I’m battling a sore throat right now. I know it’s probably punishment for talking too much, but it’s really uncomfortable, and, combined with a mild headache, giving me reason to regret coming in to work. Ugh.
Even more upsetting, this sore throat will inevitably cause me to miss choir practice, for a second week in a row, over at Victory – Fort. This upsets me because two weeks ago, I was asked to help take care of the tenors, and, well, it looks bad that I miss two weeks in a row after being given that important position.
Late last week, Cathy and I were talking about Nathan and how he always waits for us to come home before he falls asleep (nine out of ten times). With Mondays coming home late because the car’s coded until 7PM, Tuesdays coming home late because of Cathy’s class, Wednesdays coming home late because of choir practice, and Thursdays coming home late because it’s professionals’ support group discussion night, I’ve pretty much missed four days out of seven with my son. It’s not easy, and if I look at those days, I think the only thing I can really give up are my Wednesdays (because Monday, I’m stuck in Makati until 7, Tuesdays I can’t let Cathy go home at 9PM!, and Thursdays are essential for Cathy’s and my spiritual growth). Cathy, meanwhile, thinks that isn’t a good idea that I give up being with the choir, given that it’s my chosen ministry and I’m kinda good at it.
So I’m praying for guidance from God and asking Him what to do. The truth is my throat has always been fragile (or maybe it’s actually quite resilient, but the rate that I talk is too much even for the most resilient vocal chords) and the kind of singing required of us – especially for me, because I am not a natural tenor – can really strain it. I don’t want to give up the choir ministry, but I also don’t want be resposible for Nathan’s awful sleeping habits when I come home late four days a week!
Compromises are possible. I suppose I could commute Mondays, so I don’t have to wait until 7 to go home. Then Fridays, I can leave at 5PM and be home by 630PM. Or we could attend a small group closer to home, but that wouldn’t make any sense because leaving at 5PM would just mean arrival at the small group at a late time anyway.
Anyway, I’m optimistic that I will be well by tonight (because I don’t want to miss tomorrow’s discussion group – I’m bringing two friends along!). I hold on to God’s promises, that He knows I trust Him, and Nahum 1:7 tells me that He cares for those who trust in Him, as He is good, my refuge and strength.
I very rarely make sports-related posts, but today, I just had to, in light of the strange goings-on!
Wimbledon. Hingis is out?! Safina and Venus Williams are out? Gonzales, Grosjean, Agassi, Ljubicic, Roddick?! What in heaven’s name is in the water over at the All-England?
Boxing. Pacquiao beats Larios, sure, but that game looked soooo fixed. Why back off in the third when you’ve obviously got your man seeing yellow canaries? FIXED.
World Cup. France beats BRAZIL?! What the heck?!
Man, it’s cuh-razy out there. Go Henin-Hardenne! Go Roger!
We celebrated my mother’s 60th birthday last Saturday (photos due for uploading within the next few days). Cathy, Nathan and I were joined by her mother and three brothers for this celebration at my mother’s home in South Green Park.
During the celebration, an old family friend of my mother’s showed up with his wife. He apparently hadn’t seen me since I was just a lad – I couldn’t place him for the life of me – and was tickled pink by the sight of me “all grown up.”
“What smooth skin!” he crowed before he reached up and pinched my cheeks.
Now I praise God for my “smooth skin,” and I praise God that I’ve managed to somehow avoid looking my age, but how many 30-year-old’s out there are still cheek-pinched by well-meaning family friends?
Yesterday morning, I decided to clean out Nathan's toy chest, getting rid of the old and busted toys (yes, it's very Toy Story). My son has quite a variety, from toy cars to squeeze toys, from alphabet boxes to bubble blowers.
In the course of the cleaning, I found a tool kit that Nate received as a gift, with hammer, ruler, plane, you get the idea. That tool kit came with a plastic cutter that I found at the bottom of that chest.
Looking at the cutter, I marveled at how legit it looked. Wow, I thought to myself, that plastic looks real.
At this point, all neurons to my brain may have shut down, because I ran the cutter along the tip of my finger. To my surprise, blood began to spurt out. It was a real cutter, and I had just cut myself!
In between the self-berating and Cathy's why did you DO that tirade that immediately followed, all I could think of what how I was so glad that I didn't feel like humoring myself and running that blade across my wrist.
1) No matter how well you think you can hide your dangerous materials, there's no real way to hide them unless you do it lock-and-key. That cutter is now safely out of Nathan's reach.
2) Fake cutters have no place in a toy tool kit. A 30-year-old kid like me can't tell the difference, what makes me think a 3-year-old can?
3) I want the Fairly Oddparents band-aids. My boo-boo's covered with a band-aid that matches my skin tone, and I don't feel cool at all.
Dude, none of this is cool.