Reading 2010

Another reason I've been so remiss about posting lately is because I've been burying my nose in a book whenever possible. Some of the book bloggers I follow have been posting their reading challenges for the year, and while I thought I was Mistress of the List, apparently I've been falling short for years by not keeping a chronicle of all the books I read.

So for the sake of quantifying my reading this year, I hereby declare that I will complete the following reading challenges:

1. The Quantity Book Challenge - I put down 75 books, which is very doable since I estimate I read well over 150 per year, rereads and children's books included, but not counting picture books.

2. The Chunkster Challenge - 4 adult books of at least 450 pages each, not including short story or essay collections.

3. The A-Z Challenge - 26 new authors (ones I haven't read before) with last names starting with each letter of the alphabet.

4. Filipino Writers - 5 books by Filipino authors written in either English or Filipino

5. Classics - 20 books: 10 new reads and 10 rereads

6. Award Winners - 20 books, any combination of new and reread, that have won a literary award.

7. TBR Challenge - all books read for these challenges will come from my To Be Read pile, the stack or mountain of books most readers accumulate faster than they can read them all.

To help me achieve this goal is a nifty little notebook given by my sister as a Christmas present. A cloth-covered hardbound little book, it was printed specifically for the purpose of logging one's reading material. 2010 is underway, and so the challenges are being faced, one book at a time.

All's Well That Ends Well

I have been horribly remiss about posting this year. Only the fourth entry in two months, tut tut. The latest reason is that Little A and I have been down, then up and about, with a nasty cough and cold bug for a month now.

It started with a sore throat and phlegm that had me coughing and then took my voice away for nearly a week. Little A caught the cough first, then came down one morning with a fever that wasn't particularly high but persisted for nearly five days. Our pediatrician, who is also a pediatric pulmonologist, said it was nothing to worry about and would go away in its own time. The day after we visited her though, Little A felt so unwell that he just lay bed all day and slept on and off. He would drag himself to the table and try to eat (by the second day of the fever his appetite had gone from very good to practically nonexistent) and then go back to bed and just lie there.

Alarmed, we consulted, by phone, another pediatrician, who said more or less the same thing ours did. After two days of this lethargic lying about though, my mum decided to go the old school route and take Little A to our old pediatrician, who should be retired but is still practicing. This doctor thinks prescription drugs cure all, and promptly diagnosed bronchitis for us both and prescribed Little A two types of cough syrup, a course of antibiotics and a solution for the nebuliser that we had to administer five nights in a row. As my pediatrician three decades ago, he sent me off with a prescription for the same course of antibiotics and the grown-up version of the cough medicines.

Big A, who had this entire time been banished from the sickroom and was spending nights on the couch, insisted that I take my meds immediately. I did, and the antibiotic killed all the germs, good and evil, in my body so effectively that I came down with a cold and sinusitis the day after I finished the course, and only finished coughing a full week later and sniffling a few days ago.

We only gave Little A the nebuliser treatments, and his cough went away in another week or so, but then he came down with a cold a few days later. He still has a runny nose but thankfully has gained his appetite back.

Apparently, we weren't the only ones who suffered through this. My sister was coughing for weeks as well, though she never lost her voice. I am still recovering mine, weeks later. Still, I am thankful that neither Big A nor the au pair had to suffer through it. Let's hope it's another half year at least before the next bug hits.

Today is Day One

Metaphorically speaking, that is. I have not found the time to post recently, so the "real" Day One was actually 4 days ago. Day One was the new diet start date for Little A. No casein. No gluten will follow, but I'd rather do one thing at a time and see what works.

A fortnight has gone by since we took Little A to another developmental pediatrician for a second opinion. She was quick and frank in her assessment and diagnosis - Autism Spectrum Disorder. Our first dev ped had said "Communication Disorder," but this was just apparently another way of saying the same thing. And since we've already begun twice weekly occupational therapy, there is little else we can do now, except try the diets. The most common is the GFCF one, but other options are the Candida diet and SCD.

Thanks to the Internet and my photographic memory, I am now learning all I can about ASD in as little time as possible. Big A says he knew deep inside that this is what was different about Little A, and I suppose a part of me knew it too, as long before we even began to suspect anything, I had already stored literature on the vaccines and autism link, and showed them to my husband, who promptly refused to let Little A get his MMR jabs.

Both dev peds admit that Little A shows few stereotypies. Hyperactivity, yes. Hand flapping and other actions that fall under stimming, not noticeably. He likes to rock as much as the average child, and does not spin things obsessively. I have a friend who constantly pulls her hair out and others with their own little habits.

There were, however, red flags that we were never told about. Not pointing, pulling to show, these were things I thought were cute. In fact, I even thought that his not pointing would save me from later having me to teach him that pointing is rude, even if it is natural. The texture sensitivity and his intolerance of loud and crowded places that made going to children's parties impossible we just put down to natural quirkiness as there are many non-autistic children who don't like mud or sand or noise.

Still, it is official now. So, again metaphorically speaking, this is day one. All we can do is work with him, try what we can, and pray that the interventions work quickly and effectively. The rest is up to Little A.

I Dream of Miele

Living in a small space requires appliances that are meant for hobbits. My dream of owning a Kitchen Aid, even if we could afford it, is tempered by the fact that there just isn't anywhere in our kitchen to put it. As it is, our turbo broiler needs a stepladder to access it on top of the kitchen cupboards when it is to be used.

As far as laundry goes, I would love a washing machine that can fit all my sheets (Super King-sized duvet cover, flat sheet and 8 pillowcases) in one load, but that would likely entail a top-loading machine that we just don't have room for. My washer and dryer are stacked one on top of the other, but the machine just can't seem to handle man-sized clothes. My clothes and my son's are no problem, but when Big A's come into the picture I need to add more soap and 3 more rinse cycles just to get them properly clean.

When I wash the bathmats the machine goes mad, "doing a Transformers" as my husband calls it, launching itself all around the tiny utility room like a demented bronco and requiring at least 2 people to hold it in place. I had to stop it mid-cycle last time and the au pair and I had to take the mats out and rinse and wring them by hand. No easy feat.

Real Stepford wives never have laundry problems, as part of their abilities include washing, wringing and probably spinning the clothes dry with their bare hands and then ironing them perfectly, something I can only dream of doing passably well. I heart that the au pair can do what the twice a week laundry and ironing girl used to as ironing is my one failing as a good housekeeper.

So, add to my list of wishes when we win the lottery - a Miele.

Better Late Than Never

I am usually a stickler for deadlines. That said, I missed the one on this reading challenge by well over a week. It has hung over my head constantly, since I have read the books but not found time to post my reviews, so following my tried-and-tested formula of sleeping less and doing more, I am finally catching up.

My reasons for not being able to post on time are valid - the new business, Little A's speech delay issues and my day girl's sudden disappearance from my household just before the New Year. (What was meant to be a week-long holiday with her family turned out to be a lifetime of motherhood as she discovered she was pregnant by her boyfriend.)

Still, better late than never, so here are my World War II books read (or re-read) in 2009:

1. Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky - I loved this book. Not only did she believably capture the day-to-day lives of civilians during the war, the appendices at the end of the book were far more moving than the fiction as they told, though letters between herself, her husband, her publisher and others, how Nemirovsky herself became a vicitim of Nazi persecution and eventually perished in a concentration camp.

2. Number the Stars by Lois Lowry - written by one of my all-time favourite children's authors, this book tells from a child's point of view how confusing and important it is to keep a secret at a time when people close to you could suffer otherwise. A poignant story (based on facts) of courage and friendship written in Lowry's beautiful prose.

3. Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes by Eleanor Coerr - barely 65 pages long and published in large print, this simple story of a lively 11-year old who never walked and only ran until she was diagnosed with the "Atom Bomb disease" made my hair stand by the end of it. Another touching story of courage and friendship from a different perspective than the traditional European one.

4. The Book Thief by Markus Zusak - ranked on many a best-books list since its publication in 2006, this telling, from the perspective of Death, makes for an interesting read, particularly since it features a young girl who, as the title claims, steals books.

5. Dancing with Eva by Alan Judd - an interesting story of Eva Braun's fictional secretary and a high-ranking Nazi official who meet many years later and recollect the end of the war.

6. Fatherland by Robert Harris - an inventive, imaginative tale of the Third Reich as it would have been had the Nazis succeeded in achieving their goals. But even in the Fuhrer's ideal world, nothing is perfect.

Two of the books I wanted to re-read but refused to rush through just to make the deadline were Kazuro Ishiguro's The Remains of the Day and Michael Ondaatje's The English Patient. On my best books list since I first read them many years ago, both are on my list of rereads for this year.

Reading challenges are fun. I hope to find the time to join more of them in 2010.

Onward to the Next Decade

Another year nearly over. Wow. Lately I've not had much time to post, with a new business to manage, a flat to run and a family to look after. Christmas came and went without my once feeling the holiday spirit. I did get all the presents bought, wrapped and delivered, but that is all in the course of a woman's work.

The past two months have been a flurry of activity. In mid-November, Little A visited a developmental pediatrician to assess the cause of his speech delay and see what course of action would be best to take. The doctor advised Occupational Therapy for behavioural modification and sensory integration, as Little A is very sensitive to textures - hating grass, sand and most forms of fabric upholstery, refusing to wear shoes - and does not respond to instructions nor interact much with others.

We visited a couple of therapy centers and managed to choose one and squeeze in the evaluation before they closed down for the year. Little A also started preschool two mornings a week at this same time. Yesterday, we took him for a sleeping hearing test called the BAER, which measures the brain's response to sound at different levels.

Little A's left ear was fine, responding from a level of 25 up to 90 decibels. His right ear, which the neurologist in charge of the examination told us is normally the dominant side, was less responsive, only showing a reaction to the sound at a high 95 decibels.

The formal report on the test will only be released next week (or next year, depending on how one looks at it) and will be explained to us by Little A's pediatrician, who will also recommend a suitable course of action.

It is a small load off my mind to have seen that there may be a physical reason why Little A isn't talking yet. We still don't know what the final diagnosis will be, but whatever it is, we are praying it is something we can address early and well enough to give him the chances he deserves as he grows older.

I have much to be thankful for for the past year, but even more to hope for in the one to come. Here's hoping a good decade for our family is up ahead.

Ring Bearer

A week ago today my little boy walked down the aisle, hand-in-hand with his father, bearing not the pillow with the rings but his favourite Baby Einstein DVD case.

I was very proud, like all mums must be when their children first take part in a bridal march. When we were first asked if Little A would be the ring bearer at my cousin's wedding, I accepted with great trepidation and told my aunt in all honesty that I doubted he would cooperate. At that stage he was refusing to wear shoes, not at all given to following instructions and rarely walked but mostly ran.

In the months leading up to the wedding I tried on a couple of occasions to make him walk down the hallway of our little flat carrying a small pillow but had no success. If he walked, he would throw the pillow aside. If he carried it, he would hug it to his chest, run down the hall and crash into the couch, laughing.

Two weeks before the big day, I borrowed the top he would wear from my best friend from childhood, the same top her son wore to my wedding. The native Filipino dress top, called a Barong Tagalog, was long-sleeved and made of slightly scratchy cotton. Every time I tried to put it on Little A just to check it for size, he would pull it off. I was already unsure he would walk down the aisle, let alone with the rings and now half-dressed as shoes were still a no go.

On the day of the wedding, we had to wake him from his nap to get to the church on time. He had slept two hours and woke up cheerful. Always eager for a car ride, he enjoyed the trip to the church but weekend traffic meant we arrived just in time. I ran him into the church where the march had already begun, and got him into his top with surprisingly little fuss just in time to push him down the aisle. A little confused, he looked at me with a puzzled expression, as if to ask what exactly he was meant to do. Right then, Big A came up, took him by the hand and off they walked, just perfectly.

Later on, I helped him deliver the rings for the priest to bless, and this time he wanted to climb the stairs to the altar. During the photo session following the ceremony, the other little boys and girls stood at their places obediently while Little A had to be chased away from the priest's chair and hauled back bodily to the steps where the photos were being taken, several times as he attempted escape more than once.

Nevertheless, I considered the event a huge success. Next on the list, performing at the school end-of-term concert. That one is still a dream.