Sweet Life With Mary

I happened to have on this TV show, Singing Bee, last evening when Mary got done with her shower.  Usually, she would have me change the channel to the Cartoon Network or Jetix that will have one of her evening cartoon show.  But, Mary likes singing so I thought she might like this show.  (For those of you who hates reality shows– that means you, my sweet hubby, Jack—”Singing Bee” is a game show on NBC hosted by Joey Fatone (of N Sync fame).  As described at NBC.com, “… a variety-competition show that challenges contestants to accurately sing the lyrics to popular songs…)

Last night’s theme was One-Hit Wonders and this song by Anne Murray came up.  You know it— it’s “You Light Up My Life”.

“..So many dreams, I kept deep inside me.”

As the melody was playing, Mary cried out, “I know this song!”

Now, she was born in 2002.  We usually only have the radio on in the car and though this song had been a No. 1 hit a long time ago, I don’t think it has been on the airwaves recently; Jack puts on music in the house but I dont think he has Anne Murray.  The only reason Mary could possibly know this song is I used to sing this to her when she was a baby!

Those times when Mary would be crying on and on for no reason and I would try to drown it out get her to stop by singing to her.  And one of the songs (I’m embarrased to say) that I happen to know ALL the lyrics is this song.

So, I told her, “I used to sing this when you were a baby.  That’s why you remembered.”

“Sing it, again!”

So, I belted it out, emphasizing some of the lyrics.  Mary did light up my life and I wanted her to know why I sang this song to her.

Then she says, “I like this song, it reminds me of my childhood.” This from my little grown-up, the five-year-old.

This is how I spelled it for Mary. H-G-K-F

Have a goal
Go for it
Keep trying
Finally, Success!

And this goes for Big Goals or Little Goals. For a little one like Mary, all goals are BIG.

One of her goals was to be able to ride her scooter well. When we first got it last Christmas, she was pretty wobbly on it and did not want to ride it.

Have a Goal

This past summer, having seen a lot of other kids enjoying their scooters, she wanted to get good at it.

Go For It

Mary started riding it on our trips to and from the neighborhood playground - three blocks of paved sidewalks.

Keep Trying

At first, she had to keep pushing with her left foot as she was uncomfortable with balancing and still getting used to the sway of the scooter. At some point, she got so frustrated that it was taking such a lot of effort and she still could not balance right that she was ready to give up. “I’m never gonna be good! This scooter is stupid!…” I did my best encouraging her— “…the only way to get good at anything is through practice… keep trying… everybody starts from the beginning… even I’m not good on the scooter, I need more practice… you can stop if you do not enjoy it but if you like it, just keep doing it and you will get better….” Got through to her somehow — Mary kept wanting to go on the scooter, especially on our walks to school.

Finally, Success!

This is a little downhill slope on our way to Mary’s school. Watch how she fearlessly goes down this hill with great balance.

And here it is, one more time…

Viewing the trees’ changing colors up in the mountains has been a Fall tradition for us.  Sunday morning, Mary, Jack and I set out at 7 am to drive through Boulder and up the foothills in search of fall colors.

That small cluster of buildings in the horizon is Denver.

Or more precisely, Mung Bean Soup? 

As we say in the Vergara household at Grace Park - monggo.  I have known only one way that the mung bean is cooked in the Philippines so if you were asked what you had for dinner and you say “monggo”, we’d know exactly how it was prepared.  It is also called Ginisang Monggo, the ginisang part usually translates to stir-fry which is somehow confusing.  The end product is a soup dish much like lentil soup or a chunky split pea soup.

Anyway, I was craving some monggo and, as usual, I did not want to do the work. (Mary and Jack are reluctant to try a lot of the Filipino dishes I make (though, actually I have not made much) and I do not want to make a whole pot of something, just for me, where I’m forced to eat all of it or end up throwing most of it into the garbage disposal— what a waste!) I decided to try “Mama Sita’s Instant Mung Bean Soup” — found this at my local Asian market.

The inside package did not look appetizing…

The instructions said to just add boiling water, wait one minute while stirring occasionally and to enjoy. Not much to enjoy in this bowl.

So I thought I would try the recommended variations and put it in the microwave for 2 minutes, get the liquid hot again and maybe the beans will hydrate more and the soup look more appetizing. No luck.

Maybe, it tasted better than it looked? It did not taste like my Mom’s monggo, had a lot more smoked fish flavor to it, overall, the flavor of the soup was not bad but I could not get past the texture and how it looks. So, it was into the garbage disposal, after all.

 (Happened on September 24th.)

As part of purposely enjoying my unemployed days, I walk Mary to Kindergarten.  The school is about a mile away and we leave at 8:00 am for a class start at 8:40 am.  This way we do not hurry and Mary also gets some playtime at the school playground.  We take Mary’s Razr scooter and she scooters part of the way while I jog alongside.  Then, I take the scooter back— a faster trip without the stops and it is also mostly downhill.   When I picture my ideal day, this relaxed time in the outdoors with my daughter is part of it.

Today, it was not so ideal.  Dark clouds have been gathering all morning and the ground was wet.  At 7:53 am, when “Go, Diego, Go” ended, we were ready to set out.  By this time, outside, it was drizzling.  I expressed my dismay and Mary said, “Does it mean I can’t go to school?” “No, it means I would have to drive you.”  Driving her to school is not something I like doing, I do not like the inevitable traffic in front of the school.  “Augghh, I can’t scooter???” (Mary said that and I thought the same thing.)  “We have a few minutes before we have to go, maybe the rain would stop by then, we’ll see.”

I remembered that I may have a rain poncho somewhere so we set out to look for it while we were waiting.  Did not find the poncho.

By 8:00 am, the rain has turned to a very light sprinkle so we put on rain jackets and set off.  About a third of the way in, it turned to a hard sprinkle, a few minutes later, a light rain, by the time we got two-thirds of the way, it started to really rain.  Mary’s jacket material was only water-resistant but mine was made of like tarp material.  My mama bear instincts kicked in and I took off my rain jacket and put it on top of hers. 

And god bless my daughter, she kept asking me if I was ok— my long-sleeved shirt was starting to get soaked and I had water dripping down my nose., Mary was feeling sorry for me that I had to give her my jacket.   But, she looked like she kept dry inside though her pant legs were getting very wet. 

For a little while there, it reminded me of rainy days in the Philippines when my Mom would let us “bathe” in the rain.  A good rain in the tropics was always a welcome treat— the best way to cool off.  Then, if you are lucky enough to have a downspout close by that provided a nice waterfall…   

Got Mary inside her classroom before it turned to a really heavy downpour.  I waited around inside the classroom hoping and waiting that it will clear up soon.  Then, my savior came in with her granddaughter.  Kathy, who I’ve talked to on the phone RSVP’ing for her granddaughter’s birthday party, who I’ve chatted with this past week while we wait for our kindergartners, whose said party Mary and I enjoyed yesterday— Kathy came in and I know she drove and I know whe would give me a ride.

By this time, 2-4 inch deep puddles and running water was all over the school grounds and parking lot and it has gotten colder.  We looked like wet ducks when we climbed into her Lexus SUV.  Five minutes later, we were in my driveway and it has started hailing— very small ice pellets mixed in with the rain. (pellets were about mung bean size ga-monggo, not large enough to hurt you or damage cars.)  Just getting out of the car and getting my scooter from the back compartment gave me another soaking.

As I walked inside my house, this voice kept saying in my head, “take a shower now or you’d get sick….”  It sounded so much like my mother, only she was speaking in English.  When I was a kid, I could not understand why when you are already wet, by getting yourself more wet (by taking a shower), it’s supposed to be healthier????!!!!  I was a dutiful daughter (and even if you weren’t, my Mom can be quite forceful…) and so I took my showers after those nice “baths” in the rain or when I would just get caught without an umbrella coming home.  And I am still a dutiful daughter so after hanging up my soaked rain jacket and peeling off my wet clothes, I got into a nice, hot shower.  And I did not get sick.  Thanks, Mom!

Mary watches a lot of TV.  I do, too.  Two to four hours a day is pretty normal for us.  As Mary said, “TV gives you a lot of information.” 

Recently, she has been coming up to them and telling me the TV ratings for the shows that she watches.

“Mom, it says T-V-Y-7-F-V, can I watch it?”

“T-V-G?”

“T-V-Y?”

Since I knew that she was watching certain shows at the Cartoon Network, I just say yes without really know what those ratings meant.  I thought, “TV G” must be the same G rating for movies, for General Audiences, “TV Y7 FV” must be something to do with some cut-off age like PG-13 for movies…

It is time to REALLY know what they mean.

This link says it all - TV Ratings

Here’s how I explained them to Mary.

TV G - she can watch it, so can I and everybody else from babies to grandmas.

TV Y7 FV - 7-year-olds and under need permission from their Mommies and Daddies.

TV Y - she can watch and so can other kids.

Hopefully, she does not come to me asking about T-V-M-A which she might as soon as she had mastered the remote control..

I had no concept of playdates.  This is quite foreign to me.  It is not something that I was able to glean from books, movies or TV shows as part of an American childhood. 

It was the same as my discovering that the best translation of sundo is “ride”.  Back in my elementary days, there was a time when we had “English campaigns” in school- kids are told to use English in everyday conversations which made for some not-so-pretty translations like, the expressions “I’ll box you there!” or I’ll slap you there!” and we came up with the word “fetcher” for sundo— the person who picks (fetches) us from school.

And then there is “up” for karga, when your little one wants to be carried up in your arms.

So, playdate? What is that?  I grew up with three sisters and two brothers.  And then, I have an assortment of younger cousins living next door.  I was never short of playmates.  There were lot of other young kids living close by that were not related to me— we play with them when we see them, usually on holidays.   Nobody had to make a “date” with anybody.

From the time Mary was three, Jack had talked about playdates for her.  I resisted the idea at first.  Since we both had full-time jobs, Mary was going to daycare 9-10 hours a day, five times a week.  I felt she sees her friends enough and the weekend is the time when Mary spends it with her family.

Finally, Easter this year, I wanted to do an egg hunt at our house for Mary.  It would be more fun with some friends but I did not want a big party.  So we invited a couple of her friends.  For two hours, I was supervising three little girls— we made cupcakes, did some crafts and had the egg hunt.  I was doing it all wrong…

After this date, Mary was invited to other kid’s houses and we hosted a few more…  I have since learned a few things…

1. Playdates are important, especially to an only child.  Mary got to learn how to play hostess— be gracious to her guest, make sure her guest enjoy their stay, share her toys.  Mary got to learn how to be a good guest— be polite, behave like a little lady, observe her good manners- say thank you, please, may I…, etc.  She has learned acceptable and unacceptable behavior that may get her invited again or not. 
2. A playdate with just one other child works best.  With a group of three, at some point, one of the three will be excluded and a grown-up has to intervene.  Also, at the daycare, there are lots of kids and interaction with them is different from interaction with just one other child for an extended period of time. 
3. A good playdate does not require too much planning.  From Mary’s point of view, having one other child to play with (instead of a reluctant adult, aka me) is enough, no need for special activities.  We make sure her room is clean, toys are accessible.  I give them the choice of going to the playground with me or staying in the house.  Nothing elaborate, its not needed.
4. Most of all, a good playdate (the two children are engrossed in their activities, needing minimal adult supervision) frees up time for Mommy!!!  It is so much better than having your only child sit in front of the TV to keep her occupied.  A friend is the very best babysitter.  Of course, I make sure that their environment is safe and that they are within sight and hearing distance.

So, playdates are good— I am now a firm believer of them.

The other day, Mary and I were at our neighborhood playground when she said,

“I’m not afraid of going high up anymore… because I’m a gymnast!”
“You’re a gymnast?”
“Yes, and we go on high beams so I am not afraid of going high up anymore.”
“So, you’re a gymnast.  Are you also a ballet dancer?”
“No, I do not want to be a ballet dancer… I do not like ballet anymore… I like boys now, too!”
“What? What did you say?”
“I like boys, you know, guys?”
“What do you mean you like boys? You mean, you like doing stuff that they do?”

I just don’t know how the conversation went from not wanting to be a ballet dancer to liking boys???!!!
So, I persisted.  I wanted to know exactly what she meant.  After all, she is only five years old.
Finally, she said, “I like boys, you know, I have a crush on them.”
“You have a crush? Who?”
“I have a crush on James, actually he has a crush on me.”
“Do you even know what “crush” means?”
“I don’t know.  Jackson told me. He told me that James has a crush on me.  Do you know what it means?”
“Having a crush means you like somebody.”
“I have a crush on 2 boys.  I like Isaac, too.”
“What do you like about Isaac?”
“You would think it is funny.  I think, he looks cool.”

And I had to let go of a hearty laugh right then.  I was laughing because it was funny that my five-year-old finds someone cool.  I was laughing because I can’t believe that she already has standards of attraction and that she knows what appeals to her.  I am laughing because I felt like crying inside— my baby is no longer a baby.

Am I the only Filipino outside of the Philippines craving a good sago at gulaman?  I would think  not.

The bubble teas that are on every Vietnamese Pho noodle restaurant menus just do not cut it.  I want a glass of  simple sweet, amber-colored liquid with tapioca balls in the bottom and gelatin flakes floating on top.

The ingredients are basically sago (tapioca pearls or balls- however you may refer to it), gulaman (gelatin- usually of a harder consistency than jell-o), water, sugar syrup and flavorings.

To have good sago, you’d have to know what you are doing.  I have never been able to make good, let alone perfect, tapioca pearls from scratch.  Either the whole lot has formed into one sticky, gelatinous glob or they still would have uncooked centers.  I’ve given up on them.  My mom has never made them from scratch at home.  We usually just enjoy the drink from restaurants or street vendors or she just buys them already made from the wet market.

To have good gulaman, well, that is not so hard.  I’m just too lazy to make them.

Then, you’d need to make the syrup.  Again, this is something that could be difficult to accomplish.  Most of the time, I wound up with crystals in the saucepan or hard caramel.  I will leave the art of syrup making to the French pastry chefs.

Here is my quick and easy way.

Go to your favorite Asian market and find a good jelly drink.  I tried a few to find the taste that closely resembled what I remembered as the taste of the best sago at gulaman.  I found the Taisun brand of Grass Jelly Drink Banana Flavor to be my favorite. This brand is also available in Coconut and Lychee flavors.

At the same Asian market, look for Tapioca Pearls that have already been pre-cooked.  I found this brand, WuFuYuan Tapioca Pearl works pretty well.  The package came with instructions in the back.  Follow them as best you can.  Whoever wrote these instructions need a few more years of English language classes. (I know, I could use a few, too…)

Once the Tapioca Pearls are done, put as much as you want in a glass, add an ice-cold can of your favorite Jelly drink and voila! a close-to-perfect sago at gulaman!  Now, close your eyes, take a drink and tranport yourself to some sweet memories of hot summer days…. Enjoy!

My daughter, Mary Esther is a “tisay“.  What does that mean?

Tisay is a play on the word - mestiza - which is a Spanish word for a female individual of mixed racial descent. (Mestizo is used to describe the male gender.) (Pronounced the same as you would - tea-sigh.)

Initially, mestiza was used to describe women of mixed Malay and Spanish ancestry.   It is now generic— I am Filipino (Malay/Spanish/Chinese ancestry– so, I guess, I could be tisay, too but never considered myself as such- now, my paternal grandmother, she was tisay!) and my husband, Mary’s dad is American (Caucasian- Swedish/Scottish ancestry) making Mary a tisay!

Being tisay is not just about ancestral roots.  As I mentioned, I am also of mixed blood but never considered myself tisay.  Occasionally, people will make comments about my light complexion, how I burn and get rosy pink cheeks after staying out under the sun, and say that I am mestiza.  Tisay also pertains to individuals with lighter complexion.   In the Philippines, the collective consciousness reveres the “white” skin.  To this day, even after living in the Western world for most of my adult life, I still would NOT purposely get a suntan.  I would always be looking and finding shade whenever I’m outdoors.  I would be the first to slather on copious amounts of SPF 45 lotion whenever we step outdoors (take a quick walk around the neighborhood, or even just a trip to the grocery store.)  I price my light complexion.  No matter that my American husband would probably prefer a more suntanned look on me, I do not care, I would rather see a pale face staring at me in the mirror.

So, Mary is tisay.  What does that mean for HER?

Nothing much that would matter.  What matters is that she is proud of her mixed ancestry, that she gets to know the history, culture and people from both sides, that she is comfortable in her own light-but-not-quite-Caucasian skin.  And this is where her Dad and I come in.