The Powerpuff Girls

Sometime in 2008. We used to call ourselves the Powerpuff Girls. I was Blossom, the leader. Bea was Buttercup, the toughie. Sophie was Bubbles, the crybaby.

Bea and I one Sunday this February.

Sophie and I goof in front of the Web cam in my room.

New Year's Eve 2011, Eastwood City Walk

I count myself lucky to be enjoying the confidence of my daughters Beatrice, 18 and Sophia, 12.  At least I think I do.

Bea ran late this morning but before she left, she woke me up (I had gone back to sleep) so we could feast on fried rice and tuyo together. She is now in third year at Kalayaan College, taking up literature (she transferred from PUP where she used to be a philosophy major).

Now she may put on her “woman of the world” charm when she is with her friends, but on occasions like this morning, when she is the “only child” (all the others had left for school), she seems overjoyed – and gleefully breaks out into baby talk for a while.  She then proceeded to tell me – no, gush – about this new semester, her subjects and teachers, her friends, her org, and wondered aloud what the hell she was going to do when she graduates.

I was mightily proud of her the other Monday (the 5th) when she got picked to read her own poem at a bar called Tomato Kick along Katipunan Avenue Extension.  She took the opportunity to sing a song before actually reading her poem.  I was amazed at how comfortable she was in front of the 50 or so other people in the bar. Then again, she always loved the spotlight.

I was the only Mom in that bar, certainly on that table, but Bea’s friends seemed glad to see me. How did I feel sitting on a table with college kids? There wasn’t a prouder soul!

And then last night, I had a looong talk with Sophie who has begun to have some boy trouble of her own.  I had recently taken back her cell phone and her Facebook/Twitter privileges while making sure she knew exactly why I was doing it.  Last night I reminded her that I only wished her happiness – but at the right time.  
I added that families, like your very best friends, are always there to keep us in check when we are too dazed to think logically. Imagine not noticing that you aren’t getting what you deserve because you are too giddy and too in love.

Serious stuff out of the way, she kept on gabbing about her friends and her life as a high school freshman in the same school I used to attend. I had grown sleepy...she kept on talking. 

Today I got her second-quarter grades and I was pleased to find out that her ranking had improved: She is now in the Top 10 – tenth place from last quarter’s 13th.  I can slave away and worry all night about how the hell I can afford to educate them all well, but when I realize they are working as hard as I am, then it’s just WORTH IT. Jeez, NOW I am tearing up.

Perhaps it’s the age difference. I am only 18 years older than Bea and 24 years older than Sophie. I would like to think, though, that it’s the disposition. Moms are not their daughters’ best friends.  We are here to call their attention when they are out of line and criticize their actions when they don’t make the most of their potential.   But we will always, always be on their side.  We would like to see them succeed where we failed, succeed even more than we ever did, and see them loved and adored and treated well as they deserve.  This while taking charge of their own destiny and regarding obstacles -- even mistakes! --  as part of the equation.

I truly look forward to relating with my daughters many years from now, when they become mothers as well. If they choose to be come mothers. Will we have spa dates, travels abroad, will they trust me to look after their own children? So many possibilities!

For now, I celebrate each priceless, albeit sometimes imperfect, day.