For You

“A hundred hearts would be too few
To carry all my love for you.”

Happy birthday, Honey. My greatest dream is still to grow old with you.

Now 16, Forever Sweet

Today, Alphonse turns sixteen.

It never ceases to amaze me when I look at him, now almost grown up. He stands three inches taller than me, fits into men’s clothing, and sports a slightly disheveled moustache which matches the smattering of hair in his armpits. Everywhere I look, I no longer see a trace of the baby or the child he once was. All I see is a man.

The truth is, I miss my baby. I miss the sweetness of his breath in the morning. I miss the softness of his unblemished skin. I miss being able to carry  him in the crook of my arm to sing him to sleep.

 I miss the way he fits in the side of my body when he curls up in bed with me.

I miss his chubby cheeks and his round, heavy body. I miss the hibernating porkchop and his pouty lips.

I miss his childlike smile, the one that erases all my fears away. 

But even as I miss those mementoes of his childhood, I marvel at who he has become today. Almost a man, but not quite. Loud, quirky, opinionated, determined. Headstrong and bullish. Sweet and trusting. 

It has been a long journey from then to now. There were many days of pain and heartache, and of grief and despair, but for each one of those miserable days, our lives were blessed a millionfold by what we have learned living with and loving him. Alphonse has taught us patience and tolerance, forgiveness and acceptance, gratitude and surrender. Most of all, he has taught us how to love without hope or thought of reciprocity. We love him because we do, and not because of anything he does to make us love him. It’s as simple as that.

Happy birthday, our dear sweet child, our Alphonse.  Papa, Mama, and Kuya Alex love you so much.

~0~

While on the subject of birthday celebrations, this blog also turns a year older this month. Happy 3rd birthday to Okasaneko Chronicles!

In 2007, when I started blogging, I was lucky to get even just ten people a day to read my blog. Three years later, despite the lack of promotion (I’ve never really been very big at that) and the freedom to express myself, those numbers have multiplied exponentially. In this little corner of the Internet I call Kittymama’s home, I have made many friends. I have also become part of a larger community of people I would never have met were it not for this wonderful experience. Thank you to all those who have come, visited, read, lingered, commented, returned, or even just glanced at the pages of my life. I am humbled by your kindness and love.

The Okasaneko Chronicles’ 3rd Blog Birthday Giveaway starts today so please be sure to leave a comment in this blog post to join. You can read the mechanics here for the full details on the giveaway. Many, many thanks to all those who have helped make this giveaway a reality: Sanrio Gift Gate Philippines, Ban Kee Trading, Inc., BusinessWorld/HerWord.com, Autism Society Philippines, The Fairy Godmother, and Alphie (who is none other than Alphonse, the birthday boy who wishes to share his birthday blessings with his Mama).

 

Birthdays and Giveaways

Alphonse will turn 16 in a little less than two weeks. Birthdays are fun but it’s always been difficult finding presents for him. Unlike your typical teenager, Alphonse wants little and needs so little to make him happy that often, we end up with such unimaginative presents of … you guessed right… underwear, shoes, and clothes. We can’t ask him what he wants when his default answer is “yes” to everything (when he says “No” you know he means it, whereas “Yes” can mean either) and Alex, his wily older brother, usually finds a way to twist this to his advantage.

Mama: Alphonse, do you want a new shirt?

Alphonse: (nods) Yes

Mama: Do you want new Crocs?

Alphonse: (nods) Yes

Alex: Wait, Mama, it’s my turn. Alphonse, do you want a new PS3?

Alphonse: (nods) Yes

Alex: See, Mama, you really have to get the PS3 for Alphonse. He really, really, really wants it! Please? Let’s buy the PS3 today!

(Nice try, son!)

Finding gifts Alphonse will genuinely love is always a challenge. These days, he’s still drawn to colorful preschool toys ; he actually sneaks off with his little three-year-old cousin’s toys every now and then. He still loves Disney DVDs despite our attempts to introduce him to other movies. And he is still absolutely, passionately crazy over bubbles. Running out of bubble solutions or bubble bottles will likely provoke a prolonged crying spell. We realize however that we can’t exactly keep encouraging him with these. While they remain part of his life, we have to keep looking at things and activities most neurotypical teenagers enjoy at that particular age. Unfortunately, that is easier said than done. Nothing seems to pop out as remotely interesting to him as the things he is already used to.

Alphonse's PECS card

So we racked our brains and discussed countless ideas, without ever coming to a united position on our special gift for Alphonse’s 16th birthday. But you know how the answers to prayers come when one least expects it? Just a few weeks ago, we had a lightbulb moment.  When Alphonse popped open one of the large covered pails of water we had and dove right in- head, shoulders, body, feet and all- we knew at once what we were getting him this year.

Just a brief backgrounder: Alphonse loves water but not the kind you swim in. He loves humongous basins and shallow pools  and garden hoses and sprinklers of all kinds but would not venture into any body of water higher than his knees. This past summer, on a family trip, we went to a hot springs resort and were suprised when, for the first time ever, he decided to step into the pool and submerge himself neck deep. Not only that, he half-walked, half-paddled the entire length of the small pool.  That he decided to stay submerged for almost a whole day told us that he finally found the courage to enjoy being in the water. Unfortunately, when night came, he wanted to go home and sleep in his own bed, though we had already paid for accommodations for the night. We tried to coax him to sleep but he cried loudly and refused to be appeased. We made the long drive back and once home, he promptly fell asleep. With that experience in mind, we promised him only day trips for now.

And that is what he is getting for his birthday- a day visit for a swimming party at the same resort. We’ve already made reservations. I only have to firm up the plans for food and extra amenities, get the swimsuits and swimming gear ready, get extra decorations, and we are ready to go!

~0~

While we’re on the topic of birthdays, next month, Okasaneko Chronicles on WordPress turns three years old.  To celebrate my blog’s third birthday and to thank all those who have supported my blog with their visits and comments, I will be hosting my first ever giveaway. Wheee! Who can resist giveaways?

For now, I have decided on giving away three different sets of gifts which reflect each of the different passions I write about in my blog- autism advocacy, Sanrio and Hello Kitty, and Sylvanian families. Yesterday, I received an e-mail confirmation from Ms. Isabel Lopez, Marketing Manager of Sanrio Gift Gate Philippines, of their very kind sponsorship of the Sanrio gift pack. I was amazed that within an hour of sending my e-mail request, Ms. Lopez replied with a positive confirmation. I will wait for further instructions from her, but already, I am beside myself with joy.

Autism Society Philippines, through the kindness of ASP Secretary Tiffany Tan, will also donate two items for the autism advocacy gift package. I won’t reveal yet what’s inside this gift pack but let me tell you that some of the gifts will come from Alphonse and myself.

I am still waiting for Ban Kee’s Mr. Joseph de Leon’s reply to my request. I am hopeful that with these two generous sponsors already committed to the giveaway, they will follow suit. I will keep you guys updated on this.

The ”I Am Three” Blog Giveaway will be launched very soon so please come back to this blog to get more details. As soon as the gift packs are all ready, I will post pictures and instructions on how to join. With two birthdays coming in November, it’s going to be a party!

P.S. Ban Kee said YES!!! It’s three for three!

A Smile & A Celebration

Thank you to all who sent in their well wishes to Alphonse, be it via text, email, facebook, or this blog. We really appreciate your kindness and concern. Alphonse is well again! And just to show you that my big boy is fully recovered, here is a picture of him smiling. Mind you, a smile is a rare commodity when he is sick so when he does flash us one, it means he’s back to his old self. 

Alphonse is gorgeous, if I may say so myself (that’s his mom talking).

Don't you just love his smile?

 

While he was sick however, he alternated between sullen sulking with soft sobs and horrible tantrums with bloodcurdling horror-movie screams. If you can imagine the scene where little Jack-Jack (of The Incredibles) finally reveals his superhero powers, well, you can imagine us in the role of the unfortunate Syndrome trying to hold a shapeshifting child (Jack-Jack transforms into fire, metal or imp on demand) on tantrum mode, with superhuman strength to match. This smile, caught on camera, is a welcome relief  to those Jack-Jack days.  

~0~

Sunday last week, two days after the onset of his illness, Alphonse still had a slight fever and was still vomiting. He could not take in much solid food and needed more sleep and rest. Our niece’s 15th birthday party was set for that night but Alphonse was still in no condition to leave the house. We had to “eat and run” and hope that Alphonse would not miss us too much in our absence.

Arielle, my niece,  is my brother John’s daughter. At 15, she has grown to be a young woman with both smarts and beauty. (She got her mother’s slim genes, thank God, and none of my family’s fatties. ) More than physical attributes, however, I am grateful that Arielle is as sweet today as she was as a young child. She is not a brat, and though spoiled with affection and material benefits as an only child inevitably is, she is kind and compassionate.

We all love Arielle. Alex treats her like a baby- carrying her around and hugging her all the time. She laughingly protests against this but lets him all the same. I can think of the many ways Arielle has brought happiness to our lives. But perhaps, I love her best when she shows kindness to Alphonse (even when her cousin terrorizes her at times).

I remember that when she and Alphonse were toddlers, she yielded all her toys to him, even when he didn’t ask. She shyly handed him her toys, a kindness Alphonse acknowledged with soft grunts of approval. One Christmas, she gave up a favorite doll because Alphonse would not let go of it. Alphonse loved the doll to death (minus a leg and  an arm and clumps of hair).

When he loped around like a young buck and bumped into her, she never said an unkind word. She never even cried. As early as three years of age, Arielle knew compassion and accepted Alphonse’s differences with love.

But yes, Arielle is a teenager with normal teenage desires and angst. I think she got some of my genes too as she and I share common passions for Hello Kitty, dolls, and yes, Facebook. (I am trying to influence her with Sylvanian Families but her dad won’t let me, heehee.) They say Facebook is a cultural phenomenon, a sign of these times, and nowhere is this phenomenon best seen  than in families that spend time in Facebook together- like Arielle’s family! She is so into it that her parents had this beautiful cake  made especially for her.

And what is a Facebook addict suppose to do, even on her birthday?  Why,  go online on Facebook, of course!

Cousins Alex and Arielle- online in the midst of party!

Happy birthday, sweet Arielle!

To My Son, On His 17th Birthday

Many thanks to my sister Jasmine for this wonderful birthday banner she made for Alex’s surprise lunch party last Sunday at my parents’ home. (In photo, from left to right, are the grandchildren from my side of the family: my niece Arielle, Alphonse, my nephew Sese, and Alex)

Dearest Alex,

The day you were born was one of the best days of our lives. The first time your dad held you, he could not stop kissing you, so enamored was he of his little boy. You were a tiny squirt then, just a smidgen over six pounds, frail and small and absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful. There haven’t been many days as perfect as that day since then, but each day with you has been an opportunity to thank the Lord for the gift we received seventeen years ago.

You are a miracle, Alex. Our family’s miracle. You almost didn’t make it then as a little baby in my womb; the day you were born, you were hardly moving in my tummy anymore and your heart rate was falling fast. But God let you live for us, for this family, because He knew you would give us strength and joy when we most need it. And you do, anak, you do.

I know that these days, it’s hard not to be at odds with each other. Sometimes, you are angry at us and our inability to understand you and your needs. I then remember the times when you were a little boy- when your world revolved around us- and I feel sad that there have been times in the recent past that we have felt a wall standing between us.

Your Papa and I want you to know that we love you. You are our life, Alex, as much as Alphonse is too. We live for both of you. What we try to teach you every day is to live your life to the fullest because we know you are capable of so much more goodness and kindness in you. We know your heart, son, and it is a mighty heart. We have seen your love for your brother, and only a man of innate goodness and strength can love without judgment and with total acceptance the way you do your brother. Use your heart, Alex, and use it well, to guide you in making choices. Choose good over evil, truth over lies, honesty over deceit, love over hate, and you will never go wrong. Choose God always.

I want to tell you that we are proud of you always. When we see you stand tall, we see in you a reflection of all our dreams and our love for each other. I see so much of your dad in you — in the way you knit your brows when you are worried, in your quirky sense of humor (not always funny, haha), even in the way you baby your brother. You don’t know this but when you do something special for anyone of us, Papa and I puff up inside like balloons filled with the helium of happiness.

We pray for you always, too, son. We cover you each day with our prayers for your safety and your wellbeing. And we pray too that you find strength always in the grace of God. We love you, son. God loves you. Remember this when you are hurting, or sad, or disappointed in life. We may not always be here to kiss your hurts away but know that our love for you is eternal, immeasurable, and unconditional.

♥Mama

Fifteen Candles

Happy 15th Birthday, Alphonse, child of our hearts.

You weren’t like other children
and God was well aware
You’d need a caring family
with love enough to share.

And so He sent you to us
and much to our surprise
you haven’t been a challenge
but a blessing in disguise.

Your winning smiles and laughter
the pleasures you impart
far outweigh your special needs
and melt the coldest heart.

We’re proud that we’ve been chosen
to help you learn and grow
the joy that you have brought us
is more than you can know.

A precious gift from Heaven
a treasure from above
a child who has taught us many things
but most of all – “Real Love”.

(author: Sharon Harris)

Lost-And-Found Daddy

This was written by my youngest sister Jasmine. I asked her permission to put it here in honor of our Dad’s 67th birthday today. I am not able to write about this as bravely as she has and so, I am borrowing her words today. Thank you, Jas.

Daddy and his first grandchild, Alexander

And to our dearest Daddy, the first man I ever loved, the man who gave all five of his children the sun and the moon and the stars- Happy Birthday! We love you so much.

~0~  

Lost-And-Found Daddy

by Jasmine N.O.

 

My father smells awful.

And I am glad.

Most days, the smell of sweat, cigarettes, rust and hard work cling to him, trailing his every movement. It is an odor that has followed him every working day of his life. And for a time, during my adolescence, I found it quite embarrassing.

But now I welcome it.

It is the smell of a self-made man.

When I was growing up. My father made a decent living managing a factory he single-handedly built from the ground up. Daddy worked incessantly, day and night, weekdays and weekends- always with the seemingly untiring precision of a clockwork figure.

During those early years, we lived in a modest house half-perched on top of the factory. And each day, he would descend the stairs wrapped in a cloud of soapy freshness. Yet he would always come back smelling like the chemicals and metals of his trade.

As a matter of routine, upon returning home, he would lie down, still reeking like a sack of rusty nails. Then we would scramble up his bed and sidle up next to him, unmindful of the odor.

As we grew, his business flourished. Daddy’s hard work provided us with all we could ever need, and much more besides. We were by no means spoiled brats, but all our young lives, we never knew what it was to want for anything.

We lived a privileged existence. Pampered with more books and toys than we knew what to do with, chauffeured to and from the best private schools, encouraged to bloom through dance, art, and music lessons. We had the best of everything, all due to his tired, sweaty factory smell.

As the youngest child, I was Daddy’s Girl. On shopping trips, when a clean-shaven and perfumed Daddy would firmly tell me that a certain purchase would be my last for the day, I would turn on the charm and get him to agree to buy me the last, last item. And the last, last, last after that. And the last, last, last, last after that. And so on. I was loved.

When I was about four years olds, I lamented being born three days before Christmas. Much to my dismay, I would always get joint birthday and Christmas presents from relatives and friends. To make up for this “gross injustice,” Daddy declared that my birthday would officially begin on December 1st and stretch all the way down to January 6th, the Feast of the Three Kings. True enough, beginning the first of each December, I would receive little presents from Daddy.

To be sure, Daddy was not a selfish man. The success of his kamalig (translation: warehouse), as he liked to call it, allowed him to send all five of us to college, and the other four on to medical or law school. But he always kept his widowed mother and younger siblings in mind.

The kamalig allowed him to provide jobs for his younger brothers and sisters. It allowed him to build a spacious house of his own and an even grander one for his mother. He was a father to the entire extended family. Even down to our less fortunate cousins, majority of whom he sent to school.

But in 1992, a series of strokes and a family dispute put an end to life as we knew it.

While in his sickbed, Daddy was accused of theft by the siblings he loved and employed. Never mind that he gave them more than he ever kept for us. Never mind that the deeds to majority of the property he had accumulated were in their names. Never mind that he had to do without a lot… for us, for them.

Confused, weakened, so much unlike himself, he yielded. And he lost everything he had ever worked for, save for the home and the cars. He lost the kamalig and with it, that kamalig stench.

I was still in college then. And pretending like nothing was different, I plodded my way through school, surrounded by the din of friends and classmates, many of whom were none the wiser to my new predicament.

When left to my own devices, I would try not to cry. Yet sometimes, sorrow and anger would get the better of me and I would wrap my fists tightly around a bunch of coins. Then I would wait. Wait for the rusty smell to grow on my sweaty palms. It was almost like that kamalig smell. It was comfort when I needed it most.

From school, I would often return to a quiet and darkened house. To a grieving family suddenly thrown into hard times.

We were not used to worrying about money. But more than that, we were not used to having to take care of Daddy. He always took care of us.

Robbed of his pride and his notion of self worth, he withdrew into a deep depression. His strokes left him with virtually no physical deficits and yet he remained bound to his bed. His work-calloused hands and feet grew soft and smooth from disuse.

What disease could not do, his siblings and his mother did effortlessly.

They broke him. They defeated him. They all but killed him.

Whereas before, he hardly ever raised his voice, he became prone to fits of rage. He lost his laughter- a man who once seemed invincible, reduced to muted tears of anguish and anger. Gone was his enviable zest for life and living. In its place was much sadness and thoughts of death and dying.

He became a stranger to us.

That above all was the greatest loss. Far greater than the loss of money, property , or extended family.

He was robbed of everything that made him who he was. And we found ourselves just as lost as he was. Perhaps more so.

A very good school friend who knew a similar fate once told me how much of a stranger her own father had become. “I love him,” she said sadly. “But I no longer like him.” For a time, that summed up how I felt about my father. I could not find even a glimmer of the man he once was. And that is a horror and tragedy that I never would have thought was possible.

But opiating forgetfulness is kind.

In time, the gaping wounds healed.

Grandchildren brought back a twinkle to daddy’s eyes. He found his laughter again. He regained his pride.

The sale of the lavish residence, so close to his mother’s and siblings’ homes, gave him renewed vigor.

It was like cutting ties again. Only willingly this time. And permanently.

We packed up our things and never looked back.

And from the sale of the house, daddy constructed a new home. And a new factory. A modest one that can’t compare to what he once had, but it’s his. All his. Pabrika (translation: factory), he now calls it.

And each day, he leaves the new home under a cloud of soapy freshness.

And each night, he returns, the smell of sweat, cigarettes, rust and hard work clinging to him.

Like old times.

Well, almost…

“How Do I Love Thee?”

For the sake of A’s privacy, I have decided not to post any pictures from my birthday vacation. Instead, I would like to share the many, wonderful ways A surprised me for this special event.

The night before we left, A brought home this cake for me and the kids. (See the dedication? How sweet!) I know Hello Kitty looks a little ragged in this cake, but I was so pleased that he remembered that I loved it just the same. Besides, Keroppi looked kinda cute!

A then asked me to pose for the camera, but I didn’t know he pulled a prank on me until I reviewed the pictures for uploading.

 

See how he switched the numbers from 41 to 14? Funny man, but he later made up for this by saying he has loved me since we were 14. Ahhh, what could be sweeter than that?

The cake would literally prove to be just the “icing” for my birthday celebrations as A had more surprises up his sleeve.  

At exactly midnight of May 31, just before he and I went to bed, he pulled out two more boxes from I-don’t-know-where-he-hid-them.

I was confused why he would give me another SD card until I opened the beautifully wrapped gift. Imagine my astonishment when I saw this-

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” I shrieked and jumped and hyperventilated for joy!

And when I settled down from the screaming and the jumping, he gave me yet another one…

 

A beautiful hello kitty-red Crumpler camera bag! How many more surprises can my heart take?

A and I then spent another hour fiddling with the camera and taking shots of each other. I fell asleep that night, wrapped in his arms, with the camera manual draped over my chest.

Over the next few days, as A and I enjoyed our brief vacation, he never failed to pull a surprise or two on me. They weren’t always  “over-the-moon” kind of surprises, though. Sometimes, it would be the simplest little thing, like a bar of chocolate or a bottle of Coke zero (“Coke is outrageously pricey in hotels,” he repeatedly reminded me. So one time, I ordered this very exotic tasting juice from room service, proud that I did not order Coke, and when the bill came, the juice was worth almost PhP600! I went back to Coke zero brought elsewhere, haha. But I digress…)

Most of the time, it was just the way he made his presence felt to me, like how, after 17 years of marriage, he still moves over to the side of traffic when we cross streets, or how he always gives me first dibs on the better pillow. Or how he starts and ends our days with “I love you.”

If I had honestly thought that by the third day, he had pulled enough surprises, I was in for a bigger shock. A knew that Hello Kitty would not be too far behind when my birthday comes every year, so he also whipped up this Kitty bag of goodies for me: three different Hello Kitty NDS lite styluses (reminder to self: plural of stylus is styli or styluses, but I like the latter better), a HK lunch bag, a metal water bottle, a pencil case (which can also double as PSP case) and stationery staples in pink and red.  

How can you not love a man who feels secure shopping for Hello Kittys? 

Just this week, a few days after we came back, A brought this home for me. His gift, he says, for my birthday. “But you’ve given me so much already,” I cried out. “For your wee feet,” he jested and smiled broadly as once again, the house was filled with screams and thumps of heavy-butt jumping.

I’ve always loved Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poems and when I was young, I took to heart Sonnet 43 of her Sonnets from the Portuguese. I always prayed that when I meet the man of my heart, he would love me this same way.

“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.”

He already does. Am I not a lucky woman indeed? 

Because You Loved Me

My mom’s birthday is today.  A very young-looking, beautiful 62, she is an accomplished businesswoman in her own right (Go, Reliv, Go!), grandmother of four, mother of five, and wife to a much-loved man.

Happy Birthday, Mom! We love you!

~0~

I wrote this eight years ago in honor of the most important person who shaped my life- my Mom.

My Mom, My Hero

My mother regrets that toward the end of her days, when people ask her what she has to show for, all she has is a house full of children and grandchildren.

My Gratitude Knows No Bounds

To all my friends, old and new, who wished me a happy birthday, whether through this blog, or through Multiply, Friendster, text message, or email, many, many thanks for your well wishes and prayers. I will post pictures from my birthday celebration(s) as soon as I upload and sort them. A and I had a really great time!