to her, the best time to text us we're out of milk is when baby is drinking the last bottle made with powder scraped off the bottom of the can and five o'clock is still five hours away. and the best time to tell us we're out of diapers is after the baby wet half a dozen of his kuya's briefs, two bedsheets, and seven hundred quilts.
she broke three quarters of my best - and only - set of drinking glasses. she was complicit in the destruction of three of diego's shoes. she taught the baby to shriek "mumu!" at the sight of the acacia tree at night. she told my daughter she was dark and curly, beauty concepts jana is allergic to. jana regularly asks her why she is fat when she is not yet married. rashdi regularly asks her where she placed his things this time. she has no respect for the dewey decimal system i imposed on our tiny-tiny collection of books. neither will she deign to acknowledge the subtle distinctions between megabocks and lego, wantonly shoving members of both sets into the tattered and swollen winnie the pooh bag.
to create the pristine work table that my heart desires, she sweeps everything into the gaping mouth of an already crammed drawer.
she deliberately peels off the top layers of her skin with caustic chemicals and is thus useless for monitoring kids at the beach. she has a knack for picking out, amidst a pile of mostly 100% cotton, the shirt with the most number of synthetic fiber for my babies to wear on a hot sunday afternoon. she wears pajama-like pants the whole day, despite my mother's loud protestations.
the hole in our otherwise pristine bedroom window screen was deviced by husband in his efforts to retrieve the keys she saw fit to lend to the baby. credit for the two big holes on the bathroom door however goes only to her. what else could she do, she shyly asks, but hack the plyboard to pieces because the knobs wouldn't work and baby was quite vocal in letting the entire neighborhood know he was done taking a bath?
four years of taking care of her who took great care of my babies. now i have to let her go because she's having a baby of her own. yaya mila, we miss you so.
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