I feel proud whenever Noah says he wants to look and be like me. Happy he’s taken to the things I love: comics, science fiction (he’s quite the Youngling — he knows the Star Wars mythos better than most fans I know) and video games. He also took to wearing my trademark lens-less specs so he can look like mini me.
Nerds of the same feather
It seems I may have let paternal pride, well, blind me. How could I have known he’d also be predisposed to poor eyesight like me? All those hours watching TV, bonding over video games on his PSP, PS3, Wii and X-box, reading my comics. Now, he has to wear real eyeglasses — and he’s only in first grade!
So we got him these kiddie frames a couple of weeks ago and we’ve been teaching him to take care of it, clean it, make sure it isn’t scratched or broken when he’s rough-housing with his classmates. I went through a lot of eyeglasses when I was younger. But, no, we won’t be posting those old photos.
- He’s all about the nerdplay now.
More importantly, we’re teaching him proper reading positions and conditions, to eat right — I had to make up a story about me loving to munch on raw carrots when I was a kid, limited his TV time and gave him just one hour of video games on weekends. Hopefully, his eyesight won’t deteriorate any further like mine has. Tsk, tsk, tsk.
Had Noah’s chest x-rayed last weekend as a requirement for his new school. The image struck me — I had almost forgotten that he had open heart surgery just three years ago in June, 2008.
And I had forgotten these wires the doctors had used to mend his sternum after they performed Infundibulectomy, an open-heart procedure, to fix the Ventricular Septal Defect (VSD) he was born with. I fell back on my chair as I let it all come back to me: the prognosis, the dread, the pleading and bargaining, the search for the best pediatric cardio-surgeons, asking people for help and being grateful to relatives, friends, even total strangers who helped raise money for the operation.
Watching helplessly as the nurses drugged him and wheeled him to the operating room. Surrendering to the will of an infinitely benevolent universe to see my son through. Marveling at Noah when he woke up just two hours after the operation, fending off the nurses and demanding to see his parents. Sleeping on the floor of the Heart Center while he was in recovery and pediatric ICU. His doctors threatening to inject me with morphine if I didn’t relax (that wasn’t much of a threat. In fact, I dared them). Whew. And wow.
Knowing what we do now about congenital heart disease, we have to be more careful with baby Moses. He’s due for congenital screening in July. And If you see Noah now, you’d never guess he had a heart condition and survived cardiac intervention. All he remembers about his ordeal is his Tita bringing him Jollibee at the hospital to cheer him up, bless his nuclear-powered little heart.
I came back from vacation tonight to find out Yaya A left yesterday to tend to something urgent and has not returned though she promised Nike she’d be back this morning.
So Yaya B lent me her phone (nice of her, I thought) so I could get Yaya A’s number and text her what’s up. Of course, I needed to know if anything happened to her or if she just wanted to ditch us.
But then, while looking for Yaya A’s phone number, I accidentally saw sext messages sent out by Yaya B to MANY different guys — graphic, filthy, bad porn movie lines! She’s led them to believe she’s a pretty young thing (she MMS-ed photos of caucasian models, with come ons in Tagalog and Ilocano — gawd there’s one born every minute) named Cindy in her 20’s, but she’s actually a mild-mannered, bible-toting lola in her mid-50’s. Never actually seen her read it, though.
Yaya A is definitely out. I already called her agent to ask for a replacement. If she does come back by 7 am tomorrow, which I asked her to do through text because my I couldn’t understand what she was saying through the line, and from the laughter and music in the background, it didn’t seem like there was really any ’emergency’ — she’ll find her stuff at the village guard house.
Jury’s still out on closet nympho Yaya B. But maybe I shouldn’t judge? That’s her business. She works hard, cooks well, doesn’t complain. But then I don’t know just how schizo she is — and it’s always the quiet ones! Anyway, I don’t feel comfortable having her around. What if one of her victims found out he’s been taken for a ride and came gunning for her? You hire a maid and you hire her baggage — that includes husbands or/and boyfriends, even sextmates. Sheesh. It’s getting harder and harder to find good help these days.
Sigh. These two were supposed to replace to a real good yaya we lost last month — we lost her to her girlfriend.