The anniversary gift

"The course of true love never did run smooth."

~A Midsummer Night's Dream 

In my previous entry, we were a few days away from our 6th anniversary and I did not have a gift for my husband yet. Like I mentioned, he had just been away on a business trip and was able to squeeze in some time for shopping, and so at the moment, he had everything he wanted and needed.

So I surprised him with these:

Okay, so it wasn't really a surprise. He already knew I bought these in advance. We're both fans, and their first album was our constant companion during our long drives home, back when we were still working for a television network. It's also the same CD that put our then-infant son to sleep the moment he sits in the car. Initially, I wanted to get the gold tickets, but after discussing with a good friend, I realised it would be more practical to settle with the silver ones. So I went ahead to purchase a couple of them. Sure, the concert will be almost a month after our anniversary, but the timing shouldn't really matter when you're in the company of your other half.

Apparently, this concert is not meant for us.

About a week after I made the purchase, hubby broke the news that he needs to go overseas for an important training. It's not something he can miss nor pass on to somebody else. And it will be on May 24. I was a bit crestfallen, but he said he can still figure out a way to watch the concert, then take the first flight out. Sounded like a good plan.

But the airlines weren't on our side. The earliest flights available were all fully booked, and the next available ones are already too late for him to make it to the training.

Eff it. Eff it. EFF IT!

To his credit, my husband generally tried to be inconspicuous for the remainder of yesterday (he broke the news to me late afternoon). I guess it wasn't hard to stay out of the way of a scowling wife. And even when I was snapping at him at the rate of about once every millisecond, he never lost his patience and remained calm, giving me small, apologetic smiles. I think that one infuriated me even more. And so while the rest of the world oohed and aahed over Kate Middleton's gown, I was simmering in my own temper and busily pondering my botched concert plans (although I did spare some time to gawk at the lovely, lovely hats).

Seeing how upset I was, hubby told me that I can just go ahead and watch it. He knew how badly I wanted to see it. But, for the life of me, how can I go on and enjoy it when my heart was set on having him as my concert date? And, for crying out loud, it was my anniversary gift to him! So I told him I lost all my desire to watch the concert, and that I was selling the tickets. If nobody wants to buy it, I guess I'll just throw them away or give it away, whichever comes first. The bottomline was, I felt pissed to the high heavens, and could he just give me a few days to calm down because I wasn't really feeling him at the moment.

Today, he was still wearing a contrite look as he left to attend some meetings. While I'm not expecting him to say sorry because it wasn't really his fault, I don't think I am going to apologise for being so pissed off, because I feel I have every right to be: I can't go to the concert date I had planned for us, and I am expected to just accept it because it's all about work. It brought back memories of when he was not around on my birthday two years ago, a first in our 10 years of being together. And, yes, work-related travel was again the culprit.

Sometimes, it's hard to be an understanding wife.Especially when you have a husband with this kind of a job. I know it's a small price to pay for the benefits we receive, in terms of financial rewards and career growth for my husband. But I guess this is part of the work that goes in a marriage. It can't be rosy all the time.

Now that I have some time alone, I realise I was probably too hard on him, considering he might be dealing with his guilt, too. So tonight, when he comes home, I'll probably be less likely to bite his face off and make up for the crabbiness by cooking him dinner. I don't think I'll be 100% back to my normal self yet (especially since I keep seeing all those concert plugs on TV), but knowing me, it won't take me more than three days to forget about this brouhaha.

How glad I am I have this book to keep me company:

 

They don't call it chicken soup for nothing. It's like balm on my frazzled wifely nerves. If you're married or in a relationship (whether you're a man or a woman), I suggest you get a copy of this book. It has the ability to remind you how trivial some of our concerns are. The book chose to give me a bitch slap with a quote from Malcolm Forbes: "Presence is more than just being there."

 

I'll be in a better mood tomorrow. I promise.

P.S. If you know anyone interested in my concert tickets, do let me know. Thanks in advance.

Much ado about nothing

Please humour me and let me have a good laugh. I've just been called a chick by a 24-year-old boy!  I must say, I was thoroughly amused (and, okay, maybe a bit flattered. When you're a thirtysomething married woman, you don't get this kind of attention as often as you used to.).

My brother-in-law casually told me the other day that one of his friends popped in his Facebook chat window. He said he was browsing through little bro's FB friends, and he saw this chick. "Is he your sister," he asked. Little bro told him, "Uhhh...yeah...? Why?" "'Coz she's a chick. Can I add her?" To which he replied, "He's my big brother's wife! Choose another chick from my friends' list."

So the friend went through little bro's contacts (I think he has about 500+ on his list). The verdict? "She's the only chick I could find!"

Hahahahaha!!!!!

Seems that there's much to-do about my profile pic. But, seriously, what's wrong with it? Okay, I know there's probably a bit of cleavage showing there, but I've seen worse in other photos. Besides, even my husband noted that the shirt I was wearing wasn't really out-of-the-ordinary. It's just a nice top I could wear to the mall or to visit relatives.

So it strikes me as a bit peculiar that I've been getting a lot of friend requests from guys I don't even know. And a smattering of messages from male acquaintances/former colleagues. Heck, even a good guy friend from university scolded me for the "revealing" photo (he said he was uncomfortable with the picture, and that he could see my, ahem, chest area even from the small chat window. (And this is a guy who is exposed to half-naked (and naked) women on a constant basis.).

And what did my husband have to say about all the male attention? "Yeah, you could change your profile picture, you know. Let's take a sexier photo of you."

Bits and Pieces for the New Year

I know we're six days into 2010, but still I wish everyone a happy new year! I hope you all had a good celebration over the holidays with your family, friends and loved ones.

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I was supposed to put up a post before 2009 ended. However, the holiday rush caught up with me, and between my work and my family life, I lost the opportunity to complete the entry. Well, better late than never.

Looking back, last year:

...hubby and I were still struggling a bit in this new place. Now, I think we are in a much better position than we were a year ago and can afford a few of our small luxuries. We're also closer to completing payments for some of our major purchases. Woohoo!

...I just started out at work. Today, I am more comfortable in the workplace and gained friends in the form of my colleagues.

...I lost a high school friend and an uncle. But I believe I just gained two more prayer warriors who'll incessantly plead my cases to The Big Guy Up There.

...I missed Manila a whole lot. I still do.

...I argued a lot with my mother on the phone. We now end our conversations with I love you and I miss you.

...I lived with my family in a very basic (read: crappy) flat. We have since moved to a better location, with a very homey atmosphere.

...the quantity and quality of my blogs increased. I hope to outdo myself this year.

Overall, I was very blessed in 2009. I thank my Divine Writer for making it a challenging yet rewarding time. I ask for His continued blessings in the coming year.

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And because He was very generous to me, I would like to pay Him in a small measure by improving myself. This year, I resolve to:

...find more opportunities to communicate with Him.

...be less critical of myself and others.

...be more patient and less short-tempered. I know I sometimes hurt my husband and son when I have those occasional - okay, not-so-occasional - outbursts, and I am endlessly sorry for that.

...be wiser with my spending. I know I should take my savings more seriously this time around.

...drink more water and take less soda.

...spend less time on the internet (Facebook seriously hogs time!). Less time on the computer means more time for my loved ones.

...be less whingey when hubby goes on his business trips.

...be more productive, both at home and at work.

...be more organised.

...blog even more.

I hope I can keep my resolutions. After all, a new year calls for new beginnings.

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Speaking of new beginnings, my son entered a new phase in his life. He is now officially a school boy!

Last Monday, hubby and I played the supportive parents by attending the school orientation with our son. He seemed happy in his new environment, and he was eagerly checking out the toys and all the interesting stuff inside. Actually, on our way to school, he asked me, "Mommy, why do you have to come with me?" Sigh. It stung a bit, but I was glad to see then that he would have to trouble adjusting.

Turned out I spoke too soon. Yesterday, Grandma reported that he threw a royal hissy fit in class. Two hours into the session (he is scheduled for four-hour daily classes), he realised that none of us were around. He howled for all he was worth and none of the teachers could get him to quiet down! Dear Lord! Some of our acquaintances even said he was banging on the door. Good thing Grandma arrived and he calmed down, but everytime she would disappear from his sight, he would start whimpering again. Oh boy.

I understood he must have felt abandoned (he confirmed that he started crying when he saw Grandma wasn't around). I think what made it worse was when he saw some of the other kids' moms were peeping through the windows, but he could not see a familiar face to wave at.

It was time to put all my pseudo-psychiatry on a test run. I talked to him last night and explained there was no need to feel scared. I also took a desk calendar and drew a smiley face for 4 January, and a sad face on the 5th. I told him that if there are more smiley faces than sad faces for the week, he will get a reward on Saturday; if there are a lot of sad faces, then he won't get any treats. He looked like he understood, so he chose his reward: a trip to the candy shoppe to get some jellybeans. He also said the sad faces "looked weird and funny", so he vowed not to add any more to the calendar.

Apart from the bedtime pep talk I gave him, I also left a letter for him to read before he goes to school. Basically, I told him to be brave and have fun at school. (update: I just chatted with him a few minutes ago, and he said he promises "not to break his smile today")

I really hope all the encouragement works. I know that separation anxiety is all part and parcel of a child's growing pains, and that it's perfectly healthy, but of course I do not want him to be traumatised by the experience. School is meant to be a happy place, and I hope he believed me when I told him that his class is his  very own special place to enjoy. Let's see what happens today (all fingers and toes crossed!).

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I started catching up on my reading late last year. I'm glad to report I'm gaining some headway into the little reading list I made a few months ago. It's a nice feeling when you finally purchase a hard-to-find title. My first purchases for the year:

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And, finally, the first Monday of the year saw my hubby on yet another business trip. Oops, I promised not to be whingey. Right. I'll shut up now, I think.

Thursday's Thoughts

An animal without stripes
A few days ago, my three-year-old son and I were watching TV. A commercial for a sporting brand flickered in and he curiously asked who the guy on it was. I told him, “Sweetie, that’s Tiger Woods. He’s famous because he’s very, very good in golf.”

He considered that for a while, then gave me a thoughtful look. “Tiger Woods?” he asked. “What a strange name, Mommy!”

Come to think of it, it IS a strange name. It just took a toddler to point out the obvious. Strangely reminiscent of The Emperor’s New Clothes.


Reading progress
Finally, I am in the final chapter of Kafka on the Shore! It took me an inordinately long time to finish that book. For one thing, as the review mentioned, it’s a “metaphysical mindbender”…and they sure weren’t kidding! Murakami has a very fertile imagination. As I’m reading it, my mind was on video-edit mode, complete with the dissolves and Gaussian blurs and other transitional effects. I’m a bit ambivalent, though, on how this thing will turn out if and when someone decides to adapt it on the big screen. It might be a bit too “metaphysical” to be given any justice in a movie version, in my opinion.

Another reason why I took so long reading it is because I’ve been getting dizzy trying to accomplish the feat in a moving bus; these dizzy spells sometimes carry on well into the evening. My husband warned me about my eyesight. Being that I'm thirtysomething that loves reading even in not-so-conducive lighting, I take that seriously. I'm not about to wear specs if I can help it. But with a chatterbox of a three-year-old around, I can hardly find any decent reading time. And when I put him to sleep, I conk out even before he does, so that’s the end of the peaceful wee hours I could’ve enjoyed.

This book deserves a re-reading. I have a feeling I’ll appreciate it even more the second or even third time around. I love this book and I would definitely recommend it to my cerebral friends.


On to other books
I was surprised to enjoy Jodi Picoult’s Salem Falls. If you happen to like some small-town intrigue mixed with courtroom drama, and a hint of Wiccan charm, you may enjoy this book, too. I think I would consider getting a copy of My Sister’s Keeper, if I don’t find a copy of Nineteen Minutes first (which is on my reading list). But I think I would have to forego JP’s books in favor of all the other titles that are just screaming out my name.

As for Eat Pray Love…hmmm…I find it so-so. I liken the feeling to sinking my nose into somebody else’s private journal, and someone I don’t know that well, for that matter. The book is okay, but you won’t be missing out on a lot if you don’t get your hands on a copy.

After Kafka, The Time Traveler’s Wife is now winking at me from my bedside table. My colleague graciously loaned me the book. She cautioned me that this novel had her blinking back tears in the MRT, so unless I want curious stares from complete strangers, I think I’ll dive into this book in the privacy of my bedroom, thank you very much.

Next on my to-buy list: a toss-off between Artemis Fowl and The Lovely Bones.


The trouble with Tuesdays
The past few Tuesdays have been quite a bummer for me. Hubby’s been leaving every second day of the work week since the start of this month for his business trips. And it’s not gonna let up until sometime next month, I surmise.

Sigh. I knew the two months’ worth of non-travel had to have some hidden repercussions. But as my brother pointed out, I should expect it because his work requires him to travel a fair bit.

I just never get used to it, that’s all. At least, I have a lot more reasons to look forward to Fridays because he’s usually home by then.

Rants and raves on the last day of the year

Well, at least the last day of my 32nd year.

There are two ways to approach this milestone. Since I like to save the best for last, maybe we’ll start with the glass-half-empty perspective.

Tomorrow is just another date on the calendar. I will find myself hitting the snooze button as my alarm goes off at 6:40am, and wonder why I even bother to set the alarm that early if I won’t get up, anyway. I’ll drag myself to work, pretend I’m busy for a while, then give up at precisely 6:25pm so I can be out the door by 6:30pm. I’ll zone off by around 11:00pm. And then it’s the same thing again the next day.

Tomorrow, I am reminded how much it sucks that, out of the 365 days in the year, the hubby’s boss decided that now would be a good time for him to visit Beijing. So I’ll be stuck in a place far away from the home I’ve always known, unable to visit my mom for my usual sumptuous birthday spread, and won't expect the deluge of siblings, nephews and nieces to wish me a happy birthday. A few cold ones with old friends will not even be a remote possibility. And I’ll surely be missing the flood of happy birthday text messages.

But if I look at the glass half-full…

Tomorrow is the first day of a brand new year in my life. I will find myself hitting the snooze button as my alarm goes off at 6:40am, then snuggle back into my warm pillow and enjoy the luxury of sleeping a bit longer. I’ll be thankful to have a job to go to in these tough times, accomplish what needs to be done, and be grateful to have some spare time to check my email. I’ll start packing up by 6:25pm so that by 6:30, I’ll be rushing home to my son’s delighted squeals, big hugs and warm kisses. I’ll start feeling deliciously languid by 11:00pm. And then I drift off to Lala Land to prepare for another wonderful day.

Tomorrow, I am reminded that, no matter where in the world he goes, I have a good husband 365 days every year. I can’t wait to see the presents he is sure to have picked up for my son and I as he goes around Beijing. I have a new home away from home, enjoying the quiet reverie for a change, where I can have some quality time with my mother, whom I will surely be speaking to over the phone as I drink my morning coffee. No cold ones with my friends, but, recently, I’ve had some quality smokes with representatives from each phase of my recent past: an old high school classmate (haven’t seen him in about 15 years), my college buddy (adopted her in between “Mraz-zing”), and a former colleague (also my son’s godfather – stayed in our spare room for two days…and soon, we will be neighbours!). As for the text messages, I probably wouldn’t miss it that much because Facebook will surely live up to my expectations.

And so, with that, I raise a glass that runneth over and give my Divine Writer a toast, for giving me a wonderful life, and for the gift of wisdom that helps me see things in the proper perspective.

Happy birthday to me :)

Coming Home

Tonight, my husband returns from a week-long business trip to Amsterdam. It will be his first time to be home after two long months.

Yes, you read that right. The business trip is just for one week. And he hasn't been home in two months.

Confusing? Okay, I'll explain.

My husband is an expat. He was recently hired by a Singapore employer to join them as a Demo Artist. The weird thing about that is he never applied for the job, nor did we ever plan to relocate to another country. The details would need a separate blog entry to be able to do justice to the beauty of the story, but that's the gist, more or less.

He found himself shuttling back and forth between Manila and Singapore since March this year, for interviews, exhibits, more interviews, and finally the employment confirmation. By the end of July, he found himself in the Lion City, quite alone.

It was a blessing that he was occupied with a number of out-of-the-country trips during his first month. Barely two weeks after he arrived, he and his team went to Malaysia for some training. A week after that, he found himself in Mumbai, India for still more training.

I would keep close tabs on him the entire time he was away -- especially if he was outside Singapore. We probably spent a small fortune on call cards, considering that he wasn't always online. He complained at one point that the return trips always felt empty. He knew he was supposed to be "coming home"...but to what? A foreign land. A hotel room, maybe. Or a flat shared with people he didn't know from Adam.

The places he stayed in held an almost clinical quality about them. It was a halfway house. It was somewhere he could put his things in while he was at work. It was a place where he could catch a few zzzz's, but ironically, would not make him feel refreshed or recharged at all.

The last week of August found me on a Singapore-bound plane. I finally gave in to my husband's increasingly urgent requests to be with him. He said that he found a flat for our family, at last, after weeks of poring over the internet and countless viewing schedules. But he would need my domestic engineering abilities to make it more liveable.

And so I went.

A few days ago, we were chatting online...I, in Singapore, and he, in Amsterdam. He said that this was the first time he felt excited about his return trip. Now, he felt certain that he is, indeed, coming home.

Interestingly enough, I found a beautiful caption in one of my Facebook friend's profiles. He went with his wife to Amsterdam on a pleasure trip, and in one of their photos in that faraway place, he said: "Travel with your soulmate and you'll never miss home."

To a certain degree, that's true. However, if he may allow, I will paraphrase his statement to fit my situation: "Be with your soulmate, and you will ALWAYS be home."

Welcome home, honey.

Counting my Blessings

My husband isn’t coming home tonight. Neither did he a couple of days ago. And many other nights, too…countless nights.

Nope, he does not have a mistress. He’s no alcoholic. He doesn’t spend his hours gambling. He definitely is not into illegal substances.

On the contrary, he is being a good husband and father.

I’m thankful that I have found someone like my husband – hardworking beyond belief, a good provider, very passionate about his profession, and someone who is willing to meet halfway but will never compromise the quality of his work. It is also a great source of pride for me that, among the many people in our network, our bosses entrust the most critical projects to him. He has proven his worth: many times over, he has taken over and “saved” some projects that have almost become disasters (for one reason or another). I can safely say that he is definitely an asset to the company.

This weekend is especially busy for him. Imagine, he has to edit three shows: 1) the final episode of a 10-year running gag show, 2) the pilot episode of the gag show replacing the previous one, and 3) the pilot episode of our network’s biggest and most ambitious project ever. He’s spent many sleepless nights this week. I know he must be exhausted.

As I write this, he is currently at the office editing his shows for airing tomorrow. I miss him terribly. Sure, we’re together constantly, as we go to and from work together all the time, lunch breaks and other mealtimes spent together…but when we’re at the office, we’re so wrapped up in each other’s businesses that we hardly even chat. Now, we even missed our weekend.

No, I’m not complaining. Like I said, it’s just that I miss him so badly. I miss sleeping beside him. Loud snorer as he is, the warmth of his skin comforts me as I drift off to Lala Land. I miss those half-awake moments when I’d find the crook of his arm and snuggle into it.

Well, at least I know that his hours spent away from me and our son translates into being a responsible husband and father. There are so many women out there whose husbands don’t come home to them; but, unlike me, they have entirely different reasons. Check the second paragraph, most of them must be having those problems.

Thankfully, I don’t share that with them.

I can’t thank him enough for being such a good husband to me. Our family’s future is always on top of his list. He has given my son and I a comfortable life: meeting all of our needs, catering to some of our little extravagances and luxuries…even sharing our abundance with our respective families.

I could never forget his love and care for me the day our son was born. For four straight days, he never left my side. From the moment my water bag broke, while I was having labor pains, when I cried in fear when they told me I had to go under the knife, as they pulled our baby from my womb, even inside the recovery room…he was with me all the way. He always tells me how scared he is of the sight of blood…but he went inside the operating room anyway, to see our son at the moment of his birth. To kiss me tenderly as I lay on the table, telling me how much he loves me. He even went as far as to be with me inside the toilet as I took my first poop, as I had a difficult time going around…I couldn’t even reach back to wash myself because my stitches hurt so bad – so he did. How many of you ladies have a husband like that?

I remember reading in my friend’s blog that one of the reasons adultery or infidelity is committed is when we try to find the missing 10% from the relationships we have…neglecting the other 90% that our partners give us so unselfishly.

In my case, sure, there are moments when I get annoyed at his habit of throwing his clothes around the house. There are times when I wish he would be romantic enough to give me flowers on Valentine’s Day, or to surprise me on our anniversary. When his constant forgetfulness drives me up the wall. When I wish that he would be chivalrous enough to open the car door for me and guide me down. That missing 10% from him, I’m sure I could easily find in other men.

But how many of them will be able to give me the 90% that I already have?

So to hell with the roses and the neat house and the obsessive-compulsiveness and the knight-in-shining-armor. I’d rather have someone who will be with me in my joys and in my pains. To comfort me and wipe my tears away when I need him to. Who would look me in the eye and tell me he loves me. Someone who would hold my hand and kiss me for no reason at all. A man who always makes good on his promises. Who understands my need to be alone sometimes. A person who is man enough to swallow his fears because I need him to be strong for me.

I’ve found that and so much more in my husband. I’m sure I will never find another who loves me like he does.

Who needs the missing 10% anyway? I know I don’t.