Goodbye boho tea house, hullo snailhouse!

We've officially moved out of our first apartment and into our new home.

I walked around the old apartment the other night and tried to relive the memories we made in the less than 3 years we stayed there. While the old place was the sort of old shabby chic is trying to go for, it had infinitely replenishing dust that made it authentic shabby but less chic. The partner and I moved into that house with the same sort of carefree abandon and wrecklessness reflected by the hinges hanging by single screws abound in that apartment. 

It wasn't fancy, but it was cozy. It was an old house with a reputation, and might have been beautiful in its prime but had now seen way too many cheap renovations that chipped off some of the old glamour.

The glass window that broke from Seven (our first cat, one Chris rescued as a kitten) forcing his way in is still broken. But Seven is dead now. And we've seen the fire tree bloom and whither several times through the broken glass too. We left that house with a post full of graffiti, but a bathroom with new fixtures.

This house had seen us change. We were robbed in this house. We wrote plotted filmed and screened movies in this house. We wept in this house, we laughed in this house. Thank goodness there was more laughter than tears.

We conceived Malaya in this house, it became his first home. He'll probably falsely remember it through the footage we have of him in the house but it won't really register as something personally familiar. 

We'll wax poetic over how the sunlight washed the dining area in golden hues in the afternoons. Both Chris and I have taken advantage of this particular feature by having portraits taken in that area.

goodbye old apartment, goodbye old fire tree outside, goodbye echavez. 

Hello new house.

It's four times as huge, at double the price. There's ample room to raise a family and keep pets. The kitchen is wide and there's a lot of storage space for spices, pots and pans, china, etc etc. There's even a garden (READ: Room for rare spices and fresh coffee!)! I'm so grateful for the previous tenants (tita Janina, tito Alex and tita Lui) and the boy's Mamita and Lola for helping us get this place. We'll take care of the snailhouse, promise.

We've just moved, and already my Pinterest is singing with projects for this place. There are curtains to be sewn (or fabric-glued together); floor mats to be woven; walls to be painted; herbs to be planted... but I'm getting ahead of myself. We'll have time for experiments. 

The boy and the cats have taken to the place nicely. Mamita suggested finally getting a walker, since we couldn't find anywhere to hang the bouncer anymore (boo!). But when we went shopping for walkers with the Lola, we found that Malaya had become too big for them.

Also, he might be just days away from walking on his own, considering he's already standing up by himself and bouncing on his feet. It's just great that he has space to crawl around now without running into furniture and power outlets.

In a couple of weeks, Malaya turns 1 and I'll be 25. Moving and the upcoming birthdays has left me with the feeling that this is going to be another chapter in our lives. Tbh, I think I've reached my threshold for life altering events for the whole year until now.

I've launched a small catering service called The Storybook Cook. I've only done cocktails for an exhibit and will be selling small treats for Medieval Day this April 5 to test the waters, so it's not yet a full fledged business. It's called that because I'm serving food mentioned in books and other pieces of fiction i.e. Sansa's Lemon Cakes from GOT, Mrs. Bean's Famous Apple Gingersnaps from The Fantastic Mr Fox, etc.

Cooking is fun. Reading books and trying to live them through the food is even more so. Especially if I'm going to read AND cook with the boy. 

I'm excited already.

The toy store litmus test

Toys-R-Us recently opened a branch in a mall near us. The first few weeks, the line to the cashier winded from cashier booth to the end of the store. I overheard one man tell his child not to get in line, lest he contract disease from any of the children in line.

Months later, paranoid parents should be glad to know there are no longer any lines over there these days.

We took advantage of the buzz dying down by setting Malaya down the aisle between the girls' section (Barbies and Pink things) and the guy's section (Cars and Robots).

Before I proceed, I'd like to clarify that not the whole store is segregated by gender. There's a baby section, an electronic educational toys section, a boardgames section (with standard fare, no Lords of Waterdeep here), a party goodies section, etc etc. 

What's interesting is that the gender segregated aisles are at the very entrance of the store.

First, I wish girl stuff came in colors other than pink.

Second, I wish things weren't identified as "Boy's stuff" and "Girl's stuff"

I wish boys weren't influenced at this age that they were limited to cars and robots while girls weren't limited to dolls and everything pink.

They're just playing, but that's how they learn. For all you know, you might be limiting a future formula 1 racer from reaching her potential because "Pang boy man na!"

It also insidiously plants at this very influential stage that your identity is defined by what material things you surround yourself with instead of what you do.

Of course, that's what parents are for - to teach children not to trust advertising and build them up enough that they won't need external factors to affirm them/make them feel good about themselves.

Woe is the gullible.

On the other hand, what he finds entertaining now does not indicate what he will enjoy when he grows up. The boy is as alert and curious in a toy store at this point in his life as he is in a hardware store. He does not have any idea that playdo is for children while plain dough is for bakers. It's the same mushy stuff he'll most likely put in his mouth and I have a feeling plain dough is safer.

Toys have no gender. Powertools have no gender. I wonder if babies even care for any sort of labelling yet.

So yeah, I got sidetracked by a rant there. You wanna know where Malaya went?

Butterfly!

P.S. Daddy put him nearer the girl's side.

Boom! We have a toddler (9 10 and 11 months).

If I haven't updated in a while, I have a whole bag of excuses:

1. We're moving. The lot our apartment's on is being sold, and our friends are moving out of their awesome split level rental, so we're taking advantage. I was a little sad when we found out about the lot. All my hopes and dreams of prettifying this place have been dashed to the ground forever. The other house has lots of potential. It's stuck in the 70's, with the dark brown moulding and kitchen cabinets, the varnished wood panelling, the beige everything else... with a little paint and some DIY furniture projects, we could totally go Scandinavian on the interiors.

Speaking of which...

We'll be selling old clothes, baby stuff, Xbox games (and Xbox), furniture, baked goods, etc etc.

If you want to check out the garage sale, email me at mutangpusa@gmail.com and I'll send you a map.

We move there in time for the boy's first birthday too (and my 25th, hurrah!). The partner and I've decided a beach party with grilling might be too much trouble for very very small children to enjoy. Transportation and safety are issues. So we'll have one at the house, which could also double as a house warming party. There's lots of roaming space, and it's in a safe neighborhood in case he runs out of the house and into moving vehicle space.

Apparently, there are two schools of thought in this part of the world regarding first birthday parties. One is that it's pointless because baby won't even remember. The other is that the party is for the adults, and it should be as grand as grand can get, kinda to celebrate that the baby survived the fragile first year.

Lam-ang tells it like it is.

2. Malaya's nanny went on maternity leave (she gave birth to a baby girl! woot!) right when he started roaming the "vast" apartment, deliberately getting into things he's not supposed to.

So much for productivity.