Plaque Monster!

"Can you do me a favor, Papa?" Gabi asked as I picked him up from school this lunch time.

"Sure, Gabi," I said, already expecting a request to pass by his favorite fast food chain for chicken, fries and rice.

"Can you please stop drinking Coke Light?" was his surprising reply. "And I will stop eating candy."

"Why?" I asked, now truly curious.

"Because the Plaque Monster will go inside our mouth and make a hole in our teeth!"

Turns out that a lady dentist visited the school today to talk about proper oral hygiene. She was invited as part of the class' month long series on people in the community.

And obviously, her scare tactics worked.

"Please, Papa, I don't want that to happen to us," Gabi pleaded some more, the fear in his voice seemed real.

"Yes, anak, we will try," was my attempt to reassure him. "we will really try."

Gabi then handed me a small package. Inside was a toothbrush, two sachets of toothpaste and the flyer and calling card of the lady dentist.

Now that's what I call direct marketing.

Better Late Than Never

Gabi and I got to school early today. And with good reason.

Yesterday we received Gabi's first monthly school report. It began well.

Gabi has proven to be very confident since day one. He verbally tells everyone that he already knows how something is done and attempts to demonstrate it most of the time. Like when teacher writes her morning message on the board, he tries to read it with much confidence and succeeds most of the time.


Then, out of nowhere, the reprimand came.

Since we started school, Gabi has shown how much he missed playing with his friends in school. Sometimes, even when it's discussion time already, he still tends to tell stories to them, which hinders him from concentrating on the discussion. It might help if he would arrive on time and have Free Play (8:30-8:50), when he gets to have all the time to socialize with everyone and play with the materials in the classroom and enjoy playing with everything else.

Oops. Yikes. Sorry, Gabi. Papa's fault.

I know that you are almost always ready to leave for school at 8:15. It's Papa who dilly dallies in the morning.

Promise. Papa will work on his tardiness.

Having a Ball

Gymboree in Trinoma is Bela's favorite place.

She's there at least once a week and enjoys gym play immensely. She crawls and runs around the matted play area, gets on all the ramps and tunnels and interacts with all the other kids whether her age or older.

The people behind Gymboree believe that a child's development is most important during the first three years since this is when the brain is most active, growing to up to 80% of its adult size. That's why they offer all sorts of classes and activities that are designed to help "stretch the child's rapidly developing mind and body."

I'm no rabid follower of thisor any other child development philosophy. If going to Gymboree helps her development, then well and good. What's important now is that Bela is enjoying.

Yesterday, Patty was with Bela for her first formal class: Gymboree Play and Learn 3. In this class parents learn how to understand the way their child interacts with them and the world.

Bela was not too attentive in her first class. She would listen to the teacher for a while and then wander off to her favorite slide or monkey bars. We let her be. No sense forcing her to sit and listen. She might just end up losing interest in what to her now is fun.

She's having a ball right now and we don't want to spoil it.

One small step for Bela ...

Bela took her first steps today. A good three weeks before her first birthday.

And on the 40th anniversary of the first lunar walk too. To the very day.

Maybe Bela will be the first woman to set foot on the moon. I'd like that.

But for now, there's a new world outside our four walls for her to explore. On her own two feet.

Enjoy the walk, my love. Papa, Mommy and Kuya are right behind you.

What you don't know won't hurt you

Especially when knowing won't really make a difference.

About a month ago I went home from work feverish and weak. I took a quick shower to cool down. Had orange juice and a banana and then told Patty I'd just take a short nap.

By midnight I already had a sore throat. And the sniffles. And a bum stomach.

I was sick. Clearly. With all the tell tale signs of the flu.

The obvious question came to mind: Was this the dreaded A H1N1 flu?

Patty was understandably concerned. Media after all constantly told us that the disease was more dangerous for those with pre-existing conditions like diabetes (me), the young (Gabi and Bela) and the old (not me).

So she quickly separated me from Gabi and Bela. She gave me paracetamol for my fever, lozenges for my sore throat and lots of orange juice for my bum stomach.

First thing the following day, she brought me to the hospital emergency room.

The guard was obviously given strict instructions on how to deal with coughing and sneezing incoming patients. He didn't allow us entry and instead curtly pointed us to a solitary desk under a makeshift tent situated nearer the driveway and farther away from the hospital entrance.

Quickly donning a surgical mask, the male nurse greeted us with a blank stare, motioning for me to sit on the lone plastic chair conveniently placed a good foot away from the desk.

A barrage of questions ensued.

"Cold and cough?"

Yes.

Body aches?"

Yes.

"Sore throat?"

Yes.

"Diarrhea?"

No.

"Vomiting?"

No.

Then my temperature was taken.

"No fever," the verdict was read by the obviously relieved nurse who then scribbled his findings on a piece of paper which he then handed to me.

We were told to go to the Out Patient Department. We were now worthy enough to enter the hospital.

And so there in the OPD we had myself listed and waited for my turn. Which came almost an hour later. If I wasn't sick earlier I certainly was now after being made to toil in that hot, crowded, muggy waiting room.

The young doctor asked the same questions.

"Cold and cough?"

Yes.

Body aches?"

Yes.

"Sore throat?"

Yes.

"Diarrhea?"

No.

"Vomiting?"

No.

Again my temperature was taken. Again, no fever.

The doctor took out his prescription pad and jotted down "paracetamol" for my aches, "lozenges" for my sore throat and "lots of liquids" to prevent dehydration.

"That's it?" Patty asked.

"How do we know it's not swine flu?" she could not restrain herself anymore.

"Oh you'd have to go to RITM or East Ave to find out. We don't have the test facilities here."

Great. We spent more than an hour in the hospital only to be prescribed what we were already doing: paracetamol, lozenges and lots of liquids.

And no way was I going to waste another hour or so in another hospital just to be tested for a disease that was easily treatable. What good would that do? I already felt discriminated against just because I had flu symptoms. How more would I be treated if the test indeed confirmed I had swine flu?

Patty was already doing everything right. My flu was being treated. The kids were kept away and were given larger doses of vitamins.

We were not being irresponsible.

There was no more need to know.

Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.

Bela Speaks!

So much for "papa" or "mommy".

My 10 month old daughter's first word was "dog."

Take a bow, my love. Bow wow.