Supermarket Run

It's been a while since Little A has accompanied me to the supermarket. We used to go together all the time, in the days when I could just pop him in the trolley and open a box of cornflakes for him to munch on while I got everything on the grocery list.

As he got older and began spending whole days at school, I took to doing the weekly shop as soon as the supermarkets opened, after the school run. Sometimes in the afternoons he would come with me to get one or two things, but most of the time he preferred to stay home.

Recently though, he has been putting out his toy shopping basket and filling it with produce from our refrigerator. I asked if he wanted to accompany me to the supermarket and, on agreeing, he was the most efficient helper, putting in the correct number of items into the shopping trolley, and adding numerous vegetables of his own choice.

Since re-discovering the joys of grocery shopping, he now wants to go regularly, which makes me worry a little for the month-end bill but also ensures our larder is never empty. Apart from his obvious favourite snacks, Little A is becoming familiar with the other things we need for the home.

Next up, kitchen duties. Hopefully within the next few months, I will have a proper little household helper.

Beach Trip

Summer is upon us and we are feeling the heat. Despite living in an archipelago, our family has not made many beach trips in the past ten years. Little A is used to our mountain holidays, which is where we choose to escape twice a year to enjoy cooler weather.

Before meeting me, in his twenties Big A used to spend every weekend under water. He is a licensed Technical Diver and earned his certification with hundreds of hours spent in the sea. I, on the other hand, am more comfortable on land, and prefer to lie on the sand working on a perfect tan.

We went on some beach trips until we were married, but when Little A came along we only managed one as a family, as our son did not like sand. We planned to rectify this and go on more beach trips together, and one opportunity came along just as the school year ended.

The parents at Little A's school have a support group that meets monthly. Sometimes we have a guest speaker, other times we just have breakfast and share stories. Certain months are given to family activities, and we decided summer should be one of these.

One parent recommended a beach resort just three hours' drive from the city, so we booked some rooms and headed there the day after the school's end of year show. There were about six families in all, and it was a very enjoyable weekend.

While I settled our bags in our room, Big A took Little A down to the water to see the sea. I came down a few minutes later to find Little A fully dressed, in the water. After racing back for his swim trunks and changing into swimwear myself, I joined him and tried to keep up as he swam off with incredible speed and ease, despite the salt water, towards the nearest outrigger boat.

Big A came back down in his swimwear just as I despaired of ever catching up with our son. Little A is a self-taught, confident swimmer with no fear of depths, and he headed off to a raft that was maybe fifty yards from shore and anchored in 30 feet or more of water. Big A kept up with him easily, and I lagged behind, taking photos.

We enjoyed the sunset from the raft, and the next morning rented a boat to take us to a nearby island with a sandy bottom. Little A loved the boat ride and the morning swim, climbing up at wooden outrigger and jumping into the water repeatedly until we had to go back to check out of the resort.

In the days following, Little A would ask to go back to the beach, crying when we told him it had to be planned well in advance. We will plan the next one, seeing as how he enjoyed this one, and look forward to many family beach trips in the future.

Hungarian Dance

Little A has finished the First Grade. I couldn't quite believe it, even when I attended the year's final Parent-Teacher Conference and verified that he did indeed accomplish the set work required by the national curriculum to move up to Second Grade.

In a week or so, he starts Summer School, a five week half-day academic and IEP programme to prepare for the coming school year. I understand this means no more taking shoes off in the classroom, more seated writing work and less floor-based play learning. I hope he matures enough to cope with the demands of the coming year, but have confidence that he will since he has pleasantly surprised us at every turn.

More importantly, he seems to genuinely love school. The first few days of the holidays he seemed at a bit of a loss, and one morning put on his uniform and got his school bag and lunch box and instead on going to school.

Another thing he truly loved was the end-of-term programme. This year, the school had on its staff the first licensed music therapist in the country, who would give weekly lessons to each class and private lessons to certain students, among them Little A.

Teacher B did an amazing job at the Christmas concert, which Big A and I unfortunately missed due to an out-of-town wedding. The end-of-year concert though, was an even bigger production. The increase in students meant the parent audience would no longer fit in the school's small car park. So a nearby convention hall became the venue for the school show.

Little A has long been obsessed with stage performances. He watches them on YouTube, but has been overwhelmed whenever we have tried taking him to children's concerts. But as a performer rather than a member of the audience, I hoped he would focus on the music and the dance rather than the inevitable applause which still bothers him but he has conditioned himself to accept.

Once the class had walked through the theatre and gotten familiar with the layout, three mornings of run throughs and rehearsals took place before the actual show. Little A's class was doing a Hungarian dance composed of 16 children, each little boy partnered with a little girl. It was a long piece of music, well over 3 minutes, and I was amazed that all the kids had the choreography down perfectly.

All the classes did an amazing job, but I was proudest of my Little Prince, as his female classmates described Little A when he first entered their backstage room in his "costume" of dark trousers, long sleeved shirt and black vest. He danced, he bowed, he did lose it onstage during the awarding of the certificates, but he calmed down soon afterwards, and no one is perfect.

So ends another academic year. Two down, eleven to go. Bring it on, Grade Two!

Present Perfect

In the Philippines, there is a travel tradition called pasalubong, which involves bringing back small presents for loved ones at home. It is a thoughful gesture that lets one's nearest and dearest know you were thinking of them on yout travels and wanted them to have a small token from that city.

These days, with budget airfares and improved road systems making travel much more accessible, the pasalubong tradition may not be so frequently practiced.

Among childhood friends though, it is very much alive.

As teens, my best friend N and I were lucky to have spent every other summer in Europe. I was at boarding school in the UK, so my parents and legal guardian invested in a London flat where various family members could stay during their trips over. This included my second family that is N's. When her parents and brothers went to America instead, she would still come to London with my mum, dad and sisters.

In later years, it would be just my sister, N and myself. We would spend a few weeks in London and a few days somewhere "on the Continent". Rome, Florence, Venice, and Vienna were some of the cities we explored when we weren't pounding the pavements of London. Those memories are priceless, and to this day we have small items that remind us of certain trips.

When we graduated from university, started working, and then married and had kids, the threesome trips stopped, but the travels didn't. Instead of visiting new places together, we would see them with our own families, and always bring back something for each other no matter where in the world we might find ourselves.

N's family have been bitten by the cruise bug, so she has been trying to convince me and Big A to try one with them. We look forward to the day we will travel together again, whether it be on a solo girls' trip (the big 4-0 is coming up) or with our husbands and kids on a large ship. Until that day, each time we travel, no matter how near or far, we will come back bearing presents for the other. 

Turning Japanese

Just after Easter, Big A and I went on a mini-break. It was the first time for both of us to visit Japan. As we only had a few days, we spent all but one of them in Tokyo. 

The one day away was another first as we took a train to a ski resort just an hour outside the city. It was a half day trip, for one ski lesson.

Big A is a natural athlete and thoroughly enjoyed himself, rising to the challenge of the new sport. I, on the other hand, was wary. Stopping required forcing my legs and feet into positions unnatural for a ballet dancer. I was not sold on it, but was glad to have tried and will probably do so again if another opportunity were to present itself.

Despite the snow on the mountain, it was springtime in Tokyo and cherry blossoms were in bloom. We walked around the city, tried as many kinds of Japanese cuisine as time permitted, and did some shopping. 

I was most pleasantly surprised by the lack of a language barrier, as most people had enough English to be able to communicate with us as needed. With this city only four hours away by plane and five year visas in our passports, it looks like we will be coming back to Japan. Next up, Osaka and Kyoto!

 

Seeing Signs

Words, words, words. Where would we be without them? Hark back to the days when humans had not yet discovered speech. They communicated with signs, pictograms and grunts. Even today, when in a foreign country, tourists and natives can cobble together some form of communication with just a map and some hand signs. 

These days, there are a number of ways to communicate. I will forever be grateful for technology that allows my non-verbal son to express himself more clearly, but sometimes the simplest ways are most effective.

While Little A has long been using that standard yes and no head movements and waving hello or goodbye, his sign language was limited to "thank you" (which most people mistake for a flying kiss), "all done" and the basic toilet signal, patting his crotch, which again can be misconstrued by most of the public.

Lately though, he has been more expressive using hand signs. 

The Goodbye song performed at the end of each school day involves a "see you" hand sign that looks like a salute. For a few weeks now, when I drop Little A off, or leave him at home for a meeting, when I say "see you later" he responds with that hand sign. He does it to store salespeople as well, and restaurant staff when we are in the mall. 

I tried to teach him many times to call someone's attention by tapping their shoulder, then making eye contact and pointing to something or showing a written or typed set of words. When he wants something and simply tugs my hand towards it, I remind him to "ask," whereupon he promptly taps his own shoulder, and then points to the object he wants. Close, but not quite. 

Last week, his Occupational Therapist once asked me if Little A's shoulder was hurting as he kept tapping it. I told her this was his way of "asking" and that if she observed more closely, the shoulder tapping would be followed immediately by seeking an object or an action. 

She must have worked on this with him because yesterday, for maybe the first time, when he wanted something Little A tapped my arm and then indicated towards what he wanted. Such a small action, one most people take for granted, but for Little A this was a huge, man-on-the-moon momentous step. I wanted to shout for joy but simply smiled at him and said, "Good asking. Yes, you can borrow that."

This was only one time, though, so I'm not calling the press yet, but waiting and seeing, and hoping it becomes a regular thing. Baby steps will still get us there in the end.

The Seventh Church

On Holy Thursday in the Philippines, there is a Catholic tradition of visiting churches. Called Visita Iglesia, the "proper" way was to visit fourteen churches and say one of the Stations of the Cross at each one.

Most families these days visit seven, or at least ours has for as long as I can remember. We don't do the Stations of the Cross (that's something done on the evening of Good Friday) but do say our own quiet prayers at each one.

Since Little A came into the family, we have continued the tradition, but now do the church visits on Good Friday. And as we no longer live in the neighbourhoods we both grew up in, the churches we visit are the ones nearest where we live.

Big A has narrowed down the churches to six Catholic ones within a five mile radius, and one that is Anglican. He has a special affinity for this church because it is so simply furnished. None of the ornate altar carvings nor solid gold statues of velvet-attired saints, this one has simple wooden pews and a large cross. It keeps prayer straightforward, he feels.

I have no objections to visiting this church because as a product of the British boarding school system, I attended an Anglican school for five years. Every student was required to attend Chapel on weekday mornings, and a service on Sundays, when the Catholic contingent (less than 20 of us, all told) were bussed to the nearest church for Mass.

Our campus Chapel was small but pretty, and our weekday services consisted of a hymn, a reading or some school announcements, and a prayer to conclude. Each one lasted fifteen or twenty minutes and took place after breakfast and before the start of classes.

When the school closed in 2004 and the campus was turned into residential flats, the Chapel was either demolished or repurposed. Luckily, the altar remains, and has moved to a new home in Kentish Town.

This June, all alumni are called back to attend a memorial service for our former Head of Dance, who passed away early this year. It also marks 21 years since I left school and 11 since the campus relocated to Birmingham. I have not yet decided whether or not I will attend as the trip over requires funds and a visa. I will keep my fingers crossed, but in the meantime these annual visits to our neighbourhood Anglican church keep my memories of boarding school very much alive.