Moody One

I hurriedly woke Bela up from her nap when I got home at lunch time. I had to get her ready for school and it was already getting late.

Wrong move. She turned cranky. And difficult. 

She wanted to wear her red uniform instead of the prescribed blue. So I made her wear one on top of the other. 

Then she insisted on wearing her kuya's big shoes even if she ended up stumbling all the way to school. 

But at least she was smiling now, giggling as she entered her classroom with her funny clown outfit. 

Hair's Another One

Bela insisted on wearing this to school this afternoon. Apparently she misplaced her hair clips.

And so she did. And now we can't hang our laundry to dry.

Best in Costume

"So which costume did you like best?" I asked my six year old son when he got home from school.

To commemorate the 150th birthday of our national hero, Jose Rizal, Gabi and the entire elementary school were asked to come dressed in clothes typical of late 19th century Philippine society.

Gabi came in a white camisa, khaki pants and slippers: our take of the clothing common folk wore at that time.

Others came in plain white shirts with red bandanas round their necks and straw hats on their heads: the gear of the revolutionary Katipuneros.

Some even came in barong tagalogs and Maria Clara gowns, traditional formal attires.

"My favorite was the boy who wore black pants, jacket, hat and shoes and white shirt and socks." Gabi answered. "He looked so cool!"

"And who was that boy supposed to be dressed like?" I asked, trying to test my son's knowledge of Jose Rizal.

"Duh, Papa!" Gabi stared at his seemingly clueless father. "Michael Jackson, of course!"

Wrong hero, my son.

Like Father, Like Son

While watching a replay of Game 6 of the NBA Finals, Gabi suddenly smiled.

"Do you know who the leader of the Heat is, Papa?"

"Who, Gabi?" I asked, knowing that there was a joke on its way.

"The guy with number 1 on his shirt, Chris Bosh," he answered. "And do you know why?"

"Because he's number one!" I said, confident of getting the joke.

"Sorry, wrong! He's the leader cause he's the boss! Hahaha. Get it, Papa? The boss!"

"Hahaha! That's funny, my son." And we both laughed our hearts out.

What I really found funny though was that apparently, my son inherited my kind of humor!

Hmm, I wonder though if my wife will also find this whole episode amusing.

Bela Redeemed

Bela wanted me to post this picture of her. This time with her hair fixed. And without any intervention from brother Gabi.

Much better, don't you think?

Experimenting on Bela

Gabi went to the parlor the other day and discovered the wonders of molding clay. He was amazed at how it could shape hair.

He asked his mom to buy him some clay and then went home to experiment on his sister.

His Team, His Choice

"Sorry, Papa," my 6 year old son Gabi announced."My team is now Miami Heat!"

And just like that this father's once all powerful influence over his son's preferences was gone. Not too long ago, Gabi would always rely on me when made to make decisions. My opinion clearly mattered in choosing what color of shirt to wear or what team to cheer for.

"You're favorite color is blue, right?" he'd ask and then promptly don a  blue shirt.

"I'm cheering for Spain too!" he always said when we watched the last World Cup.

And I was always right. He really looked good in blue and Spain went on to win the World Cup.

But alas, my omniscience was finally put to the test during this NBA playoffs.

I have always been a Celtics fan. From the days of the original big three, Bird, McHale and Parish. So naturally, when Gabi asked me early this year which team he should support, there was no other choice but Boston. Until they lost in the 2nd round.

"Boston lost. Who do we support now?" Gabi asked.

"The Bulls," I said confidently. "They had the most wins this year and they also have the best player."

And they lost promptly in 6 games. And I lost my credibility as a basketball expert.

Yesterday, while Gabi was shopping for school stuff with his mother, he called me and asked if he could buy a basketball jersey. And he showed me the Lebron James jersey later in the afternoon.

"See, Papa. I've made my choice," he proudly said. "Maybe you too should cheer for them!"

I will. For my son's sake.