Finally!

I have finally, finally managed to finish reading a book. For months, things have just been so overwhelmingly hectic that I couldn't find the space for a quiet read. I have all these books piled up, some I've read halfway through, some still in their plastic covering. It's pathetic! I love reading but recently, all I've managed to finish are magazines, and that's not good!

But finally, this interesting book, with a really cool cover, caught my attention: The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson. It's the kind of labyrinthian thriller that weaves me in; the protagonist is this hacker of a girl who finds herself in the middle of a missing person investigation, but not without all sorts of misadventures thrown her way. The writing kind of reminds me of Smilla's Sense of Snow by Peter Hoeg. Hoeg is Danish, and Larsson is Swedish. I don't know what that means but I like the rhythm of their writing. As it turns out, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo is part of a trilogy, and I am excited to take a crack at the next two. Wahoo!

Attack of the Hungry Teenagers

The other night, the boys and I had dinner out. And since I was with three adolescent I'm-growing-every-minute-and-I'm-hungry-all-the-time persons, we basically just went through the menu at Manong's.

For appetizer, we had calamares, which quickly vanished from the table in the blink of an eye. We actually ordered a second plate halfway through the meal.




For our main course, we got crispy pata, sinigang na sugpo, sisig, ensaladang talong (which is actually my token order, which does not mean, of course, that I did not take part in the demolition of the pata). We also had a cup of rice each, with two extra cups, just in case. We actually ordered up a bit of a feast. Yum!




And here is my son F putting some calamansi on the crispy sisig. Wonder what my cholesterol count was that evening? Ahh, who's counting?!



Once all the orders were in, everybody just started chomping. When you live with boys, you learn to eat as fast as they do, or you'll never get a good piece of that crispy pata. Because, folks, here is what happened to that delicious spread after only about ten minutes or so . . .


Beautiful!

What I do

Yes, it's Lucy! Absolutely one of our all-time favorites! Because she was taping until late the day before and had gone to our beloved former President Cory Aquino's mass, she hardly had any sleep. But ever the trooper, she went to the shoot all prepared. And you couldn't tell from her fresh-faced glow that she lacked in ZZZZsss. Well, some people are just lucky!!

P.S. to Good Behavior

I was calm, cool, and collected. And I definitely did not embarrass my son. I think I merit a star now.

Good Behavior

This morning, I am to visit my son K's school as we are doing a story on what kids are like today. I woke up early in time for his service to pick him up, and as I kissed him goodbye, my son K told me, "Don't embarrass me." I couldn't help but smile. Yes, I know, I am the kind of mom who could embarrass a 12-year-old boy, especially since I sometimes forget that he is already 12 years old.

You see, when your kids are just babies, you are their world; their night and day; their superstar. But once they start growing up, having friends of their own, making up their own minds, you start fading in the background. You're still in their line of sight, of course, but maybe just a tad out of focus.

As K is my youngest, I've had to experience this kind of pulling away four times already, and by now, I'm quite used to the drill. There was the time when I gave a quick kiss goodbye to my second son S at his school (horror of horrors!). When he got home, he told me never to do it again; his classmates might think he was a Mama's boy. There was the time when my eldest son F purposedly started walking behind me at the mall for fear (horror of horrors!) that his friends might see him walking with his mother. And there was that time when my daughter E told me to stop giving her advice (horror of horrors!) because she's already old enough to think on her own.

So, today, I promise, I will be on good behavior, and will do my best to not embarrass my son.

No-Oil Fried Chicken

Kids love fried chicken; and every mom has her own recipe. I remember the first time I ever made fried chicken: I was pregnant with my firstborn E. It was lunch and I was really hungry. At the time, I didn't know how to cook, so I ended up burning my fried chicken. Needless to say, it was still all bloody inside. Over the years, I've made all sorts of fried chicken: with just salt, one time with milk (because that's supposedly the secret behind Max's), sometimes with soy sauce. These days, I like making chicken adobo first, then frying it.

The other day, I snagged a cool recipe for fried chicken, chicken wings to be exact, from Maria Cordero of Fat Mama, who is such a character by the way. She is a mother of six, a grandmother of 11, and she can cook for 20 plus people in 30 minutes. Now, that's my kind of mom!

Anyway, on to her chicken wings.
* Defrost your chicken.
* Pre-heat a non-stick pan. Now, just place your chicken in the pan, and wait for it to turn slightly brown. You'll see the fat oozing out of the chicken in no time.
* When the chicken's golden brown, splash a bit of alcohol onto it; wine would do but brandy would be better.
* Turn the heat off. And now, splash some sweet soy sauce into the chicken. It's that easy, and what's great is that you can do it for fatty fishes, too!

We tasted Maria's chicken and it was delicious! I'm definitely going to try that this weekend!

Nail Spa

Last night, I came up for air. After a hard day working on this super long manuscript, I decided to treat myself to a massage and a foot spa. I was already waiting for my feet to be pampered when Mom called, asking where I was. I told her, and encouraged her to come join me. She too had been working that day (Yes, that's right, we were working on a Saturday, in the middle of the long weekend, but that's exactly how we were brought up; "Work, work, work," that's how my sister B described it).

Soon enough, my Mom and Dad joined me; and so, there we were all sitting on a sofa, chatting while waiting for our feet to get pretty. And Mom being Mom, she started talking to the attendants and the owner of the place. Just a little backgrounder, I have been going to this place for months. I like the service. But I'm not the type who'd just talk to strangers at salons. I usually have a book or a magazine with me, taking the time to catch up on my reading. And so, I really did not know any of them. But not Mom. By the end of her pedicure, she already knew where the attendants lived, who the owners were, and how they came to put up the place. I, of course, still did not know a thing.

Sometimes, I want to be as fearless as Mom, as charming as her, as curious. Sometimes, I want to grow up to be just like her. But sometimes, I think that it would just be too exhausting.

More Villa 815

Walking along Alona Beach. I don't remember who told me exactly but this stretch of sand was supposedly named after seventies vixen Alona Alegre. This was after she ran stark naked along the beach for a film she was doing with Fernando Poe, Jr. Coolness!

Where I stayed. For three days, Villa 815 was my address. and it was great to have this piece of heaven all to myself; definitely a change from my everyday life of keeping house for four kids and a baby. It was quiet. Nobody fought. Nobody needed anything. I only had to take care of myself. What a relief!

Where I slept. It's a huge king-sized bed that had the right amount of softness and firmness, perfect for my maarteng likod!

Where I hoped to get a tan. That lovely recliner, which the resort had especially made from furniture makers in Cebu, is just divine.

Where I took a dip after frying under the sun. My villa had a cold plunge pool that I so love! I wish I had one at home, so I can just plunge in whenever it gets too hot!

What we ate. These are actually turon, Amorita style, rolled very thin and served with a scoop of ice cream. Refreshing!

Where we spent our days

Bopis

The minute I saw those pair of lungs, I knew I wanted them.

I was at Boyet and Belle's, my favorite butchers, when I saw a fresh set of pig's lungs hanging from the wall. And instantly, I knew I wanted to try my hand at cooking some bopis. A couple of years ago, my brother-in-law A cooked a delicious pot of bopis at my Mom's house, and I've always wanted to cook some myself. And so, I boldly went where I've never been before, into the land of innard cuisine, where bopis and dinuguan reign supreme.

The minute I got home, I texted A for his recipe, made sure I had everything I needed, and proceeded. Here then is my recipe for bopis:

* Buy two kilos of lungs, etc at Boyet and Belle's. They're only P65 a kilo.
* Place lungs in pot. Let boil until soft, about 30 to 45 minutes. Let cool.
* And now for the interesting part, cut those lungs into teensy, weensy bits. As much as possible, I like mine uniform in size so they not only taste good but look good as well. I started cutting up those babies in the middle of Georgia Rule (where Lindsay Lohan tried her darndest best to act like an angsty teener), but switched channels for Terminator instead; somehow Arnold and his shotgun seemed more appropriate for the task at hand.
* I cut up as well a whole lot of onions (about five pieces) and a couple of bell peppers (my absolute fave veggie; I cannot leave the supermarket without buying a pack of it).
* Next, heat a big kaldero, pour in a generous amount of cooking oil (that's what A insisted, the oil is supposedly the secret), and saute minced meat thoroughly, adding onions and bell peppers.
* Add about a cup of vinegar to the brew; do not mix while vinegar is cooking.
* Season to taste.

The verdict: Although my daughter E said it could have used a bit more vinegar, I purposely didn't put too much for fear of the bopis turning too sour. Bottomline: The kids enjoyed it, and so did I. And guess what? We still had some leftover for lunch the next day! Sulit!

Sleepover

A is in town. For several years now, my girlfriend A had been living in Canada with her family, and we've missed her terribly. You see, we used to have these long lunches together: me, A, and Dr. A, my best friend. On weekends, we'd bring our kids to storytelling workshops at Powerbooks or lug them to yet another theme birthday party. We were big on birthday parties back then, with our kids way below their tween years.

So we were all thrilled to hear the news of A's visit, and a series of get-togethers were arranged so that everybody could catch up on each other's lives. First, there was to be a lunch, and then a sleepover, which was to be followed by another lunch the next day, which would then culminate with dinner two days later at Dr. A's house.

I barely survived the week. My daughter E says that I'm a bit anti-social, and she'd always encourage me to go out, and so I did, and it was great. It was fun seeing all these people whom I grew up with. These are the people who knew me when I was stick-thin, and to them, I have no secrets. And it was just wonderful that we could all just chatter away, picking up where we left off. Neither time nor distance mattered.

Things would have been perfect if not for one tiny detail. At the sleepover, Dr. A and I had to sleep on the floor. There was no room left on the king-sized bed, as there were, after all, seven of us crammed in one junior suite (which is so high school, don't you think?). I tried to sleep, truly I did, but the comforter just couldn't take the place of a mattress. And so, at four in the morning, Dr. A and I sneaked out of the hotel to go home to our warm, comfortable beds. The teenager in us may have loved the sleepover idea but our 40-something backs just couldn't take it.

My Happy Feet: Villa 815

D and I had been planning to go on vacation for years. D is a dear, dear friend from when I first started working in the newspapers. We knew each other when we were still junior reporters, breaking our backs, writing three stories a day. Yes, folks, three stories a day. That's why when one of our writers would whine about not being able to finish a story, which was assigned 10 days before, I cannot, for the life of me, commiserate. But that's another story.

Anyway, a couple of years back, D and I found ourselves in Boracay - she with her hubby R, and me with my son K. We had a whale of a time, and vowed that we'd go on holiday again. And that's how we found ourselves in Amorita Resort in Bohol a couple of weeks ago. Built on a cliff overlooking Alona Beach, the resort became our home away home for three days. There would no tours of Chocolate Hills this time, nor a peek at those cute, little tarsiers. We wanted to catch some serious snooze time, and Amorita was just the place to do that.

Villa 815, my villa (I love the sound of that!), was absolutely heaven. I'm the kind of person who really takes a vacation when I'm on vacation, and my villa (yipee!) allowed me just that. There was this big luxury of a bed, a fridge filled with beer, a deck for sunbathing, a cold plunge pool when the sun gets too intense, and a view overlooking the sea. I could have holed up in that villa for days, frying myself into a tan and then sleeping off the sun afterwards.

In between sleeping and frying, D and I caught some serious face time, talking about our life and loves. I tell D everything, she's the kind of friend who would never judge, who would always listen, and who would always be on your side. A girl could always use somebody like D. In the never-ending drama that is life, it's nice to know that somebody will always be on your side.

Saturdays

Saturday is one of my favorite days; and not just because I get to stay home all day, and take a little break from work but also because we get a visit from Ate Neneng. Yes, Ate Neneng is our angel, and every Saturday, she goes to our house to mop the floors, sweep away the cobwebs, and generally just fix up the house into some semblance of presentability.

A few years back, I let go of our yaya, who had been with us for years. You see, the kids have all grown up, and I figured it was time for them to start really helping around the house. But my brilliant idea didn't exactly take off. True, they washed the dishes and took out the garbage but then my idea of clean wasn't the same as theirs. I live with three boys, and every mom knows that they need a little bit (well, sometimes a lot of bit) of cajoling to get any work done. And unfortunately, my daughter wasn't born with the I-want-everything-clean gene either. And so, after months of, okay let's just say it, nagging, I gave in. I was outnumbered. I'm no superwoman: I can't hold a full-time job, keep track of the burgeoning activities of four adolescents, and pick up after their dirty socks. I was on the verge of some kind of breakdown, and that's how Ate Neneng came to my rescue. And so every Saturday and Tuesday, she comes in, cleans the house, and keeps the peace.

Sometimes, I wish I had the energy to keep everything together but then sometimes, it's just sweeter to let go.

I love Saturdays!