Nevergirl’s

Alex was supposed to have bells sewn all over her dress for her school’s year-end Christmas party this afternoon. I didn’t warn to ruin the pretty pink dress I bought her, so I had her wear the bells as a belt instead. I’m relieved I did. The other kids had multi-colored bells sewn all over their dresses. They looked as gay—and heavy—as a Christmas tree. Or a battleship. Or a turkey stuffed to mouthwatering fullness. (Yeah, yeah. It’s ridiculous that I’d wind up discussing food, but hey, I’m me. Thinking of food accounts for 40 percent of all my brain activity.) It was such a joy to look at all of them, even the boys who dressed as reindeer!

Anyway, I have come to the conclusion that it’s impossible to fully know exhaustion til you have two girls of your own to bathe, comb, dress, herd to the school gym for the year-end Christmas party, and bribe with iphone gametime just to stop them from morphing into a messy, angry, tangled heap before their class could dance on stage. Strangely, I’m dead certain I wouldn’t mind having two, maybe even three, more children.

(I know, I know the school gym isn’t posh but hey, we live in the boondocks. Posh is a concept that’s practically unheard of. We do not even have a mall hereabouts!)

Happy early Christmas from Charlie, Alex, and me!

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the photo Renan and vincent! If it helps any, you two look very gwapo even with the photobomber at the back hahaha!

Oh, and say hi to the old gang from Ateneo! This was before they went crazy on the karaoke machine, raising hell where hell should’av been left unraised.

The man bought us lovebirds today. They’re green and blue, and they look oh so pretty! We haven’t named them yet because the girls and I couldn’t agree on the names. Alex wants to call hers Chowder, Charlie says hers should be named Ladder. What kind of name is Ladder? Pfffft!

This is what hell week is like: a sick two-year-old (with 40.2 fever) who doesn’t eat, doesn’t stop crying, and doesn’t stop grousing. The icing on top of this difficult cake? She asks me to carry her all the time. My arms did not fall off, although honestly I thought they would.

Thankfully, Charlie is well again today. As a reward, we played in the garden for a bit after raiding the big house’s fridge for chocolate. Then, I Skyped with my sister who asked if I haven’t been eating right because I look frighteningly thin. I haven’t been anywhere near a mirror in days so I never even noticed how I looked, but yes; she’s right. I am scarily thin.

I weighed myself today: 88 pounds, and that’s with bulky jogging pants on!

No wonder my eyes look large and shrunken. No wonder my sister said my arms look no bigger than a metal hose. No wonder the new cook asked if it’s her cooking hahaha! But none the matter. The little girl’s well again, and that’s all that counts. We’ll start fattening her up tomorrow. She lost a lot of weight, too, while she was sick. (More photos after the cut!)

Raiding the big house for chocolates (We're blurry, but who keeps still for chocolate?)

(more…)

I read to the girls every night. Sometimes, I convince Wett to do it but this happens very rarely because he’s an even bigger child than the girls are—he enjoys listening to these bedtime stories as much as the girls do.

The girls love Shel Silverstein’s Here Where the Sidewalk Ends. It’s a collection of stories told in poem-form. They’re dark, these stories, and if your kids are the type that scare easy, don’t get them this book.

Charlie hides her face while I read the story Dreadful—as well she should because we call her “baby” sometimes hahaha!

Someone ate the baby,
It’s rather sad to say.
Someone ate the baby
So she won’t be out to play.
The policeman haven’t got a clue.
I simply can’t imagine who
Would go and (burp) eat the baby.

I tell the girls once every 25 years, when the moon turns a magical blue, they can wish on their noses.

“Point and twitch, swish, swish, swish. Then wish really hard.”

“Hoy, the book says nothing about nose twitching!” says Wett (who—in case you haven’t caught on just yet—is as grumpy and unimaginative as an old pair of breeches, and has been that way since he was born in 1981).

I shush the complainer by telling him if he doesn’t like my version, he’s free to tell his.

Good night, little girls everywhere! I hope you heard a story before being tucked in for the night. May your nights be filled with happy odds and ends, and stories that never finish. May you find a piece of sky to soup, and a little book that you will always, always find magical no matter how you turn out as an adult.

Good night, sleep tight, dream beautifully.