Pinas To Sydney

 Last Sunday was Pentecost. I took home one word with me, with a hope to nurture it as I go on.  

Fortitude

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Why I Like Throwing Things Away

We had a council clean pick up two months ago where we have probably thrown a roomful  of stuff.

I was trying to save whatever I can from going to the rubbish all in the name of reducing our carbon footprint. We pushed out a couple of wardrobes and I kept looking through the window to see if passing neighbours would find it useful and get it. I was happy to note that another family will be enjoying some of the things we did not need. 

We decided to change all the beds and mattresses as well. Vinnies picked up three old bed frames and a cheeky volunteer asked if I was donating the car as well (which I had to move out of the garage). 

Mr. LBC had dropped off two boxes for packages I intend to send home to the Philippines. Tita Vin had put away some (a lot) of clothes she would have brought back home had her baggage allowance let her.

But even with the recent de-cluttering, Rya had been whining about Sancho’s toys which I swear were self-propagating. I had to clean box after box after box. I’ll put away one box only to find the other one needs a new box because it was getting too full it couldn’t fit.  How did that happen?

I’ve had little triumphs since the clean up though. The three new, bigger beds from Ikea all had underbed storage. One of my pet peeves is putting things away, all wrapped up in plastic and bundled on top of each other. All you see is an pseudo organized space where each package is a mystery. I’ve challenged myself in remembering things in random bags - I never can. The underbed storage were big and did a great job reducing clutter. 

I’ve seen people who find it hard to part with stuff usually just pack things  they don’t really need in plastic bags, place it in a corner with an unwavering conviction that someday it will be useful and leave it to gather dust. Until the next clean up - or plastic re-wrap. 

Yesterday, As I sorted out through clothes and toys I felt sad that we had three big boxes of used toys aside from the ones that were good enough to pass on to other kids. We did not need this much plastic in our lives. I did not need to sort through the little mountain of useless rubbish which served nothing to feed my children’s minds. While I agree that toys are an essential part of a child’s life - too much commercialism plays with our brains and leads us to believe that we need them. Or else - we’re not good enough? 

Rommel and I have entirely different perspectives in this matter.

He thinks kids should enjoy their childhood and  should be rewarded materially. I think kids should learn the skill of recognizing want from need, content from greed.

In my heart, I am grateful that the kids can go to Dad and ask for things I would otherwise say no to. But I am also proud that my kids can go to a store, want something they could not get - and still be fine. 

We are not immune from the pressures of materialism. I’ve always thought that Rommel buys stuff  for the kids out of guilt once they convince him it will make them truly happy. “They’re only kids once, let them buy whatever they want”. 

It’s sweet if you think about it. They’ll grow up to remember Dad is the easier target. The sucker, in meaner terms. Big, masculine Dad wrapped around their not-so-tiny fingers. It breeds love. 

I am not the least threatened that I am the more practical parent (Oh no, I’m not). The one who’ll always say no and be three steps ahead thinking if we’ve got a place to store things in. The one who’ll bask in glory seeing them say no to things that they ‘figure they won’t really need anyway’. Not the usual things that make other parents glow - but hey, I’ve got it all figured.

When I become successful in teaching my kids life skills in not wanting everything other people have - They will have a simpler life. They will have a cleaner home. It will save them from unreasonable envy, greed and sadness. They will find it easier to share things they don’t need -while it’s still useful and working. They will live within their means. 

I teach as I try to learn this hard rule myself. 

In the end, my only one true wish is that they live a happy life.

That’s all that really matters.  

AI

Babaeng Nakaupo sa Bangko (Acrylic on Paper)

Teaching ART (Don’t Call Me Mum)

I was bent on sleeping in this mother’s day. Since I’ve  finally  grown up, I have been such a stickler for waking up early to drink my cup of coffee, check my emails while tidying up whatever needs to be cleaned in the first hour.

My sister reminded me of how I loved sleeping when I was younger. I did not have a plan. I just wanted to sleep, slack and be happy. Even I am amazed how I turned out to be such a bore. 

I tried to keep my eyes closed for as long as I can. But that nasty little voice just wouldn’t let up. 

“Mum, I’m bored! You promised we’ll use the canvas!”

It’s going to be a futile fight. Sancho and I got up, prepared the stuff for painting (mostly things to keep the house safe from their paints).

Max woke up to give me her presents - things they made in school. After that, we buckled down to business. 

Their first canvas art.

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Max was unsure what she wanted to do. This girl says “No” too.  much. I decided I was not going to teach art and be Mum at the same time. This was the best thing I said today. Basic colors, do your background. And then decide what you want for your subject later.

Sancho was more definite with his idea. He loves drawing buildings. I told him to do a sketch in pencil and then remember the image if he paints over it. He started to work without much fuss and deliberation (THANKFUL). Blues, purples and white. 

Max did not want the border effect at first (like everything else I say). But it makes for such a professional finish - I’m glad she did it. She could not believe she made this. She worked really hard. (I’m proud of myself Mum)

I suggested she use the toothbrush technique for the  fleck effect ( I haven’t used this myself). It worked out pretty well. 

Signed.

Sancho woke up his Dad to show his painting. I told Rommel he’d be surprised. He said he won’t. He’s confident of their talents (*cough* stagefather *cough*). Guess who’s right?

Sancho used bite sized, I mean, “window” sized sponge pieces to stamp in his windows. He had fun doing that. I added the bird detail - five bird - that’s us! *tacky mum*

Signed. I love his penmanship, btw :) 

Life is good. Maybe, I’ll try harder to reclaim my bohemian life once in a while. It wouldn’t hurt.

To all Mums who wake up early everyday and sleeping in is but a dream, Happy Mother’s Day! We rock!

The Yellow Painting

The yellow painting for Max did not turn out as we have planned. 

I would love to say that my hands have a mind of their own. In reality, I am limited by my painting skills and confused by what I really want, as in most things. 

It should have been a whimsical sun. Inspired by no less than the great van Gogh - which was not going to happen. 

I ended up with this. 

Two girls in a field. One gazing away. One reading a book. 

That may be a scene in my heart. My girls on a field. Their love for books. Me on a field, looking away. Memories of the Makiling. A yellow sky. 

Anyway, as I have sort of drifted away from what was to be twin art paintings for my girls’ bedroom - I promised Max I will attempt to paint her whimsical sun again.

As for now, happiness is a mini art nook in our home. 

Acrylic on Canvas

Truth be told, the reason why I began calling myself artistic started when I realized I was that bad at math. It explained things in one sentence. 

While I maintain, up to this day, that I am artistic - I have never been a true artist. 

I attended a couple of art sessions, drew the backdrop of our Grade School graduation stage, was in the Art class in my senior year. I loved art. But I was not an artist. 

I am much too rash to be one. I never finished a project that I really worked hard at. Watercolors remain to be a mystery. I scribbled on scratch papers during class hours - meant to be crumpled and thrown on my way out of the classroom. I did not make legitimate, clean art.  I could not even draw a straight line. 

Recently though, I started to play with acrylics on canvas. I’ve finally found my art’s alibi.

If art is truly an expression of oneself. My art is.

It is brash, ordinary, random.

I buy my canvas on a whim on the way home from dropping the kids to school, together with the other dollar shop loot.

I squeeze my acrylics without respect, almost brutally.

I demand it to explain itself to me - not waiting to know exactly how people use it.

I mix colors, all quirky and artsy -only to slop a single hue to cover everything up again because that’s just how I like it. 

I finish my work the same day that I start it. No laborious effort on intricate details. I am not wired that way.

After all these years,  I look at my art without an excuse.

And I’m beginning to like it. 

My first canvas painting. Squeezed the acrylic tubes to death. 

Tried the multi-media thing. Foil, twine and gold spray. Worked like a maniac on steroids. That bad. 

Made the figure. Three kids worked together to finish this finger painting. Thinking of framing for sentimental reasons.

Max: Mum, is that me or Sancho? Sancho: Mum, please let it be me. Max: But she’s got a ponytail!

Painted black borders which used to be gold. Then stained black and gold. And then almost black. Turned out to be autumn. Chinese autumn. Who would’ve known? 

Found out the border effect worked quite well. I like this.

Rya and Max requested a painting each for their bedroom. Eckersley’s had a 40% sale off canvas until today. Made it to the last day. 

Rya’s purple painting. 

Next up, Max’s yellow. 

Max: Mum, tomorrow you go to Ate’s school for the laptop handout. Next day is Valentine’s Day. Following day - the carrot cake expires. 

Rya: Max! Stop picking your food! How can you be picky and eat a lot at the same time?!!

Sancho: Are you making fried eggs Mama? I love you soooo much!

How do you spell mean?   ( Has already written  MAX IS.) 

All in a day.