Unlike the typical, domesticated housewives, my mom was quite the opposite. She works hard until she doesn't have the time to pick me up from school, or go to the zoo with me the way moms and daughters do. When I was in preschool, I always wondered why my classmates can brag about the new pencil cases and boxes of 64 crayolas their moms bought for them, while all I do is show my Hello Kitty lunch box proudly say she prepared a hearty snack for me. I did that everyday for two years even though I know it was always my dad or the maid who would wake up in the morning to do mom stuff for me.
When I got home after school, I would hurriedly go to her office only to find her not there. I would ask her sewers where she is, and they would just tell me she went to Manila for business and would not be back until dinner time. It was almost impossible to catch her because of work, because of overtime, because of business meetings. Of course during that time, I was craving for too much attention and would be a little upset when she was busy. In my childhood years, I oftentimes thought how it would be like it she wasn't working full-time.
My playmates and I would talk about our moms. They would tell me they get so tired of their moms being home all the time, scolding them every minute, asking them to run errands daily. I would tell them I wish my mom was like theirs, and we would joke around, telling each other we might need to trade-in like we do with scented stationery and Barbies.
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