers do not have all the answers, mothers are not always right, and yes, mothers die.
She said, between sobs, that she did not want me to die. Oh, so that's it.
I sat her down and asked for more details. Apparently, one of her classmates informed her that all parents would die. I explained, carefully, that yes, all parents die. But hopefully, not too soon. I said I understand that she did not want me to die, and I myself do not want to die yet. But we never know when death will come. I did not add that I could easily die on my way to work, or never wake up at all one morning. I don't think I can handle a hysterical eight-year-old.
I said it's okay to get upset about it, but she has to understand that death is part of being human. And she cannot go on thinking about me dying. I told her I hope to see her children before I die. And I hoped her school service would be late while I explained further and fixed her face.
I think we did fine. Now whenever she hears things from other children, she clears them with me. Mama, is it true that when you take a bath at night, you'll become sickly? No, you'll just sleep better because you're fresh and cool. Mama, my friend said if I lay down at night with wet hair, my eyes will cloud over, and I'll get white hair. No, honey, it's just an old wives' tale. You have weak eyes to begin with, and no third-grader ever grew white hairs. Mama, what's an old wives' tale? Honey, it's a long explanation. Ask me about Facebook instead.
I'll take those eight-year-old tears and gladly explain why people die. But with it came the realization that before long, she'd come to me in tears because she'd broken up with her boyfriend, and it would be harder to explain why hearts break.
In time, she would learn that as much as mothers love their kids, mothers do not have all the answers, mothers are not always right, and yes, mothers die.
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