A few Sundays ago, I decided to hit the road to fetch Jan in General Santos City. Honestly, with the cost of fuel consistently going up where a 500-peso worth of gas won't get you anywhere, I could have just let him commute because that would have been obviously waaaay cheaper.
But after years of mothering a tornado trio without a nanny, I thought I'd take this opportunity to escape all kinds of duties. Savor at least two and a half hours of freedom that comes with going on a solo drive, 140 kms away from home.
No kids, no chores, no routine, no chaos, no emails, no stress.
And no one to tell me how fast I can go—not a city ordinance, not a speed camera, nor a speed limit sign. Except, the husband, Jan.
Two of my friends have had their photos used by imposters to scam people on Facebook just recently.
Friend #1 learned about her imposter when it tried to sell baby stuff on Facebook and her friend from another city saw the listing. The imposter's fake profile was reported and taken down before anyone could fall prey.
As for Friend #2, it was already too late when she found out about it. She was getting virtually sucker-punched by angry and frustrated victims after realizing they had been duped into sending their hard-earned money for nothing. Her face was posted on different groups, labeled with the most demeaning words while the real perp got away with it.
Well, that's scary.
This is not the first time I've heard of it. It happens all the time and it could happen to anyone—especially us, ordinary people whose faces are not easily recognizable by a lot of people.
But you know what scares me more?
The past few days had been quite a challenge because I was left alone to deal with two wild toddlers and a teen with raging puberty hormones. And as I watched them destroy the house while I slowly sipped my coffee, feet up, I had been thinking about how I will be rewarded for being great at maintaining a healthy marriage by allowing the husband to go on a three-day trip because I believed he needed to have some fun too.
I mean, Solen Heussaff gave Nico Bolzico no more than 24 hours to fly to Davao to hike Mt. Apo and back, while Jan was granted 3 freakin' days. How lucky can he get? I suppose he must have thought of rewarding me with something I truly deserve like an ultimate steak night date or a Vespa. The latter is mostly preferred, thank you.
I did not leave with a basket full of bright, colorful, and aesthetically pleasing stuff that are absolutely unnecessary.
I could have done it, you know. The husband was a thousand miles away and no one else can dissuade me from buying whatever useless knickknack I fancy. All I have to do is swipe this little devil.
I don't really get my fingernails done.
My hands look too manly that no amount of hand spa and nail color can make it ladylike. My day to day activities are also not very friendly for long, prettyfied, manicured nails (I wash my children's bum, no thanks). So yeah, a trip to the nail salon is rather pointless.
But today, I went to get a manicure in preparation for an event this weekend. And while at it, I decided to have a softgel extension instead of a regular polish. Because why not? I will be free of kids and unwashed dishes for three days. Yay!
I grew up in an era where the concept of Wishlist does not exist. In those days, whenever there is an "exchange gifts" during Christmas parties, the giver carries the burden of gift-giving—one that I carried ever since I started high school.
Of course, the whole world has to know.
Because I feel like a domestic goddess after doing such feat.
And just in case it doesn't happen again.
I don't know if there's a household chore more tedious than folding clothes. I would have seizures just thinking about it. Plus, it requires dexterity and a higher degree of patience to perform such simple task—and unfortunately, I do not possess the latter.
I thought I would have a long, uninterrupted sleep last night because for the first time in almost two years, I let our toddler sleep with my mom.
But that much needed rest never happened. I was so uncomfortable with this belly that could pop anytime, the perpetual back pain, the need to pee every fifteen minutes, and the unbearable heat.
I often find myself reminiscing about the old days.
Those days when we get to eat out and go on spontaneous road trips every week. The time when we don't celebrate special occasions over food deliveries. The time when we conveniently fake fever to have an excuse for skipping work. Or those days when I can just hug and kiss my husband every time he comes home. Sigh.
Two things.
One. I am addicted to rolled oats soaked in plain Greek yogurt and cinnamon.
I prepared one for the bunso but he doesn't seem to show interest in it. It was so good that I had to ask the husband to buy more for my own consumption. Whatever I eat, the baby eats anyway.
Two. I am on a diet.Sometimes, I amaze myself with my adulting, considering that my hormones are still on overdrive. You see, I have written a complaint—after making countless of calls and follow-ups on not having an internet connection for almost two months—in the most diplomatic way. For someone whose life depends heavily on memes and cat videos, I would have gone batshit. (Who wouldn't?)
First, my all-expense paid trip to Vietnam was cancelled. Second, I just had a haircut and I will never get the chance to show off my Dora the Explorer fringe in public. So before this gets long enough for me to cut again, I'll share this now while I still don't look like Spock.
Of COVID-19, Social Distancing, and Getting Hospitalized
These were actually my uncle's gift for Rhett. But I was the one who got too excited to decorate the aquarium. After coming home from Gen San with our new fishes and live aquatic plants in tow, we immediately bought a 14-gallon fish tank, accessories, and dechlorinator. And voila! A new stress reliever.
We got swordtails, angelfish, and guppies. That's about everything I know for now. But I'm browsing the internet for care sheets because I don't want to see one go belly up too soon.
As for me, I've already seen myself in my ghostly form. All thanks to my mom's phone that seem to shoot photos with a hundred layers of filters on by default.
You know how I get perpetually bored with my looks that I would cut my hair on my own from time to time.