Just Passing By

Speeding

My heart still goes a-thump-thump when I spot a police car from a mile away. You see I got pulled over for speeding one morning just as I merged to the main road from the quiet street where I live.

I heard the siren as soon as my foggy mind cleared. How long has the car been behind me? I signaled and turned to my right to give way to the cop. But to my horror, the cop followed right behind me. Is he serious?! Am I really being pulled over? My mind told me to relax although it was going through a thousand thoughts per minute. Did I just cost myself two-hundred bucks?

The cop was polite and greeted me good morning. He informed me that I was going 14 miles over a school zone limit. Who me...speeding? I kept my mouth shut. You don't argue with cops, right? He then asked for my driver's license, registration and insurance. No sweat - this is standard procedure. To my dismay, it took me a full minute to fish my wallet out of my sack that I call my bag. I could feel his impatient eyes on my back as I poured the bowels of my overstuffed bag and so I was already flustered when I found my wallet. Then I triumphantly handed him not my license but my credit card. Force of habit I guess, I'm used to pulling out my credit card when I go shopping. My license ever hardly leaves it nice pocket. Anyway, I didn't even realize that I handed him the wrong ID until he said rather dryly that he doesn't need my credit card. How stupid can I get? But it gets worse.

He said I need to hand him my license together with the registration and insurance. So I placed the license on my lap for safekeeping and reached to the glove compartment for the other papers. I looked and looked and all I could find there was a pair of sunglasses, a bottle of sun block, a note pad and a pen. F***! Where in the hell are those papers? After what seemed like eternity, I figured out that my car actually had two glove compartments. Duh! And as soon as I opened the second one, the registration and insurance card were right there on top, paper-clipped together. Tada! So I reached for the license on my lap, only, it wasn't there. Did it fall on the floor? No. Maybe it slipped on the side? No. Are you kidding me? By this time, I was ready to cry. Will I go to jail now for driving without a license?

Anyway, after getting out of the car and almost turning it upside down, I found the license and waved at Mr. Policeman who returned to his side of the car after getting bored waiting for me to get my bearings together. He came back to check on my papers and gave me the bigger shock of that morning. "I'll let you go with a warning this time," and handed me my papers back. Wait, did I hear right? I looked at the registration with disbelief as he went into this speech about focusing on the road even though I was busy planning a busy day ahead. Then he bid me a nice day and walked away.

Discombobulated,I stayed where I was trying to process what just happened. I got away from a possible $200-fine. I realized two things: God was definitely smiling down on me that day, and second - I'm such a freakin' moron.

Mama

Yesterday was Mother's Day and so naturally, I turn my thoughts to my own Mama.

She doesn't know this but I've always measured myself as a mother against her. I would always have this little voice saying, "Mama would do it this way and that or Mama would have dealt with that differently." Most times, I beat myself up because I know that she's a better mom and I'm convinced my kids are shortchanged just because they got me instead.

When my brothers and sisters were growing up, Mama hardly ever hugged us, except to greet us on our birthdays and Christmas. So it was actually a treat when I'm running a fever and she would put her cool hand on my forehead. Or when she would put Vicks Vaporub on my chest and back when I have colds. She was very restrained that way as if she was embarrassed to show even a little bit of affection.

Mama's always been a stay-at-home mom and so everyday when I came home from school, she would always be home waiting for us. She made sure there were homemade treats and snacks waiting for us. Some days there'll be ginataang mais, or cassava cake, or champorado. Sometimes, it's just pandesal and condensed milk. But it was always so comforting to go home knowing she'll be there. Then we tell her stories about school and classmates. She never offered any advise, she just asked questions and listened while she stood in front of the kitchen counter, making dinner.

Because she was always home, we always miss her sorely even when she would only be gone 2 or 3 hours to go to the palengke or when she visits her mother or when she goes out with her sisters. When she comes home, she'd always have pasalubong for us - candies, pastry treats, new slippers, etc. Even when she was away to spend time for herself, she was still thinking about us.

She never called me "Nang" which is short for inang, a local term of endearment. Daddy always called me that but not Mama. I never really paid attention to that and never realized that she didn't until I came here to the States. When I call, she would always ask me: Komusta na ka Nang? That's when it hurts most to be away. I would give an arm and a leg just to be beside her so I could tell her, just as I did as a child, how my day went.

Pajamas

Alone in a silent house, after I tucked the kids to bed and gave Bamboo his treat to retire to his dog house, I decided to rummage through the space bags I kept under the bed. I share closet space with hubby. So to keep him from complaining I have too much clothes and make me feel guilty for bringing home yet another top, I store off-season clothing in space bags, suck the air out of them and voila! they're flat as a board and stowed away under the bed.

Anyway, in one of the bags, I found a pair of pajamas that Mama bought for me when I gave birth for the first time 13 years ago. It was a matching pink button- down shirt and pajama that had little flowers all over.  I wore the pair while in the hospital and every other time as soon as it left the clothesline after a day of drying in the sun. Even in the summer heat of March 1995, I had to keep warm and covered. I did not dare ask what happens if I didn't. I think stubborn new moms who refused to cover up went crazy or something if a breeze as much as touched any part of their waist down.

I brought that pair with me from the Philippines. Both the top and the pants are now so thin that you can almost see through the fabric from years of wash and wear. I only wear them in the summer now because they're so flimsy they don't provide much warmth. Each time, hubby and kids will tease me to throw them away They said I can't even donate them to the Salvation Army. But how can I part with them? They were the last piece of clothing that Mama gave me before I became a mom myself. They give me a sense of who I was and still, my Mama's daughter.

So this summer, the infamous pajamas will make an appearance once again. Call before you show up at my house. I wouldn't want to be caught wearing them and embarrass me and you.