tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74380442597589431412024-03-21T12:13:20.733-07:00Silverpixie MomPika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-59738855008494003792015-07-22T01:56:00.005-07:002015-07-22T17:44:48.886-07:00To Bully or Not To Bully, That is the Question<style>
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</style><span style="font-family: inherit;">I guess
all guys come to a point where they ask themselves if they will be nice or not.
The saying “nice guys finish last” is not exactly a good come on for them to
choose being nice. When I was in high school I witnessed many nice guys turn
into jerks when they realized it can get them: a) girlfriends b) popularity c)
“respect” from other bros. That is how messed up teenage thinking is, I guess.
I remember when I was in second year high school and I teased a classmate of
mine about his guitar skill and he took it so seriously that he pretended I
didn’t exist. He stopped talking to me and he never looked at me and he never
acknowledged my presence for 3 years. In other words: he was a complete jerk.
And guess what? Within those three years, he was my biggest crush. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
But this blog entry is not about why girls choose bad guys. I am one of them
girls and I have zero answers. I never really stopped to think about it. In
fact, during a very rough patch with my husband (then-boyfriend) about 8
zillion years ago, Life presented me a very nice man. He’s super smart, funny,
and we basically love the same things under the sun: music, food, style, books,
movies. But he was too nice. Is there such a thing? Can one be really “too
nice”? And is that a bad thing? Of course not. Never. But I chose the one who
can throw a punch. I don’t like violence, but I chose the one who can kill for
me. Is that weird? For whatever psychological explanation blah-blah-blah, it is
what it is. Bad boys do get babes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
So, with that said… how do I answer my teenage boy when he asked me if it’s
okay to be a bad guy for a change? Knowing “being bad” has gotten me things yet
my ultimate mission in life is to raise nice and compassionate human beings who
can contribute significant things in this world? His “Bad Boy” Dad’s advice is:
“Punch them if they punch you”, and despite my “all the world need is love”
motto, I cannot deny that that’s how my husband won me over. That’s twisted
right? Like I find my husband so painfully handsome when he smokes yet I hate
that he smokes. I’m just injecting these facts in the story, I am not saying
it’s sane, I’m not saying it’s right, I just feel I have to be transparent and
lay it out on the table so you’ll see how tricky this whole scenario is for me.
The thing is, his Dad and I are naturally spunky and feisty. We were born as
so. We didn’t know how to handle our spunkiness and boy it got us into a lot of
trouble while growing up. I was a bully and pretty much got what I wanted, but
as I got older (and wiser?) I realized all the world need is Love. As cheesy as
that may sound, it is also the most pure and true. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
My Prince
is unlike<span style="font-family: inherit;"> his Dad and I</span>. While my Prince was growing up, I have always stressed the
importance of being nice. He lies from time to time (pet peeve) like any normal
teenager would but generally speaking I have a nice kid. I remember the first time my
son was bullied. He was around 6 years old (when I was 6, I was already beating
up boys in playgrounds). I don’t remember what the bully did but I
remember perfectly well how I felt. I wanted to bully the bully and it was painful
to see my son sad and helpless. He’s now 15 and he has been bullied many times.
There was a time his “friends” read his diary, there was a time when the whole
school (because it’s such a small school) called him gay (just because he
drinks soy milk a lot, and people in his school knew most soy milks are genetically
modified = can wreck one’s hormones), things like not getting invited to go to
the mall and other seemingly harmless teen stuff. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g" data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$text4:0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I say "seemingly harmless"<span style="font-family: inherit;"> b<span style="font-family: inherit;">ecause they may seem childish to us but</span></span></span> these are a big deal for them. Especially for a
sensitive teenager. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span>It gets bad that
there are days he refuses to go to school. It’s natural for a mother to be
protective, the feeling bubbles and burns, it isn’t pretty. But despite my own
sadness and frustration, <span style="color: #351c75;"><b>I always tell him to remain nice</b>. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g" data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.0"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.0.$end:0:$text2:0">There's
no need for violence. Never. I have given
him that advice again and again. I have been in many cat fights myself
during my teen years to know that. Thankfully, there are <span style="font-family: inherit;">no bullies who</span>
resort to ph</span></span><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$text0:0">ysical confrontations in his school. </span><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$text4:0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He </span>is such an emo kid. He's sensitive. Being born on the year of the
Rabbit and all. It is <span style="font-family: inherit;">very easy</span> to upset his disposition.<b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></b></span><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$text8:0"><b><span style="color: #351c75;">Please do not get me wrong. H<span style="font-family: inherit;">e knows how to stand up for himself</span>. <span style="font-family: inherit;">He is smart</span></span>.</b> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g" data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$text8:0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g" data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$text12:0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">may</span> appear
weak and awkward most of the time, but he has <span style="font-family: inherit;">spunk</span> enough to fight for
what he believes in. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span>Like he explains himself
well if he's accused of being a tattle-tale or something. He snaps back
with witty one-liners when he's teased. <span style="font-family: inherit;">But it doesn't mean he is not affected.</span> Of course he is. </span><br data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$text9:0" /><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$text12:0"></span></span></span></span></span></span> <br />
Now it has gotten to a point where he’s thinking being nice is not exactly
working and that in order to survive, he needs to be a bully too<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">(<i>let's be clear:</i></span><i> by "b<span style="font-family: inherit;">ad/bully" </span>I mean “teenage bad” – like making fun of people and ostracizing
people just to look cool. Nothing super bad like hitting people or nothing
super illegal like drugs or killing – heck no!</i>).</span></span> If he can’t
beat ‘em, might as well join ‘em<span style="font-family: inherit;">, r</span>ight? Do I discourage him? Will I punish
him? <span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh m</span>y Prince… he has always been nice and sweet. He may have his teenage mood
going on but it is nowhere near the angst his Dad and I had. Now he wants to
try being bad. He thinks it is the way to get respect from his peers. He thinks it is the best way
to deal with his current life. It’s a conscious choice.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiheIYZ94dYfXXlQdKu-0mwcV0VPr-UAbKdSdg50oTTAxvP47uBQs0hl6wGkW3aIpA-UoEzbVgGaUa6WOXczEZ1qE39EWdnTmaU0y_yZFzk162ZASvDklXQyoitjZHhzd0wORmdgFqxtppA/s1600/IMG_8511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiheIYZ94dYfXXlQdKu-0mwcV0VPr-UAbKdSdg50oTTAxvP47uBQs0hl6wGkW3aIpA-UoEzbVgGaUa6WOXczEZ1qE39EWdnTmaU0y_yZFzk162ZASvDklXQyoitjZHhzd0wORmdgFqxtppA/s400/IMG_8511.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g" data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0"><span data-reactid=".6c.1:5:1:$comment10155792837255551_10155795877495551:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end:0:$text12:0"><b><span style="color: #351c75;">As
much as I have crushes on <span style="font-family: inherit;">bad boys</span>, <span style="font-family: inherit;">I</span> don't ever want him to be one. </span></b>
Bad boys make girls cry<span style="font-family: inherit;">, </span>haha! That's the truth. I don't want him to tease his classmates, I don't
want him to be the kind of guy that kicks out friends out of a certain
circle just because, <span style="color: #351c75;"><b>I <span style="font-family: inherit;">wish for</span> him to be<span style="font-family: inherit;"> kind all <span style="font-family: inherit;">the way</span></span></b></span>. But</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>I’ll let him be. I’ll let him be “bad” if he thinks that will work. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">I have reiterated the value of being a nice guy</span>, but I’ll allow
him to make his own choices.</b></span> Let him do his own social experiments. Chew the consequences, weigh in the pros and cons, see the <span style="font-family: inherit;">effects, the whole <span style="font-family: inherit;">shebang. </span></span>I can’t
bear the thought of my son torturing someone else’s life (I always tell him to look back <span style="font-family: inherit;">on those days when he was a victim. I remind him the Golden Rule: Don't do unto others what you don't want done unto you)</span>, but that’s just how
it is with teenagers I guess. No matter how hard we try to sell the idea of
“love one another” they’ll really go into th<span style="font-family: inherit;">at</span> phase <span style="font-family: inherit;">where</span> they test what will be
acceptable or not. I can't choke him, I can't cage him, I can't command how he'll live his life<span style="font-family: inherit;"> and w</span>e have no “religion” at home, so he doesn’t peg his life to
be like Jesus’, but he’s aware how important Love is. Ultimately, again as
cheesy as this may sound, Love is always the answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s naturally a kind and sweet being, I know <span style="font-family: inherit;">his natural self will</span> resurface sooner than he actually wants. After all, it is what it is.<br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">____<br /><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Follow the Prince <a href="https://instagram.com/kuya_jurs/">HERE</a> :)</span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">___ </span></span></span></span></div>
Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-80596881878818241062015-07-14T19:35:00.000-07:002015-07-14T20:11:45.958-07:00Our Un-Ho-Hum Life #1Today is a Tuesday which means I haven't blogged for more than a week which is not good since I promised myself to make at least one entry per week, ideally on a Monday which I aptly coined "Mommy Monday" because, you know, between work and real life I'm hoping to allot at least an hour or so for my Mommy blog on Mondays. That was a mouthful and I don't even know if that made sense.<br />
<br />
I was hoping to talk about some of the products I have been using on my kids but I figured maybe I can have something like "Feature Fridays". Then on days I have no "solid" blog entry, I can (or maybe 'should', it depends) have something like A-Day-In-The-Lives-Of kind of thing (although I do have a <a href="https://instagram.com/silverpixie/">photo-blog</a>), where there's no actual gem in the story, where it can be as mundane as telling a story how we went to the grocery store or how we watched our gardener sweep leaves. <br />
<br />
So on a day like this, when I have no "solid" blog entry (and by solid, I mean an entry written with soul and complete purpose), allow me to have a silly journal-type entry. Shall I call this series... <br />
<span style="color: purple;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: purple;"><b>Our Un-Ho-Hum Life </b><i>(or OUL)</i></span><b><span style="color: purple;">: </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: purple;"></span></b><span style="color: purple;"><span style="color: black;">(Name study still ongoing, hehe)</span></span><b></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Their yaya is on leave for her birthday so suffice to say my work took the slow train as I full throttled Mommy duty. I still got a little help here and there but basically they had me and I had them for 48 hours. Here's the report:<u><b></b></u><br />
<u><b><br />SilverPixie's 48 Hour Mommy Duty:</b></u><br />
Accidents: One. The computer chair fell backwards with the Dragon on it. Not hurt, just shocked.<br />
Food Report: Too many marshmallows for the Dragon, too many potato chips for the Knight.<br />
Mommy Boo-Boo: Forgot to give them their daily vitamins!<br />
Mission Impossible: Trimmed the Feisty Dragon's hair; bathed them AT THE SAME TIME!<br />
Poop Report: Yes, washed both bums simultaneously throughout both days.<br />
Extracurricular Activity: Rode a dinosaur (again). <br />
Realization: When the Dragon was as young as the Knight today, he was already walking.<br />
Boiling Point: When the Dragon screamed and shouted for more marshmallows during the time we had customers at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePurpleOwlTagaytay">The Purple Owl</a>. (Let's blame Grandma for introducing marshmallows in his life).<br />
Update on the Prince: Been getting good grades as of late and officially started basketball training! He also got me my fave milk tea yesterday. Ever so sweet :)<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNInkTNat9FbTAAk2tBvTCw45sJx4FDlr6gfL3uOAmgUK2hP-uSwP7Ed1tnEs9vq6dXdXpvV0393Qcc8JFkrw8IsL27pnc04gFSp6GPP1aGyrrvcWS9I1vryZDK9cCovpWbl39-cWBquG4/s1600/OUL+8.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNInkTNat9FbTAAk2tBvTCw45sJx4FDlr6gfL3uOAmgUK2hP-uSwP7Ed1tnEs9vq6dXdXpvV0393Qcc8JFkrw8IsL27pnc04gFSp6GPP1aGyrrvcWS9I1vryZDK9cCovpWbl39-cWBquG4/s400/OUL+8.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><u>Play time also means learning and exploring the world</u></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><u><br /></u></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><u><br /></u></td></tr>
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<br />
I was planning to narrate both days but a summary seemed more fitting since, really, nothing much happened. Nevertheless, I feel like short-changing you, my readers, if you get nothing out of my story. So let us wrap this up with: Mothers are imperfect. They're not really the all-powerful Goddesses most humans like to believe. Although, generally, we make sure our kids are clean and well-fed (hey, they had fresh fruits, veggies, rice, meat, and lots and lots of breastmilk!) We do give in to their tantrums from time to time, we sneak in "bad food" sometimes, we forget important things like vitamins, we lose temper, our kids fall off beds/chairs under our watch, and so many other face-palm-worthy things. Such is (a sweet) life!<br />
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<br />Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-53769844752386240142015-07-06T03:17:00.000-07:002015-07-06T03:38:25.533-07:00Of Robots and Kaiju Monsters - Roaring Memories<style>
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For many years I was a Zoid, a big black and mean bison Zoid
in my head, a lame Mommy Zoid in my Prince’s head. A bison Zoid that had lazer
powers, that swam underwater, and had tiny humans for crew that fixed me up in
seconds (or minutes – depending if I needed an excuse to catch my breath). My Prince
was the “<i>bida</i>” Lion Zoid and he had everything. And I mean every little<i> bida</i>
thing. If Lame Mommy Zoid breathed fire, <i>Bida</i> Lion Zoid breathed fire AND
missiles. If Lame Mommy Zoid had force field, <i>Bida</i> Lion Zoid had electrifying
force field. It had to be like that. The Prince hated losing. But it was fun,
easily one of the best bonding moments I have with my son. When he turned 9, I
pointed out that he was already getting big and that we might hurt each other for
real. So we stopped for good. (We had an epic last fight on top of my parents’
bed, read: bigger and bouncier). In reality I was just really getting old. I was
already 29 with asthma.<br />
<br />
Fast forward to today. Apparently I’m a mean big-ass dinosaur whose nemesis is
Godzilla. At least that’s how my second son (ahem, Godzilla) directs our
playtime nowadays. He is only 3 years old. Oh God help me there will be around
6 more years of this kind of play. Let’s not forget my Happy Knight who just
turned a year old. I wonder what kind of rough play he will be into? Being a
dinosaur is a lot harder than being a Zoid because as a Zoid my hands served as
ammunitions, I basically just flung my arms about. But as a dinosaur? I have to
growl all the time. I have to snap my teeth again and again. I have to
literally bite Godzilla. Not to mention I have to stomp around like a boss.
It’s pure physical workout I tell you.</div>
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Yes, this is what raising boys means. It means hundreds of rough pillow fights.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Laban laban” as my second son calls it.
They’re just naturally drawn to that kind of play. If it’s just up to me, I’ll
throw crayons and papers on the floor and call it an afternoon. But I am more
than happy to play the part, to be their favorite villain. It’s actually an
honor. No matter how lame an enemy I am (what kind of a big-ass dinosaur needs
rest every 3 minutes?!), it’s still my face they will see when they’re old and
gray and recalling their childhood.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiulxnrk1sfneE8wVwvSC-4ukR0cVWkHnL0Gshl1iLNXrNlp6lYdNTAG7KsAwWKJIpZG3FMMZj_qcaWqgwjTuAi9mHl31DSaSOyGJbmBRh-RDhMgt4isTo6bN6HVBYFJP8AnBus-U0cmKHB/s1600/fight+02.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiulxnrk1sfneE8wVwvSC-4ukR0cVWkHnL0Gshl1iLNXrNlp6lYdNTAG7KsAwWKJIpZG3FMMZj_qcaWqgwjTuAi9mHl31DSaSOyGJbmBRh-RDhMgt4isTo6bN6HVBYFJP8AnBus-U0cmKHB/s640/fight+02.jpg" width="284" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><u>The Prince now realized how unfair it is to be all-powerful, haha!</u></span></td></tr>
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Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-30164350816009749622015-06-29T00:30:00.001-07:002015-06-29T07:27:29.470-07:00And Another One of Mine Turns One<style>
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My youngest son turned a year old last June 18. He has 8
teeth, he can say a couple of words, he can take small independent steps, he
can last 10 hours without me, and each day that passes, he shows more and more
of his personality. I gave him the moniker “gentle happy knight” because
when I gave my second son the “feisty dragon” moniker I didn’t expect him to be
literally feisty (and yes, turns out he has a thing for dragons). I don’t know
if it was pure coincidence or just Law of Attraction at work but I didn’t want
to risk it hence “gentle and happy knight”! Haha!<br />
<br />
The birthday boy. He was a bit unplanned. My husband and I were planning to
have him around 2014 and even then it was still a decision we had to carefully
make. Alas, he was conceived October of 2013 while I was currently trying to
get the hang of handling several jobs but I went through the pregnancy with so
much happiness so much so that I didn’t stop happy donuts in my diet.<br />
<br />
He was weird when he came out. We couldn’t place who he looked like and he had
us guessing even weeks after his birth. The realization came late: he looked
like the boys of my mother’s nuclear family, the Spanish blood evident. From
the very beginning he’s a smiley happy baby. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe the moniker worked. Although we have
yet to see if he is indeed a gentle being because so far this is what we
gather: he is very demanding and impatient. He will scream and get really
frustrated when he doesn’t get what he wants right away. He is also <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ma-bibbo</i>, likes to show off his new
skills. He can open and close his fists at will only a few months old, he can
wave “buh-bye” at 10 months, he can dance and “sing” if you ask him to. I know
these are basic “baby tricks” but understand I didn’t experience that with my
feisty dragon. He was too feisty to perform “baby tricks” for us. <br />
<br />
Until now I don’t know what I have gotten myself into. I added another human in
this world, so much responsibility to bake this dough-boy into perfection.
There are hundreds of moments when I just stare at him and think: You are the
third person I have to take care of. It’s no joke to be responsible for a life
of ONE human, what more THREE. It’s an overwhelming thought. It’s more scary
than exciting. At the same time it is an overwhelming joy. The Love and Peace I
feel every time I caress his sleeping face is just priceless. I would just
stare at his tiny hands, tiny feet and the awe is powerful. I have done it to 3
babies, it never gets old. <br />
<br />
Twelve months on Earth and I am still getting to know him. Still adjusting with
this life of being a mother of three children. Still overwhelmed. </div>
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<span style="color: #b45f06;"><u><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Birthday
Celebration</b></u></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Concept and Venue<br />
</i>We wanted to celebrate at the Fun Farm again, <a href="http://silverpixiemom.blogspot.com/2013/05/celebrating-my-sons-first-birthday.html">just like the dragon’s 1st birthday</a> but since we knew there’s a huge chance of rain, we opted for <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePurpleOwlTagaytay?fref=ts"><b>The Purple Owl</b></a> (which is basically our home anyway). We knew we wanted it to be down-to-earth and simple but fun (not really a fan of loud and noisy, commercial character-ridden
birthday parties, especially for first birthdays) so we came up with “gardening”
party. At first the concept was to push living a healthy lifestyle and the
party food was supposed to be all-organic and all-natural but I procrastinated
too much with the preparation and just went and ditched the whole organic
thing. I was also supposed to put several “bars” (popcorn bar, juice bar, and
apple pops bar) but I knew we would run out of space since we decided two days
before the party to hold it indoors. The kids activity was supposed to be out
in the garden, I asked our gardener to prepare plots so kids can plant. It was
ready a week before the party but we had to opt for indoor activity instead and
came up with “paint your plant’s pot”. That’s really the whole idea of holding
it in our place so we can choose indoors even if it’s a last minute decision. <br />
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When he was only a few months old, just by chance, we kept getting stuff that were dominantly orange and teal so it was a no-brainer that his color-scheme
would be those colors. I wanted to veer away from <a href="https://www.facebook.com/hootdesignsPH"><b>Hoot Design</b></a>’s usual bare wood
look so I painted the wood white and added denim for a twist. The carrot just
happened. I guess it's the ultimate orange
representation of a garden? Hahaha!</div>
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I didn’t want it to be just a gardening party so I added a bit of twist to it.
I came up with the copy “Plant Positivity” and “Sowing the Seeds of Happiness”
so it has a relation to who my son is (a happy baby).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If there’s one thing I regret not doing it is
not doing the word balloon props for the studio I made for the photo booth
area. It could have been cooler had I provided word balloons with those
lines. The photo booth area was where people sat and relaxed and had their
photos taken ala-<b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/iflickphotobooth?fref=ts">photo studio</a></b>. The photos were one of our give-aways. We also
had mini clay pots the children took home after they painted it.
For the older guests, we had fruit-bearing plants like calamansi, passion
fruit, papaya, and guyabano.</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Blessing</i></div>
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Just like with my second son, we blessed the happy knight
with our very own loving energy. No priest, no pastor. Just us. We asked them
to channel all their good intentions and well wishes to him and we asked them
to envelope him with their Love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also
carefully selected special few to be his beacons. It was simple, meaningful,
heartfelt, and not tied to any religion but open and accepting.<br />
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Click <a href="https://www.facebook.com/jd.villafuerte/media_set?set=a.10153355571444004.1073741834.817629003&type=3&pnref=story"><b>HERE</b></a> for more photos! :)</div>
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Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-16454518578725842242015-06-22T23:34:00.001-07:002015-06-23T02:34:41.663-07:00Onto Upper School for the Prince<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My son started Upper School last June 15, still in <a href="http://acaciawaldorfschool.com/">Acacia Waldorf School</a>. He planned to leave the school because he was determined to expand his social circle, try new curriculum, basically explore a new world in a traditional school.<br />
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He crammed studying for the entrance exam and after a week we were notified that he didn't make the cut. His grade school teachers were shocked when they learned he didn't pass because they were all confident he would. Now they're saying it's probably because of the limited slots (he was the very last one to apply). I am thinking he failed the exam. I really don't know. Because the school didn't even bother to elaborate why he wasn't accepted. It was just those two cold words, high-technologically albeit impersonally stated on the computer screen: 'Not accepted'. I am not kidding you, it was only those two words. Nothing else.<br />
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I am sad for him but quite re-assured that I don't like traditional schools. I e-mailed them asking if they care to expound and all I got was a computer-generated unrelated response. When my son first tried to enter grade school, he took an exam in this progressive school in Quezon City. He wasn't accepted but I was given a thorough and comprehensive analysis as to why he didn't make it and even got a good recommendation to enter Builders School, a then-up and coming non-traditional school that specializes in teaching children to <strike>read</strike> love reading. That is how you help people learn. In fact, when we left Builders (because we have to <a href="http://silverpixiemom.blogspot.com/2011/11/our-big-move-to-south.html">move to Tagaytay</a>), his kind and capable teachers expressed their hopes and fears for my son. We felt the love and concern. That is how a school should be: teachers are more than just people who robotically shove information in our heads. They're our mentors, our guide, our friends. <br />
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Alas, I guess my son is just a number to them. A faceless, character-less entity who has to reach certain points arranged by them. I am not mad, bitter, or even disappointed. That's just how it is in their world and, apparently, it works for a lot of people. Some might point out that it is just how the "real world" works but in my opinion, our world should be about helping one another, reaching out to one another in our own best ways. It is totally okay to be denied acceptance but at least explain why and, if possible, point out the necessary steps one has to take to improve. It's not "baby-ing", it's called improving the society. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO9bPmkxF4aLYqFOZteVw5qdxkZcuMlsormYZRAGXOkVa99Bd1AKvt9fRuQWz5uxNBt8eQroZHsQlmkOIAzqFj_rFdKojgWd0aWdoX6_g2frb6BJuCdS-B3V6FoLcWzUt6Gqvo6vhpD1oT/s1600/IMG_9838.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO9bPmkxF4aLYqFOZteVw5qdxkZcuMlsormYZRAGXOkVa99Bd1AKvt9fRuQWz5uxNBt8eQroZHsQlmkOIAzqFj_rFdKojgWd0aWdoX6_g2frb6BJuCdS-B3V6FoLcWzUt6Gqvo6vhpD1oT/s320/IMG_9838.jpg" width="239" /></a>Well, like I said <a href="http://silverpixiemom.blogspot.com/2014/02/what-education-means-to-me-why-i-love.html">before</a>, it all boils down to how you personally define what education means. My top priority is to teach my children compassion and during the admission process of the traditional school he tried entering I didn't feel or see a tinge of it. I am now sure, more than ever, that it isn't for me*.<br />
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<i>*"Isn't for me" doesn't mean it isn't right for him. He will try again come next school year and we'll be here to support him no matter what.</i><br />
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Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-69759509663931217552015-06-15T19:52:00.001-07:002015-06-15T19:52:46.271-07:00Hello LifeIt's funny how this blog started with my Kind Prince as the main character. Now we have the Feisty Dragon and yes, now the Happy Knight. I can't believe within four years my little family is now bigger.<br /><br />Our third child was a little bit unplanned because we aimed to conceive on the year 2014 but I got pregnant October of 2013. The Universe has different plans. In fact, when I was pregnant with our Knight, we didn't know his gender until the very moment he came out of the womb while it's no secret we want a Princess in our story. So perhaps maybe 2017? Who knows.<br /><br />I haven't been updating this blog as often as I want to but I will try my best to tell stories that transpired and will also be keeping it up to date. Life just seriously happened. I started two businesses in the past two years (<a href="https://www.facebook.com/ThePurpleOwlTagaytay">here</a> and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/hootdesignsPH">here</a>) while still holding my current job as an art director in our <a href="http://www.yonzon.com/">family multi-media studio</a>, and like mentioned above, gave birth again. I'm even cooking up 2 more businesses. In between managing work, tandem breastfeeding, attending school meetings, consuming hundreds of milk teas, looking for the perfect yaya (we all know this is almost an impossible mission), I got too busy simply enjoying what life has to offer and resorted to instant (photo) blogging on Instagram (<a href="https://instagram.com/silverpixie/">follow me</a>!). <br /><br />Let's kick-off by simply telling you how my day started today. My day started at 2am with my Dragon and my Knight beside me, both awake, both wanting to nurse. So I tandem-fed them. After which, I checked the bed if it was wet with wee-wee then checked their butts. Because that's just how we roll. My toddler didn't have an accident but I changed my baby's cloth diaper. We slept again. Around 4am, same scenario. Because life is so awesome, it's mainly about boobs and butts.<br /><br />Around 6am, my Prince came inside the room to prepare for school and so the other two decided to also officially start their day. The Prince got busy with his outfit (which is cool, if I say so myself, hello camo pants and beanie), the Dragon got busy punching everyone and stomping his feet, the Knight got busy being half-cranky half-excited to play. <br /><br />Hello Life.<br /><br />Then it got a little bit more interesting because I placed my toddler in a corner after he punched everyone but the "corner" happened to be his closet so he grabbed his Godzilla outfit and insisted he wears it. He stripped off his jammies and got inside Godzilla and became Godzilla for around 8 minutes, decided it was too itchy and hot, removed it and decided to stay naked. So he was naked when they went out of the house for the usual morning mini-walk in front of the house.<br /><br />Oh yes. This blog will be interesting. <br />
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<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-79529795813972631812015-06-11T01:32:00.000-07:002015-06-11T01:36:05.493-07:00Welcome Back<style>@font-face {
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I have been on hiatus for more than a year. My last entry
was last February 2014. I was 4 months pregnant at that time with my third
child and between that and today, things have been quite fast and confusing and
a bit sad. First off, my financial status has been (and still is) incredibly
shaky. Having no fixed income can be quite exhausting. Secondly, I lost my last
grandmother and my one and only uncle on my mother’s side. My one and only
Godmother has been in and out of the hospital, wowing everyone around her, time
and time again, as she fights all the cancer in her body. Sigh. <br />
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On the very bright side, I gave birth last June 18, 2014, without anesthesia
again. Funny that this is a mommy blog yet I never really wrote anything about
my pregnancy (I think I only have one super-crammed entry regarding my journey
with No. 2 in my tummy). It’s as if I avoid talking about it which is totally
the opposite because I’m passionate about the wonders of child bearing. I’m
passionate about breastfeeding. About using cloth diapers. About feeding my
children the right stuff (yet watch me feed them Mcdonald’s French fries from
time to time because I am frustratingly inconsistent like that). <br />
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My eldest graduated last April and will start Upper School this Monday,
June 15. Three days after that my youngest son will turn a year old. My middle
child is now 75% Godzilla. <br />
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I will try my best to fill in the blanks as I move along. For now, allow me to
welcome you all back to Silverpixiemom. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What do you know? I have THREE sons now!</td></tr>
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<br />Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-65743788897869887472014-02-23T23:02:00.002-08:002015-06-15T17:24:35.875-07:00What Education Means To Me (Why I Love Waldorf)<br /><style>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><i>Discussing and choosing the right kind of education is like
discussing and choosing a religion. It all boils down to: what is education to
you?</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I had no choice when my eldest was in pre-school since I
wasn’t the one who paid for it, and quite frankly, I was too young to weigh for
myself what was truly important. He did go to a good pre-school but really,
what makes a school “good”? My then-5 year old boy was studying fractions and
geography and I thought that was the new norm because when I was in pre-school
we only had time for stories, clay, play, snack, and naps. In hindsight, my
son’s school was that kind of school that saw children as numbers, as academic
statistics. It was all about how many toddlers they can send to Manila’s top
schools. I never aspired my son to go to those “top schools” but that kind of
education and environment surely made me question the capability of my own
child: Why hasn’t he learned how to read yet? Is there something wrong with my
child? I didn’t know then that I was asking myself the wrong questions.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Learned fractions, the 7 continents, and so much more! I thought it was all good...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up.
I wrote down ‘happy’. They told me I didn’t understand the assignment,
and I told them they didn’t understand life.”
</i><br />
― John Lennon</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">For the first two years of his elementary life, I sent him to a non-traditional
school, also in Quezon City. It was a non-conventional school and they
approached learning in a fun and interactive way. My son learned how to love reading
in this school but in retrospect, the whole approach was still too cerebral. I
didn’t know then that I wanted more for my child. I didn’t know then that there
could be so much more to “educate”.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">When we left the crazy city and moved up to the mountains, the nearest school
that appealed to my taste was Waldorf. At first it was too radical, but between
“too radical” and traditional, I chose the former. And I believe I made the
perfect choice. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
The Transition</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">If I am to profile a typical 2008 3<sup>rd</sup> grader, they would be little people who were into High School Musical. Their shoes a wide variety of funky Chuck
Taylor. They consumed hotdogs and fries like there's no tomorrow. They're into Spongebob and Harry Potter. They owned things like iPods and iPads with Linkin' Park and Soulja Boy MP3s.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">When my son moved to Waldorf in 2009, he was so disappointed that his FrancisM moves
didn’t appeal to his new classmates, heck they didn’t even know who Francis
Magalona was. He was disappointed that his new Chucks were irrelevant. He was
disappointed that he wasn’t allowed to use stickers with skulls and other ‘Chemical
Romance’ or ‘emo’ things on his lunchbox and notebooks. Instead, he had “odd” classmates.
He had classmates who played with wooden stilts and/or knitted tote bags during
breaks. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I admit I was culture shocked. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With his classmates who were, naturally, into exploring bugs at the age of 8.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I thought my son’s love for “emo” stuff was “self-expression” and I tried to
question the teacher about it. What I didn’t realize then that it wasn’t
“self-expression” at all, but rather, pop culture reflecting off my child. And
the goal of Waldorf was to find out WHO MY CHILD REALLY IS before he can
explore pop culture. Before the Hanna Montanas and Sponge Bobs of the world corrupt
the child, Waldorf education digs deep and encourages them to grow as who they really
are with detailed and age-appropriate curriculum. As one parent shared, during
one of our many book studies, “I decided to move my daughter to Waldorf because
she was no longer herself. She acted and sounded exactly like the character she
watches on TV. The scary part is, it wasn’t only her but her classmates as
well.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It may seem “wrong” to block off the “real world” to these children, but if you
think about it, what is real and what isn’t? How can a child find out the “real
side of him” if he is bombarded with people and things to idolize and mimic?
How can they enjoy nature and spend time with themselves when they’re already
addicted to the moving graphics of computer applications and cartoons? I came
to realize that cognitive knowledge, <span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">emotional
and spiritual learning, practical and physical skills are well achieved if
there are little to no exposure to Disney, Cartoon Network, Eat Bulaga, and the
likes in the first 12 years of a child’s life. </span>I don’t know about you,
but I certainly don’t want media to define my child. (Read why Silicon Valley
hot shots send their kids to Waldorf <a href="http://www.good.is/posts/why-are-silicon-valley-executives-sending-their-kids-to-a-tech-free-school">here</a> and <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2052977/The-Silicon-Valley-school-tech-honchos-send-kids-DONT-use-computers.html">here</a>). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Finding Out What
Education Means to Me</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Five years in Waldorf and I am still learning a lot of things about my son. My
responsibility doesn’t stop at when I pay the tuition fee and I don’t assess his
progress through numbers on papers alone. Not just based on his squiggly paint
lines, or crookedly crocheted Christmas ornaments, even. My son’s teacher meticulously
explains what goes on in a person as they sail through one developmental phase
after the other so we have a better understanding or a good advantage when
assessing my child’s behavior, temperament, interests, language, and rhythm.
The teacher fostered a solid partnership between us and in effect, made me
realize that my responsibility doesn’t stop with my child. It goes on a social
level and so I started learning how to echo the values of the entire community
and vice versa.</span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“The healthy social life is found when, in the mirror of each human
soul, </i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the whole community finds its reflection and when, </i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in the community, the strength of each individual is living.”</i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">- Rudolf Steiner</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Blame it on my pregnancy, but I was teary-eyed one day when we had a question
and answer portion with Waldorf kids. One parent asked them to describe their
future selves and they said: "happy, inspirational, and helpful". "Aren’t you
already happy, inspirational, and helpful?", a parent pushed. They said they
already are and so much more, but they want to continue being so in a global
scale ten years from now. I half expected to hear the usual: ‘Successful
businessman’, ‘brilliant doctor’, ‘rich lawyer’, and so on and so forth. A fool
I am to forget for a second that these children aren’t molded like other
children. Other children who spend 8 or more years of their school life
brainwashed to think that in order to survive this world is to study hard and
get a job that pays well. Other children who are used to measure themselves
through how many medals they have around their necks. Other children who are exposed to the idea that their worth is as good as how many games their school wins on national TV.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">What truly matters to me is for my children (and other
children!) to grow confident, compassionate, respectful, grateful, appreciative,
helpful, generous, and to have enough sense to survive this world without
succumbing to nasty tricks. I want them to be whole, I want them to be the kind
of people who will never be cynical, jaded, and selfish. I want them to be
citizens of the world and I want them to know that the power to attain real
freedom and peace comes from within. Excellence in academics is just sweet
bonus.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I agree with what a co-parent said on the video above: The world would surely be a better place if there are more schools like this. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I am not saying I am trying to raise a Ghandi. Truth be
told, my teen lies and tease people like any other teen, heck he is even
addicted to MineCraft. I’m just happy I have a solid idea who and how I want
them to be and I am grateful I found a school to make me realize these things
and help me achieve it the best way possible. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilFlFaq3XFZG5lrNmx9RMD6-SMySCmk7iaHUig11gfufhZ8X6N44bboByrH7ve9cJiFzyvATE8mzOPGLKsSfIJDa5Sx1VyfNxdrZ3m6hyA-fKJkakt5Ywbjvlu4Y7lfUY4sf5KnFqZH-cP/s1600/SchoolArticle+photo+005.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The only competition is yourself.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdlUEX8HF3XFm2rrHa3ouvDow4qGObhq1xqq42eGClRxpanPcmLmFNA3EScyn4XJlt2G6oirMj8P1CiF2V-ifx6U14ujeNvE4duZvhla6kLkmd9OsMtDQ_f937i0itDdUXV65EzzGtJpJN/s1600/SchoolArticle+photo+004.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdlUEX8HF3XFm2rrHa3ouvDow4qGObhq1xqq42eGClRxpanPcmLmFNA3EScyn4XJlt2G6oirMj8P1CiF2V-ifx6U14ujeNvE4duZvhla6kLkmd9OsMtDQ_f937i0itDdUXV65EzzGtJpJN/s1600/SchoolArticle+photo+004.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fishing to kill time with school friends. No iPads/iPhones allowed.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2iI62hicSE0_fh4HGAQ0WBaCNpG2kertllWCoKc0PtoD6sBFUwBKwT9WYxbiAeUU64oqp46V7JHYpfhs8dTjJcF_r-9_OTBcFZaoT0Ss04s9kCsAnmUgnXisZeQaYhaddERveIPqAsweB/s1600/SchoolArticle+photo+002.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2iI62hicSE0_fh4HGAQ0WBaCNpG2kertllWCoKc0PtoD6sBFUwBKwT9WYxbiAeUU64oqp46V7JHYpfhs8dTjJcF_r-9_OTBcFZaoT0Ss04s9kCsAnmUgnXisZeQaYhaddERveIPqAsweB/s1600/SchoolArticle+photo+002.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Biology class: Cooking healthy food for the body<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5sIakBcB8Zb1NaV57Dx2eYPndWTFguGirCpTQX0Z2ClmSUI5rj39FIPtpPDvCx8KX60LEna9cXZliqk0zHc_1CKzZ8FNQ7UlaRnOFyBocNLkp-4z9omZx_IqeQrlVRi7ELMZXs4G3_FoY/s1600/SchoolArticle+photo+007.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5sIakBcB8Zb1NaV57Dx2eYPndWTFguGirCpTQX0Z2ClmSUI5rj39FIPtpPDvCx8KX60LEna9cXZliqk0zHc_1CKzZ8FNQ7UlaRnOFyBocNLkp-4z9omZx_IqeQrlVRi7ELMZXs4G3_FoY/s1600/SchoolArticle+photo+007.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I want my sons to be confident, compassionate, respectful, grateful, appreciative,
helpful, generous, and to have enough sense to survive this world without
succumbing to nasty tricks. I want them to be whole, I want them to be the kind
of people who will never be cynical, jaded, and selfish. I want them to be
citizens of the world and I want them to know that the power to reach real
freedom and peace comes from within.</td></tr>
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READ MORE:<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"We are often asked: 'Are you preparing your children for the REAL WORLD? Are they ready to enter <i>this</i> school or <i>that</i> school?' ...I believe we are selling ourselves short if that's the only thing we're looking for. The answer is YES and more. They're people who can think outside the box, people who can create new forms. It's not just on the level of development of the intellect but it is this whole human being."<br /><br />"It's not preaching morals to these children, but allowing them to find their own moral within different stories that they hear or different lesson situation that come out."<br /><br />"You can tell there's really something beautiful going on in Waldorf but you can't say exactly what it is."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Fitting that this video ended with a Waldorf Medieval Fair. <b>Acacia Waldorf School's Medieval fair is this coming February 28! Please come and join us!</b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">___________________________________</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Note of Thanks:</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5sIakBcB8Zb1NaV57Dx2eYPndWTFguGirCpTQX0Z2ClmSUI5rj39FIPtpPDvCx8KX60LEna9cXZliqk0zHc_1CKzZ8FNQ7UlaRnOFyBocNLkp-4z9omZx_IqeQrlVRi7ELMZXs4G3_FoY/s1600/SchoolArticle+photo+007.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Thanks to my mother who introduced this school to me and for helping my husband
and I with the finances. We are forever grateful.</span></span></div>
Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-4622858539154737522014-01-22T08:02:00.001-08:002015-06-15T17:31:34.015-07:00Let It Go<br />
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<b>The Struggle and the Acceptance</b><br />
Our struggle with my eldest son is that he needs constant reminding of everything. Ever since he was a little boy, his father and I would always have to remind him his daily duties. From simple things like brushing his teeth before sleeping to feeding his dachshund. None of those duties are complex, in fact, they're your everyday things. But with my eldest, we checked on him all the time. Even when there's a list of his duties displayed on the wall.<br />
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He would leave his brand new bike out in the rain right after his long
and serious talk with his father about taking care of bikes. He would fail to bring extra clothes even after reminders. He would forget to wear his dental
appliance even after warning him that he'll be grounded if he does. He'll have a hard
time executing a 4-step instruction because by the time you're done explaining the fourth step he already forgot the first one. He sometimes wears his clothes topsy-turvy without him noticing unless someone points it out.
These and many other things have been happening for a decade. Our long
and serious talks about him would happen 4-6 times a year. There
were times that I would literally pull my hair out.<br />
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He doesn't mean to be stubborn or naughty or disobedient, he just naturally have a forgetful mind. Rather, his mind is always somewhere else. The person who had the hardest time accepting that is my husband who was almost always disappointed, and he always wondered why his son "never learns". This created a weak relationship between the two.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigl-3vhc9AXgvkobkn01pDpwBXqFdYJycxo34vVx68zw89o-SrEk3SZ81R6dMur4-ijvaMxGLoxzDGr7XK8jMrgTbtcQkloMa3_gjL3sHxSAwajt6NAw1Mh1r6EH_BWi_tVasyjXmC_MBu/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-01-23+at+11.50.18+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigl-3vhc9AXgvkobkn01pDpwBXqFdYJycxo34vVx68zw89o-SrEk3SZ81R6dMur4-ijvaMxGLoxzDGr7XK8jMrgTbtcQkloMa3_gjL3sHxSAwajt6NAw1Mh1r6EH_BWi_tVasyjXmC_MBu/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-01-23+at+11.50.18+AM.png" width="397" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friendship hindered since his father would always interpret his absent-mindedness as disobedience and obstinacy.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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The second person who has trouble accepting him for 'what' he truly is, is my mother. She thinks she knows my son well, often giving unofficial diagnosis/analysis on my son's behavior, so much so she insisted (even sponsored) for my son to see a high-profile (and very expensive) child psychiatrist. After several sessions and thousands of pesos, the final (and official) diagnosis of the renowned doctor was this: My son is a very kind person, he just needs constant rhythm in his daily routine, and if he appears to be disobedient, know that it's normal among teenagers. In short, my son is normal. But my mother still insists, up to this day, that my son has Attention Deficit Disorder. In fact, you would always hear her say that my son is not right for traditional schools because he would be shunned. Take note that my mother's favorite grandchild is my eldest son. Maybe that's the very reason why she thinks he's special and that he needs her protection. But it doesn't help. Especially when my son hears her talk like that, he starts questioning his capabilities. <br />
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Don't get me wrong. It's not like I didn't go through a phase of anger, disappointment, frustration, and denial. I went through all of those. It's not easy. I sought the help of teachers, mentors, and doctors in Waldorf multiple times and they've given a few insights here and there to help us cope.We tried many methods and we would often end up asking ourselves where we went wrong. Our frustrations didn't help at all because it was too tangible for him that he'll often express his anger and confusion towards himself. It was a nasty cycle that we were all too tired of.<br />
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<span style="color: #990000;"><b>I guess it all boils down to this: Do not expect perfection from your children.</b></span><br />
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He's a fine kid. He would tell lies here and there like any other kid, snarl and snap at people he dislikes, but overall, he's a very nice and sensitive kid. He's smart, sweet, thoughtful, generous, gallant, polite, helpful, artistic, optimistic, funny, and list goes on. If only we could just focus on his gifts rather than his shortcomings (or rather just embrace his "shortcomings"), then it wouldn't be that hard to raise him.<br />
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<b>Year 2014: Officially a Teenager</b><br />
Alas, he's now fourteen. So much mental, emotional, and physical growth had already occurred. But it's not too late for us to channel our energies somewhere else. We have to surrender and accept that he just have a sanguine temperament. We have to let go.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaq0HBACsQEimirk1M-BA_SHiEV0IynGwqPv3YDMtXvIt2VQ8nwOE-zLksnun37JXEELmNA10-ET1hC7zOEMXxOvUsA-N-T_pXiYGw6COsg1xC36jZyZVo6cA0yY4SMLvbAvq7pPW-zREt/s1600/juro+14.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaq0HBACsQEimirk1M-BA_SHiEV0IynGwqPv3YDMtXvIt2VQ8nwOE-zLksnun37JXEELmNA10-ET1hC7zOEMXxOvUsA-N-T_pXiYGw6COsg1xC36jZyZVo6cA0yY4SMLvbAvq7pPW-zREt/s1600/juro+14.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The Universe granted us the perfect chance to let go. My ever-generous parents gave me and my brother our own "starter homes", and it is conveniently near my son's school. Our arrangement this year is that my son would move in to our new home with his cousin next to my brother's house where he lives with his wife and 2 other children. While pregnant with our third child (<i>oh yes, dear readers, I'm pregnant again! More on that soon!</i>) I am to stay in my parents' house with my toddler because it is also where I handle 3 jobs. To shuttle myself back and forth would be too taxing for me. Then my husband has to be in the city, which is an hour and a half away, during weekdays. Suffice to say, we are only complete during weekends now.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2y9MNz4_LWbaMQ_DN1SUdBi9chfozjwIgVMJ1L-XrIOSDES646-PMIAK5mF-ACq52UoyStuZ54FeepNaXv31uNETnjmVfcJ_XAVSdHRbaeTNY_t3J4rTPRKP1JQn4zsNo2t5s7mdLY6w_/s1600/juro+14+04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2y9MNz4_LWbaMQ_DN1SUdBi9chfozjwIgVMJ1L-XrIOSDES646-PMIAK5mF-ACq52UoyStuZ54FeepNaXv31uNETnjmVfcJ_XAVSdHRbaeTNY_t3J4rTPRKP1JQn4zsNo2t5s7mdLY6w_/s1600/juro+14+04.jpg" width="305" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He lives here now with his cousin, my godson, who is only a year younger than him.<br />
My brother's house is just next to mine, so in effect, he is under their care. </td></tr>
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It wasn't easy reaching the decision to let go. In fact, my husband and I spent several coffee dates talking only about what could happen to our son. We were scared. We were unsure. We were apprehensive. Who will be there to take care of him? Who will be there to remind him his duties and chores? It was a 50/50 deal. Our son can get worse - and never bounce back, or he can step up and improve - and we'll have a smooth future.<br />
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We are only 3 weeks in and so far so good. There's a vast improvement according to his teacher. Her term is: <span style="color: #990000;"><b>He is now more awake</b>. </span>More conscious of his schedule, responsibilities, and tasks. One thing I love about Waldorf (my son's school) is that their teachers have a very personal approach. She has been my son's teacher since third grade in a low-population setting. That means she has the capability to track our children's overall growth.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg94uCtNOqBTuQEnkLTNiKday7ljdYd5KCtUzb7jbjqTM7rdhyphenhyphenpZyz8gHk456svou8AGaiEqhaFi-0wDJ96_Y2KzdAIniP0lm5rTDvSmldBPluPpgKbtJX1IGFB4Ogn377LSiWHtaNVRjMR/s1600/juro+14+021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg94uCtNOqBTuQEnkLTNiKday7ljdYd5KCtUzb7jbjqTM7rdhyphenhyphenpZyz8gHk456svou8AGaiEqhaFi-0wDJ96_Y2KzdAIniP0lm5rTDvSmldBPluPpgKbtJX1IGFB4Ogn377LSiWHtaNVRjMR/s1600/juro+14+021.jpg" width="640" /></a> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNLvxLpxHSuKFmd8VILuBS-xmXO62jLWEWrwBMxVyqxlVdVEpmrWuH4Bh22lqz921yTTFEw8TuvwNu9DbpwE_p1vJVzhE1fmWTVS2WxuqQZ7dfmAJ6SVkON5ukpQJWMBOQIQk9sa_Jzrgr/s1600/juro+14+05.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNLvxLpxHSuKFmd8VILuBS-xmXO62jLWEWrwBMxVyqxlVdVEpmrWuH4Bh22lqz921yTTFEw8TuvwNu9DbpwE_p1vJVzhE1fmWTVS2WxuqQZ7dfmAJ6SVkON5ukpQJWMBOQIQk9sa_Jzrgr/s1600/juro+14+05.jpg" width="305" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of his new daily chores: Watering the newly landscaped garden</td></tr>
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He has the whole year to step up and prove to us (and more importantly to himself) that he can stand on his own two feet. It's probably a good change for him that no one is breathing down his neck all the time. I have no idea if he brushes his teeth before sleeping since we're far away from each other now, but as his mother, instinct is telling me that it's the right time to say "so what!" and just let go... <br />
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<br />Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-51302062591101132042014-01-20T22:20:00.001-08:002015-06-15T17:34:26.327-07:00Nurture Vs. Nature<style>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My youngest son has proven to be such a feisty dragon.
Perhaps the Universe made him so because I blessed him that moniker a month or
so before he came out to the world. Had I known, I would have called him ‘the
gentle dragon’ instead. Thoughts become things?
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">As an infant he would often scream for my milky breasts and
he would also constantly crave for company. We co-sleep but got him a crib for
the times when I need to work and he needs a safe area to play in. But even if
you throw in colorful blocks and soft rattles, he would demand to be picked up
and played with. He knows exactly what he wants and he will <strike>do</strike> scream and cry his best to get
it. We knew right away he was going to be that kind of kid who will be hard to
lug around malls. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">As of today, he’s three months shy from turning two and here
we have a toddler who terrifies his little cousins. The mere sight of him can
send his cousins running towards their parents shuddering in fear. And I don’t
blame them. My son screams at them, pinches them, and violently pulls their
clothes. He’s a natural bully.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Some people are quick to judge these kind of kids. They
label them as “bad” and they are quick to conclude that these kids are poorly
taken care of. They assume right away that these kids learn such “bad” behavior
from the television. They assume that these kids are violent because they’re
exposed to violence.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Let me tell you something. When my eldest was growing up, my husband and I were
growing up too. Suffice to say, we would always have really violent fights in
front of our son. He was also exposed to television with
cat-trying-to-hurt-a-mouse kind of cartoons. I was barely around and I was more
or less a child myself but he has proven to be one of the gentlest human beings
I have ever known. On the other hand, my feisty dragon doesn’t watch cartoons
(save for Rise of the Guardians – a current obsession, will write about it
soon). And we don’t have fights in front of him, save for occasional small
and petty arguments here and there. My work-life scenario also changed, I have more time now
and I’m more attentive, relaxed, and patient. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Let’s face it. My dragon is a very feisty one. He was born
as so. But if you get to know him better he’s also naturally sharp, charming,
and playful. He’s generally a happy kid.
Especially
when well fed!</span></span><style>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7qxLk8bNlVyymyr7wCKye8C7X7IKVSNOS4gnfsGzx4aTFvk-bnL0QoPxViQXmHPCOcLcySofAoacKAt9_0ABdFoOz1WFhw37RB1ZN8OffLibbQYlcsYnEtCCDZpGNLyP33Zg1Fp-lPUBZ/s1600/Jaichi+Nature.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7qxLk8bNlVyymyr7wCKye8C7X7IKVSNOS4gnfsGzx4aTFvk-bnL0QoPxViQXmHPCOcLcySofAoacKAt9_0ABdFoOz1WFhw37RB1ZN8OffLibbQYlcsYnEtCCDZpGNLyP33Zg1Fp-lPUBZ/s1600/Jaichi+Nature.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">After 12 years of having just one child, I thought babies were given to parents like plain cookie dough and it’s up to the parents how to
bake them. Whoa, I was wrong. Children are born already half-baked! And they’re
not all cookies! Some are bagels, cakes, sourdough bread, pan de sal, and some
are even pizzas. It’s up to us, the parents, on how we'll fully bake them to
perfection. It's all about how to nurture nature. </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT-wH9nu-y_paH41Bw4YHY3UD-gi-45v9Oy9K6RTgObJ4zkViSS8oK2IyuzxzEJkW1MP04m_v-T6iYxonQYOXwR5jmPQEZ-idTwNqhXtSE4uaZSab9IUL7pGI5fMmuK1ZUon7NQwo5UL34/s1600/Jaichi+Nature4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT-wH9nu-y_paH41Bw4YHY3UD-gi-45v9Oy9K6RTgObJ4zkViSS8oK2IyuzxzEJkW1MP04m_v-T6iYxonQYOXwR5jmPQEZ-idTwNqhXtSE4uaZSab9IUL7pGI5fMmuK1ZUon7NQwo5UL34/s1600/Jaichi+Nature4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-79016777412741702652013-08-22T01:48:00.003-07:002015-06-15T17:41:13.156-07:00Nineteen and Stupid <style>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvwOXc3tgLVkzx6BJEGC9zF37OsbPQv8MyTQdF-OHxvkmf40pxFSmeloAMQmhchxgvT-RvmMPLCzhJyk8dnHvDTjzLw0t1BD9i4Fn8nHgTH_pluuV3rijAhXWH-_xeQ-QH_hYjxgRcdJCP/s1600/IMG_1157.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="397" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvwOXc3tgLVkzx6BJEGC9zF37OsbPQv8MyTQdF-OHxvkmf40pxFSmeloAMQmhchxgvT-RvmMPLCzhJyk8dnHvDTjzLw0t1BD9i4Fn8nHgTH_pluuV3rijAhXWH-_xeQ-QH_hYjxgRcdJCP/s400/IMG_1157.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">December 31, 1999</span></b></div>
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He greeted the world
two months too early and his juvenile parents welcomed parenthood seven years
too early.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was 4.10lbs., with weak lungs
and bones. He didn’t know where he was, he heard people celebrating as they
bid goodbye to the final eve of the millennium. Tubes were all around and he was in a
tiny see-through plastic box with strong light to warm him up. He was
surrounded by unfamiliar voices, different babies crying at different times, tired
nurses fussing here and there. He was a brand new human being in dire need of
human touch… of human milk.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #134f5c;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></span><span style="color: #134f5c;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He was confused. Was it his mother who carried him sometimes to wash him
hurriedly and passively? Was it his mother who poked him nonchalantly from time
to time, changing tubes and beddings? Was it his mother who would oftentimes
visit and touch his thin skin?</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #134f5c;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></span><span style="color: #134f5c;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Or was it his mother
who offered her nipples and precious milk for an hour or even less within a day?
Oh the milk he greatly needed. The milk that was specifically designed for him
by the Universe! It is precisely what he needed to catch up with all the
growing he missed inside the womb. That milk has live cells, essential
fat, vitamins, and other anti-bodies that no factory or science lab can ever reproduce. But he
only got an ounce or even less of that milk once a day within the very crucial
month he was living in a lonely, tiny plastic box.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #134f5c;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></span><span style="color: #134f5c;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">His mother was nineteen and ignorant. His mother was blaming her breast size
for the lack of milk it was producing. His mother couldn’t picture herself
locked up in a room breastfeeding all day; she had other important things to do
like studying and watching TV. His mother thought milk from the can is superior
to her milk... Ultimately, his mother had a gazillion of excuses not to breastfeed.</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #134f5c;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></span><span style="color: #134f5c;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh yes. His mother was
nineteen… and stupid. And there were not too many people around her to make her
otherwise.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #134f5c;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></span><span style="color: #134f5c;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Not too many people
were there to educate her and to guide her. Doctors were prescribing strong
medicines left and right, never telling her that human breast milk was just as
strong, even better. All hospitals had posters and other paraphernalia championing
canned milk. Nobody lifted an eyebrow at her for feeding him milk from cows. Nobody
accused her for denying the precious premature baby the best milk... Nobody
pushed her enough to breastfeed.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #134f5c;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></span><span style="color: #134f5c;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">As his mother shoved
down formula milk down his throat, the world seemed all right and normal. That
is, if you rule out HIS point of view.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: x-small;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>Epilogue</u></b></span><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">April 13, 2012</span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIoBrsGtDyyyHW01_mrkY5OCtY7Nsu3xB1PT2mE-_JmArNUcDmBPc3ki_PdU0paWoVWrMRdlTawDWK9CgKHFvlmZBQ0un6JLONYpVRXPHW4mNVx0qCGf_KbzCGcU-3qwFFVyk2lmOJH04E/s1600/IMG_1143.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIoBrsGtDyyyHW01_mrkY5OCtY7Nsu3xB1PT2mE-_JmArNUcDmBPc3ki_PdU0paWoVWrMRdlTawDWK9CgKHFvlmZBQ0un6JLONYpVRXPHW4mNVx0qCGf_KbzCGcU-3qwFFVyk2lmOJH04E/s400/IMG_1143.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Still fresh from giving birth, sore and tired, I felt I was zombie personified
yet I was convinced to breastfeed my second son. The internet is such a powerful tool,
nowadays there’s no excuse to be stupid. But having correct information is
sometimes not enough. I felt my tears flowing as my son screamed his lungs out
as he tried to suckle. It seemed he wasn’t getting enough milk. I started to
second-guess my decision.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />My husband was already in panic, ready to jump in the car to
buy milk in can. All the household help looked at me as if I was out of my mind
not to succumb to formula milk. Even my own brother, who was a
doctor-in-training, was ready to jump in the car with my husband. The look of
disappointment from the people around me was epic. They probably blamed the size
of my breasts for not producing enough.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
I kept jumping from one article after the other about newborns and breast milk.
It sounded easy, peaceful even. Why was I feeling I was in a middle of war
zone? Crying baby, panicking people. I trembled and prayed for support.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />I only had two. My breastfeeding sister-in-law and my mother
who kept telling me that I can do it. And yes, I guess the largest chunk of
support came from within, my own will propelled me to reach my goal. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>The first six months of my son’s life, he only had my milk
as food. No water. No cow’s milk. No juice. Exactly like what The World Health
Organization recommends: exclusive breastfeeding for baby’s first six months. I did it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />My husband, after begging him for support, gave it to me
with all his heart. Slowly but surely I found other mothers on various social
networking sites to get support.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It made
a world of a difference when people cheer you on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />Today, I make it a point to encourage women to breastfeed. I tell them what I know and I hope I inspire them whenever I breastfeed in public, or whenever I post photos of me breastfeeding. It breaks the taboo, it "normalizes" breastfeeding again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />I'm always here for support. I know how it feels to have none.</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifVFESqCQ34FCRGrRb2QhkM6KhMHGzsxKHtvaDRKr9S6eD1Qx3Q0dLRV3ASUpzG_uNsCwzx6e1TKl3lZB5AD9dZBuRvInJnijeiDaGNJTZZkU01C9rSNkUDpizdGhyo0ziMrttgXVkgkpn/s1600/IMG_9117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifVFESqCQ34FCRGrRb2QhkM6KhMHGzsxKHtvaDRKr9S6eD1Qx3Q0dLRV3ASUpzG_uNsCwzx6e1TKl3lZB5AD9dZBuRvInJnijeiDaGNJTZZkU01C9rSNkUDpizdGhyo0ziMrttgXVkgkpn/s320/IMG_9117.jpg" width="258" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">This photo means a lot. This is taken by my eldest son without me asking.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">He supports breastfeeding 100%</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Not a taboo. Not wrong. Just pure, innocent, Love, and natural.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h4>
</h4>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">
</span>Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-91604562251608193702013-07-24T07:50:00.002-07:002015-06-15T17:45:55.516-07:00Summoning the Sexy You<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Disclaimer: my mommy
blog is about my children/family. After all, they're the reason why I am a
mommy. This post, however, is simply about me. </i></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHH0DRd3yteQyBXqoIhbIooCg6Mo3klaKRPSpB2GtoMM7Hiy56zl0Ru-4B_UlQRaHHELjBKmVAiJ0ooNVlIz6ij-0yChtFyTtWvALZ2uLYLUOZOGI6SU01yA4a1axl20e0lxXziy1TqfqV/s1600/Polecats2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHH0DRd3yteQyBXqoIhbIooCg6Mo3klaKRPSpB2GtoMM7Hiy56zl0Ru-4B_UlQRaHHELjBKmVAiJ0ooNVlIz6ij-0yChtFyTtWvALZ2uLYLUOZOGI6SU01yA4a1axl20e0lxXziy1TqfqV/s400/Polecats2.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i> </i><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: Courier;">The Royal Awkwardness</span></b></span></span><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: Courier;">I was a ballerina as a
child, and a lanky basketball player as a teen. Sadly, the result is an awkward
adult. I don't exude sexiness, although I try sometimes, it's not who I am.
Between giving birth and making an honest living, the Sexy Me (if ever there
was a 'Sexy Me') has long surrendered to perpetual hibernation. I do believe my
trout pouts a.k.a. duck face and "seemingly brimming with
self-esteem" self-portraits are all for show. If you know me in person,
I'm 90% geeky-childish-tomboy and 10% trying hard sexy (a.k.a awkward). Might
as well call me The Royal Awkwardness. And yours truly had been awkward on a
pole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: Courier;">Oh yes ladies and
gentlemen, I pole-danced. Or rather, I pole-awkward'd.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-FZQm-KJ49o63cWs4PMnBe-6rKTtXkA0zHhq8fKXoZA6T8w2Hmv4UHrJfghkAOJYTu_VGSQSWdfag4aNhamRdSZJaC3eApWBzNemHtmh2m3NuerxtE7Z8iYccsTsa3X48rs4aRzeauCkG/s1600/Polecats3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-FZQm-KJ49o63cWs4PMnBe-6rKTtXkA0zHhq8fKXoZA6T8w2Hmv4UHrJfghkAOJYTu_VGSQSWdfag4aNhamRdSZJaC3eApWBzNemHtmh2m3NuerxtE7Z8iYccsTsa3X48rs4aRzeauCkG/s400/Polecats3.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Oh my, your Royal Awkwardness. You don't even know left from right!<br />They're ALL facing the other way!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: Courier;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: Courier;">The Dance</span></b><span style="font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: Courier;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: Courier;">Pole-dancing is very
physical and it demands the Sexy You. It demands you to stretch and point your
toes. It demands you to thrust your milky breasts forward with pride. It
demands you to liquefy your hips. It demands you to abandon every inch of your
square-ness. It confronts the fact that the female are potent sexual beings,
not just people who think of what the kids will eat next, which shampoo is
toddler-friendly, and if the mister has sufficient fiber in his diet. It
expects you to bring sexy on. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: Courier;">The dance is
beautiful. It is fluid and compelling. It is strong and arresting. It summons
your Inner Goddess. Within the first hour of trying out this dance, I found
myself clapping and laughing, just like whenever my one year old masters a new
trick. I believe my hair is shinier and bouncier ever since the dance demanded
me to incorporate my mane to the overall choreography. I had it tied in a bun,
as per usual, but was asked to make it speak sexy too. Literally and
figuratively, this dance wants you to let your hair down. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: Courier;">Moms and Poles</span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: Courier;">The words
"mom" and "pole dancing" aren't exactly the words you'll
expect to hear in one sentence. In fact, to some degree, these words are like
oil and water. But I guess that's the very point of this class: to prove that
mothers can bend, stretch, and twirl around the pole just like any other Jane. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: Courier;">I believe it is one of
the few things you should do for yourself as a mother. Dedicate at least two
hours in a week to unleash this important part of you. Not for anyone on the
bed, but for yourself as you explore and hone this power to perfection. Its
potency can make you a complete woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: Courier;">There’s a class specifically
dedicated for mothers and it is really heart warming that this kind of dance
didn’t overlook “our kind”. We do need to get re-acquainted with our physical-self
after enduring pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding.<br />
<br />This class definitely helps you conquer awkwardness, embrace mommy body, and call
forth the ‘Sexy You’. By all means two thumbs up from me!</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi43-_-V91vge-bNI1kq_5Lvm_6FzVKgrXqjnt9DpinzNlhxyyr_cAPAKsGB91k8G7_CqvMsERARHd1aKZsRQK3gUrGcuXHfigWEunhoScR7iG2npW-2nT7eI1g6QcOYMnnyDuhc8AihqhM/s1600/jaichi+pole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi43-_-V91vge-bNI1kq_5Lvm_6FzVKgrXqjnt9DpinzNlhxyyr_cAPAKsGB91k8G7_CqvMsERARHd1aKZsRQK3gUrGcuXHfigWEunhoScR7iG2npW-2nT7eI1g6QcOYMnnyDuhc8AihqhM/s400/jaichi+pole.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I was like you, my son. I clapped and beamed as I learned new tricks.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikjtzYO8ZhCIc3sncyHYWKggLGMz7EyS8CR3jasvh1OjcxRAPdHW5XDR4mfVBgB4IsGVi7_hBIe5lBMcg9pZj0Mhle98_ThybzhvPWfWQ1m_aY7KZFHexKGOmqd-RBT7E78YhYnHayBo_K/s1600/cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikjtzYO8ZhCIc3sncyHYWKggLGMz7EyS8CR3jasvh1OjcxRAPdHW5XDR4mfVBgB4IsGVi7_hBIe5lBMcg9pZj0Mhle98_ThybzhvPWfWQ1m_aY7KZFHexKGOmqd-RBT7E78YhYnHayBo_K/s400/cover.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Check out my YouTube Vlog <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y-wv1tGAVfI&feature=youtu.be"><u><b>HERE</b></u></a>!</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKFOgakUSrUljlOPwYv6HdUEAurssA_Iyf9dJawPFyZJ3KYtep1JlQek4RPwHEXK9f0jJ_VQyyK7wGzhdS64WgcEV18QfWER1F_4pdfJDl8tHCqtCneXK_R9tH_Yo4VBHeL00j1mlDs6j1/s1600/Polecats.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKFOgakUSrUljlOPwYv6HdUEAurssA_Iyf9dJawPFyZJ3KYtep1JlQek4RPwHEXK9f0jJ_VQyyK7wGzhdS64WgcEV18QfWER1F_4pdfJDl8tHCqtCneXK_R9tH_Yo4VBHeL00j1mlDs6j1/s400/Polecats.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">My last hurrah pose where I literally threw my arm up.<br />Photo grabbed from fellow mommy blogger <a href="http://www.themodernfilipinamom.com/">Cheska</a>.<br />Other mommy bloggers in this picture are: <a href="http://www.rinasrainbow.net/">Rina</a>, <a href="http://www.earthlingorgeous.com/">Earth</a>, <a href="http://www.moomymusings.com/">Glaiza</a>, and <a href="http://www.fiveofus.info/">Janice</a>.<br />That's Christine Dy, our bubbly and lovely instructor, wearing Polecats Manila tank top.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: Courier;">___</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: Courier;">Thank you PoleCats
Manila for the experience! If only you have a studio here down South it would
be perfect for me! Check out PoleCats Manila and their offered classes <a href="http://polecatsmanila.com/">here</a>.</span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMT1o7QTNiDiVeZB-PG4WELiwgrcTRas1ofHAjZzUWpj-4feMPJV5owX12CyzgJYnj5_NJOx0OGBplr9oYKb4gIH41BCdLrwThbcY7SrfhwkJmYqKNT3BiYF6eF_prATBmshA71LWLp2Tn/s1600/995738_10151702759574501_1838204458_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMT1o7QTNiDiVeZB-PG4WELiwgrcTRas1ofHAjZzUWpj-4feMPJV5owX12CyzgJYnj5_NJOx0OGBplr9oYKb4gIH41BCdLrwThbcY7SrfhwkJmYqKNT3BiYF6eF_prATBmshA71LWLp2Tn/s320/995738_10151702759574501_1838204458_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.8pt 91.6pt 137.4pt 183.2pt 229.0pt 274.8pt 320.6pt 366.4pt 412.2pt 458.0pt 503.8pt 549.6pt 595.4pt 641.2pt 687.0pt 732.8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: Courier;">Shout out to all other
mommy bloggers who were there at PoleCats Manila’s Blogger’s Day! We survived!
Heehee. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com52tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-43536088839061216842013-06-18T23:03:00.000-07:002015-06-15T17:49:09.859-07:00On Giving Them What They "Need"<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIeoASeQtKmP7YBJ18StJO0bWjdELDtoVFYC5wkuZtryKFJb1rwQr2kywnxDDSu5uSivvuY1G0tDr29ICSXd6jKjv4syfEI4pBH0wMd6hJnNaM67lgzp9AFbFcGcp-GaQ3rEoHs0nfaXYL/s1600/IMG_89182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIeoASeQtKmP7YBJ18StJO0bWjdELDtoVFYC5wkuZtryKFJb1rwQr2kywnxDDSu5uSivvuY1G0tDr29ICSXd6jKjv4syfEI4pBH0wMd6hJnNaM67lgzp9AFbFcGcp-GaQ3rEoHs0nfaXYL/s400/IMG_89182.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My firstborn, you're thirteen. Challenges are surely coming our way.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: small;">“So, do you really
need it to be an expensive shoe?!”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: small;">And I was met with
hot tears.<br />
<br />
He didn’t have to answer my question. Of course I can buy him affordable rubber
shoes. But what kind of “need” are we talking about here? I know It’s not about
the physical features of the shoe. His need for the ridiculously expensive shoe
is on a social, hormonal, materialistic level kind of need.<br />
<br />
And I completely understand that. He’s a teenager.<br />
<br />
I quickly checked my icy self and softened. I hugged him. I wanted him to know
that I understand him. Flashback of me crying for hours and hours in our tiny,
tiny car because I wanted my father to buy me the latest, <i>the</i> rubber
shoes of all rubber shoes: Nike Air Jordan 9. My father kept saying we couldn’t
afford it. And I cried endlessly and deliberately. In our car, in our house,
practically everywhere he can possibly see me. He struck a deal with me and got
me Tretorn instead. Tretorns were the “in” thing back then, but it wasn’t
exactly the kind of shoes you would want to be sporting in the middle of a
basketball game. I was a varsity player. We were competing in the Women’s
Basketball League! I have to have a pair of kick-ass rubber shoes. I cried and
cried while wearing my Tretorn until one day, I got my Nike Air Jordan 9. Then
10. Then 11. Then 12. Then 13.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: small;">I had shoes that
all the boys in my school wanted. Did I become a better player? Maybe. But
without a doubt it made my basketball life more fun.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: small;">Now I am in my
father’s, err, shoes. Karma at its finest. I didn’t know that it’s this hard
and utterly heartbreaking when you fail to give what your children ask for. Had
I known that it was this painful, I would’ve punched my 13-year-old self in the
face. They say you can only understand your parents when you become one yourself.
And oh boy is that saying true. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: small;">Alas, parenting
has no template. In fact, parents with many children can tell you that
parenting one kid to another has to be different to suit each child's
intelligence, behavior, temperament, and character. This weekend my husband and
I will have to talk to our teen regarding materialism and its effect on people.
Hopefully we can shed some light to his "unexplainable needs". </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-14R_zWYrHcQQVFAoXCGk5ii3iVjm9jeT7inubLcOEvHmrt9tDWZ2_2RowiMmcXNBY3DcaMpgf-PQPpXe15Qmq6ambzCUj0mD4dd-199EvheqBCxwTgxsaGVMiSNtZqxOVhGw0HvWN9m8/s1600/IMG_8918.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-14R_zWYrHcQQVFAoXCGk5ii3iVjm9jeT7inubLcOEvHmrt9tDWZ2_2RowiMmcXNBY3DcaMpgf-PQPpXe15Qmq6ambzCUj0mD4dd-199EvheqBCxwTgxsaGVMiSNtZqxOVhGw0HvWN9m8/s400/IMG_8918.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I got him two pairs of affordable shoes for everyday use. Will buy him relatively affordable PE shoes come this weekend.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Will buy him his dream shoes when he has done what he needs to do according to a chart I will make for him.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In my son's school they don't believe in the "reward system" most
especially if the reward is very materialistic. But truth be told, this has
been proven to be a good system for my son. I have given my son several
expensive shoes but all of them didn’t last long. Either he misuses them or his
feet would magically grow longer overnight. This time, I really have no money
for his dream Adidas shoes, and even if I will close my eyes and spend that
much, there’s an ugly feeling that it’s not worth it. To make it worthy I will
create a reward chart for him to achieve his dream shoes. He will have to work
really hard for his dream shoes. </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
Because despite the fact that I am not a materialistic kind of person, I am not
disregarding <i>that kind</i> of need. I believe for some people it is
supplemental to their overall growth.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">___ </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-7617140103140957042013-06-18T10:38:00.000-07:002015-06-15T17:58:29.732-07:00A Perfect Weekend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq-QBXow5_g7cK94Y389Ip30jRqlU1OSa8iw9IIoWWb8VY2ltvpXXpEXWl-ERAYMoLdTSk7vHu9YyNdbi_P_W_fAdSjjHgDE0NdHjH8kX3PLSCsMZfii_WwPERS91PMFJlztd9w3aQsGoH/s1600/005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq-QBXow5_g7cK94Y389Ip30jRqlU1OSa8iw9IIoWWb8VY2ltvpXXpEXWl-ERAYMoLdTSk7vHu9YyNdbi_P_W_fAdSjjHgDE0NdHjH8kX3PLSCsMZfii_WwPERS91PMFJlztd9w3aQsGoH/s640/005.jpg" width="430" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM8Rm_UCCiQ6T6MliYVeYwVZEjtukWvdJCjWf3ZJxvUQJDnYzDmF2qQu0wsIfOwj2Dq3vwlUtdV2XZplZ1pzzaMaClW3kitdKpuHb1Y1Z68AgUdUQD9TX35xX6AWwNHCmMgp1tzjel49I2/s1600/019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM8Rm_UCCiQ6T6MliYVeYwVZEjtukWvdJCjWf3ZJxvUQJDnYzDmF2qQu0wsIfOwj2Dq3vwlUtdV2XZplZ1pzzaMaClW3kitdKpuHb1Y1Z68AgUdUQD9TX35xX6AWwNHCmMgp1tzjel49I2/s640/019.jpg" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The barren land that we are on is only visible in the middle of the year.<br />
The rest of the year, it is under the lake.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We were blessed enough to
have another shot of a great summer weekend when an old friend of ours decided
to celebrate his birthday in Pantabangan Lake in Nueva Ecija, which is a good
3.5 hours away from Metro Manila. He and his lovely wife invited our little family for
the weekend, and despite our <i>superheavymega-grabesobrangdami</i> workload, we
decided to go for it since school was about to start for my teen. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And we are so glad we made an
effort to go. It is surely one of the best weekends we ever had.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our two planned summer vacations (Subic and Bali) were a bit hard for us
because, as luck would have it, on both trips my boys <a href="http://silverpixiemom.blogspot.com/2013/05/when-plans-dont-push-through-birthday.html">were really sick</a>. I thank
the Universe for giving us another chance to enjoy ourselves under the summer sun with
great friends, great food, and a mind-blowing view.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLoiLEJ90GmX92cHglIbt9UhJ3cT_yA2WDYYPHSWO8rhouBnjdaqWRXq1_RWqneN1tVp62Zd1VUHoZclgPkX5DZAbZal-Xqm8ybJNQZw8ATILxjn1zJ8PbUHxGIho06cspLy8ljlxJtoPK/s1600/covevrphotojuro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLoiLEJ90GmX92cHglIbt9UhJ3cT_yA2WDYYPHSWO8rhouBnjdaqWRXq1_RWqneN1tVp62Zd1VUHoZclgPkX5DZAbZal-Xqm8ybJNQZw8ATILxjn1zJ8PbUHxGIho06cspLy8ljlxJtoPK/s400/covevrphotojuro.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>My husband</b>, who is always within the confines of The Big and Nasty Corporate World, melted on the hammock and couldn’t get enough of the view of the seemingly placid
lake. I was so happy to see him relax and truly enjoy. He stared at the wild
animals which were all grazing within his view, amazed by the dogs that were
instinctively herding wild beasts (horses, goats, and cows). I have never
seen him so relaxed and happy! My husband is quite the Negatron and quite the
ever-paranoid, ever-stressed kind of guy. To see him chilling under the trees
brought joy in my heart. He truly deserved that. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1BfLv2Kvt8jH2tBf8oYlebSqoPcjAvd1QvhrehqZamjFzKr6I9HcerUF37KRUi42d214xiyPakmGpknQQcNrSLuPjtV80uiZH8Ug3OWzX4BO4SEZ4Q0ISMLxd7IR4Cb4QrasaFHFWwnVh/s1600/003.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1BfLv2Kvt8jH2tBf8oYlebSqoPcjAvd1QvhrehqZamjFzKr6I9HcerUF37KRUi42d214xiyPakmGpknQQcNrSLuPjtV80uiZH8Ug3OWzX4BO4SEZ4Q0ISMLxd7IR4Cb4QrasaFHFWwnVh/s640/003.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sitting on top of what is left of an old church, part of a submerged town. Visible only when the water level is low.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span><span style="font-size: small;"><b>My teen</b> soaked up the fresh air and the grand view and decided almost instantly
that he loves the place and even declared that he wants to spend his birthday
there (too bad this is not possible, his birthday is on New Years Eve). At
first I was afraid that my teen would sulk all weekend since adults and three
little girls surrounded him. I was wrong. Completely forgot he’s a nature-boy
despite his head being full of World of Warcraft, DotA, and MineCraft. Also, his
“Kuya-ness” kicked in, he truly enjoyed playing and chatting with our friends’
super cute, super loveable, super adorable daughters.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>My baby</b> also had a grand
time! He enjoyed exploring a new terrain. It was his first time to truly walk
on grass and dirt. At first I thought my control-freak husband would get mad at
us for letting the baby sit on the dirt but he was all smiles! He even chuckled
when our son did a Jack tumble on a small slope! Our toddler went crazy with
the pine cones, he picked (and threw) every cone he saw despite its thorny
nature. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikaJ5-OLQNk0sOPq9UfT9UJFLHYEYVEXTB6p3iEZiEl7yRswDw3NagLcC6q3JRQAPu_-nLmIENcfWIvgYlE4tjvCpz0sjjaqyNDagRCsHar5g7GoiCF0YUxJ0_nscWvbPT94LtBNGm6g88/s1600/021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikaJ5-OLQNk0sOPq9UfT9UJFLHYEYVEXTB6p3iEZiEl7yRswDw3NagLcC6q3JRQAPu_-nLmIENcfWIvgYlE4tjvCpz0sjjaqyNDagRCsHar5g7GoiCF0YUxJ0_nscWvbPT94LtBNGm6g88/s640/021.jpg" width="426" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We enjoyed <b>the food</b> which were all lovingly prepared by the birthday boy and
his family. We had an array of food - from fresh green salad with Japanese sesame dressing to roasted
suckling pig to lobsters from the nearby sea to Tom Yum Gai (Thai hot and sour soup) which were all lip-smackingly good. We even had goat in the form of
caldereta (tomato-based stew) and dinuguan (blood stew)! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">After a relaxing
full body massage, I had the chance to sit down with our friend and we capped the night
with great conversation. Before sleeping, my husband and I talked and reflected for a bit and we agreed that it was only just then we realized how much we missed our friend.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYz-huYBAgVjMWl8lSva17XCpOitROkfxxir8qlk-5OyOu_vum92oG0u_CUXfl8i9fBVc0OKiYINVZHSiROVhzLJDYV0BqguavyNGzknMllo0-QIdVPVbYLW-D5PdyQVEppwHmSdD0ryX_/s1600/016.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYz-huYBAgVjMWl8lSva17XCpOitROkfxxir8qlk-5OyOu_vum92oG0u_CUXfl8i9fBVc0OKiYINVZHSiROVhzLJDYV0BqguavyNGzknMllo0-QIdVPVbYLW-D5PdyQVEppwHmSdD0ryX_/s640/016.jpg" width="428" /></a> </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3zeK2Xt_Jb66N7Ct4tifSePMWks39ipPA-Pi5j9bFR7Djg8nAhfVZtoNCXwaTY1VqpPUFk3bKiV-2iffj7ec7YMaJR_lkgbHXBAgpI-o6qZQtRu5RGi8MLAYoler0-QsIAVrv2-lQbhzm/s1600/004.tif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3zeK2Xt_Jb66N7Ct4tifSePMWks39ipPA-Pi5j9bFR7Djg8nAhfVZtoNCXwaTY1VqpPUFk3bKiV-2iffj7ec7YMaJR_lkgbHXBAgpI-o6qZQtRu5RGi8MLAYoler0-QsIAVrv2-lQbhzm/s640/004.tif" width="428" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJTN88Cz4RT0gb8bXwpovh1ZK7yyF3AcONy61wVhXM1sX_OzKbSpWeafY1_mFR5atPlO0wQv1xTReD-sM4W_r4W-brMZ_vydx8kXBhDWHbRX8E1KxUsJB1Qg5uHcJmBD3K68gHmlrvz1EG/s1600/022.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJTN88Cz4RT0gb8bXwpovh1ZK7yyF3AcONy61wVhXM1sX_OzKbSpWeafY1_mFR5atPlO0wQv1xTReD-sM4W_r4W-brMZ_vydx8kXBhDWHbRX8E1KxUsJB1Qg5uHcJmBD3K68gHmlrvz1EG/s640/022.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We planted a tree before we left. See you soon, our dear tree!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It is probably general knowledge that when you are a mother, your happiness
greatly depends on the happiness of your husband and children (although I am
all for the school of thought that we are our own captains of ourselves,
therefore SHOULD BE in complete control of our own happiness yadda yadda, but
as far as motherhood goes, I guess you get what I am trying to say). Suffice to say my boys were all really happy
= I was really happy. Their happiness mean so much to me and I am really glad
that I chose this trip over working non-stop for the weekend. I knew my Monday
would be hell (why hello there big-pile-of-work-that-was-neglected-over-the-weekend!)
but it was worth it.<br />
<br />
I am happy that my husband and I made time for our friend and his family. Weekends like these don’t come everyday (err, every weekend). Don’t be a slave of your “busy schedule”, children
grow up too fast, and yet work will always have the same intensity and rhythm.
Learn when to say “no” to work and when to say “yes” to an opportunity such as
this. I believe they’re gifts from the Universe. Accept graciously, sit back,
enjoy.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Thank you to our friend who
invited us. Please extend our thanks to your wonderful family. We really had a perfect weekend and we owe it all to you. <br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;"><b><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;">Click 'read more' for more pictures!</span></b></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mandatory pensive shots. Hehe.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Believe it or not, these are wild animals.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoyed the water slide with the kids</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pine cones, bird's nest, pebbles...</td></tr>
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</span></span>Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-8438453830351649992013-05-30T05:13:00.001-07:002015-06-15T18:22:51.979-07:00Bali With Children<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvAoRZuXq-0Epn-heRDo6Qw5PXe8el4-p5mgoFMKgnp_CwhQjgbdsQcpHHyX0ngUNj9DiA39k0RkCAGmy4FTzR7VUdHVod0U-587eXWfFXFC_sc9UFDZa_yS49K5XLXv2tmPQQON_p4AhN/s1600/DSC_2667.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvAoRZuXq-0Epn-heRDo6Qw5PXe8el4-p5mgoFMKgnp_CwhQjgbdsQcpHHyX0ngUNj9DiA39k0RkCAGmy4FTzR7VUdHVod0U-587eXWfFXFC_sc9UFDZa_yS49K5XLXv2tmPQQON_p4AhN/s400/DSC_2667.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The Fam Bam in Bali, Indonesia</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">My family just came from Bali, Indonesia. The first time we
knew that we were going there our first question was: “What are we going to do
in Bali?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We have been to the beautiful shores of Bohol and Boracay as a family and we
believe they’re better than what we can find in Bali (or any other places in
the world to be honest) that’s why we were skeptical. My parents, who are
frequent visitors of Bali, replied nonchalantly: “FOR CULTURE”! You know what
we said to that? I’m not kidding you, we replied: “Culture my ass, Philippines
has culture! We want to go swimming”!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Of course we went and yes, we had a very rich cultural
experience. As always, my parents know what they’re talking about when it comes
to art and culture. Come on, I grew up going to museums and watching plays,
pushing us to see Bali "for culture" was really not surprising. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We were a party of 20, a large group and almost half of which are minors.
Having said that, on how deep we dove in Bali’s culture depended on the
children’s level of comprehension and appreciation. Also, it was really hard to
mobilize a large group and traffic jam had to be considered. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">From the moment we landed, I deeply felt Bali’s confidence in
their cultural identity. They’re consistent, proud, beautiful, inspiring, non-compromising,
distinct. Marvelous sculptures, rigorous rituals both deeply integrated in
their daily lives. With the onslaught of tourists, they never faltered. The
foreigners that keep on crashing on their shores like their ocean’s hard waves
co-existed with their calm, serene, and almost ancient-like way of life.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkACCXbOa3qNYW23XcgubglDF7vm0L6TldxAT_e0OA7Ckd-vieKEfeBEMcReT8IDhonzSRk-WjfFdEOfyGIvmQM4rmImlMF8B7Dvaxl2GFaRRTk4XTaX24XKhxjNbT7gUegQfwEOocrcp2/s1600/Bali+03.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkACCXbOa3qNYW23XcgubglDF7vm0L6TldxAT_e0OA7Ckd-vieKEfeBEMcReT8IDhonzSRk-WjfFdEOfyGIvmQM4rmImlMF8B7Dvaxl2GFaRRTk4XTaX24XKhxjNbT7gUegQfwEOocrcp2/s640/Bali+03.jpg" width="424" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> To be honest, Bali is the first place in Southeast Asia that
I have visited apart from my own country, so I guess my opinion on this is from
an ignorant’s point of view. Or rather from someone who is Asian but grew up
with heavy Western influences. Regardless, I can safely claim that Bali is
extremely rich in culture. I’ve been to the United States and to Europe and I
haven’t been blown away like this with regards to arts and culture. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I am glad that we went to this place instead of Singapore or Hong Kong. (Although
of course we hope that someday we’ll be able to go there with our kids.) You
will realize you don’t necessarily need highly commercialized characters and
high-technology rides to entertain your children. One time my oldest son even
asked me if he can sculpt soaps when we get home. That’s how Bali art gets to
you: it makes you want to touch it, hold it, feel it, and yes, do it. That’s
when you’ll know how well the art is – when it has the power to INSPIRE. Going
to mainstream Western theme parks will not give you that kind of inspiration. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpZlrqt-6c1_DutKR9Obt0B5R7nMp0NsjzTrjOvftn585KLlnuzbTaBc3NQu-iG9OYqqgxxUPxXO5PwulIN6Ef4cQA8pdJkWehd0RmpM5tbSvGGoTM6M_hPJm2FCbv7eb73TrvGnKdMCWC/s1600/Bali+08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsUqR1GNRResmyXYtNXMDo5gQfvqsqKGOnBEgPBclx_oXUG-t7nICzcT-aOK9Jst7ZpWpWRYy2yuPYKSZ1FqYoq9Y9q605OyPjyZwrrVdu8bTE42NiUg8QkRke4Wnv4FhUoqeB0e1LKKYN/s1600/Bali+05.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsUqR1GNRResmyXYtNXMDo5gQfvqsqKGOnBEgPBclx_oXUG-t7nICzcT-aOK9Jst7ZpWpWRYy2yuPYKSZ1FqYoq9Y9q605OyPjyZwrrVdu8bTE42NiUg8QkRke4Wnv4FhUoqeB0e1LKKYN/s640/Bali+05.jpg" width="481" /> </a></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_CPFftpYN6a9JnwZlGtt79EeE28rQwDWOhvaKy8c5DHgLehlSKM38VTpJOGPtC2ewzjmLmwPrgDq40P32JzcJDsROeuRaDneHlxDws6Z-nwrxR-n7xRoPHHMpMvMGT3KETQHhZV8N6uEH/s1600/Bali+01.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_CPFftpYN6a9JnwZlGtt79EeE28rQwDWOhvaKy8c5DHgLehlSKM38VTpJOGPtC2ewzjmLmwPrgDq40P32JzcJDsROeuRaDneHlxDws6Z-nwrxR-n7xRoPHHMpMvMGT3KETQHhZV8N6uEH/s640/Bali+01.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">That's my cute nephew who enjoyed being a "local" for a day.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Going to Bali with children is really different. It’s not
like they’re diving inside a cartoon channel. It’s showing them diversity in
life, depth in culture, and the beauty of nature.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Please do READ ON to know more about our
experience and for TIPS:</b></span></span><br />
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</b></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW17dYdv3EqUZP_0PhnMnffkrxiRvP6uJGOQk_xWmTM8B6cLuHffeF0ltyk0V8cIEdUjrTwaTHbGefFn5DUSJRt4fhxq_Ec1EoaHZg58ZZoS1AcAsXUUo3z52hztXVLxbSiy7GR87CVT1T/s1600/Bali+15.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW17dYdv3EqUZP_0PhnMnffkrxiRvP6uJGOQk_xWmTM8B6cLuHffeF0ltyk0V8cIEdUjrTwaTHbGefFn5DUSJRt4fhxq_Ec1EoaHZg58ZZoS1AcAsXUUo3z52hztXVLxbSiy7GR87CVT1T/s400/Bali+15.jpg" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqsuaWfWDhpYpTzCkfjxAtmk0yh8YRir4IddQMxF7piNcuOv0lJ7hMK6xxfFuPXfpLzEqJ5vSgC8lZqKt5lfQivp77W-N9k02WNbmrvNN4x6NGXe7nAR7_uvE5h-KYSFT7JYueIb_1qNIe/s1600/Bali+14.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqsuaWfWDhpYpTzCkfjxAtmk0yh8YRir4IddQMxF7piNcuOv0lJ7hMK6xxfFuPXfpLzEqJ5vSgC8lZqKt5lfQivp77W-N9k02WNbmrvNN4x6NGXe7nAR7_uvE5h-KYSFT7JYueIb_1qNIe/s400/Bali+14.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I initially prepared
books and notebook for my children but my brother and his wife had </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">something more awesome for ALL the kids! So sweet and thoughtful!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</style><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u>GENERAL TIPS:</u></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Of course our “cultural experience” was limited due to
the fact that we had 6 kids and two babies with us. Their interests/comfort
zones were greatly considered when we designed the itinerary. Consider traffic
jams especially now (2013) where they are constructing/fixing new/existing
roads. Get a cab/van from your reception so they can get those they
trust.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Since our party is really hard to control, we weren’t able
to maximize our days. We went out of our villas only around lunchtime. I
suggest you explore Bali as soon as you get out of your bed! </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Prepare "entertainment kits" for your children! As much as possible don't bring your iPads and other similar gadgets. You'll need these kits while on transit.</span></span>
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<b>Ubud is THE place to shop</b>. They have lots of interesting boutiques, and there
are restaurant after restaurant that serves good food. There’s also a
palengke-like place where you can buy interesting things for pasalubong and souvenirs.
It’s an hour and a half away from the airport. I wasn’t able to shop because I
was at the zoo but my mother who has been to Ubud plenty of times swear that
Ubud is the perfect place to shop. This was where we watched the shadow puppet
play as well.</span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
<b>Kuta is THE happening place</b>. If you want to enjoy night life in Bali, this is
where you will go. Also, most international events are held here. There are
also souvenirs shops and restaurants.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Hit the spa.</b> We went to the spa where we stayed, but if
there is no spa in your place there are spas everywhere else. I think this is
also a must-do since almost all of the spas in Manila are Bali-inspired. Might
as well check out what it’s really all about!<br /><br />The conversion of the currency might confuse you but at the end of your calculation you will realize that their rates are similar to ours (Philippine Peso). </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSoiK4gwT1-xKC1VAdptdgAg8x_GyDmol90N5p3uet59GU0uMMQtaIj0cKjLrP59vikXGuHGN1SFpcLmN3_7mvaw8z3Ot6upZ0264H_JO5xhZuDsQAQADA3xa6gyzT7i6AUbYgVa9n_gdc/s1600/Bali+09.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSoiK4gwT1-xKC1VAdptdgAg8x_GyDmol90N5p3uet59GU0uMMQtaIj0cKjLrP59vikXGuHGN1SFpcLmN3_7mvaw8z3Ot6upZ0264H_JO5xhZuDsQAQADA3xa6gyzT7i6AUbYgVa9n_gdc/s640/Bali+09.jpg" width="577" /></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipfaBYncp76dMMbsW4dnn3Ai4Bh-hbWOwiF6SdHiinuFvDjIikeqV_U3_CHXdrMcTVWtZaaOPthqsDKb9VlvwbeDnTpxkD63fPLHE1pOPQG5EWoejzgQAeIHV8D98_XJ7MnhkctBgJSNff/s1600/Bali+10jpg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipfaBYncp76dMMbsW4dnn3Ai4Bh-hbWOwiF6SdHiinuFvDjIikeqV_U3_CHXdrMcTVWtZaaOPthqsDKb9VlvwbeDnTpxkD63fPLHE1pOPQG5EWoejzgQAeIHV8D98_XJ7MnhkctBgJSNff/s640/Bali+10jpg.jpg" width="568" /></a></span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u>ART:</u></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The children appreciated the sculptures that are ubiquitous
in Bali. No museum visits required! We saw them on the streets, in restaurants,
in shops, in the villas where we stayed, in the airport, even in
supermarkets. Even the simplest sculpture exuded motion, weight, and character and
they easily took our breaths away opposed to the sculpted modern heroes that
are stoic, flat, static, and uneventful that we have here in Manila. Even the
textile thrown around the temples and sculptures are pieces of art on its own!
They’re really different from the opulent and heavy textiles I am used to see
wrapped around our saints in our places of worship here in our country. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The woodwork was mind-blowing and it just makes you want to
take it home with you. We saw carved doors and carved furniture all over. It
makes you think everyone in Bali is an artisan! <br /><br />The architectural details were also consistent and proud. You can see it in schools, stores, simple houses, hotels, everywhere. No wonder it has influenced the entire world! It's beautiful!<br />
<br />
TIPS: <br />
For those who have time, it is best to go down and really appreciate them up
close. Go inside shops or better yet visit the workshops. You can buy huge
pieces, the items are relatively affordable, BUT it’s the tax of our post
offices that will/may burn your wallet when you have it shipped.</span></span></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">RELIGION:</span></span></u></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The Acintya, or the Supreme God of the Balinese, is depicted
as an Empty Throne and temples for offerings are everywhere. </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Animism, an ancient
practice where men worship animals, is also practiced in Bali and they even
have Sacred Monkey Forest. </span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">This is a good
chance to show the children that there is “more than one God”. </span></span></span></span>They were able
to see how diverse religion can be as Ganesh, Krishna, and the like dot the
place. They easily saw how important the offerings to the Gods were, they made sure not to step on them. My nephews and nieces, who are all studying in
sectarian schools, can use a bit of exposure like this. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">TIPS: </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Visit temples and, if you can, observe the locals worship and do their offerings.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigI4d9nu2OlakJtY3dKRVgTuWxBkWxTkVshyphenhypheneFncM306MTgpBzImROojCZKmmUoRokOoo4XEmQ6xYtawfoANb9OtmSo710ARF2JCUhs3-ab9H8p4Cz3DrLxDChyphenhyphenlebt33vPTQ0_WIMyEEQ/s1600/Bali+06.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="556" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigI4d9nu2OlakJtY3dKRVgTuWxBkWxTkVshyphenhypheneFncM306MTgpBzImROojCZKmmUoRokOoo4XEmQ6xYtawfoANb9OtmSo710ARF2JCUhs3-ab9H8p4Cz3DrLxDChyphenhyphenlebt33vPTQ0_WIMyEEQ/s640/Bali+06.jpg" width="640" /></a> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u>SHOWS:</u></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><br />
</u></b>We went to see a shadow puppet show for everyone to enjoy. Although
both my sons failed to go through it (my baby cried, my teenager fell asleep),
the others were patient enough to appreciate the play even though they couldn’t
understand what was going on. They were amazed to see what the puppets were made
out of and how impressive the craft is. The puppeteer is already 80 years old! The story has a classic good versus evil plot, the theater so simple and
unpretentious. <br /><br />We were supposed to watch traditional Barong dance but we missed it. Make sure to check out the schedules.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">TIPS:<br />
Schedules of shows are available online or you can ask around or inquire at the
information desk of your hotel/villa. Plan this ahead.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u>FOOD:</u></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><br />
</u></b>We ate babi guling which is actually a suckling pig but what sets it
apart from our lechon baboy is the spicy and pungent stuffing. No
sweet liver sauce required. Try drinking their local pop sodas, too. We ate at a carinderia-style
restaurant that was, to be frank, quite smelly and dirty but that’s just part
of the whole deal I guess. We also had a chance to eat buffet-style at Ubud
which offered a wide variety of Indonesian food. It was a memorable
gastronomical experience… for me, at least. My husband and my son didn’t quite
enjoy it but keep in mind that my boys are the vanilla-type kinda boys – they
like their food plain and unadventurous. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My parents had experienced dinner-by-the-beach several times but they weren’t impressed. Just to let
you know, there is such a thing, it’s up to you if you want to try it. </span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
TIP:<br />
Babi guling is a must-try but the ones in Ubud, like the Ibu Oka, are already
too commercialized. It was suggested by the locals to eat at the non-touristy
restos for this pig. Don’t be afraid to ask the locals where they think it’s
best to eat.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCh8fLKXsD3fE65qUy05Yfc4mRGJpIB3sXuYKFMIlFj8F1-IjwKoov1yVXmSxrKulq0L9ZziCQLT_dGW_qIqPBAQCecnB_3sFOJ9q3MLylvjhkQkwF1_tCq-acMGJ5DE8bxgF4G2uPxYMG/s1600/Bali+07.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCh8fLKXsD3fE65qUy05Yfc4mRGJpIB3sXuYKFMIlFj8F1-IjwKoov1yVXmSxrKulq0L9ZziCQLT_dGW_qIqPBAQCecnB_3sFOJ9q3MLylvjhkQkwF1_tCq-acMGJ5DE8bxgF4G2uPxYMG/s640/Bali+07.jpg" width="640" /></a> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ1kvjTULNpwYPbfFiT_8pV9bKAxMRzqeIM7R-g-EAC7LWd1C_EuCRL9sE5AusmdEqdxZ5dOi8-nxGDPQSUymvi0xiLfQ4Kk60iVPGdyxmgiMcRTqOKAITMiv5YfK7-k8iG4NOEW3vwo06/s1600/Bali+02.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ1kvjTULNpwYPbfFiT_8pV9bKAxMRzqeIM7R-g-EAC7LWd1C_EuCRL9sE5AusmdEqdxZ5dOi8-nxGDPQSUymvi0xiLfQ4Kk60iVPGdyxmgiMcRTqOKAITMiv5YfK7-k8iG4NOEW3vwo06/s640/Bali+02.jpg" width="640" /></a> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u>ZOO:<br />
</u></b>I have been dreaming of
seeing/touching/riding an elephant practically my whole life and when it was
about to happen, I was so self-absorbed that when my oldest son expressed fear of elephants I didn't bother encouraging him or anything. Good thing his ever-loving Lola reached out and even
sponsored his ride. I was able to fulfill my dream with both my sons with me
and I will forever treasure that. I realized personal dreams are better
achieved with your children. If only I have lots of money I would have loved it
if we all took the Elephant Expedition (173 USD), an hour worth of riding an
elephant in a Safari setting. You’ll even ride them while they swim! But alas,
we only took the 15-minute ride (65 USD), which is, actually not at all bad. I had my
one-year old with me, it was a blessing his attention held for 15 minutes
otherwise he would have been cranky. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Indonesia and the Philippines has almost identical flora and
fauna, the difference was how Bali Zoo showcased the animals. It was
like trekking in a jungle, you barely feel the cages that separate you from the
animals. The children saw animals up close and personal.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">TIP:<br />
Ride the elephants. Enough said!</span></span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh70ADTvv9sDfqnfaBJuINNFmegkX64dLgFgc9dtVyiOUFgQNzuR8XR9pDHUDQYog8TorBl0I5qtQ00KhE5yvxrO5wEMy8dOg3DfWp6qGcgue3hsvtnGAWihH_WJ1AKS-BaOYnAz8dfqtZh/s1600/Bali+13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh70ADTvv9sDfqnfaBJuINNFmegkX64dLgFgc9dtVyiOUFgQNzuR8XR9pDHUDQYog8TorBl0I5qtQ00KhE5yvxrO5wEMy8dOg3DfWp6qGcgue3hsvtnGAWihH_WJ1AKS-BaOYnAz8dfqtZh/s640/Bali+13.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><u>BEACH/POOLS:</u></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The beach and the pools are just icing on cake. It’s not
like our country doesn’t have those. But children are children and swimming is
top priority. Swam they did on all the days we were there. Each of our villa
has a private infinity pool and the children (and yes, some adults too) took
advantage of it whenever they can. The weather was perfect it wasn’t scorching
hot like Manila. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">TIP:<br />
Personally, our beaches here in the Philippines are the best but if you are
into surfing or you simply love the beach, by all means, head for the beach. If
your hotel or villa has its own pool, then it’s up to you if you want to take
advantage of that. In our case we didn’t bother with the beaches but the kids
thoroughly enjoyed the pools we had which were conveniently just outside our
rooms.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaPOgO6DG1WzReyjT33LavNrp1Twu96-CrbE9quWRMqCOTGrQDbYj1_-FYYiwtSL8oQ2lPOMFuGAF_2ASDKfqAAJxCMnTGiXeslBV94dF6IGhfLjhdO3DP3JxaMcpAiKe3hwPCqQ075vgW/s1600/Bali+12.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaPOgO6DG1WzReyjT33LavNrp1Twu96-CrbE9quWRMqCOTGrQDbYj1_-FYYiwtSL8oQ2lPOMFuGAF_2ASDKfqAAJxCMnTGiXeslBV94dF6IGhfLjhdO3DP3JxaMcpAiKe3hwPCqQ075vgW/s640/Bali+12.jpg" width="568" /></a>
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</span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-971513062254094262013-05-22T09:38:00.001-07:002015-06-15T18:29:39.451-07:00When Plans Don’t Push Through : A Birthday Story<style>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">My husband and I have been
together for 15 years and within those years we have never gone out of town as
a little family simply because we couldn't afford it. Although we have traveled locally
and abroad, they were trips made with my family or with friends.
</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Money has never been easy for
my husband and I. For some weird reason, I have never been motivated to earn
more than what a simple life will require. I’m aimless, I procrastinate, I am
complacent, I live my life one day at a time. I am not the type of girl who
will break my back for luxurious things. (But that’s about to change because I
will really aim for Harry Potter World come 2017!). My husband, being a goat
through and through (Capricorn and ram), is a person who has long-term goals.
He really works hard but what comes in is just enough for us to get by. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">But we dream. My husband and I have always
fancied traveling as a little family. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">About a month or so ago, my husband told me he’s planning an out of town trip
for my birthday. I was worried. In my head, I was calculating what we’ll
spend. But he assured me again and again that there was nothing to worry about, so off we went. <br /><br />On the day of my
birthday, with no definite plans, we left the hot and sticky city and headed for adventure.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYyw_dDiqd7yyCNoJ1cm93KtmBCYCtrWGFurgi0bqN3O2SWuTDDXM0quUpL3uxMYmR8ILslBCoLsc3P-cs9_CllZBLpapgQDee2DLzdxDapGpUYPvI4tlJ0KCDZmE-m8zcsEwtkA_8-8b3/s1600/early.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYyw_dDiqd7yyCNoJ1cm93KtmBCYCtrWGFurgi0bqN3O2SWuTDDXM0quUpL3uxMYmR8ILslBCoLsc3P-cs9_CllZBLpapgQDee2DLzdxDapGpUYPvI4tlJ0KCDZmE-m8zcsEwtkA_8-8b3/s400/early.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">We decided to <span style="font-size: small;">stay in<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span>Subic. An old US Army <span style="font-size: small;">Base, now a tourist spot, a couple of hours or so away from the city. </span>It was good
enough for a family who will do this for the first time. The swimming pools in Subic were not as pretty as we hoped (save for
the places where membership is required. Argh.) but that didn’t bring us down.
We still checked ourselves in in a very nice and cozy hotel. We went to the
local restaurants where my husband and I had been before. We ate to our hearts’
content. Delect<span style="font-size: small;">able baby back ribs, j</span>uicy steaks, chocolate shakes, crepes - the works. We also checked out the duty-free shops, my husband re-assuring us all
the way that we can buy whatever <span style="font-size: small;">we wanted! N</span>o, I didn’t take advantage of his
generosity<span style="font-size: small;">, </span>in fact I bought my own goodies, but I really did feel he was spoiling us! We were having a great time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnOIXV1u_9IkIAfxUOg9VkZzpanq8Ya-VbOMSAESwLixsboooVFJRDDK3R-TCOf0ii8EobxTXeq6uBuG2SfC3c_RBZISh8gFynYQOemEGYWfRg2zQAEG7zMk3vye1fRhquFc50pqJ7tb0/s1600/IMG_6997.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnOIXV1u_9IkIAfxUOg9VkZzpanq8Ya-VbOMSAESwLixsboooVFJRDDK3R-TCOf0ii8EobxTXeq6uBuG2SfC3c_RBZISh8gFynYQOemEGYWfRg2zQAEG7zMk3vye1fRhquFc50pqJ7tb0/s400/IMG_6997.jpg" width="298" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Until night-time came. We could no longer ignore my eldest son’s coughs. They
were getting violent. He was obviously getting weaker and soon enough he had
fever. We cancelled our plans to hit the spa for some special massage and
instead my husband and my eldest son went to the emergency room at the nearby hospital. He had to use the
nebulizer 3x in a span of 45 minutes. That’s how bad he was. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
He felt goo<span style="font-size: small;">d right after and w</span>e all slept well that night. He no longer coughed and his fever abated.
When we woke up <span style="font-size: small;">we were excited to</span> go to the zoo and ocean park. We were feeling high! But during breakfast, my son’s cough and fever came back with vengeance. And our 1-year
old started to cough as well. <br /><br />We decided, with heavy hearts, to terminate the
trip and head back home.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKFO2iPJh3jB7ODfQLubLpZdMYpf664C8KI4IUXLqS4nuGBgS3vERdyguIAljQ0U8ks-OhyObYx_amUQvxl5IQGvE_GEEIli4UTGU_yCjEDx9SssNoR7E2jkIsn5EohGJhNu4Q7rw_CtP0/s1600/943145_10151591729294004_419600335_n+copy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKFO2iPJh3jB7ODfQLubLpZdMYpf664C8KI4IUXLqS4nuGBgS3vERdyguIAljQ0U8ks-OhyObYx_amUQvxl5IQGvE_GEEIli4UTGU_yCjEDx9SssNoR7E2jkIsn5EohGJhNu4Q7rw_CtP0/s400/943145_10151591729294004_419600335_n+copy.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I saw how my husband was sad. I felt his sadness. We didn’t talk about it, but
I felt it. I saw the twinkle in his eyes vanish. It was replaced with worry and
disappointment. I felt how sorry my eldest son was too. He was feeling guilty and
down. But we assured him that he was our top priority, not our trip.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">We went home in silence, save for the loud coughs of both my sons. And I
reflected… What did this experience teach me? We have waited so long for this
but the Universe had other plans. What did it want to teach my little family?
There must be a lesson, or a nugget of wisdom, at the end of this failed trip –
yes? Is it about money? About how precious time is? About how fragile my eldest son
really is? Is it about defining what quality time is? <br /><br />We were feeling <span style="font-size: small;">so high, my husband couldn't even sleep properly in excitement days before <span style="font-size: small;">my birthday. It was a momentous day. Our first time out of town, just us, our little family. We had swimming pools in mind. We had tigers and dolphins in mind. We had shopping and<span style="font-size: small;"> non-stop eating in mind. We were supposed to stay<span style="font-size: small;"> at Subic for</span> <span style="font-size: small;">at least two nights.</span> We were determined to make it a <span style="font-size: small;">happy and very special trip<span style="font-size: small;">.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Maybe it is about
handling disappointment as a family. <span style="font-size: small;">Well, if that's the cas<span style="font-size: small;">e, w</span>e handled it well and I am quite pr<span style="font-size: small;">oud of it.</span></span> As a family, we knew
what to do, we did it properly, we did it together. And that’s what matters most,
especially for my birthday, that we, as a family, are united wh<span style="font-size: small;">erever we may be.</span></span></span></div>
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Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-4211792357353119842013-05-07T21:12:00.002-07:002015-06-15T18:32:04.169-07:00First Steps<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbuF8SBaSAg7HWHTrRp5cX3VfekEo54dLHIzEKE1L2w0ZD6-JdBw8bp_2n_lVYPs1fN6no5z2lUr1N4ixSR8yAxTBTzomFLQr1RkcKaMYvs6-LoeAtxVA3f3KaBHa0kJbwDAEoa7SQggDM/s1600/may7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbuF8SBaSAg7HWHTrRp5cX3VfekEo54dLHIzEKE1L2w0ZD6-JdBw8bp_2n_lVYPs1fN6no5z2lUr1N4ixSR8yAxTBTzomFLQr1RkcKaMYvs6-LoeAtxVA3f3KaBHa0kJbwDAEoa7SQggDM/s400/may7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everyone's excitement - all a big happy blur.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
<br />
Everyday he grows. Everyday there are changes. Everyday he learns about this
World we live in. For us, most days are insignificant. For him,
they’re monumental, critical, crucial, wonderful, beautiful, and magical. Everyday
I challenge myself to turn the ‘ho-hums’ to ‘ooohs and aaahs’! That’s the
wonder with Children, everything IS ‘ooohs and aaahs’! Adults are boring.<br /><br />Today my one year old humbled me. As <span style="font-size: small;">he</span> took his <span style="font-size: small;">f<span style="font-size: small;">irst steps, I was reminded how every little thing for him matters. All the tiny details<span style="font-size: small;"> of the<span style="font-size: small;"> surroundings, every word that he hears, every sound that <span style="font-size: small;">vibrate<span style="font-size: small;">s around him, every face he sees, they're all forming him to become who he will be.<span style="font-size: small;"></span><br /><br />I was doing the most mundane thing a normal <span style="font-size: small;">woman would do, grooming nails, when it all happened. <span style="font-size: small;">Clipping my toe nails juxtaposed with his memorable first steps just really placed things in perspective. The exci<span style="font-size: small;">tement in his eyes, his unbreakable grin, his will to do it again and again, his innocent mirt<span style="font-size: small;">h... it was an ice cold water thrown right smack in th<span style="font-size: small;">e middle of a hot ho-hum day.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I am glorifying my son's milestone by <span style="font-size: small;">making <span style="font-size: small;">it a lesson for me:</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> We can </span>still have our "first steps". We all should have</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> exci<span style="font-size: small;">tement in our eyes, unbreakable grins, will to do it again and again, and (not necessarily innocent - hehe) mirt<span style="font-size: small;">h<span style="font-size: small;"> in ALL the things we do. <span style="font-size: small;">There should be wonder in everything.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Watch his first steps <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y8vIEJLe448&feature=c4-overview&list=UUnFgasgJOge01tUUW2u6z2A"><b>HERE</b></a>.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-87690032988469757692013-05-02T06:11:00.001-07:002013-05-17T22:59:09.612-07:00Celebrating My Son’s First Birthday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibzlrgYc7nUlY7npXnOTNONw4j7ryNhzXOfYv_Ys6-M35Zy3QntMNIo_n7lC4bVpH19JVl4qi1BPfPZ5cqBQbSQE-XrAh7OmdC_PDOB8rHKsgQnbKigliDUBFKfL2oyN7h9sli-Lam10nb/s1600/bday004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibzlrgYc7nUlY7npXnOTNONw4j7ryNhzXOfYv_Ys6-M35Zy3QntMNIo_n7lC4bVpH19JVl4qi1BPfPZ5cqBQbSQE-XrAh7OmdC_PDOB8rHKsgQnbKigliDUBFKfL2oyN7h9sli-Lam10nb/s400/bday004.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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</style><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">With
8 teeth and still on all fours, my baby celebrated his- eep! time flies so
fast! –first birthday
last April 13, 2013 at <a href="http://holycarabao.com/">Sta. Elena Fun Farm</a>. He turned a year
older but all his guests regressed a year or two as they climbed ropes, rode
horses and carabaos, fed rabbits and hamsters, rowed a boat, caught fishes,
played <i>trumpo</i> (spinning top), <i>holen</i><i> </i>(marbles), <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sipa"><i>sipa</i></a>, jackstones, and Chinese garter. They blew
plastic balloons, conquered fear of heights as they rode the zip-line, and so much
more. It was indeed a day of fun and laughter.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkqxHoZGzqJK0hyZUsMf5cmhxIMtdvLlrXbGAGZQo7YyiafxO48xQirDZyAII0l2_quTymWCoQLN-9Ie3cBjXyMxkU4gOXXm1oNzbTnG1l5JGLOW0NRZteLNlgtLUbu8P7zcOEV7b4M-SE/s1600/906236_10151614243542813_1672270105_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkqxHoZGzqJK0hyZUsMf5cmhxIMtdvLlrXbGAGZQo7YyiafxO48xQirDZyAII0l2_quTymWCoQLN-9Ie3cBjXyMxkU4gOXXm1oNzbTnG1l5JGLOW0NRZteLNlgtLUbu8P7zcOEV7b4M-SE/s320/906236_10151614243542813_1672270105_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Kuya felt it was his birthday too, he ran and played all day.</span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEily2OAcMB6iRMC6u2XbwD-mYTziZD9YQ0h2lTtOBeWLEW_BSufawh0jqOTcHCRkNRfs32C8v867r3XDH-OELWioDKfCNPMBHJqHEWcMdcwosSynUXhJ8sjyDNyJlRaNGBX3JNpRjzibsmb/s1600/bday017.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEily2OAcMB6iRMC6u2XbwD-mYTziZD9YQ0h2lTtOBeWLEW_BSufawh0jqOTcHCRkNRfs32C8v867r3XDH-OELWioDKfCNPMBHJqHEWcMdcwosSynUXhJ8sjyDNyJlRaNGBX3JNpRjzibsmb/s400/bday017.jpg" width="400" /></a> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Kids and adults shared the day enjoying the same things.</span></span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPBtp2BG86HJOt-UaYRAfuUl7sQ0v2LfIPP5BB56FBrOW13yJKwbtFNnWME0Yevfub6qWcUe_GNiAbggpmgxiHs4JlSm4zVBROENfjcrbhhPRqHHQs42wgVW2EKnOSKnkFkxl4vpFYeo-/s1600/bday009.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPBtp2BG86HJOt-UaYRAfuUl7sQ0v2LfIPP5BB56FBrOW13yJKwbtFNnWME0Yevfub6qWcUe_GNiAbggpmgxiHs4JlSm4zVBROENfjcrbhhPRqHHQs42wgVW2EKnOSKnkFkxl4vpFYeo-/s400/bday009.jpg" width="302" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I wanted to have a birthday party that will resound my values and beliefs. I am
his mother after all (husband nods head). As much as possible, we made sure
everything was rustic, natural, earth-friendly, and handmade. There was this
unexplainable and overwhelming want to keep it local and earthy.</span></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPxZm0iuQBVG5pt1p2uwegJhPiSNANIDK8ljpDOvHDJWaeCwlDigd7151F-KIw4lY02GlQnicorZOqmnJIDOt2y4tYZra_RhM_K85jn_kj-qhV3Z_CuCasONzzNgVhkv68J4lwN4uB3V6u/s1600/bday003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPxZm0iuQBVG5pt1p2uwegJhPiSNANIDK8ljpDOvHDJWaeCwlDigd7151F-KIw4lY02GlQnicorZOqmnJIDOt2y4tYZra_RhM_K85jn_kj-qhV3Z_CuCasONzzNgVhkv68J4lwN4uB3V6u/s400/bday003.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Cake that the celebrant's older brother and cousins baked for him.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQcAATozmesfEOkKmPJU1PA5AAlKAUcIsLvKDsWQOECFn_9DGWJEDkqxgDrccy9LezNtgCJKl2lj1oj8LCHTH5A2zyxXsUt7hyphenhyphenPTh-1aG4osmUoXW9-niu1fuNV3aFHw5dvX7dPedmoHCt/s1600/bday019.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQcAATozmesfEOkKmPJU1PA5AAlKAUcIsLvKDsWQOECFn_9DGWJEDkqxgDrccy9LezNtgCJKl2lj1oj8LCHTH5A2zyxXsUt7hyphenhyphenPTh-1aG4osmUoXW9-niu1fuNV3aFHw5dvX7dPedmoHCt/s400/bday019.jpg" width="400" /></a> </span></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was also the day when we blessed my son. We didn’t have a
priest nor did we have a pastor just like in our wedding ceremony, but we all
prayed and bestowed our deep and pure love on my son. We all enveloped him with
our good intentions. It was an ideal “baptismal” rite for my husband and I. It
was untainted with religious expectations and it was simple and direct but very
spiritual. We also selected a lucky few who will serve as guardians and beacons
for my son. We re-defined what<i> Ninongs</i> and <i>Ninangs</i> (Godparents) are. We selected specific
people for specific reasons, we explained the reasons and handed them
custom-made certificates. We wanted it as holistic, solemn, pure, and
non-religion-specific as possible.</span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy5T5agA67rTjRFvhWfl_qyADOGzE9SlnRFTxD8L17o-Y8J8W_c_FW223sZK5ninBEvNezZMMSmV8Onnm6Iwc_fRJxIzI_XE1fJCw1BCwOtQpdO9ffFTeLOiaoHzwXqaNRNgylHzwwjMz0/s1600/bday020.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy5T5agA67rTjRFvhWfl_qyADOGzE9SlnRFTxD8L17o-Y8J8W_c_FW223sZK5ninBEvNezZMMSmV8Onnm6Iwc_fRJxIzI_XE1fJCw1BCwOtQpdO9ffFTeLOiaoHzwXqaNRNgylHzwwjMz0/s400/bday020.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR0niPhRmpP1oxtM-Dubq63c6n4W3vOXzI6i-pKnfr0GQRKU0RSo3EUUq_mCJAGHr9rC0y3d8DvhVMpDuYx-tsECHimjMwR84dGBdcIv0YO-cxdF4X7dp84PqIecTiOssZT8BpaY4EmABf/s1600/bday001.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR0niPhRmpP1oxtM-Dubq63c6n4W3vOXzI6i-pKnfr0GQRKU0RSo3EUUq_mCJAGHr9rC0y3d8DvhVMpDuYx-tsECHimjMwR84dGBdcIv0YO-cxdF4X7dp84PqIecTiOssZT8BpaY4EmABf/s640/bday001.jpg" width="451" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Lower pic: Awarding Tita Joni her certificate, she is Jaichi's Guardian of Happiness</span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji6KLpkgTjFV0AEOPmTKMYGEb8lmVYoTc7a41NQMD-vrM0qYredyL59jHW_AjXyZtY-JcytmEt91XorMYUxa-X3A_SRs1gKF305j2thwam7EZJuY7VmD6j0SQmOjsl3ZmthzHtbKeg7pOq/s1600/bday005.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji6KLpkgTjFV0AEOPmTKMYGEb8lmVYoTc7a41NQMD-vrM0qYredyL59jHW_AjXyZtY-JcytmEt91XorMYUxa-X3A_SRs1gKF305j2thwam7EZJuY7VmD6j0SQmOjsl3ZmthzHtbKeg7pOq/s400/bday005.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My two precious boys!</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiySZHBxufo3Llx82n6axViyfKp0QxPcvFbD9ALszgVEZLdihyg8pb0s2gunSzJ2R0SOU7As8-EmM3wWeFqtZOYPwmTrOutd2_cpAJNZ2xmgU1yEChigJ7KqCtiqVEsh9ciky5MqVfXrvZK/s1600/bday021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><b>I guess to encapsulate what I am trying to say is that we celebrated my son’s
first birthday without much commercialized, controversial, and artificial
materials and influences that may cause distraction or may deviate us from
the innocence of the occasion. I didn’t even have blaring music; the party had laughter,
excited conversations, and occasional animal grunts, cackle, and crows as
ambient sound.</b></span></span></span><br />
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<br />
Of course my son will remember none of this, he’ll probably just know this
party through photos and my video log. But I am sure that the good vibes, the
unclouded and true energy and Love that vibrated that day will forever reside
in him.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiySZHBxufo3Llx82n6axViyfKp0QxPcvFbD9ALszgVEZLdihyg8pb0s2gunSzJ2R0SOU7As8-EmM3wWeFqtZOYPwmTrOutd2_cpAJNZ2xmgU1yEChigJ7KqCtiqVEsh9ciky5MqVfXrvZK/s1600/bday021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiySZHBxufo3Llx82n6axViyfKp0QxPcvFbD9ALszgVEZLdihyg8pb0s2gunSzJ2R0SOU7As8-EmM3wWeFqtZOYPwmTrOutd2_cpAJNZ2xmgU1yEChigJ7KqCtiqVEsh9ciky5MqVfXrvZK/s640/bday021.jpg" width="481" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span></span><br /><br /><b><i>*If you wish to learn more about the details, or wish to see more photos of the party,<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>please do read on </i></b><i>(YouTube Vlog coming soon, <b>please LIKE my Facebook page</b> found on the right <span style="font-size: small;">side panel for updates! Thank you!</span>)</i><b><i>...</i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>The Theme:</b><br />
We decided on a theme: Filipino. Plain and simple, because we are Filipino. My
save-the-date, invites, reminders, and party décor all used Filipino language
much to the dismay of most (if not all) my nephews and nieces who are all too
westernized. My prayers, the “baptismal” rites, and our thank you speech were
all in Filipino and most of the kids, and probably some adults too, didn’t
understand me. But don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t at all preachy, it was all
fun.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Production Design:</b><br />
Just like my wedding, I designed all the details and with the help of my little
and not so-little elves, everything was executed right at home. I used old
materials along with the new, re-used whatever I can, and went to good ol’
Divisoria (all alone!) for the Filipino toys. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
The centerpiece was a clay pot with “grass” and hand-drawn ‘kalye’ kids playing
different Filipino games like Luksong Baka, sipa, and Luksong Tinik under
colorful bandaritas. Around the pot were various old-school Filipino toys with
colorful pamaypay as it was April (summer!). Guests were encouraged to get to
know the toys and games in front of them, and they were more than welcome to
take it home with them.</span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
Plates and glasses were all stainless steel, bowls were paper, spoons and forks
were all made out of wood. No plastic, no styro-foam.</span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></div>
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<b>The Give-Aways:</b><br />
Apart from the toys on their tables that they can take home, they were also
encouraged to get a ‘palengke’ (market) net bag and get fruits from the fruit
stand. The fruits were santol (a fruit that can only be found in Southeast
Asia), sinigwelas, and Indian mangoes. </span></span></div>
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It was a toss between a Nuvali Clubhouse Pool and Sta. Elena Fun Farm. The Fun
Farm won for various reasons: location is private-ish, where else can you do
the things you can do at The Fun Farm, it goes well with our theme, it’s closer
to nature, and most importantly EVERYONE can have fun. This place is also close
to my older son’s heart and with this party I really considered him of course!</span></span></div>
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<b>The Food:</b><br />
I admit it wasn’t as presented on the table as I wish it to be, but oh well. Guests
were treated with champorado (chocolate rice p<span style="font-size: small;">orridge) </span>with tuyo (dried fish), ginataang mais (ri<span style="font-size: small;">ce porridge with coconut milk and cor<span style="font-size: small;">n, </span></span>the
coconut milk that we used was from the coconuts we got from our farm in Indang,
Cavite), turon con langka (banana fritters with jackfruit), buko pie (<span style="font-size: small;">young <span style="font-size: small;">coconut pie, </span></span>we got the best of the best, Orient’s Original Buko Pie),
various Filipino kakanin (sweetened sticky rice snacks), pan de sal (Filipino
bun) with grilled kesong puti (white cheese made out of native carabao’s milk
we got from an aunt of mine who produces them in San Miguel, Bulacan). We also
got two bilao (woven plate) of pansit (noodles) because what’s a Filipino birthday party without
pansit? Our juice was fresh buko juice (coconut, again, from our farm) with pandan. </span></span></div>
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<b>The Cake:</b></span></span></div>
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I wanted the cake to be very rustic and made
with 100% Love. So I asked my oldest son to bake it, and bake he did, together
with his cousins. He baked 3 layers of Banana Cake with Chocolate Chips.
Between the layers we slathered Nutella. We stuck bandaritas and hand drawn
things (derived from the birthday logo) on it. Too bad we didn’t have a candle,
and we also didn’t do the traditional sing-then-blow. But yes, the cake wasn’t
store-bought and it was prepared with Jaichi in mind meaning all the Love and
good intentions were poured in it. <i>(see pic above)</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b>THANK YOU:</b></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> <br />
</i></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I want to give thanks to all my family and friends who braved the <span style="font-size: small;">sizzling summer heat and travel<span style="font-size: small;">ed far just to celebrate <span style="font-size: small;">my son's special day with us. It really means a lot and we truly appreciated your presence.<br /><br />Thank you to those who took their time <span style="font-size: small;">to take photos! <span style="font-size: small;">We didn't hire a professional photographer (big mistake)<span style="font-size: small;">, so your photos mean so much to us!</span></span></span><br /><br />To my family who helped me<span style="font-size: small;">, thank you. You guys know who you are!<span style="font-size: small;"> BIG HUGS!!! </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
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</span></span>Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-50817994198920305472013-02-08T21:02:00.000-08:002015-06-15T18:33:43.698-07:00Confusing My Son?My son is familiar with different types of Gods. Norse, Greek, Roman, and yes, the God of Hebrews. He was really impressed with the Norse Gods in particular and at one point in time he declared that he will base his "religion" on Norse mythology.<br />
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I just let him. I just let him explore "religion". And I find it amusing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNDTf82HlD4fXgx6cRs_D7YtGLWi1cu1GwT024taTC7nGIWG4LiSWGY3IETOzh15WyKA48rooWDHfyDhaPaGyjRSYnJdEIt3QdMqv24JI7NUhjm-s-p7L9-7CNQAy3S6yNdq6s8t0j2VX/s1600/thor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNDTf82HlD4fXgx6cRs_D7YtGLWi1cu1GwT024taTC7nGIWG4LiSWGY3IETOzh15WyKA48rooWDHfyDhaPaGyjRSYnJdEIt3QdMqv24JI7NUhjm-s-p7L9-7CNQAy3S6yNdq6s8t0j2VX/s320/thor.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>
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But one day someone scoffed at me: "What are you doing to him? That's really bad! You are confusing him, those are MYTHS"! This was coming from someone who sends his daughters to a school managed by nuns. <br />
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Okay, so to "avoid confusion", shall I subject my son to one particular religion? To "avoid confusion", shall I say there is only one God? To "avoid confusion" shall I tell him to stick to one bible? Ask yourselves, why is our religion based on our parents' religion? To be completely honest, at the end of the day I want my son to be spiritually grounded. I want him to see the enlightened path and to follow that path. He is already 13 and I haven't really given him a push towards that path. Because I want him to discover it on his own. <br />
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I grew up as a Roman Catholic. My bestfriend back then was a Muslim princess and I even thought she made that all up because I was in a box. A box that consisted of rigid rules, Heaven and Hell, demons and angels. Where Immaculate Conception and walking on water are not myths. I took the "bread" without fully understanding what it really meant. I sounded like a robot in church, repeating phrases that were empty to me. I was told I was going to "burn in hell" for doing "this and that". <br />
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I don't want my son, for the sake of "avoiding confusion", to go with the flow. I want him to swim as deep and as far as he could and I will let him be. I will let him hear all kinds of stories, know all kinds of beings. I will allow him to decide on his own. And I will support his decision.<br />
<br />
I will let him be "confused" and I want him to figure it out on his own. Because ultimately, for me, the way one lives is more important than being "not confused".Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-79916888510697299152013-02-06T21:54:00.000-08:002015-06-15T18:37:27.604-07:00How Things Can Change<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It was a really shaky
and stressful start for my little family and I. My husband ever the panic-boy,
my older son who had to adjust to the whole scenario, and me who unfortunately
have pelvic floor prolapse, somehow managed our high-need baby. Well, he was an
extremely high-need baby for the first two months of his life but on the day he
turned 2-month old he transformed into a happy smiley baby and from then on,
things began to be a lot easier. For that part… because you see, he is not the
only one who is undergoing changes…</i></span>
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It is amazing and heart-jerking how 10 months can change us.<br />
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My high-need infant is now a jolly, Curious George, classic Kewpie baby who
likes to eat and go out of the house. His infant wails and crankiness forgotten.<br />
<br />
Within 10 months my sisters-in-law already got themselves new babies. <br />
<br />
Within 10 months I acquired many “mommy-friends” through Instagram.<br />
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And within 10 months, my eldest son is now officially a teenager.</div>
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My son, my teenage son, who I am honestly currently struggling with, is a
teenager who I sometimes really think is an alien who took over my sweet child.
It is amazing and truly heart-wrenching how 10 months can change us. And
sometimes it is not for the better.<br />
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I am coping with my teenager the best way I know how and I am truly blessed to
have his school and my mother by my side. Is it a trend nowadays? To be so “I
hate life”? Or was I like that too when I was young? Do we all really go
through that phase, that phase of rebelling? Or did I stumble being a parent to
him, too busy with my new baby who is also increasingly different everyday?</div>
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After a lot of consultations, it is apparent that puberty is
hitting my family hard. From having serious crushes, to locking himself in a
room with music on so loud, to slamming the door at my face – it really took me
by surprise. It is exactly what I see in movies. And admittedly, it is like how
I was when I was at his age. You think the teenagers in movies are exaggerated,
but I kid you not, it’s the real deal. Of course I am not generalizing, but lo
and behold I have the typical teenager.</div>
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His voice significantly changed and he is now taller and
stronger – the physical changes went hand in hand with the changes in his
behavior and overall attitude. But despite the big change, the baby I know
surfaces from time to time asking me for kisses and hugs, dedicating his
artworks to me and his dad just because, and questioning why I don’t leave
sweet notes for him anymore (I leave notes for him by the door when I leave
unplanned).<br />
<br />
All the people who are guiding me in this journey insist that my boy is still
sweet and very bright and that hormones are just inevitably taking over. We
have to ride this wave the best way we know how to make him the person I dream
him to be – a compassionate human being. </div>
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During this time, I am also evaluating myself. It frustrates
me how easily my temper blows. I am also ashamed to admit that there are times
when hurtful words fly out of my mouth. This is a time for me to go back and
meditate and reflect what kind of parent I want to be. This is a challenge for
all of us.</div>
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The changes that are going on with my baby is significantly
as important and noteworthy as the changes that are going on with my teenager.
They are all milestones, all marks in our lives, every little detail vital for
our growth. <br />
<br />
I am grateful that I stay home with my sons. I watch them both grow, I watch
them both tackle every obstacle life has to offer. I am observing them both
ever so closely, ready to catch them when they fall, literally for the baby and
figuratively for my teen. <br />
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I just hope t<span class="hascaption"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">he Universe will grant me wisdom,
courage, patience, and strength to guide both of them to be the best person
they can be. </span></span></div>
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Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-45899009980916752032012-04-19T09:21:00.001-07:002015-06-15T18:39:37.630-07:00Change is the Only Constant Thing In this World<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I have always wondered how it feels like to have more than one child. I thought the Love would be divided. Such a fool to only realize now that the formula is multiplication. I have always been poor with math. But despite the abundance of Love that I am feeling, I found myself crying buckets of tears the other night. Mourning the death of an era when it was just me and my little bestfriend. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I thought I was emotionally ready to have a new baby. I didn't realize that it entails saying goodbye to my solo moments with my eldest son. My solo moments with him, where nobody and nothing else matter but him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">It just hit me like a dead end. There is no turning back. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Luckily, I have a dozen years worth of precious moments with him. I'm still teary-eyed just thinking about it. We were once robots, we dove inside books together, we really are the best of buds. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Now my prince will share his mother with his feisty dragon brother. I know he's not at all bothered by this new arrangement. After all, he did wish for a sibling and he'll be a teenager in a few months time. There will be so many changes happening soon. He is about to cross another bridge and enter another chapter of his life... Just when his mother is busy with someone else. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Alas, it is his father's turn to build him now. It his father's duty to make a good male teenager out of him. Now is their time to have their own private jokes, their own nasty secrets, their own journey. Just like what his father did for the past years, I'll be by their side, not really an active player. Rather, a coach or a guide of some sort. At most times, probably just a spectator. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_X0QiNLmqFrEkfpk2bw3erGT_NZ56akkQRF-w7RVWaXCu6mQK_PUZt6FYgDxBaD-UDnQbA3ylDZL6JLfpk6VMt5RsXTYDaOvb3E9ZTCPG9tbYBgrYUaj6SFTOVJsmnVm3rUdYncif2if/s1600/jurojaichi1photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_X0QiNLmqFrEkfpk2bw3erGT_NZ56akkQRF-w7RVWaXCu6mQK_PUZt6FYgDxBaD-UDnQbA3ylDZL6JLfpk6VMt5RsXTYDaOvb3E9ZTCPG9tbYBgrYUaj6SFTOVJsmnVm3rUdYncif2if/s400/jurojaichi1photo.jpg" width="300" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">By the time I emerge from the stage where I am done rearing the dragon (and hopefully a princess too), he'll be a man. No longer my Little Prince. Something I failed to foresee as part of the Big Change. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">But such is Life. The only thing constant is change. Anicha. Anicha. Law of Impermanence. What arises will soon shall pass...</span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;">I closed a chapter with a heavy melancholic Heart but that doesn't discount the fact that the Little Prince and I are off to another exciting adventure... One which includes our Little Feisty Dragon.</span></i><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-25734530154809210502012-04-11T05:08:00.001-07:002015-06-15T18:41:48.296-07:00Calm and Blissful Birth<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvhTXXYXoFMfEtsqkwCW5lJhDXYB0I3hVWoqp507xInS4eyd2D3VtwCVtxvh4yBDfKMU8m1YPr9SoF_Ua76A0ggNZHTJbZVX72M038WRAuvjnrNrhiqbO5wvBM1bB5Xw3d1nobdbuV-1Cl/s1600/003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvhTXXYXoFMfEtsqkwCW5lJhDXYB0I3hVWoqp507xInS4eyd2D3VtwCVtxvh4yBDfKMU8m1YPr9SoF_Ua76A0ggNZHTJbZVX72M038WRAuvjnrNrhiqbO5wvBM1bB5Xw3d1nobdbuV-1Cl/s320/003.jpg" width="186" /></a><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138; font-size: x-large;">W</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hen I got pregnant with my
first son, I wanted to use the Lamaze technique. But I
never got around to learning it because my son came out two months early. The
unprepared 19-year old me practically begged to be put to sleep during the
entire birthing process which was, regrettably, granted to me. I have done a
lot of things that I am not proud of during my first pregnancy that it is almost a miracle that I have
a relatively healthy son. We had to rehabilitate his lungs for
years but nonetheless he is a survivor of my juvenile mistakes (ignorant
decisions).</span></div>
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<span style="color: #741b47; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But, as he himself puts it, he
wouldn’t be who he is now if I hadn’t done the things I did. He only has
gratitude. He’s such a positive thinker!<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This time, with my second
pregnancy, I am obviously smarter. No alcohol (not that I’m a heavy drinker
anyway). No cigarettes (hey, 5 years clean!). No drugs, illegal or otherwise
(well, aside from the meds I took when I bled around my second and third month).
Suffice to say, I am conscious and aware that I am responsible for my baby’s
well-being and I am taking it seriously. (Well, not too serious… yes, I snuck
Krispy Kremes and candy bars in my diet. Hehe).<br />
<br />
From the get-go, I am determined to give birth naturally. I will take no drugs
to numb or ease the pain. My heart is set to do this 100%. Besides, my mother
did it 5x, my sister-in-law twice. Why can’t I? I want this birth to be
drug-free as much as possible. <br />
<br />
There are tons of techniques. There’s Lamaze and Bradley to name a few. But I
think I’ll do it the “Vipassana” way, if
such a thing exists. I learned a meditation technique a year ago and it had
helped me in many ways. I have not been meditating as often as I should and now that I am 1cm dilated, I promise to meditate and prepare at least 2 hours a day.
Because I want a calm and blissful birth.<br />
<br />
<b>What is a BLISSFUL birth?</b><br />
<br />
I did not coin this term but I am glad to finally put a name on it. I have this
ideal birth in mind and tried to search online for it. After several months of
different keywords and twenty or so articles, I stumbled on the perfect one. The
article is called “BLISSFUL BIRTH”, written by Tamika Hilder. The article
really reflected my beliefs and gah! It’s just so spot on. <br />
<br />
I might mess up the whole idea if I use my own words. Here is the <a href="http://holisticwellnesscoaching.com.au/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/Blissful-birth.pdf">link</a> to the
article.<br />
<br />
I am lucky I found this article. Otherwise, I’ll doubt my decisions and capability. I will listen
to my instinct and I hope the people who will surround me during my second son’s
birth day will respect my decisions and will not think I’m cuckoo. My OB
already said she will support me but will have the “necessary” drugs prepared
just in case. <br />
<br />
I will have instruction sheets for everyone. I will inform them of my
decisions and requests. Requests like having Chunky Chips Ahoy, ice-cold
Chuckie and Reese’s Butter Cups by my side right after giving birth. Hey, I
said it would be blissful, right?</span><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-28359339396413821772012-02-17T18:16:00.000-08:002015-06-15T18:44:35.019-07:00Trimesters<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px;">There are many reasons why I
haven’t posted anything here for the past months. The main reason being that I
have so many things that I want to share, I can’t get my thoughts straight, I
end up writing nothing. But I guess I owe my blog an update regarding my
pregnancy.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px;">When I started this blog I was around 4 months pregnant. Now I only have a
month and a half to go before I have my second son. Yes, it’s another boy for
my husband and I. We found out the gender on my husband’s birthday (2 days away
from Christmas). We, together with our son, were wishing for a girl. I won’t
lie. Our hearts sank when we found out that “it” was a “he”. My husband’s mood
changed and he felt like he didn’t want to shop for the baby that day. But of
course we quickly got around to our senses and embraced and loved the idea of
having another son. I just realized how horrible it must have been for the
royalties who couldn't give their husbands babies of
the “right gender”. Some even got their heads chopped off as a consequence. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11pt;"> *shudder* Enough of the morbid stuff and let’s continue with the happy baby stuff! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11pt;"><b>I</b> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11pt;">My
first trimester was really hard! I now have a deep compassion for pregnant
women! Hehe! With my first pregnancy, I didn’t have any complications whatsoever. It
was an easy sail, save for the premature delivery, which, in all honesty, was
still a breeze. It is only now I realized that every pregnancy is different. I
experienced all the pregnancy clichés that there is to experience in the first
trimester. I vomited, had spotting (was confined on my bed for many weeks), got
tired too easily, had morning sickness, all day nausea – the works. I also had
food aversions and cravings (nuts, particularly walnuts). </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>II</b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11pt;">On the second trimester, I had it quite easy. It was also the Christmas season
so the mood was just right. There were lots of good food and happy shiny
people. My baby also started to make his presence known by kicking me. All. The.
Time! I even had my wisdom tooth taken out since it caused me too much pain due
to heavy blood flow all over my body. The risk of infection was greater than
what the local anesthesia would pose that’s why I decided to have the surgery.
Either way, it was an easy and happy trimester.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>III</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px;">At the beginning of the last trimester, I had a small scare regarding sugar
levels in my body. Right after the holiday festivities I had my blood tested
and it was evident I had too much fun eating. But when I had it done again
after 2 weeks, I was safe. I have no gestational diabetes. Still, I can’t have
too many iced Milo and Krispy Kreme. Le sigh.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">At 10 Weeks, first ultrasound. Heard the heartbeat too!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">At 22 Weeks, taken December 23 on my husband's birthday. Discovered the gender.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I have no idea what's going on in these pictures, </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">supposedly we are to see the eyes, nose and then the lips. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">24 Weeks.</span></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>I am 7 months, 2 weeks and 2 days pregnant today. It is harder to sleep. Tummy
is bigger than a basketball. It is so hard to climb stairs. I’m always tired. It
is difficult to breathe. Skin is really stretching. Legs feel like they’re tree
trunks. Feet are swollen. I’m always hungry. Nose is twice as large. My face
has red splotches. Hair is lifeless. And did I mention my son literally beats
me up?<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span">And the worst is yet to come because they say giving birth is like having 20 bones breaking at the same time and I am prepared even
without anesthesia. Everything would be worth it. After all, the best is also yet
to come. </span></b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-67032193973939543742011-11-23T02:15:00.000-08:002011-11-23T07:31:56.996-08:00When Wishes Come True<div style="text-align: center;">
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Today I am 18 weeks pregnant. In moon term, I am 4 1/2 months with child.</div>
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And we have waited patiently for this for almost 12 years.</div>
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When we had our first-born, we decided not to have another child for many reasons. We were inexperienced, we had no money, we were practically kids ourselves. Although it took us over a decade to finally get things together, the timing is just perfect. When 2011 began, my husband and I had one common super wish: To have a baby. </div>
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What we didn't expect was our wedding. Another, albeit old, wish of ours. We have been together for 13 years and we were officially engaged 3 years ago, but we've been holding off because I wanted a wedding with Stormtroopers and fairies. Yet after attending a solemn meditation course last March, I figured I can be happy with simple things, so I threw up my arms and said "Let's do this"!</div>
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Turned out my wedding was far from simple, but it was very special and intimate. We turned our empty lot behind our house in Tagaytay into a reception under 2 months. Built comfort rooms, did full blown landscape, added unique touches to suit our theme (Medieval). I was in and out of Divisoria, I drew all concepts, took charge of overall production design. It was fun. However, exhaustion took over me when the Big Day was nearing. I had an inkling I was pregnant because I know my body. I can handle stress pretty well, I can handle sleepless nights, I relish working under pressure. It was odd that I was throwing up my breakfast and was flat out tired all the time.</div>
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On the day before our wedding, I secretly took a pregnancy test kit with me in the bathroom just in case. Alas, it was positive. I showed it to my boys and told them not to get too excited. We decided to go to an hospital for confirmation. And confirm we did, on the very morning of our wedding day. The word 'positive' in blue-gray letters from an analog printer gave us pure joy and gave our grand day extra special meaning.</div>
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Yes. We learned we were pregnant on the very day of our wedding. I didn't care that I looked and felt extremely tired, I was bursting with Love and Happiness. Definitely one of the best days of our lives. My son cried, he was overwhelmed by the good news. In fact, the day was just too overwhelming, too many good feelings can sometimes make you shift to auto pilot. We were in a daze.</div>
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The very next day, my husband and I sat down on the garden where we had said our vows. With our drinks in hand, his was coffee mine hot chocolate, we looked around. We talked. We reflected. We cried. We were just too happy.</div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Our wedding. </span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Above pic was when my son was tying our hands together, a Medieval wedding tradition.</span></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Below: Showering my husband with kisses.</i></span></div>
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<br /></div>Pika Yonzon-Villafuertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13841299874559209844noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7438044259758943141.post-373530601301688892011-11-18T00:44:00.000-08:002013-05-02T09:02:16.846-07:00Advent and Christmas Through My Eyes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Now I unde<span style="font-size: small;">rstand Christmas!</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Advent Season, the coming of Jesus Christ, is primarily observed by Christians, but since this is mostly a Western tradition I never really encountered it full force until they celebrated this in my son's school. Somehow you can say I grew up with spiritual freedom. My school and my parents allowed my spirituality to grow and glow at my own pace and understanding. I wasn't scolded at <span style="font-size: small;">if I didn't want to go to church. In short, the "true meaning of Christ<span style="font-size: small;">mas" wasn't really forced on me.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Besides, w</span>ith all the Noche Buena goodness, loud and fun reunions, and exciting gift-giving, </span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">the significance of the birth of Jesus Christ wasn't really m<span style="font-size: small;">y focus.</span> </span></span>It is a favorite holiday mainly because of the incorporated Filipino family traditions, I failed to put Je<span style="font-size: small;">sus Christ, the celebrant, right in the center w<span style="font-size: small;">here He should be.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I do know the story very well: Joseph and Mary got turned down by inns and eventually gave birth in a lowly stable. <span style="font-size: small;">Then the </span>Three Kings came with their marvelous gifts. A<span style="font-size: small;">n ordinary st<span style="font-size: small;">ory for me, nothing more nothing less.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My son's school, however, made me appreciate Christmas in "Jesus Christ kind of way". The reason why I failed to appreciate th<span style="font-size: small;">e s<span style="font-size: small;">tory </span></span>be<span style="font-size: small;">fore</span> was because I took it all too literally. I failed to see and understand the meaning behind each candle, star, and King. </span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The story, the way I digest it now at least, is a beautiful metaphor of Life and Astrological Phenomenons.</span></span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">December is the darkest month of all. It is cold, gloomy, and it has longer nights than any other month. December 25, in fact, has one of longest nights of all. "Christmas", is how the Christians and Catholics interpreted Winter Solstice (middle of winter). Winter Solstice is literally written in the stars. It is an astrological phenomenon (yet Pagans were burned alive for celebrating Winter Solstice). The world, according to Jesus Christ followers, needs a Savior. He is their Superstar. A Star that will guide them through a very dark night. <b>They say He is the Son of God. If God is Love and everything good, and Jesus Christ is full of Love and everything good, then He is a Son of God.</b> The coming of Light, on the darkest hour, gives people joy, peace of mind, and serenity. And I, not a Christian nor a Catholic, recognize the importance of this.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVhFmE8ZaC8vowZ9H5C0Nzk7LF5jfBcxlMDGcJ3-88BzO23DEjvEeKyS6hvYTWJPHeOq33PEeaMWiOFgz1gNyALwbufKTdD2Gl0bX_4SaJCQwfRWz8sLtw7wIjcdbKvnezSAn0VoZNyyWV/s1600/119243_f248.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVhFmE8ZaC8vowZ9H5C0Nzk7LF5jfBcxlMDGcJ3-88BzO23DEjvEeKyS6hvYTWJPHeOq33PEeaMWiOFgz1gNyALwbufKTdD2Gl0bX_4SaJCQwfRWz8sLtw7wIjcdbKvnezSAn0VoZNyyWV/s1600/119243_f248.jpg" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span">A handcrafted traditional Filipino parol. Our star. Our light amidst the darkest hour.</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It is just like how Catholics celebrate Summer Solstice (middle of summer). The longest and warmest days of all. They have St. John the Baptist Day, where they have "water" to "clean" you. Doesn't it make sense? A holiday where they throw water at people, on the <span style="font-size: small;">hotte<span style="font-size: small;">st day of the year? </span></span><span style="color: #e06666;"><b> </b></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><b>In a nutshell, what I am trying to say is that these Catholic and Christian festivities are anchored on absolute truth, on </b></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><b><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">astrological phenomenon</span></span> when you get into the seed of it. The symbols and figures may or may not have really existed in flesh and blood, it doesn't really matter. What matters most is to digest and understand what they mean. At the end of the day it is all about<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Peace, Love and Happiness. And we all want that.</b></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I don't celebrate Advent and Christmas like how I was taught by one of the Waldorf mom in my son's school. But I respect their tradition, and I admire the passion that is poured on it. I am glad that they were able to shed some light and gave me a reason to SPIRITUALLY celebrate Christmas.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Do read on to see how they celebrate Advent in my son<span style="font-size: small;">'s school!</span> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Let us Celebrate Advent!</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In my son's school, their Advent Fair marks the coming of Christ. And I am only too happy to celebrate it. Although I am all for Santa Claus (because I am one), it is truly important to teach our children the meaning of Light and its coming without the distractions of Santa's gifts which, admittedly if we don't watch what we give, might turn our children into creatures with great material and commercial hunger.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOivvnZ7ZzD9DeY-u1VXYWFMqf2Ka9G9nWjOD3VDUS1X6pMuXCgW4cPYQDCOiIDnwjKTx8lmvOQvEw2GdI8nLc6BtbRpxmwCgUDq9l_0WTfqGL4fqAo-hz5X12dckIH0hx-IatCmbrXIO/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-11-18+at+1.00.42+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOivvnZ7ZzD9DeY-u1VXYWFMqf2Ka9G9nWjOD3VDUS1X6pMuXCgW4cPYQDCOiIDnwjKTx8lmvOQvEw2GdI8nLc6BtbRpxmwCgUDq9l_0WTfqGL4fqAo-hz5X12dckIH0hx-IatCmbrXIO/s320/Screen+shot+2011-11-18+at+1.00.42+PM.png" width="215" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">Join us this coming November 26, that's a Saturday, at Acacia Waldorf School in Hacienda Sta. Elena, Sta. Rosa Laguna! Tickets are only P100 each. It will be a day of crafts that will include gift and ornament making, we will also decorate wreaths, there's live music, farm rides, an organic market, outdoor cafe, a challenging maze, and so much more! We are not going to use plastic bags so we encourage that you bring your own <i>bayong</i>! </span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Here are some photos from Acacia Waldorf's 7th Annual Advent Fair:</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi__M7b2p-23H1GK1JjfjivpQXgvMwxqmBNvv6s5Q9frWPhpoui3iRuANjc6xAzOdAMC77g3mYjHVaiKx1UlBNLG70fktRf9zRuQJjyve_VRwFSJ8ttTQKm4nt1-yJA9uwB_Bht_EfCWBa4/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi__M7b2p-23H1GK1JjfjivpQXgvMwxqmBNvv6s5Q9frWPhpoui3iRuANjc6xAzOdAMC77g3mYjHVaiKx1UlBNLG70fktRf9zRuQJjyve_VRwFSJ8ttTQKm4nt1-yJA9uwB_Bht_EfCWBa4/s640/01.jpg" width="598" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Enjoy organic vegetables and fruit juices. Also organic coffee at the outdoor cafe!</span><i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2iYhMdnZ-soPcRymKgND8Bj1wN-bVNDH3KI91Med5QvwJnKvThXP-pgIex5GA7BIlmURUJ8GTk466m2rxGEV_la1wAHr2v95OIico9yxxh6XA58BIilbYbtbnq677WMboSBrJ6w_oFJQX/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2iYhMdnZ-soPcRymKgND8Bj1wN-bVNDH3KI91Med5QvwJnKvThXP-pgIex5GA7BIlmURUJ8GTk466m2rxGEV_la1wAHr2v95OIico9yxxh6XA58BIilbYbtbnq677WMboSBrJ6w_oFJQX/s640/02.jpg" width="284" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Fun Farm! Get in touch with cute animals!</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWZgQK7Y2cylzfZFekolTxb6xV7tmrPZUWRI3EFclws6rUJsFgKmVinPbmpbIBmFQ4WMd9v5HvKnixQeVDP4GueeprbVP1YOYHbjOnJjeTRtl1Yvxh-LQftTqyN3UvVntcYGst3Mt8kqU9/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWZgQK7Y2cylzfZFekolTxb6xV7tmrPZUWRI3EFclws6rUJsFgKmVinPbmpbIBmFQ4WMd9v5HvKnixQeVDP4GueeprbVP1YOYHbjOnJjeTRtl1Yvxh-LQftTqyN3UvVntcYGst3Mt8kqU9/s640/03.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">My dream pet: Snake! :)</span><i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1seowYl_t_uJkLHsFU8JP0ltFU0IHf5OpBzlafSrG_1kpK9Kph8I4gIrmUb84WcefV1nL6-lPiFcM7_r5Ux9ftWKP9DjxBf9PCzoaWZ-dJPZRGJDutmmRj1vHZGVRGe4rov2VnEdOWXXS/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1seowYl_t_uJkLHsFU8JP0ltFU0IHf5OpBzlafSrG_1kpK9Kph8I4gIrmUb84WcefV1nL6-lPiFcM7_r5Ux9ftWKP9DjxBf9PCzoaWZ-dJPZRGJDutmmRj1vHZGVRGe4rov2VnEdOWXXS/s640/04.jpg" width="556" /></a></span></i></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Carabao and horse rides among the trees :)</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-lloxNAi4gM4vPN-VoNxfAQEsm5T9kXupWKJAfOw4-4JSX2Vo5tPQ3KIfzGqepXwD2NX6RZc-4I3hJSs2fcEQTW4m47M42bOsf9kSJIgXLywC1ebBg4fkCOtRPSyp6ORhvbECMSiXOxYl/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img border="0" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-lloxNAi4gM4vPN-VoNxfAQEsm5T9kXupWKJAfOw4-4JSX2Vo5tPQ3KIfzGqepXwD2NX6RZc-4I3hJSs2fcEQTW4m47M42bOsf9kSJIgXLywC1ebBg4fkCOtRPSyp6ORhvbECMSiXOxYl/s400/06.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Enjoyed a peaceful ride and met the "Pocket Lady"<br />
Pocket Lady, a traditional figure in the Advent Fair. Give ticket,<br />
and choose a surprise gift from one of her many pockets!</span></i></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoG8U5OMCjGBxJqmUESVB1sZwSXPyDijp2yxNZ0JfhtmnnmUkJHSzywpBjYQNIv-1ZTh7UXSVA-xRmuyXc0itLMrpGN-HWrbgHlpJMGCBcOXauvOsyeG6shfEypz-zuJwYy7MLzR9ZBnQu/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoG8U5OMCjGBxJqmUESVB1sZwSXPyDijp2yxNZ0JfhtmnnmUkJHSzywpBjYQNIv-1ZTh7UXSVA-xRmuyXc0itLMrpGN-HWrbgHlpJMGCBcOXauvOsyeG6shfEypz-zuJwYy7MLzR9ZBnQu/s640/05.jpg" width="426" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Ropes and trees provide hours and hours of fun!<br />
Real life Playstation!</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJqc6MnAmt-7AZBlajBZ24A8geF-PBtZpqlTHWjLDBLXHbQgnXOR1-qz2hChbU3ijwL1V49yEhQT7XSPgXmN4wRFClKE57P4JbK4SaVfiFpLALHpnSy0oXkUzNF4N1AWBItzvlMXBYOaRs/s1600/07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJqc6MnAmt-7AZBlajBZ24A8geF-PBtZpqlTHWjLDBLXHbQgnXOR1-qz2hChbU3ijwL1V49yEhQT7XSPgXmN4wRFClKE57P4JbK4SaVfiFpLALHpnSy0oXkUzNF4N1AWBItzvlMXBYOaRs/s640/07.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Adults can join in the fun! That's my brother enjoying the rope swing, <br />
and my husband on the right, waiting for his turn.</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitflXOp7SczOfn_z1W1tqratqOjuuEkSKlYvhnzHdD7CNgz-diiE2uWZomGOblsMBPL-xhMQQk8qSPEfir9aX0H1FDiE-EQWL_JMzevvbnbBHwpwPoIThG1b4Fny1npCHeAcd8BBZBQEU0/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitflXOp7SczOfn_z1W1tqratqOjuuEkSKlYvhnzHdD7CNgz-diiE2uWZomGOblsMBPL-xhMQQk8qSPEfir9aX0H1FDiE-EQWL_JMzevvbnbBHwpwPoIThG1b4Fny1npCHeAcd8BBZBQEU0/s640/08.jpg" width="425" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My nephew and my son, enjoying the zip line</span></span></td></tr>
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