HEY, c’mon, it’s okay
to have a little chocolate on your jeans,
a little nip in your nail,
a smudge on your cheek,
or dried up toothpaste on your shirt.

Keep calm. Breathe deeply.
Wipe it out, file it down, don’t panic.
It’s okay! Lighten up.

Hey, c’mon, it’s okay
to trip in front of your crush,
mispronounce a word or two,
draw a blank once in awhile,
wear mismatched shoes.

It happens. Breathe deeply.
Laugh it out, correct yourself, carry on.
It’s okay! Lighten up.

Hey, c’mon, it’s okay
to weigh extra today,
grab an extra scoop of ice cream,
have a bad hair day,
get lipstick on your teeth.

Move on. Breathe deeply.
Indulge, balance later, comb it down, wipe it off.
It’s okay! Lighten up.

These little things are not big enough for you
to wreck your day, your mood,
your beautiful smile.
These imperfections won’t and shouldn’t end your world.

Hey, c’mon, it’s okay!
Keep calm. Breathe deeply.
It happens. Move on.

Lighten up!

WHEN was the last time you went to a toy store?

Think about the last time you went into a toy store — not because you had to buy a present, not because the kids wanted to. When was the last time you went to a toy store just for yourself?

Once I stopped collecting Barbie dolls and stuffed toys, my enthusiasm for toy stores waned. My attention went to bookstores and boutiques. Toy stores were for babies, I thought as a teenager. My, my, what that teenage self would think of me now! Today, not a trip to the mall goes by without a visit to a toy store.

It started when I started tagging along with my husband, an avid toy collector. I used to be very impatient while he’d look at the details of robots and superheroes. I couldn’t wait to get out of the store. But when I started seeing toys from my childhood, toys I would have wanted as a kid, toys I suddenly felt like playing with (Tamagotchi!), I could feel the little kid in me jumping up and down.

And so I rekindled my happiness with toy stores. Now I find myself walking through the stuffed toys aisle and feeling myself become more cheery. I find myself looking through children’s electronic toys and shaking my head at how advanced they’ve become. I find myself smiling at the many Barbie dolls and dollhouses — wooden, animal, electronic. I’m a sucker for those “Try Me!” buttons and levers. I find myself being drawn to toy stores more and more. My worries fade away, and I’m a kid again.

Before, I wouldn’t stay 5 minutes inside a toy store. Now if they’d take out that giant keyboard from the movie “Big,” I’d surely be the first one on it and would not want to leave it till I mastered playing “Chopsticks.”

Make time to drop by a toy store the next time you go out. Forget you’re wearing that necktie and pressed slacks. Even for a few minutes, imagine yourself as that little five-year-old in a jumper, concerned with nothing more but maneuvering that remote control car or choosing Barbie’s next gown. Consider it a treat for the kid in you.

BOOKSTORES are a source of solace for me, even amusement. I was browsing through the children’s section one afternoon when a little girl appeared out of nowhere. She was stomping her feet playfully and clapping her hands in rhythm. As she did her little march, she chanted, “Books are fun! Books are fun!”

Books are fun indeed. Some use reading as an escape, some to enrich knowledge, others to walk in someone else’s shoes. Books are playmates of our imagination. And that’s why we bookworms can’t get enough of them.

Each of us has our own concept of book fun. Fun can be a chapter of an inspirational self-help book, or it could be understanding the childhood of a Nobel Prize winner. Others may find books on DIY (Do It Yourself) more fun than science fiction. Here are some of my own ideas on book fun.

[Read the rest of this entry »]

MILK holds a lot of unpleasant memories for me. When I was a child, breakfast would always be served with a glass of milk. Seeing that tall glass of white liquid right beside my corned beef and rice made me shiver. I would heartily eat my meal, but the milk remained untouched. My Mom would encourage me to drink it — so I’d be taller, healthier, have stronger bones. I’d shake my head and stubbornly refuse to drink it. It would only be touched when I’d sense a scolding about to come.

I carried that distaste for milk into my teens. Milk would still be a constant presence at the table, but I would choose to ignore it. To have it with cereal would be okay, but to drink it on its own was another thing.

One night, I drank a glass of warm milk before going to bed. I had been hearing how milk can help you go to sleep much easier. So I tried it and I liked it. Milk and I became friends.

I realized that I didn’t like milk because I was forced to drink it. But when not associated with scoldings and forced breakfasts, I would turn to it for comfort — specifically, a tall glass of warm milk. I would wrap my hands around the warm glass, feel the heat permeate my skin and feel calm and good. And it can’t be soy milk, chocolate milk or any other kind of milk. It has to be cow’s milk. This comforts me most.

There are lot of facts on why milk is good for you — strong bones, strong teeth, prevents osteoporosis, even slimming. While I do drink it for those reasons, I drink it even more when it’s almost midnight and I still can’t sleep. Perhaps my glass of warm milk has a bedtime story that only I can hear, and a lullabye that does lull me into a calm slumber.

It’s not unpleasant anymore, as a glass of warm milk has become my nighttime buddy. I drift off to sleep with a happy smile, minus the milk mustache of course. Milk is my happy bedtime drink.