Showing posts with label Husband. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Husband. Show all posts

Friday, March 7, 2014

We Turned Three!

March 07, 2014

I was awakened at 5:30 AM because Khaleid needed a diaper change. After the task, I remembered what date it was today. I moved Zohan beside Khaleid to go near my husband and greeted him a Happy Anniversary. 

"Mahal, anong ginawa natin sa loob ng three years?", I asked. "Gumawa ng dalawang bata.", he chuckled. I laughed and thought to myself, well, these days, our marriage is actually defined by our kids.

Today, we celebrate our third year of marriage. To be candid, all thoughts of romance had been pushed over by other grown-up concerns. It's so hard to think of love for your husband when you are sleep-deprived, reeking of poop and breastmilk, clad in milk-stained lousy shirt, and with hair last combed since God-knows-when.

So I thought, today's post would only be a you-tube video of Coca-Cola's advertisement - which best described our household situation as of late.

So anyway, I went on with my daily routine - took care of Khaleid's morning rituals, struggled with Zohan to eat his breakfast, cleaned up last night's mess, and sent Zohan to the playground so that I could cook lunch. Kristan left early for work.

Then I heard a knock from the door and I thought to myself, Zohan went up early, I have not yet finished cooking lunch.

I was stunned when I opened the door and was greeted by a bouquet of flowers handed by a delivery guy. It took me a few minutes to process the fact that my husband, (yes the same husband I talked about here) sent me flowers. I was in utter disbelief. But also, grinning from ear to ear.

I was thinking what made him a different man. Until I realized that the night before, (hold your breath!) I served him the meanest sweet and sour meatballs for dinner. So yes people, men - they're all the same. If you want to get to their hearts, you must go through their stomach.

Happy Third Anniversary, Mahal. Ang landi landi mo. Mwah!

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Happiness is in the Struggle

I am currently hooked to Gretchen Rubin's book entitled The Happiness Project. Don't get me wrong, I am already happy with my life as it is now. But I guess I just want to be happier, or perhaps, a little more optimistic, that's why I started reading it. 

Halfway into the book and I am already in awe. This woman makes a lot of sense and I tend to agree with a lot of her ideas! The fact that she's a lawyer who left law practice to write a book adds to my already mounting interest. 

Among the many ways that she embarked on in her quest for a happier life, there is one particular concept that struck me most. She said that to eke out the most happiness from an experience, we must anticipate it, savor it as it unfolds, express happiness, and recall a happy memory. In relation to "anticipation", she narrated a short story about how she patiently helped her daughter choose the best cake for the latter's birthday. According to Gretchen Rubin,

"Before the happiness project, I would have resisted, but now I understand that this birthday errand isn't birthday ineffeciency, but the very fun itself. It's my Sixth Commandment: Enjoy the process. Eliza will enjoy eating the cake for only five minutes, but she can have hours of enjoyment from planning the cake. In fact, in what's known as the "rosy prospection," anticipation of happiness is sometimes greater than the happiness actually experienced. All the more reason to revel in anticipation."

Now, I know it's a little boring to dissect her brilliant lines further, so let me indulge you in a little chismis instead.

One of the petty issues I have with my husband is my fervent desire to have our condo renovated. Being the practical one, my husband always dismiss the thought, with the resolve that it is something at the very far end of our list of priorities. (Well, I get that, and frankly, I don't mind waiting for months, years even, until we are financially ready for it.) 

However, my husband's approach has brushed off with me that I have also voluntarily stopped looking at interior design magazines, websites and Instagram photos of anything related to home designs. In the process, it makes me sad and wanting, despite my understanding of where he's coming from. (With another baby on the way, and a long list of other financial responsibilities, the last thing that we actually need is a drop-down ceiling or an artistic corner chair.)

But after reading the line I quoted above, I realize that I really don't have to feel bum about it. In fact, I can turn this whole "struggling" part into a one big happiness project. 

I recall a time in a not-so-distant past when Kristan and I were constantly struggling to come up with our downpayment for our condo, which was spread in a 12-month period. We were still single then, but we embraced maturity way too early. For each month that we were able to fund our check, we'd happily bring out our statement of account and goofily cross out the month paid with a bright-colored highlighter. We'd color it together to symbolize how we both tried to make both ends meet. It was a happy time because we felt so accomplished, and at the same time, there was still something bigger and better that we were looking forward to.

It was a happy and defining moment when we finally moved in. But the happiness was, well, fleeting. It lasted for only a good one week or so, for by then, more grown-up problems already came in. And frankly, coloring our statement of account was a much, much happier time for me. I guess it was the combined struggle, the planning, and the dreaming that really mattered. 

Now, I feel like I am allowing my "wanting more" to strip me of the opportunity to feel happy. Instead of focusing on what we can't afford yet, the Happiness Project has helped me ask myself, why not make the struggle, the planning and the dreaming once again a happy time?

Thanks to Gretchen Rubin, I intend to do just that from now on. I have compiled photos of my design pegs and started following interior designers on Instagram. I don't look the other way anymore when I pass by furniture shops in mall; and I plan to buy back issues of home magazines. I don't care if it will take us years before we can execute our plans. That only means we will have more years of opportunity to be happy, right?

My husband has also started his little projects at home. He changed the grout of our tiles in the bathroom, and cleaned up the grouts in the sala. (Tip: The best cleaning agent is to combine baking soda with zonrox and zim!) His next project is a better clothesline for our tiny utility area. 

I just have one reassurance to tell him though -  that even if I keep on planning and yakking about the renovation, he doesn't have to feel pressured to provide it at once, or to provide it at all. (Check out Chinie Diaz's fabulous blogpost about why "admiring but not acquiring" is also a good thing over at her blog

Seriously husband, I CAN wait. I'm chill. I'm all zen. And if the time comes and we really cannot make it happen, I'll always remember that "happiness is in the struggle." At least, it's another happy journey in our books.

As for the rest of you who are also in a challenging phase of your life to reach for a goal, let's just keep going. There's something better waiting for us at the end, but our struggle towards it-- well, that's where real happiness is.

Sunday, October 20, 2013

My husband's 30th birthday

Just a quick post, for posterity's sake.

My husband turned thirty last October 8. I didn't have anything grandiose for his birthday, but I wanted to celebrate it, no matter how simple, because I believed turning thirty was something big.

I had thought of a few surprises, but my husband would not really buy those sort of things. He discovered my mom's gift to him a few days too early. And he was so close to guessing everything I planned for his birthday had I not gone berserk.

So for our itinerary for his birthday, I decided to just let go of the surprise factor and wrote everything down on a simple birthday card. He woke up to this:


The plan was to have a light breakfast at home, then head off to Trinoma and SM North to look for my birthday gift to him. (He asked for a TV console/entertainment table that would not exceed P4,000. You could tell he was the practical one.) Then, we would have our buffet lunch at Vikings in SM North, scour Mandaue Foam in QC, and be back in Makati for a special dinner reservation at 6pm.

But before starting our day, I insisted on taking our family picture - something that would remind us how we looked like when he turned thirty. (I intend to take more pictures of us from now on.)


Zohan knew it was his Tatay's birthday. He said he'd give his Tatay cake, burger, and getti. But those were all Zohan's favorite foods, so I doubted if the little boy fully grasped that it wasn't supposed to be about him that day.

Anyway, Kristan and I did everything by the book. We had a really sumptuous lunch at Vikings, and paid only P700 thereabouts. The birthday celebrant's meal was free! He just needed to present a government ID with his birthday information. (I researched this in advance, coz you know, I could be practical, too!)

My biggest discovery was the block of stores in SM North which got everything home-related like furnitures, tiles, lightings, wall papers, paints, a whole lot more. Definitely my happy place! I remembered having been there before, but it wasn't something that caught my fancy at that time. Our visit proved I had truly become a homemaker. Unfortunately though, we weren't able to get anything with our tight budget. It was enough feast for my eyes.

Then we went to Mandaue Foam, which turned out to be a little disappointing. So, we decided to head back and check out the malls in Makati. Ironically, the birthday boy got what he wanted at Landmark. Lumayo pa kami di ba?!

For dinner, he had no clue that I had requested his entire family to go to Manila for a surprise birthday dinner. This little bugoy greeted him for dinner at Yakimix in Greenbelt.

Family picture.

Birthday cake from his Cristobal Family.


Happy birthday mahal. I'll skip the cheesy part because this post should be about you, and you're anything but cheesy. Instead, I'll try to remember my take-aways from your birthday, because squeezing a learning from the passage of time pretty much sums up your idea of birthdays: 

1. No matter how difficult it is to forego of anything grand for a big day such as your 30th birthday, it will always have to be about what you want. And I have to do just that, even if it is opposed to what I personally want.

2. A ruined plan or surprise doesn't take the joy of out you because you're not a fan of it anyway. It takes the joy out of me. And I don't have to raise hell when that happens.

3. I still consider us the same carefree kids wandering about the streets of Gastambide some 8 years ago, only now with children to raise and bills to pay. And I owe the attitude of keeping it light and easy to you - the one person who knows how to make fun out of the biggest trials and responsibilities. 

4. My professor was right when he said that the worst person one can marry is a philosopher. But I'll take the worst at any given day, if it means spending a lifetime with you. Well, there goes the cheesy part. I just can't help it!

Happy 30th birthday mahal! 

Monday, July 8, 2013

Independence Day

On June 12, 2013, aside from staying at home because it was a holiday, something enormous happened to us.

We celebrated freedom from not knowing that the delay of my monthly visitor was not just a mere physiological mess-up.

We're expecting again!

Once more, my husband and I opened up ourselves to a life-long vulnerability - to pain, to worries, to financial woes, to emotional wreckage.

But likewise, and this is more important, we opened up ourselves to loving unconditionally, with only the hope of being loved the same way in return. And that is probably one of the best things in this world. So we both think it's all okay. And we can't wait for the vulnerability to begin..

Sunday, May 19, 2013

Are you raising a mama's boy?

On election day, while the rest of you were probably feeling all nationalistic as your index finger gets inked, I was stationed at a far-flung area in Bulacan to render legal support for a candidate. I am not proud of what I did, having forgone my opportunity to make a change for this country. But as Nicole Kidman sang it in Moulin Rouge, "A girl has got to eat." (And so is her family!)
So in between attending to election protests, I was reading "For One More Day" by Mitch Albom, to ease my boredom and sadness (from sorely missing Zohan, who was left with the in-laws in the meantime).   
Halfway into the book and I came across this line: 
"You can be a mama's boy or a daddy's boy, but you can't be both. So you cling to the one you think you might lose." 
And the inspiration for this blogpost was born.
I'd like to think Zohan is a mama's boy. First thing he says when he opens his eyes is "Nana". When his Tatay comes home from work without me, Zohan will open the door and look for me. As soon as he realizes I'm not hiding somewhere, he's most likely to cry. And he clings to me like a baby kangaroo, especially since he's nursing from me.
I tagged him along to my very first shooting for a TV appearance!
But he's every inch a daddy's boy, too. He plays games enthusiastically with his Tatay and he erupts into contagious laughter every time. He prefers to do the silly things with his father, mimics the latter's every move, insists on wearing his Tatay's big office shoes. When he cries, no one cracks him up more than his father. At this early, Zohan is showing signs of looking up to his father, which is not bad. Not bad at all.
When Zohan was much younger
So you see, there's no certainty whether Zohan is a mama's boy or a daddy's boy. To be totally honest, I'd prefer him to be both, if that is even possible.
But being a daddy's boy does not create as much ripples as being a mama's boy. Perhaps because as a boy, his natural tendency is to cling to his mother (as it is with little girls who usually cling to their fathers). Opposites do attract.
This is probably the reason why if a man turns out to be good, the credit goes to the mother. As they say, if your man treats you like a princess, it is proof that he has been raised by a queen. (Pardon the cliche.) I take it to mean that men who have so much love and respect for their mothers will most likely turn out to be responsible and loving husbands and fathers as well. That makes it mama's boys the species to look for, right?
But some species of mama's boys aren't exactly the creme dela creme. I can bet my ass there's also those who aren't capable of standing up for their own family, heck even for their own selves, unless the beloved mama grants her elusive approval. This makes mama's boys look weak and coward. 

So where is Zohan headed to? I guess I go back to my theory that as parents, we can only love them and guide them, but in the end, they'll grow up to be their own person. We can only try to do the best we can. At the end of the day, our kid is bound to leave us to have a life of his own. And whether he became a mama's boy or a daddy's boy wouldn't matter as much; what's more important is whether he can look back at the way he was raised with fondness, gratitude and pride.
Taken during his first birthday party
For now, the better of me is convinced I should tuck away my bribes in the meantime.

Saturday, April 6, 2013

Mr. Pogi

If there's one thing that I try as much as I can to be good at in this whole parenting duties,  it's my adamant attempt to equip my son with simplicity and humility.

But at this day and age, imposing simplicity and humility is perhaps as difficult as parenting itself. It's a good thing that Zohan's Tatay knows the virtues by heart, so much so that he takes charge whenever I'm manifesting signs of going astray.

In our attempt not to raise an egoistic son, we have been trying several methods of discipline which may probably be so out of the box for some. In the book Discipline without Shouting or Spanking by Jerry Wyckoff and Barbara Unell, one of my go-to guides, they stressed the importance of separating a child from his behavior. 

For instance, the book says,

"Don't praise your child, but rather praise what she is doing. For example, instead of saying "You're a good girl for sitting quietly," say, "It's good you're sitting quietly." Focus your praise or disapproval on your child's behavior, because that is what you're interested in managing."

It echoed our preferred parenting philosophy in the sense that we will not be giving our son the mistaken idea that his personality is a cut above the rest, without however, depriving him of praises when he deserves it.

Everything is going along well and good, until my brother-in-law taught Zohan this cute antic that goes, Sinong pogi?

As you can probably guess, the question Sinong pogi? is being repeatedly asked in our house now, just to be graced with this cute response. That includes me, the behavorial-parent-police. 

So I guess this is what they say about loosing a certain level of control on things the minute one becomes a parent. But what the heck, I guess I just have to pray, and show our kid good examples of more substantial behaviors. For now, a little praise of how cute he really is probably won't hurt. Don't you think?

Wednesday, March 6, 2013


"Hindi ko maipapangakong hindi ako titingin sa ibang babae.. Pero lagi mong tatandaan na ikaw lang ang iniisip ko.. kaya kung makita mo kong may kasamang ibang babae, wag kang magagalit..dahil para sa kin, ikaw un.. At kung hindi mo pa din maintindihan, isisi na lang natin lahat sa peer pressure!" -                              
                                  Kristan to Khaye, March 7, 2011

It's been two years since my husband announced the above informal vow during the reception of our civil wedding. And I must say, he must have thought so highly of me because I've caught him very frequently looking at girls who, in all honesty, are waaay out of my league. In that sense, he is very romantic.

My husband never gives me flowers. Not even once. And perhaps he never will. But he always makes me laugh. A lot. The other day at breakfast, I was restless and tensed about something work-related, when I saw him step out of the bedroom in boxer shorts.

Me: bat lumabas ka nakaganyan??
H: because I'm free.. And sixeh..
In short.. I'm ... FRIXEH!

Syet dba. Ganyan ang eksena sa bahay namin sa umaga.

Yesterday, (a day before our anniversary) he messaged me through BBM:

H: Mahal may pagkain ka ba?
Me: wala, bibili sa canteen later sa lunch. (But in my head, I was all OMG OMG OMG! Himala! Papadeliveran nya ba ako ng food? Nandyan ba sya sa labas with food and all? May surprise lunch reservation sa hotel? Eto naaa!! Dininig ng Dyos ang aking panalangin!)

H: Tanungin mo ako bakit..
Me: Bakit?
H: kasi..gusto ko may pagkain ka.

(Cue in political ad)


Yes, he's corny like that. Too corny in fact that he makes me laugh against my better judgment. But when you're with a guy who makes you feel you can just laugh through anything, you will be comforted that at the end of the day, everything's gonna be alright. And that's exactly how he makes me feel, the corny jokes notwithstanding.

My husband never takes me out to romantic dinners. He shivers at the thought of romance, so if we're eating out, which is not often, we are just "eating out". Nothing really fancy, oftentimes hurried and anxious to go home to our little boy. But he takes me out of the rut- to see the world in a different light. To be kinder, reserved in judgment, and more loving. I tell you, these three adjectives, when applied on a daily basis, consumes a lot of energy. That's why I don't do it a lot! Haha. But my husband walks me through it - every single chance of every single day. So yes, we may not have candle-lit dinners, but he enlightens my soul in more ways than I can ever imagine. And life has been better for me since.

My husband never "babied" me. I am not a pampered wife who gets passes at salons or spa or treated with delicate tenderness that has to be "sundo't hatid" all the time. But he encourages me to be better - practices with me the night of my big hearings (and he plays the adversary counsel so damn good I pray to God I never encounter him in court!), tells me which dress looks more flattering in me while we are inside a girl's dressing room, lets me have the last tiny piece of chicken at mealtimes, patiently waits for me during my dental appointments, and lets me go out at my heart's content. He indulges me with freedom and independence, because he knows I am not one to be caged. I am not really pampered, but that is not to say I am not loved.

My husband is not a big fan of surprises. He despises the idea of "kilig" because for him, love is a decision, not an emotion. And I will be a hypocrite if I tell you I buy that crap of his all the time. Oftentimes, it leaves me wanting to jump at my computer and start typing Cristobal vs. Cristobal, For declaration of nullity of marriage. (Of course I'm kidding. Or not. Well, you'll never really know.) He's not a man of praises, he hardly tells me when I look beautiful or sexy. But he is a man of gratefulness - never forgets to thank me for my efforts at keeping the house, or fixing his things, or for the sheer decision to stay with him. 

The other day, I was telling him, "Mahal, thank you ha.."
H: bakit?
Me: because hindi issue sa yo kung tumataba ako or ang dami dami ko ng pimples. (Ah, girls!)
H: Oo naman. Ganun talaga..
Me: Bakit?
H: I didn't marry your body. I married your soul..

Those were his exact words. I was stunned. And right there and then, I wanted to leave his sight and delete my draft-petition for annulment. #chos

I know that some relationships, wittingly or unwittingly, has become too commercialized these days. And I commiserate with the girls who don't have flowers to post or places to check in to. I totally get you when you look at your friend's post with 50 percent happiness, and 50 percent envy. But I commiserate more with the husbands (or boyfriends) who are thought of having loved "less" just because they don't have the personality (or the money) to join the bandwagon.

Love is not only about big deeds announced everywhere - but it is also about the everyday, small stuff that happens in the confines of your private relationship. It is the silly, the mundane, the love-hate, the annoyance, and the commitment despite of it all. Love is not expecting and demanding to be treated a certain way- but finding the gratefulness to appreciate how you are treated. Love is demanding less - and giving more.

Love is two years of laughter, friendship and spiritual growth. Thank you Kristan, for giving me all of that. I look forward to more!

Wednesday, November 21, 2012


My husband is definitely a fan of basketball. Given a choice, he would want to play in a professional league, but fate had other plans. Inasmuch as I love him to the nines, honesty has always been the rule and ego-pampering the exception in our relationship. Although he can play ball (even better when he was younger and uhm, well, thinner), he lacks the much-needed height to rule the game.

The “vertical challenge” notwithstanding, he loves the sport so much as a player and spectator. In fact, he is an avid watcher of games on TV to my ultimate detriment and annoyance. (Seriously, where is the fun in watching full-grown men fighting over a ball? Can somebody just give each player a ball and let them shoot as much as they want? How can there be so many conferences/seasons when the activity is all the same? What difference does it all make?)

But being the understanding wife that I am, I indulge my husband by sitting down with him in front of the tv during the last game of the PBA every conference. You can even hear me frantically yelling, “YOOOONN!!! CAGUIOA!!!!!!” Yeah, what a pretentious little bitch I am, because if you look at me close enough, you will notice that the hint of happiness in my eyes flows from knowing that the conference has just ended and I will hear not another buzzer again. 

But the happiness is doomed to end as I soon learn that with the end of PBA, the NBA season begins.

More than a year into the marriage and this has been practically a vicious cycle in our house. For the life of me, I just cannot learn how to appreciate basketball. I’d much rather switch the channel of the TV to Bloomberg and strain my eyes on the graphic movements of the stock market.

Then, Zohan happened to me – and he didn’t spare my feelings towards basketball from the things he planned on changing in my life.

He is actually nagtatampo in this photo. Pardon our slippers.
Looking at those images, you can already tell what he is into. But to give you a clearer picture of how much he adores basketball, try switching the channel to Basketball TV and boom! He will dance his head and motion his hands in the act of shooting a ball. How cute is that?

 Literally, basketball.

He couldn’t leave the darn ball even in his sleep.

Of course, this is no assurance that he will end up to be a good basketball player. (But I really wouldn’t mind if he does!) But with the way things are going, it seems that I will be the only bummer in the house who doesn’t get giddy every time PBA or NBA is showing. Do I want that? I don’t think so. So yes, sorry I have to go. Ginebra is on tonight.

Thursday, October 11, 2012

Zohan sets his foot in UP

..and it was a hopeful premonition of sorts for me.

I came from a different school but I had always been fascinated with UP education and its products. To this day, I had not met a single person who came from UP whom I didn't like. Ok, that sounded non-sequitur, but I just happened to associate UP people with intellect, humility and simplicity. My husband and most of my closest friends were UP grads. They were all incredibly funny and sensible, with a good dose of humility.

The point of that rather verbose introduction was my dream for Zohan to be UP educated. So it was quite momentous for me that Zohan set his foot in UP for the first time.

Last Saturday, the husband had a work meeting in UP and we decided to tag along. Husband dropped us off at the Acad Oval, so the minute Zohan alighted from the car, he was greeted by the luscious greeneries and a breath of fresh air. Initially, he was quite apprehensive to roam around and explore his surroundings – perhaps a little overwhelmed by the enormous shift to a sprawling yard from his usual four-cornered space.
After a while, he became comfortable and started pulling me towards the kids who were playing soccer from afar. 
It was a humid mid-day, and with the scorching heat of the sun and with my growling tummy, there was no way I was caving in to the whim of that little mister. Politely, he settled into picking up trash, dried roots, leaves and God-knows-what from the ground.
 If he were a little older to understand and appreciate, I would have invited his attention to the Educ Building where his Tatay and I hung out on our first date. Too bad I forgot to take a photo of the building, for added drama to this story-telling. (If you have a photo of it, please, can I borrow?)  

On that first date, we spent the entire night sitting by those steps and talking about everything that came to our love-drunken minds. Everytime I look back at those times, I couldn't help but think of the movie Before Sunrise and Before Sunset – which I only came to know and watch recently. We were similar to those kids, we were drawn to each other by conversation from the intellectual to the mundane. The following day, after our first serious conversation, we weren't able to look at each other the way we did when we were just friends. And that started the happy chapters of our lives. Anyway, that's a story apt for a separate post.

After walking in the Sunken Garden for a while, Zohan grew tired, and his companions hungry. We decided to have lunch at Beachhouse, which I tried for the first time. It was not as cheap as I had expected, but they served one of the tastiest boneless bangus and barbeques, so I was sold out.

While waiting for our orders, at Beach House

After lunch, and in a true going-out-for-a-picnic fashion, we loitered under the shades of the gigantic trees by the Acad Oval while eating taho. Zohan liked it, which was a surprise, because he had refused to eat one before. Or, was he aware he was in UP?

I didn't notice how sweaty he was until I uploaded this photo. Poor boy!


It didn't took long before his Tatay finished with his meeting and we had to go. I left with a hopeful heart that Zohan would call the place his second home in the years to come. 
Well, he seemed too close for comfort, because he left a stinky smell and a small non-biodegradable trash just before he left - if you know what I mean ;)

Sunday, September 30, 2012

Piqueing his interest in books

I want Zohan to be a voracious reader - whether through e-reading or the old-school flipping the pages kind. Just as long as he reads, I really won't mind. I firmly believe that one can get a lot from reading - he can be transported to places without having to spend a dime (well, except for the price of the book); his vocabulary will widen; his horizon will expand; and his knowledge will be vast. He can even be an author, a poet, a writer/journalist, or an editor. Endless possibilities! He can be like his father who breathes reading.

Early on, we try to introduce him to books. The first step is pretty boring because seriously, how will you expect a baby to take interest in books, except perhaps to tear the pages or nibble on them? His first book is the cloth type, with a funny story here

As he grows older, I start hoarding the board types, which are sturdy enough to withstand being thrown about. 

His Tatay usually comes home with Jumbo Books. You know the types offered by sellers who occasionally drop by government offices - alongside with merienda and Avon lipsticks and tocinos? Yeah, that one. 

I think our perseverance paid off because now, the moment Zohan wakes up in the morning he usually sits on the bed and point to his stack of books. Before bed time, he will point to them again and request either me or his Tatay to read to him. At his age, reading means pointing our fingers to the printed characters on each page. He knows how to flip the pages, and when he's not feeling lazy, he points to the characters himself.

Interestingly, at this age, he has already established his preferences. His favorite book is this - 8000 Awesome Things You Should Know. 

Tatay decides to get this in anticipation of the time when Zohan will be in pre-school and hopefully, he will be interested enough to learn about random facts. Well, curiousity comes early.

It doesn't have to cost a fortune to stimulate a child's interest in books. As I said, his Tatay buys from the walk-in offers from his office, which is usually not more than a hundred per piece. As for me, I buy from BookSale whenever I chance upon one. 

The other day, Tatay and I went on a dinnerdate and instead of spending for an overpriced coffee, we ended up spending almost a thousand on pre-loved books sold at the ground floor of Glorietta. (Not really equivalent to the price of a coffee for two, but I don't mind.) The name of the store is "Books and Mags". Their supplies are a little expensive compared to BookSale, but they sure look almost brand new. So far, that's been the most that we have splurged on Zohan's books.

When he's a little older, I vow to scrimp on toys and clothes, but never on books. In fact, up to this day, I don't remember buying a single toy for him - only books. I look forward to the day when he'll ask for a "bookstore date", when he can pick all the book he wants. 

In one of the blogs that I'm reading, I take particular interest in Mothering Earthlings' rules. She only buys toys on birthdays, Christmas and extra special occasions, but she buys as many books as wanted by her earthlings. I can be pretty envious of ingenuous motherhood rules, so I think I'm imposing that one, too.

I purposely limited the title to just "piqueing" Zohan's interest in books because, really, who's to tell? 

He can be surrounded with books now as he sleeps, but when he grows up, he might turn out to be just like me who always ends up reading blogs than actual books. I gave him the first step, it will be up to him to persevere.

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