It's Claytime!

Bad Day Reversal Technique

Step 1. Look at the picture.

Step 2. Close your eyes and try to recall the day little Indie drew it for you.

Step 3. Open your eyes for another look.

Step 4. Smile.

Big Girls Don't Cry

Shots are Indie's nemeses.

Around 3 or 4 times a year we are faced with a situation where a wailing little girl, flailing arms and all, is held down by four adults, my husband and myself included. It's an ugly scenario but some things just have to be done.

This is exactly what I said to Indie during a bit-of-a-grown-up-typhoid-shot briefing an hour before we went to the clinic. I told her how one single shot could save her from ten or more painful ones. I also told her how tough I was as a kid—as far as my memory could take me, I never cried in front of a needle.

And she didn't.


Oh, how she gave her doctor a mild shock! Mama and Papa were so proud. But no one could be prouder than baby Indie herself.

It was her shot to big girl fame.

Interpretative Drawing

Four-year old Indie was playing music from my cellphone and had it glued to her ears with one hand while while the other was busy doodling on her drawing board. What exactly was she doing?

Destination Anywhere

The Commitments OST

Come Back To Me

David Cook

Across The Universe

Across The Universe OST

The Sweetest Thing

Just a day away from home and look what I got from my baby...

End of Innocence

Ever wonder what goes on in kids' heads nowadays?

Separation Anxiety

On her third week (though technically fourth day) of pre-schooling, Indie suddenly developed an aversion to school.

"My school is am baho (Indie's broken Tagalog for stinky)!"

"My classroom is not nice!"

"The floor is dirty!"

"I have too many classmates!"

"I don't like the boys!"

Thus began the horrors of two parents who were all at once faced with a rebellious daughter who was proving to be a little too strong-willed and opinionated for her age. Was our baby a rebel without a cause, I wondered. Or maybe we sent her to the wrong school. Maybe a public school was not entirely a good idea after all. Maybe she would feel more comfortable with kids who spoke English like her. Maybe she'd be better off in an all-girl school.

It would have been a never-ending list of maybes were it not for the fact that it finally occurred to me by Wednesday that Indie would always refuse to enter her classroom if I did not come and stay with her inside. She would cry and sometimes even throw up, according to her teacher, when I was not around anymore.

And then it hit me. Separation anxiety, that was what this was all about.

Poor darling. How could she, a girl of four, not experience it when I, a grown-up of almost thirty-nine, was unable to escape it as well!

The first time I left Indie at school (during the second week) was just as bad for me. I was so nervous I did not leave without first handing her teacher my calling card. You know, in case of emergency. At home, I kept checking my cellphone, fearful of, yes, an emergency call. I was afraid she might hurt herself or something. I was even scared she might choke on her grapes!

When I finally got to be with her after three hours, I hugged her like we were away from each other for days. Of course, she must have felt the same way. I should have known better....

India's Assessment

My little family of late risers woke up unusually early last morning. It was Indie's appointed first assessment at school and everyone was excited. It was a one-on-one meeting with her teacher wherein the teacher is supposed to give the student a series of activities so she gets a starting point with which to measure the child's progress on the next assessment.

It was scheduled at 9:30 am. We were ready by 8. So Indie took off her rain boots, sat on the bed with her drawing board and doodled a bit. We left the house 15 minutes to 9.

Indie the first-time student who came prepared for the rainy day was, not surprisingly, unprepared to meet her new mentor. I had to escort her inside and stay for quite some time in a spot where she could see me. After a minute or two, I knew my little girl didn't really need me there so I headed for the door without looking back.

My husband Nubs and I whiled away the time taking turns with the camera. Sheesh, I really want that DSLR!

Around half of the 30-minute mark, we heard a squeal. Was that Indie? Yes, it was her said Nubs who immediately run to the door. He motioned for me to take a peak as well and there was our baby talking non-stop. That was the Indie that we knew. What we didn't know was that she would be so un-shy so soon...

After the session, the 4-year old had a rush of adrenaline, maybe from that half hour spent with a stranger-turned-friend, independent of her papa and mommy. She was rewarded with a slice of carrot cake at Chocolate Kiss which proved to be not enough for the growing girl. A slice of devil's food cake was in order.

To complete the experience, we had lunch at the famous Beach House which, for the unfamiliar, was situated nowhere near a body of water but very close to a sunken garden or the Sunken Garden. This is where they serve the best barbecue in town. Another reward for the new student, on a momentous occasion in her young life.

Of course, Indie was most likely unaware of the day's importance. And at the end of it, she simply came up with an assessment of her own—

"I like my teacher. She's a nice girl."

Shiny Happy Little People

I have found time and time again that kids are the easiest people to please in the world. It also doesn't take much to make them happy. Extremely happy.

It was a seemingly ordinary morning on the last Saturday of January when we, transients in my mother's Batangas home, woke unusually early. We all decided to the make most of the morning, quickly jumped out of bed and headed for the beach. The beach was no longer the beach of my childhood. There was a new promenade to speak of. And there were playgrounds! The kids ran to make a go for the swing, monkey bars and everything. So I took out my camera and tried the best I could to capture the smiles on their young excited faces.