Moymoy's Song and Dance Number, August 10, 2007

"Shek it to the reyt and shek it to the lep. Foynt to the east and foynt to the wish. Shek it shek it shek it shek it bebi shek it bebi now. Ado do do a da da da da a hah hah...."

Being Manny Pacquiao – June 2006

Hi, I'm Hot Mama and I’m a parlor addict. I simply love the smell and feel of a salon....simply cannot resist the urge of being pampered and taken cared off. When a new shop hits town, I immediately book an appointment and check out the service offerings. When I change jobs, I scout for the nearest parlor within the vicinity. When work becomes too stressful, I make a quick respite; have a 30 minute back massage combined with a manicure. Voila… I’m a brand new person.

I’m an expert at the art of multi-service handling. When pressed for time, one would find me having the combination of hair treatment/coloring, foot spa, hand paraffin, threading, all at the same time. That’s what I call my wellness package express which my beauty team mastered after all these years. My regular therapists know the cue once I enter the salon premises. At a given time, 3 of them simultaneously and diligently engage in beautifying me. For a neophyte beautician, I’m the ultimate test and breakthrough in managed services.

Indeed, I’m a parlor girl with exquisite preferences. It’s both an art and dependency that co-exist with my being. Not even the twelve (12) steps can make me give up the habit.

The Barber’s Cut

After being singled again, I’ve been delinquent in my beauty regiment. Work and family demands made me negligent of this. I especially miss the winning team of Alex, my gay stylist; Dolly – my foot and hand treatment expert (a master in the art of in-grown nail removal); and Alma, my back therapist. In my past life, a minimum of twice a week visit would equate to depravation.

Recently, identified priorities made me consider my options. Facts were evaluated:

Fact # 1: Weekdays are for work.
Fact # 2: Weekends are for errands and bonding moments for the boys.
Fact # 3: Time for such luxuries is limited or non-existent.

If schedule permits, I can do a salon visit during lunch breaks….NOT! It doesn’t work that way. No matter how hard I make time for this, it simply wasn’t happening.

Drastic circumstances require drastic measures, if I intend to keep my sanity in tact. The shift needed to happen. To maximize my ‘bonding’ moments with my boys, I opted to do the unimaginable for a ‘Cosmo’ girl like me….. I paid a visit to my boys’ barbershop. Besides, how different can it possibly be from my regular salon? A lot!

On my first visit, I was greeted by a lady named Gloria. Immediately, her face was puzzled when I inquired about their services. “Madam, pati ba si Sir mag-papaservice kasabay ng mga bata?” She asked. (Madam, will the mister be joining the boys this time?)

“Ah, hindi. Patay na si sir. Ako ang makikisabay,” I replied (“Oops, no. The mister passed away already. It’s me who will be joining the boys.”)

As expected, Gloria was stunned with my response but was quite enthusiastic when she briefed me with the on-going promo offerings they have.

Services offered were:

Hair Cut P140
Hair Cut w/ Shampoo P180
Shave P150
Ladies Haircut P180
Shampoo P110
Blowdry P110
Shampoo & Blowdry P180
Manicure P150
Pedicure P150
Hair Dye P650/900 (depends on hair length)
Hair Relaxing P690/900
Hot Oil P350/450
Ear Cleaning Therapy P135
Facial Treatment P350
Hypoallergenic Facial P730
Body Massage P320/420yup yup

Back or Foot Massage P175
Foot Spa w/ Scrub and Pedicure P475

As a come on, they were offering nose and ear hair clipping free of charge for every service amounting to P300.00 and above. “WOW! What I deal?! Talk about value add,” I thought to myself.

Rates are much lower than the salons yet I was skeptical on how they execute their facial treatment and hypoallergenic facial in a barbershop. I settled with the hot oil treatment and foot spa, without the nose hair trimming. I was introduced to Mang Roger who will give me my hair treatment while Mang Rudy will take care of my feet.

As I was escorted to the shampoo area, I passed through inquisitive eyes of male customers. Most of them were middle aged men with paunchy bellies. Others were snoring themselves away while having their ear wax removed. The rest were either having a shave, a cut, or hair dye. There were some who were simply checking out the limited choices of reading materials. Yup, the barbershop is into deep literature called FHM.

The feel of two genuine males doing my hair and feet was awkward, especially when they possess the looks of Max Alvarado. Most of the staff resembled character actors or contrabidas straight out of an FPJ flick. I think I will skip the wax this visit.

Nevertheless, they were courteous, professionals, enthusiasts who were eager to please. Don’t mind coming back for another visit. This place is ideal for me and the boys to have barbershop talks while grooming ourselves.

In this corner….

During the last Pacquiao vs. Barrera match, the boys and I decided to take advantage of the pay per view offerings at the barbershop. It was perfect. While the boys wait for their turns for their respective cuts, they can watch the match, while I can take a breather while enjoying my regular treatments.

I did my homework and briefed them on who d’Pacman was and his then opponent. The whole country eagerly waited for this fight and since… have been following d’Pacman’s career even before this match. Not to be outdone, I enrolled Chiqui Boy in one on one boxing sessions to sharpen his knowledge of the sport. Besides, Hot Mama was serious about her boxing skills. She took it up as part of her anger management therapy.

Apparently, it wasn’t only the awesome threesome who had this plan in mind. When we reached the barbershop, it was jam packed with fathers and sons all eager to witness the fight, one trying to outdo the other with how acquainted they are with the Filipino hero.

Fortunately, I found seats for my boys along with the others patiently waiting for their turn with the barber. The shop’s owner prepared for this event well, positioning a couple of benches right in front of the TV monitor.

Since the adult seats were taken by the fathers, Hot Mama had to settle having a back massage on this awkward looking massage chair with head hidden from the rest of this male dominated world.

Footages of d’Pacman’s humble beginnings and previous victories were shown while waiting for the main event to start. A debate erupted among the boys…

Chiqui Boy: “ You know, my mama can do that. She can punch hard and can box anything and anyone.”

Brat #1: “ Totoo ba yan? Girl ang mama mo di ba?” (“Is that for real, your mom is a girl right?”)

Chiqui Boy: “It’s true… she can do 10 rounds of mitts and can do fancy moves with the jump rope.”

Brat #1: “Di totoo yan. Liar ka! Papa lang ang may kaya nun. Gusto mo i-knock out ng papa ko mama mo?” (“That’s not true, only fathers can do that. You want, I’ll ask my dad to beat up your mom.”)

Chiqui Boy (struggling through his sobs): “I’m not a liar! My mama can beat up your papa. You wait and see.”

Brat Pack: “Liar! Liar!”

Moymoy: “Mama, Mama!! Where are you?! The boys are bullying kuya. HELP!!!

In my fittest form, complete with manicured long nails, long/black extensoed hair, matching long dark eye lash extensions, I stood from the massage chair and made myself visible to the brat pack and the surrounding fathers. All eyes were anticipating what would happen next.

“I want to talk to your dad NOW! Also, no one calls my son a liar!” I threatened with full self control and poise.

Out of no where… a bald, short, pudgy Asian looking man appeared. “ Ah, Mrs., pasensya na kayo at mga bata lang ang mga yan. (My apologies, you know how boys can be.) Washington, apologize to the lady and to the boy,” he scolded his son.

“But, Dad… she’s a girl. Can’t you fight her?”

“Son, can’t you see, I can’t fight with somebody like that. I can’t give that lady a black eye. She’s too pretty.”

“E bakit si Mommy…” (How come with Mom…)

“Shush…keep quiet…”

He pulled Washington aside, hastily and apologetically bid us good bye.

The obvious learned...

1. Men do not beat up women.
2. We're heroes to our children, just make sure we're the right kind.
3. Looks can definitely kill.
4. Never name your child Washington, your child will never forgive you for it.



Hot Mama in training... December 2005

Converstations With Basti - January 2006

Hot Mama : "Good morning, Basti... how are you today?

Moymoy : "I'm pined, tenk you."

Hot Mama : "Is there anything you want to do with Mama and Kuya this Sunday?"

Basti : "Yes, I want to watch "Pantastik Por."

Hot Mama : "Basti, it's FFFFineeee, thhhhhaaaank you and FFFFFantastic FFFFFour. Say
FFFFF... nga."

Basti : "EEEEEEEEEP."

Mama : "Never mind, you'll out grow it."

Prayer Time With Chino and Basti - May 2007

Hot Mama: "Okay, everyone, let's kneel down and pray together..."

MoyMoy: " I don't want to pray, with you Mama. You pray too long with the marbles."

Chiqui Boy: " You call that Rosary, crazy."

Hot Mama: " Ok, Chiqui Boy, since you're good with prayers, you lead it."

Chiqui Boy: " Jesus, please bless my Mama and Basti. Please keep them healthy and happy. Jesus, please do not allow LOSERS in our house. Mama seems to attract a lot of those. Jesus, please give my Papa a girlfriend in heaven... I'm so sure he's lonely there..."

Hot Mama (in deep prayer): "Lord, go figure..."

My Improved (Male) Mini Me - July 8, 2007

Denise and Chino both at 4 years old.

Joaquin Luis Estrella Lopez, born July 8, 1998, 8ish in the morning. Chino turned 9 today. He's my first born and the sweetest boy I've ever known. He was his father's pride and joy. Regardless of what I have to say, Jerry was at his beck and call, granting anything his little heart desired.

It's usually with the first born, new parents are given the baptism of fire. It's here when they experience replacing late night happenings to night feedings, changing wardrobes to diapers, buying new cars to educational plans....a complete lifestyle overhaul. Being a first time mother, I was so insecure with my mothering skills. I literally begged Jerry not to leave me with Chino during the first few days from the hospital. I was fearful I might do something that might kill the baby.

Chino was a handful to begin with. As an infant, he was very sensitive to almost everything. I had to adjust my own diet so as not to affect my breast milk. He was allergic to chicken, chocolates, shellfish, dairy products, and eggs. Only the mildest of soap was allowed to touch his skin and scented laundry detergent with fabric softener were banned from the wash area. His skin would easily break into rash on contact with these chemicals. He was a colicky baby who endlessly cried between 7 to 9 am and a repeat from 5 to 7pm.

The turnover of yayas was embarrassing. In 4 months, I had a total of 6 yayas who were breaking down more often than the baby. To make matters worse, the paranoia of the first time parents was not making the situation easier to manage. It was then both Jerry and I decided it would be for the best interest of Chino that I become his full time nanny. As if there was any other option. Regardless, I was happy to take on the challenge.

When a family matter required me to leave for the States, I had to endure severe separation anxiety for five weeks. The first time I was apart from both Jerry and my son. It was unbearable. Jerry would describe that time as most difficult for Chino for he would cry and always ask for me. He would carry around my photo and show it to anyone who would care enough to listen, asking if anyone has seen his mama. Jerry would often find his son kissing the photo every so often. Not even my husband ever did that. Chino just turned one at that time.

Jerry and I decided it was the right time to put him in a playgroup when he turned 2. Timing was ideal since I needed to go back to corporate work to help augment the expenses at home. It was a big adjustment on both Chino's and my part for we have grown so close to each other. Nevertheless, the tie that bound mother and son was never broken even though the father attempted to sabotage it by spoiling him during mom’s frequent business travels.

My second pregnancy was unplanned. We were so concerned how Chino would respond to the latest addition to the family. As my belly expanded, I prepared Chino for the coming of his little brother and the new role he would assume. I empowered him to select which toys and clothes he would pass on to little Basti, and let him kiss and talk to my tummy every night before going to bed. He enjoyed being able to make decisions over his possessions and quickly he established his dominion over his baby brother.

Chino was 3 years old when Basti was born. Immediately, our fears of sibling rivalry were eased since it was evident that Chino immediately fell in love with his little brother. He baptized Basti with a new pet name, referring to the baby as Moymoy since according to kuya…….he looked like one….duh?

Playing with his new brother was always an incentive for Chino. All of a sudden, he looked forward to taking a bath and finishing his meals quickly. The moment he saw his baby brother, he immediately dropped the bottle habit and opted drinking his milk from the cup. He took his role as big brother seriously, fighting anyone who showed aggression towards Basti.

When I introduce Chino to friends, there is one common reaction… Chino inherited the good genes of the mother. He looks so much like me that no one can deny that he's mine. The only difference is he's much fairer than me. Being an advocate of the ‘improvement of race campaign,’ Jerry would often tease me that Chino would find it difficult to find a girlfriend who's whiter than him. As far as I'm concern, I didn’t mind as long as he doesn't make me a grandma in my forties.

I remember fondly when Chino was 4, I came across an old photo of mine when I was Chino's age. I was sporting very short hair and wearing chong-san pajamas. The only giveaway was that the child on the photo was a girl was the little brown doll she was carrying. I showed the photo to Chino and asked if he knew who that girl was. With confidence, he answered, "Oh, Mama, that's Chino when Chino was still a girl!"

At age 5, I had to break the terrible news to Chino that his father was seriously ill. In as much simplicity as I can muster, I tried to explain to him what cancer was and reassured him that everything would be all right. At a young age, he showed eagerness to help and be a part of the crisis. He asked me what he can do of to make it easy for me and papa. We hugged each other, "Just be a good boy and watch over Basti. Do well in school so I do not have to worry about you."

Six months into treatment, I got really upset with Chino. Amidst the chaos and commotions of rushing Jerry to the hospital, I found him in one corner busy playing with his robots as if the whole matter did not concern him. I asked him, "How come you don't seem to care whether your papa would come home or not?"

"Mama, Papa isn't papa anymore. He looks so different now, he doesn’t play with me anymore. He's always shouting and angry. I started missing Papa a long time ago." It was the first time Chino expressed his real emotions towards his father’s condition.

There are situations adults refused to acknowledge yet children are quick to notice. Jerry was indeed a different person. He was no longer the man I married or the father Chino and Basti have grown to know. Sad as it may be, it took a 6 year old to make me realize and accept the certainty of a loss and the impending role I would have to assume as a single mom.

Being the eldest, Chino fully witnessed the transition I went through. From being a Martha Stewart wife and mother who customized Halloween costumes and prepared party fanfares, décors, and food from scratch, to a traveling corporate executive who continually attempts to master the art of work life balance, to a cool fun loving parent who is capable of wrestling with two Taliban trained boys yet appreciates the rules of House of the Dead and fully respects the hierarchy of Pokemon action figures.

Last Mother's Day, Chino surprised me with a treat. He set up my room with a towel and a basin with a mix of water, my favorite lavender liquid soap, and bath salts. He and Basti were going to give me a foot spa. In spite of being at the receiving end of my evolving roles, mood swings and temper changes, Chino remains forgiving, loving and endearing. He has eased my fears and assured me that he would have no other mom but me. He depended on me for so many answers that only a male figure could address yet he's contented with what he has and never questioned the situation he was placed in.

When I come home from work, I would always be greeted by Chino’s hug and query, "Are you happy today, Mom?" Moments like this humble me. I am grateful for my children. God probably sees something good in me that He entrusted these 2 beautiful boys under my care.

Nine years ago, I gave birth to my first born, a beautiful, healthy, and whiter than white boy I named Chino. Being his mother is an honor and privilege. He’s a constant reminder of the many good qualities I possess and the weaknesses I yearn to overcome. A source of strength and inspiration to be the best that I can be in whatever role I take.

Happy 9th birthday to my mini me and best buddy! I love you very much!! MWAH!!

The Dead Body’s Pose - The Art of Stillness, July 13, 2007

After almost six months of practicing yoga, I find that Savasana is one poise that can be accomplish with ease physically yet mentally would require a great amount of focus. All you need to do is to lie on your back with your heels together and toes apart, relaxed arms on the side and do nothing. Easy? Wrong! It doesn’t stop there. You have to fix your gaze on one spot on the ceiling, keep your eyes open (it’s what they call aware mediation), and prevent your mind from participating in any form of thoughts or worse... succumb to sleep.

It’s considered one of the most important poses in the Bikram series simply because it’s recovery time for the body and allows your body to repair any pain or damages caused by engaging in those pretzel forming poses. Quite advantageous for the not-so-flexible and knocking-on-mid-life individuals as myself. Definitely, not to be taken for granted.

“This pose is about letting go completely.   Proper relaxation is essential for the health of our mind and body and for clarity of thought for making good choices.   The obstacles to a good Savasana are sleep, boredom, mental agitation, and the ultimate obstacle:   thinking you don't need Savasana anymore.   Mental agitation and tension are obstacles that make us miss the point of life's journey.” - Brad Priddy’s Yoga Notebook

There’s wisdom in the words of Priddy relevant to finding deep stillness that can be applied to real life. Each difficult poise may be compared to an anxious feeling, situation, affliction or trial that all of us endure. Regardless of how uncomfortable a pose can be, one has to maintain calm breathing and keep her stillness. If you stop breathing, it becomes more difficult to hold the pose with ease and if you even blink.... you fall.

The Worry Wart vs. The Control Freak

For someone accustomed to having her way, I make sure that resources, solutions, are available at my disposal. Having had a husband who worries about everything and anything, this trait/skill came in handy especially when preventing marital conflicts to erupt.

After 8 years of marriage, it was a proven formula for us. Before Jerry goes into an episode of doomsday report, I have already addressed the situation by presenting to him how I was able to resolve issues on finances, household help disputes, and other domestic related concerns. After all, I was the homemaker and I knew exactly where to cut cost and how to maximize its yield. We were a good team.

When I first heard of Jerry’s cancer diagnosis, I was reduced to a state of shock. My mind completely went blank and refused to function. Until this very day, I still have no recollection as to how I ended up in the entrance of UST with no hand bag, money or driver’s license. I just headed off to the hospital. All sense of control was lost.

It was after awhile when my dad told me that I just called him and cried out hysterically on the phone. He could not make out a single thing I was saying and almost gave him a heart attack for fear that I might end up in an accident since I was the one driving to the hospital.

Super Widow Fallacy

It’s been 24 months, 3 weeks since Jerry was laid to rest. My role as a homemaker and mother has remained the same with more added features. In my previous life, I was a homemaker version 3.0. In the last 2 years, I was quickly upgraded to version 20.07. Every other month, the old model would be put on an end of life status, as I’m presented with new challenges and adventures that come with my ever changing roles.

I became the mother, father, provider, fund manager, counselor, administrator, guardian, Ms. Fixer-Upper, and the list goes on and on. A year of widowhood, made me deal with medical, legal, financial issues that would quickly gain me a Ph. D. in all 3 areas.

I was in a rush to make things all right with me and my children. Immediately after the 9th day, I embarked on a journey of recovery and order. Structure were very much the order of the day. Decided that a 10 month plan would suffice to restore what was taken from us and that on my own, I would be able to survive this. A conscious decision not to be the helpless widow was made and executed. Because I have children, breaking down was never an option.

My time was never my own. It was always about other people: children; house help; in-laws; business partners; clients; work; et al. My thoughts are always filled with schedules, business meetings, guardianship issues, deadlines, targets and what have you.

When I decided to give our house a facelift and renovate, I was nursing a 39 degree fever. Still, someone needed to supervise moving the children and our things to my grandmothers townhouse, directing where the workers should start doing their work. By the time, we were done it was almost 12 midnight and it was just then I realized, I ran out of my medication and had to drive myself to the nearest drugstore to replenish my supply.

Curse of the Young, Attractive, Capable Widow (Modesty Aside)

When confronted with a situation, the natural reaction is to PANIC. It’s a rarity to encounter people who can calmly accept difficult or undesirable news. Why panic? I notice that people resort to this reaction when they lose control and/or when they are consumed with fear. Perfect example.... how I initially responded upon hearing the news about Jerry’s cancer.

I’ve often been compared to other widows... A lot were impressed how “quickly” I’ve recovered. How I handled my loss with dignity and how I’ve managed to keep things together with “ease.” So they claim.

Unfortunately, not all people share the same view on my loss. What’s even more hurtful are the cruel and unfair judgement that people quickly pass to me because I appear to have recovered or simply look ‘good’ in spite of the tragedy of losing a loved one. Speculations and references to me being single again would be topics of conversation with malicious minds coming into play. What remains to be a mystery is how people find amusement in the misery of other people.

What these people do not realize is that I only allow them to see what I want them to see. They don’t realize that in spite of the facade, I’ve struggled through bouts of anger, desperation, panic, hysteria, depression, loneliness, and the like. I’ve been through moments when I’m left mindless, useless, and disabled. Difficult decisions needed to be made, securing the future were an urgent concern, making sure that the same opportunities are available to my children even though they have lost their father.

When I’m at this state, I totally lose it. I would often find myself calling up close friends in hysteria for circumstances that appear hopeless. Otherwise, I get impatient and take matters unto my own hands. Alas! I only end up getting more disappointed with its results, more broken than when I started. Sadly, I forgot to breathe.

Holding and Breathing Again

By now, I’ve established myself as a control freak. Feelings of entrapment/immobility never appealed to me. My anger became my ally. It taught me to keep myself from people who causes me sadness; turn my back from situations that no longer make me happy; push me out of the state of limbo, ensuring that I surpass all obstacles that block my road to recovery. Along the way, my controlling nature was struggling to break free and take hold on things.

Yet, amidst anxieties, conflicts, chaos, temperament, commotions, and emotional outbursts of family and friends, someone up their must really love me. He keeps me together inside and reassures me that He will take care of things. His presence comforts me. He is fullly in control and sees everything.

When situations become unbearable and options fade away, I have to break my own will, stop questioning, and start trusting. I stopped looking down and instead, learned to look up in prayer to ask for help. He enables me to make sound decisions and prevents me from making one when I’m deeply emotional. He constantly teaches me to master the art of waiting and reprimands me when I lean on my own understanding. I feel a certain peace that only comes from Him, especially when things just fall magically into place. Problems miraculously get resolved by itself without even giving it a single thought. Truly, all man made problems have solutions, it’s the one that God allows that would require letting go. I’ve fixed my gaze on Him and I’m breathing again.

In Savasana, I found my stillness, in stillness, I found my God. It’s in God, where peace, healing and miracles happen.

“Be still, and know that I am GOD.”
- Psalm 46:10, NIV

THE GREAT SUPER BLAH-BLAH!! October 2006

One day, my then 4-year old boy, Basti, jumped from nowhere and went, "Tantananan... It's me!!! Super BLABLAH!!"

Not being in the best of moods, I totally ignored the entrance and just said, "That's nice, Moymoy," without looking.

"No, Mama... Look at me...Look at me... I'm a super hero," he emphasized more seriously.

After reading loads of parenting books and not wanting to kill the imagination and creativity of my sumo wrestler, I decided to play along.

"So which Superhero are you this time? Are you Superman, Batman,Spiderman...etc...?"

"I'm Super BLAHBLAH! And I'm cute too," answered my little hero.

Puzzled, I asked..."What's your super power?"

"Aside from flying, when my enemy is there, I just say 'BLAH!' and he disappears! I'm galing 'no, Mama?"

"Okay...and where did you get the name?" I insisted in knowing.

"O, kasi Mama when you're on the phone and talking to your friends, you say, 'Apparently... and then she said...BLAH BLAH BLAH.' I looooove your stories, Mama."

Okay, okay, okay ....the mom is a great story teller. Worst...I'm raising an eavesdropper! "So may I ask who is your arch enemy, Super BLAH-BLAH?"

"Oh, he's the evil "Bad Word Master!" he replied with much gusto. All right, this boy can pull together a great theme for a short story.

"Do you have a side kick?"

"But of course... He's my good friend Polite Expression!" What can I say... brilliance runs in the family.
After being drowned by hugs and kisses from Super Mama... off went SuperBlah Blah to his next adventure and/or misadventure.

After several days, I heard a brawl happening between Kuya and Moymoy. I heard Moymoy saying 'You're STUPID!' to his kuya.

"I thought you're Super BLAH BLAH, why are you saying bad words?!"

Struggling through the hikbis, Basti replied, "Mama, don't you know that I'm also my worst enemy....and I can't help it."

If that's not depth, I do not know what you call it....Have a great day!!

Super Mama with Super BLAH-BLAH, now 5 years old, Monterey, Ca. April 2007.