cute sunday
Sunday is my lazy day. (Well, comparatively, at least.) I would sleep in all day if not for CSI reruns (which I am bound to miss during the week because of class) and mass. But yesterday wasn’t as quiet. I woke up to ringing in my ear. My niece called to thank me for her gift and just chat up while her son was kicking up a storm in the background. R’s a sweetheart once you get over his Taz routine. Predictably, he demanded to talk to “Ninang A”. I can’t help but marvel on how much he does not sound like a three-year-old. “O, okay ka na? Ha? O…” then it all peters into gibberish. Gruff little tyke. I hope he doesn’t wreck his new bike too soon. He broke the one I got him in a day. =0
Later that afternoon, I was in for a bigger surprise. There was an imperious knocking on my door, even before the doorbell rang. The moment I opened it, this round little tan girl, C, bursts into my living room, demanding explanations “Hello, Tita A. Why don’t you visit us anymore for a long, long time? We missed you very much.” With another little girl in tow, E, on the fairer, quieter side. There went my relaxing massage. Small mercy my nails were nearly done by then.
So I got “I love you” art to stick on my office walls. They got pouches, stuffed toys, a wand, framed kiddie art, chocolates and a chockfull of pastillas and polvoron. We surfed, played Encarta games and fiddled with my rare Licca dolls for a bit. (The changing hair color never fails to amaze children). At six and five, my nieces are very loquacious. They’re adorable little things armed with uncannily sharp wit. I was at a loss how to explain (very gently) that they wouldn’t be seeing my ex anytime soon. >_<
Then there was the flower girl issue. E’s mom pretty much determined she was born to be my flower girl. Which E never forgets to remind me. C morosely told me that “I have never been a flower girl.” True enough, her mother had kept her from being one even during her own paternal grandparents’ Golden Anniversary. (A form of child abuse, in my opinion.) So she has that hang-up. Which she handily decided I should resolve. Soonest. I’ll let her have a talk with my boyfriend. ^_~
Later that afternoon, I was in for a bigger surprise. There was an imperious knocking on my door, even before the doorbell rang. The moment I opened it, this round little tan girl, C, bursts into my living room, demanding explanations “Hello, Tita A. Why don’t you visit us anymore for a long, long time? We missed you very much.” With another little girl in tow, E, on the fairer, quieter side. There went my relaxing massage. Small mercy my nails were nearly done by then.
So I got “I love you” art to stick on my office walls. They got pouches, stuffed toys, a wand, framed kiddie art, chocolates and a chockfull of pastillas and polvoron. We surfed, played Encarta games and fiddled with my rare Licca dolls for a bit. (The changing hair color never fails to amaze children). At six and five, my nieces are very loquacious. They’re adorable little things armed with uncannily sharp wit. I was at a loss how to explain (very gently) that they wouldn’t be seeing my ex anytime soon. >_<
Then there was the flower girl issue. E’s mom pretty much determined she was born to be my flower girl. Which E never forgets to remind me. C morosely told me that “I have never been a flower girl.” True enough, her mother had kept her from being one even during her own paternal grandparents’ Golden Anniversary. (A form of child abuse, in my opinion.) So she has that hang-up. Which she handily decided I should resolve. Soonest. I’ll let her have a talk with my boyfriend. ^_~