Antipolo — You see, today, on this rainy ripe-for-boredom day, I vowed we’d try finger painting. It seemed easy enough—the blogs promised it would be. Ella came in from her outdoor playtime and found me with my hair in a bun, stirring flour, sugar and slowly boiling water in a sauce pot on the stove. “Mommy’s making paint for you,” I say. Of course she wanted to hold the whisk. We got through that part unsca...
Antipolo — I started with Duncan Sheik only because he was just a few artists down from Disneyland Children’s Sing-Along Chorus, which had been on repeat ever since my daughter decided that Mommy’s Office was mo...
Antipolo — Just last week, as I was working (or entertaining the delusion of productivity as it allowed me to), the thought crossed my mind that it and I could go on like this forever. A foolish thought in these...
Antipolo — Some divine force stops me from shouting, “Ella! You’re going to fall! Get down from there!” and I’m able to walk (quickly but outwardly calmly) over and say, “You’re up really high. Are you trying to...
File this under "meaning to". Also filed under "but didn't".
"I don't want people to say I'm beautiful."
"Mommy, stay. Because you're the best mommy." She needed a partner in crime for the pouring. Today, she found one.
I need to do mess better.
There is freedom in being a complete beginner and in saying I have no idea what I'm doing.
Today, I let her win.
"I don't want to play with you." And there it is. Her unexpressed anger and sadness. In my head, I understand it; in my heart, it's a knife, twisted.
"Is it three weeks yet?" I'd told her that Baby Brother was coming in three weeks, three weeks ago. He was due. He was overdue.
Painting, reading.
There are sentences I know I would never, could never, write. Reading high-end shelter mags, feeling twangs of pen envy.
"Mommy, Ella beautiful," she said. I wonder what that word means to her, at not even two.
My 2008 MacBook Pro is circling the drain. Too soon, old friend.
By the time I'd gotten around to posting this photo, this flower had rejoined the ground. Look—you won't find it.
She didn't know the word "messy" until I used it. In that tone that meant it was a bad thing.
I feel really bad about her blue hands. As often happens in amateur experiments, first there is delight, then disaster.
There's music playing and I'm writing at my desk, knowing that this moment is just too good to last long.
I look away and when I look back, Ella has climbed up to the fourth step of the staircase.