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I have been meaning to write about Tiendesitas for ages.  My sister, Ofie, had kept egging me to ask my friends to bring me there, and I feel so bad that I didn’t get to go until the 9th of May, just a few days before I left.

It didn’t help that I had my Dad, my sister-in-law, my brother, the babies and my bestfriend Fe in tow — and believe it or not, it was their first time there like mine.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t stay as long as I wanted because it was pretty hot and late in the day already.  And I can’t remember now why but I was pressed for time in the evening because we had to hurry back to the hotel.  (If I remember right, it was because we had a dinner date with Alan’s high school friend and my friend, Demi.)

I had to leave this post halfway through and lo and behold, Ces stopped by to leave me a line and said:

good for you to have taken photos of tiende…been there for like 3 times and all i did was shop! hahaha..and eat:)

which sort of makes me feel kind of bad because I didn’t even get the chance to sample all those goodies at the sprawling food court.  (For one, it was open air and it was hot.. and secondly, it was far from the parking area where my Dad was milling around.) 

But I enjoyed Tiendesitas incredibly — what with the boutiques/stalls that sold their own designer jewelry and accessories.  Thanks to my sister-in-law Jemine’s great haggling skills, I got big bargains and left happy but wishing I had more time to shop. 

Stocking up on Patience.. again

I’m venting.

I feel like I’m doing double duty parenting these days because Alan is away.  So when I hit the sack at night, I’m doubly exhausted after having commuted with Angel from the city to home, feeding him, bathing him, reading him his bedtime story, then cooking his lunch and preparing his things for the following day — after which I finally have to put the toys away, change and refresh, then sleep.

The next day the cycle begins with me being the first to wake up, then depending on how Angel is asleep or awake, I would either cook him his oatmeal breakfast, take a bath and get dressed, dress him and pack everything away, then wheel him to the bus stop.  I drop him off at daycare, and then I work.  Then it’s back to the same grind.

I have purposely left any leisure items and other personal projects in the office because I know I won’t be able to tackle them at home anyway.  (That is the reason my copy of MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA still sits on my office desk.)  If I’m lucky, I catch one of my favorite shows but they are all doing reruns these days.  So I’ve taken a fancy to SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE.  (I wish I had caught it that season some Filipinos made it to the final 10 pairs.)

This is my downtime.  Sitting in front of the computer at work between e-mails and phone calls — blogging, e-mailing, or what have you.

It just makes life a little more difficult when you wake up to a living room in disarray.  The stepson watched a DVD late into the night, positioning one of the seats in the living room midway through the small space, leaving the DVD case on the floor (which was eye candy to the 2-year-old so I had to wrestle the DVD case from the boy), with bits of the older boy’s cereal on the carpet (definitely not Angel’s because it’s a different shape and color).  I didn’t even have the luxury of dwelling on my frustration because I had to make the oatmeal breakfast and feed my son and that was a priority.

I have long given up on trying to be the martyr stepmom.  There are things that I have to admit to myself I am just no good at.  Perhaps it’s all the hostility that has jaded me and made me cold.  It only gets aggravated by the hostility towards the man I love, coming from his offspring by another woman.  I tend to be very protective of the people I love, and I do not like seeing other people hurt them. 

I’ve been biting my tongue because I’m afraid I might say something bad.  I don’t want to get too emotional about it because I’m afraid I might storm out and not want to come back.  And right now I have too many things to do to even bother.  But it weighs me down.  It means additional chores, additional time I could be spending unwinding after a long day. 

I have a boarder at home who doesn’t do any chores.  When prompted, he either procrastinates or does not do it altogether.  I cannot understand why he has chosen to move back in with us when he seems to loathe our company.  What I resent the most is that I was not even consulted about it.  And that’s what’s eating my goat.  I feel like screaming.  I don’t know at who or with what.  He hates my guts but wants to live in my house. 

My 76-year-old Mother-in-law is all agog over her grandson understandably, but I’m beginning to notice that she’s been doing more than her fair share of trying to be useful around the house because I sense she is affected by how her grandson is not doing anything.  I really don’t want her doing the dishes because I know as far back as when I arrived here in the US 6 years ago that she has an allergy to dishwashing soap. And besides, even if she doesn’t wash the dishes, she takes the effort to put away what has dried on the rack after I have left.  She cooks when she can or cleans up.  She has been after her grandson to do his chores when I arrive seeing how the dishes or glasses are still on the sink.  It’s not even that he does not do them or does them very late that gets me, but how he talks back to his grandmother when she starts getting on his case. 

I’m beginning to feel utterly helpless and this helplessness is numbing me blind.  That’s the reason why I would rather not say anything rather than say something I can no longer take back later.  And I have to ask what good that would do.  After I have a fit, he will still  be there and I will continue to have to deal with his sloth.

So right now I’m at a loss as to how I’m going to move forward from here.  Writing, as always, has provided a channel to release the pent up emotions in my mind and heart.  I hope that like before, it helps to clear the air and allow me to find a better way to deal with the dilemma I am in. 

End of venting.