Maayong buntag

It means ‘good morning’ and it’s sadly not something we get around here too often.

We have a pretty solid routine where the kids stay at their grandmothers house on Friday and Saturday nights; they get to play with all the cousins, the grandparents get their share of sweetness and we get to go out and come home late. It’s a pretty win-win-win situation. And on top of that we should, theoretically, be allowed to sleep in on Saturday and Sunday mornings.

Today is Saturday and we had the other grandmother around at SIX THIRTY asking whatever the hell it was she was asking. And just after that we had our renegade chicken REALLY wanting to lay some eggs in the bbq in our back yard (it’s kind of blocked up with stuff and it’s her favourite egg-laying spot). She gets very noisy when she’s pacing around the yard trying to get into the bbq. Well, the eggs tasted great for breakfast and there is a very very high possibility that chicken will end up in the bbq for a completely different reason.

On weekday mornings it’s a competition between kids-getting-ready-for-school-not-wanting-something-or-other noise and the renegade chicken trying to wake us up. Or the chap selling bread with his really annoying horn on his motorbike. Or our maid furiously sweeping and mopping the floor. Or our neighbourhood karaoke place with the owner waking up around six in the morning and blasting the speakers clean from any debris that might have fallen during the night. Or our next-door neighbours playing Queen really early on weekends.

I think it’s time to buy a big pack of earplugs again…

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