At last! Finished the Japan blog!
All done. Plus some last thoughts on Japan. This is it - my complete blog entries on travelling in Japan.
http://bigontrips.blogspot.com/
More to come. Will try to add in our travels elsewhere too.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
Mummy the slavedriver!
Got a call from Caitlin's school again - this time it was Caitlin's Art teacher. Here's how it went:
Mrs Chong, I am Caitlin's Art Teacher. Caitlin is crying now and says she has a tummyache. Would you like to come and pick her up from school?
Ms Wong right? Ms Wong, no I would not want to come and pick her up. This just happened on Tuesday. Is there anything that she seems worried or upset about?
Well, she didn't bring her art work from last week and when I asked her about it, she said she was very busy at home, that you asked her to do a lot of work to do at home and so she forgot. Then she started crying and I called you.
Huh? Me?? Ask her to do a lot of work at home? Like what?
She says she has to mop the floor everyday, sweep the kitchen all the time... (at this point I let loose one hyena yell of laughter - sorry couldn't help it. Oh Cinderalla, you've been a bad bad bad influence on my daughter!)
Ms Wong, there is nothing wrong with Caitlin. I think she's just very anxious about some things like when she does not bring things, or when there is Spelling etc. She'll be alright after a while if you talk to her. On my part, I will speak to her when she comes home but I don't think there is a need to bring her home now.
True enough. When Cait came home and I asked how was school, she went breezily: Fine! School was fun!
In case you think she is schizo, she really isn't. She's just a very antsy, high-strung 6-year-old who stresses out at the thought of being on any Figure of Authority's bad books. She really stresses out and freaks out over these issues. Had to really talk to her last night about why she should not do that. Apart from getting an ulcer by the time she's 8, its no joy for me to keep getting phone calls from the school to come pick her up.
Maybe I need to teach her some deep breathing/conscious breathing skills that I teach my birth classes! I've already taught Owain this and it's paying off! Everytime he screams and howls, I remind him to take deep breaths. And it works! He usually calms down enough to talk intelligibly.
Finally, we came to an agreement that I should not send her to school for ballet - it makes her too sad to say goodbye and to leave me and she would brood about it and feel lousy after that. Okay. So I got to speak to Mama and Granddad about being her new transport service. We also agreed that she would come to me if she ever felt scared about anything in school and not stress out about in school. We agreed that Ms Ang and her teachers were really truly not child-eating ogres in disguise and they were genuinely very nice and caring people who would not eat her up if she forgot to bring a book. She agreed that she would now save her stomach aches for home instead of school.
And she agreed that she would not tell anyone anymore how I slave-drive her at home with a whip to clean the kitchen sink with a toothbrush every morning at 4am.
Got a call from Caitlin's school again - this time it was Caitlin's Art teacher. Here's how it went:
Mrs Chong, I am Caitlin's Art Teacher. Caitlin is crying now and says she has a tummyache. Would you like to come and pick her up from school?
Ms Wong right? Ms Wong, no I would not want to come and pick her up. This just happened on Tuesday. Is there anything that she seems worried or upset about?
Well, she didn't bring her art work from last week and when I asked her about it, she said she was very busy at home, that you asked her to do a lot of work to do at home and so she forgot. Then she started crying and I called you.
Huh? Me?? Ask her to do a lot of work at home? Like what?
She says she has to mop the floor everyday, sweep the kitchen all the time... (at this point I let loose one hyena yell of laughter - sorry couldn't help it. Oh Cinderalla, you've been a bad bad bad influence on my daughter!)
Ms Wong, there is nothing wrong with Caitlin. I think she's just very anxious about some things like when she does not bring things, or when there is Spelling etc. She'll be alright after a while if you talk to her. On my part, I will speak to her when she comes home but I don't think there is a need to bring her home now.
True enough. When Cait came home and I asked how was school, she went breezily: Fine! School was fun!
In case you think she is schizo, she really isn't. She's just a very antsy, high-strung 6-year-old who stresses out at the thought of being on any Figure of Authority's bad books. She really stresses out and freaks out over these issues. Had to really talk to her last night about why she should not do that. Apart from getting an ulcer by the time she's 8, its no joy for me to keep getting phone calls from the school to come pick her up.
Maybe I need to teach her some deep breathing/conscious breathing skills that I teach my birth classes! I've already taught Owain this and it's paying off! Everytime he screams and howls, I remind him to take deep breaths. And it works! He usually calms down enough to talk intelligibly.
Finally, we came to an agreement that I should not send her to school for ballet - it makes her too sad to say goodbye and to leave me and she would brood about it and feel lousy after that. Okay. So I got to speak to Mama and Granddad about being her new transport service. We also agreed that she would come to me if she ever felt scared about anything in school and not stress out about in school. We agreed that Ms Ang and her teachers were really truly not child-eating ogres in disguise and they were genuinely very nice and caring people who would not eat her up if she forgot to bring a book. She agreed that she would now save her stomach aches for home instead of school.
And she agreed that she would not tell anyone anymore how I slave-drive her at home with a whip to clean the kitchen sink with a toothbrush every morning at 4am.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Inspired!
I have to confess to feeling a wee bit burnt out, lazy and uninspired these couple of months re birth issues.
Meeting a very nice obs the other day and realising just how uphill it would be to change the birth culture here in Singapore also did not help boost my morale. The doctor was nice but very realistic and we both agreed it was uphill work.
But reading Andrea Robertson's diary has energised me again. Here is a very interesting account of the birth culture in Iran and how she is working with Iranian midwives and obstetricians to change the scene. The pictures of the labour ward there would send chills down your spine! If we say that birth here is so medicated and managed, gosh, look at the environment there and be thankful for what we have at least - private delivery suites.
A really marvellous, eye-opening and fun read - especially the Maryam's birth story written by Dr Kirsten Small - which is an account of the first official water birth in Iran!
http://www.birthinternational.com/diary/archives/2007_11.html
Now I feel more inspired to continue working towards working with and empowering midwives to support physiological birth - even though the task seems very huge and very daunting and rejection is more often a reality than a possibility!
I have to confess to feeling a wee bit burnt out, lazy and uninspired these couple of months re birth issues.
Meeting a very nice obs the other day and realising just how uphill it would be to change the birth culture here in Singapore also did not help boost my morale. The doctor was nice but very realistic and we both agreed it was uphill work.
But reading Andrea Robertson's diary has energised me again. Here is a very interesting account of the birth culture in Iran and how she is working with Iranian midwives and obstetricians to change the scene. The pictures of the labour ward there would send chills down your spine! If we say that birth here is so medicated and managed, gosh, look at the environment there and be thankful for what we have at least - private delivery suites.
A really marvellous, eye-opening and fun read - especially the Maryam's birth story written by Dr Kirsten Small - which is an account of the first official water birth in Iran!
http://www.birthinternational.com/diary/archives/2007_11.html
Now I feel more inspired to continue working towards working with and empowering midwives to support physiological birth - even though the task seems very huge and very daunting and rejection is more often a reality than a possibility!
The honeymoon is over!
Indeed it is.
There I was. Happily ensconced in my seat in a near empty Lido cinema watching the very funny Steve Carell in Dan In Real Life yesterday when the phone rang. I'd debated about whether or not to switch the phone off but because the cinema was empty and I could feel the vibration of the phone easily enough, I decided not to switch it off. And good thing I didn't.
Right at the funny bit with Steve Carell and Juliette Binoche in the bathroom/tub, the phone rang.
Caitlin's teacher Ms Ang was on the line. Caitlin was crying and said she had a tummy ache and wanted to go home so could I come by and pick her up?
Deja vu all over again!
I knew what was the problem and it wasn't her tummy. It was a combination of factors. First, this brings me back to Cait's first days in Kindergarten. Same thing happened. When she first started, everything was hunky-dory. Then after the 2nd or 3rd week, she started this: crying, tummy aches, crying the night before, crying on Sunday nights, asking if she had to go to school everyday etc. We finally figured out what was the prob - Chinese lessons (she was clueless about Chinese back then!) and an overly long bus ride everyday. We solved this by getting her a lift from Big Bernice, her very matured-minded senior in K2 whose mum picked her everyday and who, thankfully lived nearby. So problem solved and she went on to have many happy months in K1 and K2.
So now this. I'd seen it before. This time, I think I knew the problem. And I was part of it. First, English spelling and Chinese spelling all on one day. And then there's me the pushy insensitive mummy.
Yes, I screwed up.
I had told myself to go slow with her re spelling, school, adjusting etc. So we've been going through her spelling with one word a day until Tuesday. This has worked well for the past few weeks.
But yesterday, Tuesday morning and Spelling Day, I was at the PC trying to get that blasted internet home connection back on and I wasn't really thinking when she talked about the plant she wanted. I had promised to get her a plant if she got all her Spelling words right. Last week she had everything right except for 'sharpener'. So yesterday morning, I unthinkingly said: no, you need to get everything right before you get the plant. And our deal is for two spellings in a row.
She looked a bit stricken then and said: but its just one word wrong!
And I shot off: One word is not good enough.
Okay, now go ahead and please shoot me for saying stupid stupid stupid things like this!!
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I'd put my foot in it. But she didn't look upset then. The rest of the morning went well and she seemed alright. She had ballet class in school so I sent her off early to school instead of taking the bus and she still seemed herself - chatty and happy. But I guess that's just it about her - she will look happy but will be stressed on the inside.
So when Ms Ang called when Steve Carell was standing Juliet Binoche's bathtub, ah I knew immediately what it was. So I said I'd come by and pick her up and to please let her stay in the Sick Bay till then.
I arrived at the school around 3pm and headed for the General Office. The clerk there said she was in the Sick Bay. The lady smiled and said softly: she seems fine. Colouring and drawing inside.
So I said I would not sign her out just yet but we would talk. Out came Cait, looking quite solemn, but otherwise well. We talked. I gave her a hug and then the tears welled up in her eyes. While I didn't quite abase myself in front of her, I did apologise and tell her that I was wrong to push her on Spelling. I said that as long as we worked together everyday on spelling, I would and could see that she was already trying her best, so if she did still get a mistake or more, it would not be so bad because she did try her best. She nodded but said it wasn't because of this that she wanted to go home. It was because her classmate pushed her. Ah okay, so changed tack and talked about classmate pushing and what she could do. Then Ms Ang walked in and reassured her about speaking to the girl who pushed her. Between us we managed to distract and convince her to stay.
It was recess then so I asked her to show me her class. I'd seen it before but dutifully oohed and aahed over all that she pointed out - her desk, her name on the duty board, the bee decorations etc. By the time she was done, she was chirpy and ready to stay. And by the way, you wouldn't believe the number of pink bags and pink pencil cases everywhere in that room!
The Chinese teacher popped in and we had a brief chat. She was sympathetic and reassuring to both of us and said: its like that here, the children stress themselves and worry because the class is going at a pace where they can't catch up. One girl in Cait's class cries everyday because she feels so overwhelmed! The pace in this school is very fast and they have so much to do - not just school work, but CCA, gym, dance, leadership training etc.
We parted ways at the canteen and I left Cait with her classmates surrounding her. I said hi to her pals Juliet and Maxine and then quietly left. Had a few words with Ms Ang thanking her for her sensitivity in handling Cait. Ms Ang volunteered to cut back on the number of spelling words for her but I said no. She knows her words. It's really me - mummy has to work a lot harder at being a good mummy.
So off I went home to prepare a nice sushi dinner.
At 6.45pm when Cait got off the school bus, she ran in in her own usual exuberant way. I casually asked her, so how was the rest of school today? Great! she beamed. I got all my spelling right, she announced. That's good, I said, giving her a thumbs up. And she shot back: so you owe me a plant.
Okay, I do. And I will. Get her a nice plant I mean.
And footnote to this post: In CHIJ TP gym class and dance class is compulsory and part of the curriculum for P1 to P3. This is not part of PE lessons but actual gym and dance lessons. Gym and Dance are two of several 'Niche' CCAs that the school actively supports. So at a recent parent-teacher briefing, the principal had told us that while CCA is only offered at P3 generally, if the school sees potential in some girls for the niche CCAs, they will invite the girls to take the CCA very early on, from P2 onwards.
It looks like Cait seems to have been shortlisted for the gym CCA or extra gym classes? She came home yesterday telling me that she and her best pal Maxine and two other girls had their names taken down by the coach and a form would be sent to us next week. The girls were asked if they should like to learn 'Jumping Gym' (her words). Early days yet. Maybe this is just for the first cut and then I suppose they will trim the group even more later.
I think it is a good thing for Cait. She likes the idea, very enthusiastic about it. With her ballet background, I think its going to be either Dance or Rhythmic Gym for her. Okay I'm going to sound like a proud boasty mummy here so if you think you can't breathe while reading this blog entry thanks to mummy's big head, please feel free to puncture the balloon! I just am so proud of her and when I watched her dance in her concert, my gut feel just told me that she's got something there. I don't know what it is, a certain grace or spring, but there it is. Plus have you seen her in a leotard???
Okay, I may be running ahead of myself here. Deep breath please. I think I sound more excited than her! But well, I hope she gets in and does well in it. But at the same time, I've got to learn my lesson: DON'T PUSH IT!
Indeed it is.
There I was. Happily ensconced in my seat in a near empty Lido cinema watching the very funny Steve Carell in Dan In Real Life yesterday when the phone rang. I'd debated about whether or not to switch the phone off but because the cinema was empty and I could feel the vibration of the phone easily enough, I decided not to switch it off. And good thing I didn't.
Right at the funny bit with Steve Carell and Juliette Binoche in the bathroom/tub, the phone rang.
Caitlin's teacher Ms Ang was on the line. Caitlin was crying and said she had a tummy ache and wanted to go home so could I come by and pick her up?
Deja vu all over again!
I knew what was the problem and it wasn't her tummy. It was a combination of factors. First, this brings me back to Cait's first days in Kindergarten. Same thing happened. When she first started, everything was hunky-dory. Then after the 2nd or 3rd week, she started this: crying, tummy aches, crying the night before, crying on Sunday nights, asking if she had to go to school everyday etc. We finally figured out what was the prob - Chinese lessons (she was clueless about Chinese back then!) and an overly long bus ride everyday. We solved this by getting her a lift from Big Bernice, her very matured-minded senior in K2 whose mum picked her everyday and who, thankfully lived nearby. So problem solved and she went on to have many happy months in K1 and K2.
So now this. I'd seen it before. This time, I think I knew the problem. And I was part of it. First, English spelling and Chinese spelling all on one day. And then there's me the pushy insensitive mummy.
Yes, I screwed up.
I had told myself to go slow with her re spelling, school, adjusting etc. So we've been going through her spelling with one word a day until Tuesday. This has worked well for the past few weeks.
But yesterday, Tuesday morning and Spelling Day, I was at the PC trying to get that blasted internet home connection back on and I wasn't really thinking when she talked about the plant she wanted. I had promised to get her a plant if she got all her Spelling words right. Last week she had everything right except for 'sharpener'. So yesterday morning, I unthinkingly said: no, you need to get everything right before you get the plant. And our deal is for two spellings in a row.
She looked a bit stricken then and said: but its just one word wrong!
And I shot off: One word is not good enough.
Okay, now go ahead and please shoot me for saying stupid stupid stupid things like this!!
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I'd put my foot in it. But she didn't look upset then. The rest of the morning went well and she seemed alright. She had ballet class in school so I sent her off early to school instead of taking the bus and she still seemed herself - chatty and happy. But I guess that's just it about her - she will look happy but will be stressed on the inside.
So when Ms Ang called when Steve Carell was standing Juliet Binoche's bathtub, ah I knew immediately what it was. So I said I'd come by and pick her up and to please let her stay in the Sick Bay till then.
I arrived at the school around 3pm and headed for the General Office. The clerk there said she was in the Sick Bay. The lady smiled and said softly: she seems fine. Colouring and drawing inside.
So I said I would not sign her out just yet but we would talk. Out came Cait, looking quite solemn, but otherwise well. We talked. I gave her a hug and then the tears welled up in her eyes. While I didn't quite abase myself in front of her, I did apologise and tell her that I was wrong to push her on Spelling. I said that as long as we worked together everyday on spelling, I would and could see that she was already trying her best, so if she did still get a mistake or more, it would not be so bad because she did try her best. She nodded but said it wasn't because of this that she wanted to go home. It was because her classmate pushed her. Ah okay, so changed tack and talked about classmate pushing and what she could do. Then Ms Ang walked in and reassured her about speaking to the girl who pushed her. Between us we managed to distract and convince her to stay.
It was recess then so I asked her to show me her class. I'd seen it before but dutifully oohed and aahed over all that she pointed out - her desk, her name on the duty board, the bee decorations etc. By the time she was done, she was chirpy and ready to stay. And by the way, you wouldn't believe the number of pink bags and pink pencil cases everywhere in that room!
The Chinese teacher popped in and we had a brief chat. She was sympathetic and reassuring to both of us and said: its like that here, the children stress themselves and worry because the class is going at a pace where they can't catch up. One girl in Cait's class cries everyday because she feels so overwhelmed! The pace in this school is very fast and they have so much to do - not just school work, but CCA, gym, dance, leadership training etc.
We parted ways at the canteen and I left Cait with her classmates surrounding her. I said hi to her pals Juliet and Maxine and then quietly left. Had a few words with Ms Ang thanking her for her sensitivity in handling Cait. Ms Ang volunteered to cut back on the number of spelling words for her but I said no. She knows her words. It's really me - mummy has to work a lot harder at being a good mummy.
So off I went home to prepare a nice sushi dinner.
At 6.45pm when Cait got off the school bus, she ran in in her own usual exuberant way. I casually asked her, so how was the rest of school today? Great! she beamed. I got all my spelling right, she announced. That's good, I said, giving her a thumbs up. And she shot back: so you owe me a plant.
Okay, I do. And I will. Get her a nice plant I mean.
And footnote to this post: In CHIJ TP gym class and dance class is compulsory and part of the curriculum for P1 to P3. This is not part of PE lessons but actual gym and dance lessons. Gym and Dance are two of several 'Niche' CCAs that the school actively supports. So at a recent parent-teacher briefing, the principal had told us that while CCA is only offered at P3 generally, if the school sees potential in some girls for the niche CCAs, they will invite the girls to take the CCA very early on, from P2 onwards.
It looks like Cait seems to have been shortlisted for the gym CCA or extra gym classes? She came home yesterday telling me that she and her best pal Maxine and two other girls had their names taken down by the coach and a form would be sent to us next week. The girls were asked if they should like to learn 'Jumping Gym' (her words). Early days yet. Maybe this is just for the first cut and then I suppose they will trim the group even more later.
I think it is a good thing for Cait. She likes the idea, very enthusiastic about it. With her ballet background, I think its going to be either Dance or Rhythmic Gym for her. Okay I'm going to sound like a proud boasty mummy here so if you think you can't breathe while reading this blog entry thanks to mummy's big head, please feel free to puncture the balloon! I just am so proud of her and when I watched her dance in her concert, my gut feel just told me that she's got something there. I don't know what it is, a certain grace or spring, but there it is. Plus have you seen her in a leotard???
Okay, I may be running ahead of myself here. Deep breath please. I think I sound more excited than her! But well, I hope she gets in and does well in it. But at the same time, I've got to learn my lesson: DON'T PUSH IT!
Money money money
It's just starting to dawn on me (a bit late I know!) that it takes a hefty sum to raise children. I know, I know, what an understatement right? And why did it take me so long to realise this?
It hit me just before year end when we were busy buying the school books. While the primary kids generally kept the books to less than $100, Gillian's books saw a big jump to past $270! And then you factor in uniforms at between $50 to $70 per kid - thats about $300 for all 4 kids going to school.
School shoes, school bags, water bottles, stationery, pencil cases, hair accessories etc were all bought in Malaysia at the Parkson year-end Back to School sale where managed to save quite a fair bit on forex with the ringgit. So every year when it gets to Dec you know where to find us shopping for school stuff - Malaysia!!
At Caitlin's P1 Orientation, we were asked to give a cheque for $285 for miscellaneous items - I guess this would cover the worksheets, the mugshots needed etc. All this was given upfront so that we would not be asked for money periodically through the year for school expenses. But more was to come and school hadn't even officially started yet!
The requests come in dribs and drabs - $205 for Caitlin's Chinese speech and drama class (which is a must for me because I don't want her to deepen her dislike for the language), $13 for Chinese newsletter, $85 for ballet for a term and $30 for a pair of ballet shoes, $54 for canteen catering. For Isaac, it's $60-something for worksheets, newsletter, etc, $30 for badminton CCA, $7 per session of fencing enrichment class. For Gillian, its $32 for Chinese Speech and Drama, $40 for Father-Daughter Bonding Workshop, $300 for bowling CCA (for the year) and $30 for catechism books. I'm not including the bag, the shoes etc for bowling since dad is picking up the tab for that!
There must be more that I am missing because I am beginning to feel like its a constant outflow! And the thing is, its all insidious - $4 here, $10 there, one kid asks and then another and before you know it, ka-pow you're robbed!
Oh and there's school bus fees which are not cheap - $100 for each kid except Gillian. Gillian takes public transport home so I top up her EZ Link card about $30 once a month. Then there's the phone - Isaac and Gillian now get their own mobile phones which cost me $10.90 a month in subscription fees and a $28 Hi-Card which I've asked her to make stretch for as long as possible.
On the miscellaneous activities front, its $40 per month for Caitlin's swimming class and $110 a month for Kumon for Isaac.
And now I'm about to ask KH to let Owain go for Berries class - which will be about $120 a month or $360 a term!
AND I have not even thought about Trin's evaluation and therapy if needed!
Aargh!
I agree with Barbs' famous line: children are not expensive, lifestyles are! Well, at 4 school-going kids and counting, this is starting to wear a bit thin for me! Based on just money alone, full-time work is looking increasingly attractive!
It's just starting to dawn on me (a bit late I know!) that it takes a hefty sum to raise children. I know, I know, what an understatement right? And why did it take me so long to realise this?
It hit me just before year end when we were busy buying the school books. While the primary kids generally kept the books to less than $100, Gillian's books saw a big jump to past $270! And then you factor in uniforms at between $50 to $70 per kid - thats about $300 for all 4 kids going to school.
School shoes, school bags, water bottles, stationery, pencil cases, hair accessories etc were all bought in Malaysia at the Parkson year-end Back to School sale where managed to save quite a fair bit on forex with the ringgit. So every year when it gets to Dec you know where to find us shopping for school stuff - Malaysia!!
At Caitlin's P1 Orientation, we were asked to give a cheque for $285 for miscellaneous items - I guess this would cover the worksheets, the mugshots needed etc. All this was given upfront so that we would not be asked for money periodically through the year for school expenses. But more was to come and school hadn't even officially started yet!
The requests come in dribs and drabs - $205 for Caitlin's Chinese speech and drama class (which is a must for me because I don't want her to deepen her dislike for the language), $13 for Chinese newsletter, $85 for ballet for a term and $30 for a pair of ballet shoes, $54 for canteen catering. For Isaac, it's $60-something for worksheets, newsletter, etc, $30 for badminton CCA, $7 per session of fencing enrichment class. For Gillian, its $32 for Chinese Speech and Drama, $40 for Father-Daughter Bonding Workshop, $300 for bowling CCA (for the year) and $30 for catechism books. I'm not including the bag, the shoes etc for bowling since dad is picking up the tab for that!
There must be more that I am missing because I am beginning to feel like its a constant outflow! And the thing is, its all insidious - $4 here, $10 there, one kid asks and then another and before you know it, ka-pow you're robbed!
Oh and there's school bus fees which are not cheap - $100 for each kid except Gillian. Gillian takes public transport home so I top up her EZ Link card about $30 once a month. Then there's the phone - Isaac and Gillian now get their own mobile phones which cost me $10.90 a month in subscription fees and a $28 Hi-Card which I've asked her to make stretch for as long as possible.
On the miscellaneous activities front, its $40 per month for Caitlin's swimming class and $110 a month for Kumon for Isaac.
And now I'm about to ask KH to let Owain go for Berries class - which will be about $120 a month or $360 a term!
AND I have not even thought about Trin's evaluation and therapy if needed!
Aargh!
I agree with Barbs' famous line: children are not expensive, lifestyles are! Well, at 4 school-going kids and counting, this is starting to wear a bit thin for me! Based on just money alone, full-time work is looking increasingly attractive!
Monday, January 21, 2008
Pain amid the mundane
It never fails to amaze me how pain can be interwoven with the mundane, that even when one feels so down, one can still function and go on. The human mind and heart can be so resilient.
Okay, reporting on the mundane first - Gillian got into the bowling team. Now her granddad thinks she is the next Big Thing and claims his granddaughter has 'potential' - he wanted to run right out and buy her her gear - the bowling shoes, the wrist guard, the ball, the bag etc. When I tried to head him off by saying I'd like to check with the school on what exactly is required, he gave me a very rude unpublishable comment that went somewhere along the lines of me being 'constipated' in my actions - to say this politely.
So there goes sunshine and water and achy arms - no more dragon boat/ODAC! To KH's secret disappointment.
Another mundane event - or maybe not so mundane, depending on your POV. Isaac went head-to-head with his daddy last Thursday night. We had come back late (for a school day) after going to the library and doing grocery shopping at J8. It was 10pm by then. KH insisted that Isaac complete his day's Kumon homework. And for KH it was not just completing it, Isaac also had to memorise the words etc to be 'tested'. This is everyday routine. But that night, Isaac was not buying it. He was just tired and wanted to sleep. He didn't like Kumon, never enjoyed it and certainly did not want to do it when he was tired and sleepy. But KH told him: You're not allowed to sleep until you finish your Kumon.
So what did my son do?
Promptly climb out of his bedroom window and sit outside on the roof in the darkness, trying to sleep!
In deadlocks like these, who else should be called to the rescue but mummy dearest - yours truly! So blur me was roused out of sleep by an irate KH, did not have the foggiest what had happened, but obediently albeit groggily went to Isaac's room and rapped on the window. I told him shortly: I don't care what happened between you and your dad. Its late. I'm sleepy. Get back in here and go to bed!
The next day when I was more awake and focused, I asked him what happened. Told him to please try to negotiate with his dad or compromise for a win-win situation. Rather than him sulking out in the darkness and his dad going to bed huffy, try for a compromise - like work on the worksheet but be tested the next night instead etc. My son listened solemnly, unblinkingly, and nodded.
But I see in him a growing boy and the seeds of adolescent independence being sown. He is 11 going on 12. But I also know that he cannot be 'handled' in the same way that KH has always 'handled' him - he cannot be just ordered around, shouted at, given ultimatums etc. And that was what I told KH in private too. I don't know how much of that sank in - probably not much - knowing his mulishness. Sigh.
So that's the mundane report. And the pain?
Well, Marc's ashes will be scattered at the big track at Sepang, KL this Saturday. This is it. Bye-bye Marc dear - you will now have a grandstand seat right in the thick of all the race action. You will always be remembered and loved.
And another source of pain - deep pain in fact - comes from within. I am facing a personal emotional crisis of sorts. These few weeks/days have been very awful emotionally. I teeter between sadness to anger to hope and back again. Like whirling around in the Mad Hatter's Tea Cup of Emotion! It's hard to juggle keeping the normalcy of life going and putting on a smiley face for a mom with all this internal turmoil going on. But I think I do a pretty good job. There were times when I've felt like I was about to burst or suffocate from the big tsunami inside. Even my blood pressure, which was well controlled with meds until this point, shot up.
I've decided to seek some professional counselling help before deciding what to do next. But life, I think, will be rather rocky from here on. I am also trying to work out my feelings by creating a private restricted blog, by talking it out with closer friends who have been through this, but I think there is only so much this can help. After a while, I start to feel like I am going round in crazy circles! I think talking to a professional might help present a more objective picture and offer me some options on what to do next. I'm optimistic. I know I'll be alright after a while.
Meanwhile, I've got to BREATHE! Inhale, exhale...
It never fails to amaze me how pain can be interwoven with the mundane, that even when one feels so down, one can still function and go on. The human mind and heart can be so resilient.
Okay, reporting on the mundane first - Gillian got into the bowling team. Now her granddad thinks she is the next Big Thing and claims his granddaughter has 'potential' - he wanted to run right out and buy her her gear - the bowling shoes, the wrist guard, the ball, the bag etc. When I tried to head him off by saying I'd like to check with the school on what exactly is required, he gave me a very rude unpublishable comment that went somewhere along the lines of me being 'constipated' in my actions - to say this politely.
So there goes sunshine and water and achy arms - no more dragon boat/ODAC! To KH's secret disappointment.
Another mundane event - or maybe not so mundane, depending on your POV. Isaac went head-to-head with his daddy last Thursday night. We had come back late (for a school day) after going to the library and doing grocery shopping at J8. It was 10pm by then. KH insisted that Isaac complete his day's Kumon homework. And for KH it was not just completing it, Isaac also had to memorise the words etc to be 'tested'. This is everyday routine. But that night, Isaac was not buying it. He was just tired and wanted to sleep. He didn't like Kumon, never enjoyed it and certainly did not want to do it when he was tired and sleepy. But KH told him: You're not allowed to sleep until you finish your Kumon.
So what did my son do?
Promptly climb out of his bedroom window and sit outside on the roof in the darkness, trying to sleep!
In deadlocks like these, who else should be called to the rescue but mummy dearest - yours truly! So blur me was roused out of sleep by an irate KH, did not have the foggiest what had happened, but obediently albeit groggily went to Isaac's room and rapped on the window. I told him shortly: I don't care what happened between you and your dad. Its late. I'm sleepy. Get back in here and go to bed!
The next day when I was more awake and focused, I asked him what happened. Told him to please try to negotiate with his dad or compromise for a win-win situation. Rather than him sulking out in the darkness and his dad going to bed huffy, try for a compromise - like work on the worksheet but be tested the next night instead etc. My son listened solemnly, unblinkingly, and nodded.
But I see in him a growing boy and the seeds of adolescent independence being sown. He is 11 going on 12. But I also know that he cannot be 'handled' in the same way that KH has always 'handled' him - he cannot be just ordered around, shouted at, given ultimatums etc. And that was what I told KH in private too. I don't know how much of that sank in - probably not much - knowing his mulishness. Sigh.
So that's the mundane report. And the pain?
Well, Marc's ashes will be scattered at the big track at Sepang, KL this Saturday. This is it. Bye-bye Marc dear - you will now have a grandstand seat right in the thick of all the race action. You will always be remembered and loved.
And another source of pain - deep pain in fact - comes from within. I am facing a personal emotional crisis of sorts. These few weeks/days have been very awful emotionally. I teeter between sadness to anger to hope and back again. Like whirling around in the Mad Hatter's Tea Cup of Emotion! It's hard to juggle keeping the normalcy of life going and putting on a smiley face for a mom with all this internal turmoil going on. But I think I do a pretty good job. There were times when I've felt like I was about to burst or suffocate from the big tsunami inside. Even my blood pressure, which was well controlled with meds until this point, shot up.
I've decided to seek some professional counselling help before deciding what to do next. But life, I think, will be rather rocky from here on. I am also trying to work out my feelings by creating a private restricted blog, by talking it out with closer friends who have been through this, but I think there is only so much this can help. After a while, I start to feel like I am going round in crazy circles! I think talking to a professional might help present a more objective picture and offer me some options on what to do next. I'm optimistic. I know I'll be alright after a while.
Meanwhile, I've got to BREATHE! Inhale, exhale...
Monday, January 07, 2008
Of Friends and Dads
Gillian's first days in KC went better than expected. She came home happy and said she'd made friends. Which was better than I expected, given that in the days before school started, her new-school anxiety was covered up by the usual teen sulky face, hair flips and muttered intonations about school being "boring", everyone being really "boring" and how the act of making friends was yes, oh so "boring"! Oh get a new vocab already!
So day 1, I was pleased to hear her say "I made some friends like you told me to!" (though of course I wish she'd made friends because she wanted to, not because I told her to - sigh!)
Day 2, still had the same friends. Turns out that they were the cute, mixed-looking girls from KC Pri. I had seen them on Orientation Day in December. Gillian's class largely comprised girls from other schools and the bunch from KC Pri was a small one even though KCP was affiliated to KC. Okay, I stress these are first impressions and first impressions might not be very useful in the long run. The KC girls look like they already knew each other (of course! Same school!) and were already a clique. The other girls from the other schools were looking lost and standing around. I don't know about you, but for me, I would have drifted towards the other loners and hoped to find someone whom I could click with - since everyone also looked lost like me. I would steer clear of the cliques - especially if they looked smart, tart, good-looking and cool - but that's just me with the low self-esteem speaking!
Day 3 and the warning bells have officially sounded a peal! Gillian came home round eyed with stories swapped during Chinese lessons. Since we had applied for Chinese exemption, Gillian had been spending her Chinese lessons outside of class with another classmate (from KC Pri) who was also applying for exemptions. And these two girls have been busy waggling tongues on hot 'gossip' on the KCP girls in their class. Like so-and-so had had sex and had an abortion, like so-and-so smokes ("but only one puff mum!"), like so-and-so were part of a gang and beat up other girls ("but they're not going to do it anymore cos they're scared of the discipline mistress!"), like so-and-so 'hated' her body and got hurt many times ("she broke her neck too mum!" at which I raise one sceptical eyebrow).
So warning bells now going clang-clang-clang in my head, I wonder what to do/say while maintaining Zen mum outlook. My first instinct is to pounce and say: Okay, lose these friends NOW.
But then instinct tells me that if I go heavy-handed in this, she will be defensive and batten the hatches and then there will be no way I can get my 2 cents in.
So I say as mildly as I can even tho the horror stories are starting to curdle my blood, "Er, maybe you shouldn't believe all that you hear. This is just gossip." Maybe that should apply to me too eh? I shouldn't believe all that I hear.
Instead I tell her about my JC days when I made so many wrong choices, leaving my bunch of down-to-earth pals in VJC for RJC just for prestige sake and to thumb one up my ex's nose since I made it and he didn't, even though he was from RI. Then there was the bad bad bad mistake of trying too hard to fit in with the popular crowd in my first year which led to a hard comedown at the end of Year 1 and stinky results, and later backpedalling but too late to better grades at the A Levels. I forgot that RJC kids are brilliant kids - the kind who can party hard, captain hockey teams and still come up with As. I, on the other hand, thought the glam and cool would rub off on me, but forgot that our basic DNA is not the same - I was not as brilliant and needed time to knuckle down to work/study. And there were just not enough hours in the day to party party party, be distracted by boys, moon about campus and still study enough to get decent grades. There is always a price to pay for the choices we make.
So my basic message to her is: "You can hang out with whoever you think is fun or cool and it is okay to like them, or even wish you could be like them, but you don't have to do everything they do. You don't have to like or agree with everything they like/tell you to do. If you feel that something is not right, be brave enough to say no and not do it. And sometimes you can try very very hard to be like your friends, but you're still not them - you're still you. And there is nothing wrong with that. Some friends may stick by you, but some friends, the minute you're in trouble, scatter and run. So you've got to be careful whom you trust and this sort of thing takes time, so don't be in a hurry to just stick to one group of friends. Talk to other girls in your class - you never know who else you can click with."
Strategically though, as a mom, I think its time to get to know G better and to be open and to get to know her friends better. And if I really really disliked them, to never let her know. Maybe its time to invite her friends over. (But I sense this group might find our house decidedly un-cool since we lack the usual gadgets and my house rule includes no holing up inside bedrooms with the door closed!) Still, maybe her coming 13th birthday might be a good time. I think I really have to keep her close - not in a vice-like grip to watch over her like a warden - but to be emotionally as close as I can.
And as for dads - well, we attended a parenting talk at KC on Sat because G had to attend a CCA Fair to choose her CCA. And part of the talk included the emphasis on the fact that dads need to be closer to their daughters, to take active part in their lives. Their journey into womanhood should not be accompanied only by their mother. So in a move that surprised me, KH prompted signed up for Dads N Daughters Day - Feb 16 - where dads and daughters get to bond in an arts n craft session! It surprised me because up till now, KH has always said he would leave 'woman things' to me and I would presume this includes all the touchy-feely emo stuff that men generally view with horror.
But I think we both recognise that our parenting roles are shifting a bit now. And as always, there is hard work ahead. This, at 13 and in Sec 1, is only the beginning of a whole new phase.
Incidentally what CCA did she choose? Well, she had told me she wanted Bowling as first choice and then ODAC (Outdoor Activities Club) as second choice and IJ Mission as third choice. But on that day, she surprised us when she told us she'd signed up for the new uniformed group - National Cadet Civil Defence Force! Our jaws hung open when she first told us. Then, struggling to be laidback, to let her make her choice and yet not wanting her to make disasterous choices, KH and I fumbled our way painfully to say a variety of the following:
"WHAT? I thought you said you wanted Bowling?? But... (deep breaths)... it is YOUR choice. You should make up your own mind. BUT you should think very very VERY carefully. Think hard about whether it is what you really want. Think very very hard. Because there is no turning back. Because once you sign up, you can't change CCA and that will last you for FIVE years. Think about that! Are you sure you want to be NCCDF for five years??"
"Bowling is good what... you always said you liked it. Are you SURE about the NCCDF?"
"Oh yeah? What's so fun about NCCDF huh??? There is nothing remotely fun about rolling up and running with a humongously heavy water hose in the hot sun I tell ya!"
"Bowling is fun right? I thought you liked it... And the ODAC is also fun... dragon boating, roller blading... What? No, the NCCDF people only showed you the fun stuff but that's only once in a blue blue blue moon - when you have camp, not all the time. Most of the time you'll be marching marching marching!"
"Rolling hoses!"
"And you'll have to go to the Civil Defence Academy. In Jurong!! Do you know how far that is? Bowling is just down the road at Chinese Swimming Club. And dragon boating is at Bedok Reservoir - right next to mummy's office - we can go home together!"
"Better think carefully... but its your choice."
"You decide."
And so on. Finally she said: Okay, wait here. Dashed off. Came back and said: Okay, I cancelled it. All my friends also cancelled. They joined badminton instead.
She signed up for bowling eventually. But there are only 8 places so she'll go for the selection trials on Wed. Then second choice she kept to ODAC - and she will go for the selection trials then too. I think she would do well in either bowling or ODAC - look at her big frame, her big shoulders and arms! Lots of power there...
I think I need to work on my mum anxiety level. And learn to LET GO!
Gillian's first days in KC went better than expected. She came home happy and said she'd made friends. Which was better than I expected, given that in the days before school started, her new-school anxiety was covered up by the usual teen sulky face, hair flips and muttered intonations about school being "boring", everyone being really "boring" and how the act of making friends was yes, oh so "boring"! Oh get a new vocab already!
So day 1, I was pleased to hear her say "I made some friends like you told me to!" (though of course I wish she'd made friends because she wanted to, not because I told her to - sigh!)
Day 2, still had the same friends. Turns out that they were the cute, mixed-looking girls from KC Pri. I had seen them on Orientation Day in December. Gillian's class largely comprised girls from other schools and the bunch from KC Pri was a small one even though KCP was affiliated to KC. Okay, I stress these are first impressions and first impressions might not be very useful in the long run. The KC girls look like they already knew each other (of course! Same school!) and were already a clique. The other girls from the other schools were looking lost and standing around. I don't know about you, but for me, I would have drifted towards the other loners and hoped to find someone whom I could click with - since everyone also looked lost like me. I would steer clear of the cliques - especially if they looked smart, tart, good-looking and cool - but that's just me with the low self-esteem speaking!
Day 3 and the warning bells have officially sounded a peal! Gillian came home round eyed with stories swapped during Chinese lessons. Since we had applied for Chinese exemption, Gillian had been spending her Chinese lessons outside of class with another classmate (from KC Pri) who was also applying for exemptions. And these two girls have been busy waggling tongues on hot 'gossip' on the KCP girls in their class. Like so-and-so had had sex and had an abortion, like so-and-so smokes ("but only one puff mum!"), like so-and-so were part of a gang and beat up other girls ("but they're not going to do it anymore cos they're scared of the discipline mistress!"), like so-and-so 'hated' her body and got hurt many times ("she broke her neck too mum!" at which I raise one sceptical eyebrow).
So warning bells now going clang-clang-clang in my head, I wonder what to do/say while maintaining Zen mum outlook. My first instinct is to pounce and say: Okay, lose these friends NOW.
But then instinct tells me that if I go heavy-handed in this, she will be defensive and batten the hatches and then there will be no way I can get my 2 cents in.
So I say as mildly as I can even tho the horror stories are starting to curdle my blood, "Er, maybe you shouldn't believe all that you hear. This is just gossip." Maybe that should apply to me too eh? I shouldn't believe all that I hear.
Instead I tell her about my JC days when I made so many wrong choices, leaving my bunch of down-to-earth pals in VJC for RJC just for prestige sake and to thumb one up my ex's nose since I made it and he didn't, even though he was from RI. Then there was the bad bad bad mistake of trying too hard to fit in with the popular crowd in my first year which led to a hard comedown at the end of Year 1 and stinky results, and later backpedalling but too late to better grades at the A Levels. I forgot that RJC kids are brilliant kids - the kind who can party hard, captain hockey teams and still come up with As. I, on the other hand, thought the glam and cool would rub off on me, but forgot that our basic DNA is not the same - I was not as brilliant and needed time to knuckle down to work/study. And there were just not enough hours in the day to party party party, be distracted by boys, moon about campus and still study enough to get decent grades. There is always a price to pay for the choices we make.
So my basic message to her is: "You can hang out with whoever you think is fun or cool and it is okay to like them, or even wish you could be like them, but you don't have to do everything they do. You don't have to like or agree with everything they like/tell you to do. If you feel that something is not right, be brave enough to say no and not do it. And sometimes you can try very very hard to be like your friends, but you're still not them - you're still you. And there is nothing wrong with that. Some friends may stick by you, but some friends, the minute you're in trouble, scatter and run. So you've got to be careful whom you trust and this sort of thing takes time, so don't be in a hurry to just stick to one group of friends. Talk to other girls in your class - you never know who else you can click with."
Strategically though, as a mom, I think its time to get to know G better and to be open and to get to know her friends better. And if I really really disliked them, to never let her know. Maybe its time to invite her friends over. (But I sense this group might find our house decidedly un-cool since we lack the usual gadgets and my house rule includes no holing up inside bedrooms with the door closed!) Still, maybe her coming 13th birthday might be a good time. I think I really have to keep her close - not in a vice-like grip to watch over her like a warden - but to be emotionally as close as I can.
And as for dads - well, we attended a parenting talk at KC on Sat because G had to attend a CCA Fair to choose her CCA. And part of the talk included the emphasis on the fact that dads need to be closer to their daughters, to take active part in their lives. Their journey into womanhood should not be accompanied only by their mother. So in a move that surprised me, KH prompted signed up for Dads N Daughters Day - Feb 16 - where dads and daughters get to bond in an arts n craft session! It surprised me because up till now, KH has always said he would leave 'woman things' to me and I would presume this includes all the touchy-feely emo stuff that men generally view with horror.
But I think we both recognise that our parenting roles are shifting a bit now. And as always, there is hard work ahead. This, at 13 and in Sec 1, is only the beginning of a whole new phase.
Incidentally what CCA did she choose? Well, she had told me she wanted Bowling as first choice and then ODAC (Outdoor Activities Club) as second choice and IJ Mission as third choice. But on that day, she surprised us when she told us she'd signed up for the new uniformed group - National Cadet Civil Defence Force! Our jaws hung open when she first told us. Then, struggling to be laidback, to let her make her choice and yet not wanting her to make disasterous choices, KH and I fumbled our way painfully to say a variety of the following:
"WHAT? I thought you said you wanted Bowling?? But... (deep breaths)... it is YOUR choice. You should make up your own mind. BUT you should think very very VERY carefully. Think hard about whether it is what you really want. Think very very hard. Because there is no turning back. Because once you sign up, you can't change CCA and that will last you for FIVE years. Think about that! Are you sure you want to be NCCDF for five years??"
"Bowling is good what... you always said you liked it. Are you SURE about the NCCDF?"
"Oh yeah? What's so fun about NCCDF huh??? There is nothing remotely fun about rolling up and running with a humongously heavy water hose in the hot sun I tell ya!"
"Bowling is fun right? I thought you liked it... And the ODAC is also fun... dragon boating, roller blading... What? No, the NCCDF people only showed you the fun stuff but that's only once in a blue blue blue moon - when you have camp, not all the time. Most of the time you'll be marching marching marching!"
"Rolling hoses!"
"And you'll have to go to the Civil Defence Academy. In Jurong!! Do you know how far that is? Bowling is just down the road at Chinese Swimming Club. And dragon boating is at Bedok Reservoir - right next to mummy's office - we can go home together!"
"Better think carefully... but its your choice."
"You decide."
And so on. Finally she said: Okay, wait here. Dashed off. Came back and said: Okay, I cancelled it. All my friends also cancelled. They joined badminton instead.
She signed up for bowling eventually. But there are only 8 places so she'll go for the selection trials on Wed. Then second choice she kept to ODAC - and she will go for the selection trials then too. I think she would do well in either bowling or ODAC - look at her big frame, her big shoulders and arms! Lots of power there...
I think I need to work on my mum anxiety level. And learn to LET GO!
Catching up
With all that has happened in the past weeks, I have not posted on what's happening at Riang. So I thought a quick post would be in order today to bring things up to speed.
Well the biggest event so far was Back-to-School Day on 2 Jan 2008! One of those days where you wished you could split yourself into many parts so that you could be at several places at once!
A big day for us because it was Sec 1 for Gillian, P1 for Caitlin and K1 for Owain. KH sent Gillian to school (and will continue to do so because KC starts at 7.25am and the school is VERY strict on punctuality, and given the journey from my place, if G were to take a bus, she would have to leave the house at 6am! So we decided that KH would send her to school and she would take public transport back home.) at 6.30am while I stayed home to get Owain ready for school.
He didn't have the school uniform yet (long story) so went to school in his King of Cool tee! He was grumpy because he woke up too late to have his brekkie of instant noodles, but was a really cool trooper who gamely went up the school bus, said bye-bye mummy loudly and went off all by himself. I was so proud of him but can tell you that my heart also ached so badly. It was the first time in his life that I ever let him go anywhere without me or someone from the family.
He's growing so fast and going off to school by himself without mummy is the first step towards independence. I'm not sure if I'm ready for it.
Then KH came home and we drove to O's school where KH parked himself at the side gate to wait for O's bus to arrive, armed with camera. I went off to get the uniforms sorted.
When the bus finally arrived, late, KH started clicking like mad. O looked so cute. He's got this perpetual resigned stoic look about him, like "I don't really like it/I'm a bit apprehensive, but lets get this over with!" And as usual the teachers oohed and aahed over him because he's just so cute - he was the tiniest kid there - even smaller than the girls! There were only the K1 and K2 kids there that morning and I can safely say he's the smallest of the lot. But oh so cute with his curly hair, round face and patiently resigned look!
I settled him in, changed him into his uniform, and while we were at it in the loo, shot a stream of breastmilk into his eye since he had a bit of pink-eye that morning. He looked even more adorable in his school uniform - green shorts, cream shirt and green tie! And because they were a bit oversized, he looked like one of the kids in The Little Rascals.
A whole bank of parents were hanging around outside the classroom - yes yours truly included! KH was busy snapping pictures of his son at the table, his son eating Oreos for brekkie, his son drinking Milo, his son at circle time, his son singing a song... you get the picture!
It may be early days yet but I didn't think I had good vibes about O's teacher. Certainly not the full confidence that I found in Caitlin's teacher Teacher Trace. O's teacher seemed a bit hesitant and did not seem able to create the same type of rapport or atmosphere with the kids in class. When I registered him for school, I asked for him to be in Teacher Trace's class, but the office was evasive and fudged me off. It was only after I had paid the fees etc, walked over to Teacher Trace's class to say goodbye, thank-you etc that I found out that she was leaving! There and then I was tempted to pull O out and put him in the same kindy she was joining - Good Shepherd Kindy at Nallur Road. The knowledge that MK was getting a new principal fresh from Kinderland also did not sit well. I liked the laidback, learn-thru-play, no pressure atmosphere at MK and was a bit apprehensive that Kinderland (having had prior experience of Kinderland in G's time) might change that. And that first-day morning, meeting his teacher and watching how she interacted with the kids in class, my confidence level just didn't feel good. So I told KH I'd give it a term and see. If I still didn't get good vibes, I am not averse to the idea of pulling him out and putting him in Good Shepherd Kindy.
After I managed to pry the proud daddy and his camera away from the K1 class windows, we headed for a late brekkie at one of my favourite wanton mee places at Tembeling Road - yum! Then it was off home to take Cait to school. She was dressed in her uniform, ready and eager to go since 10am even though school only started at 2.30pm! By the time we left the house, she had bugged us no end about "is it time to go to school now??"
CHIJ TP was really no-nonsense. I had imagined at least taking her up to the hall, watching her as she sat with her class and waving bye-bye as the class went off to the classrooms. But no, hordes of equally bewildered parents had their plans for long, lingering and loving goodbyes cut short by efficient teachers who cordoned off the stairway to the hall, firmly taking charge of the girls and leading them upstairs - no parents allowed to follow. I could almost hear the silent "But - but - but!!" going on. KH, like them, was deprived of his photo ops. So I just kissed her, told her to have fun and to enjoy school, handed her over to the VP and left.
Cait was her usual sanguine self - sunny and eager for school. So I have no worries. For now. This might just come and bite me in the butt two weeks later. I seem to recall saying the same thing about her in K1 but once the novelty wore off, she howled for months in the morning, whined about putting on her uniform, developed a tummy ache, cried on Sunday nights and generally acted like school was anathema to her.
But for now at least, she seems happy to go to school. She came home at 6.50pm in her school bus, her neatly tied up hair now half undone and eyes shining, waving goodbye to her other P1 mates in the bus - who would have a long long ride home since they lived in Changi and Pasir Ris! (Yes I kid you not. I really wonder why these parents do this to their children.)
Dinner at home that day was a raucous affair with everyone trying to speak (and all with their mouths full!) at the same time. Everyone seemed positive and chirpy. Isaac was happy to be with his sidekick Patrick again, after being cruelly separated by the school holidays for more than 6 weeks. Gillian said she made some friends - girls from KC Pri (and warning bells started to ring in my head, I had seen the KC Pri girls in her class and they looked a fun, havoc bunch!) and generally thought school was fun and boring - yes have fun figuring out the paradox! Owain said he liked school, but did not make any friends (and no, contrary to his sister teasing, no girl has said he was cute yet!) and oh yes, he peed in his pants in the bus! The journey is long - about an hour - even though MK is just a straight 5min drive from our house by car! So O said he could not 'tahan' anymore and peed in his pants "a bit!". So I told him that he should go to the toilet before getting on the bus and to raise his hand, tell his teacher and ask to go. He's been faithfully doing this since and has not wet himself since that day. Caitlin said school was fun, teacher is nice, she liked it a lot and even though she can't remember the names of her table-mates, it was lucky to have Juliet (her MK classmate) in the same class!
I told KH that it was good to hear that they all had good experiences so far - but geez, my babies were growing up and away from me. It's too soon! I only have Trin at home and in a few short years, she too would take the first steps on that bus to K1 and that would be the beginning of letting go. Maybe we should have another baby? I suggested. Sigh, went he. Heh.
With all that has happened in the past weeks, I have not posted on what's happening at Riang. So I thought a quick post would be in order today to bring things up to speed.
Well the biggest event so far was Back-to-School Day on 2 Jan 2008! One of those days where you wished you could split yourself into many parts so that you could be at several places at once!
A big day for us because it was Sec 1 for Gillian, P1 for Caitlin and K1 for Owain. KH sent Gillian to school (and will continue to do so because KC starts at 7.25am and the school is VERY strict on punctuality, and given the journey from my place, if G were to take a bus, she would have to leave the house at 6am! So we decided that KH would send her to school and she would take public transport back home.) at 6.30am while I stayed home to get Owain ready for school.
He didn't have the school uniform yet (long story) so went to school in his King of Cool tee! He was grumpy because he woke up too late to have his brekkie of instant noodles, but was a really cool trooper who gamely went up the school bus, said bye-bye mummy loudly and went off all by himself. I was so proud of him but can tell you that my heart also ached so badly. It was the first time in his life that I ever let him go anywhere without me or someone from the family.
He's growing so fast and going off to school by himself without mummy is the first step towards independence. I'm not sure if I'm ready for it.
Then KH came home and we drove to O's school where KH parked himself at the side gate to wait for O's bus to arrive, armed with camera. I went off to get the uniforms sorted.
When the bus finally arrived, late, KH started clicking like mad. O looked so cute. He's got this perpetual resigned stoic look about him, like "I don't really like it/I'm a bit apprehensive, but lets get this over with!" And as usual the teachers oohed and aahed over him because he's just so cute - he was the tiniest kid there - even smaller than the girls! There were only the K1 and K2 kids there that morning and I can safely say he's the smallest of the lot. But oh so cute with his curly hair, round face and patiently resigned look!
I settled him in, changed him into his uniform, and while we were at it in the loo, shot a stream of breastmilk into his eye since he had a bit of pink-eye that morning. He looked even more adorable in his school uniform - green shorts, cream shirt and green tie! And because they were a bit oversized, he looked like one of the kids in The Little Rascals.
A whole bank of parents were hanging around outside the classroom - yes yours truly included! KH was busy snapping pictures of his son at the table, his son eating Oreos for brekkie, his son drinking Milo, his son at circle time, his son singing a song... you get the picture!
It may be early days yet but I didn't think I had good vibes about O's teacher. Certainly not the full confidence that I found in Caitlin's teacher Teacher Trace. O's teacher seemed a bit hesitant and did not seem able to create the same type of rapport or atmosphere with the kids in class. When I registered him for school, I asked for him to be in Teacher Trace's class, but the office was evasive and fudged me off. It was only after I had paid the fees etc, walked over to Teacher Trace's class to say goodbye, thank-you etc that I found out that she was leaving! There and then I was tempted to pull O out and put him in the same kindy she was joining - Good Shepherd Kindy at Nallur Road. The knowledge that MK was getting a new principal fresh from Kinderland also did not sit well. I liked the laidback, learn-thru-play, no pressure atmosphere at MK and was a bit apprehensive that Kinderland (having had prior experience of Kinderland in G's time) might change that. And that first-day morning, meeting his teacher and watching how she interacted with the kids in class, my confidence level just didn't feel good. So I told KH I'd give it a term and see. If I still didn't get good vibes, I am not averse to the idea of pulling him out and putting him in Good Shepherd Kindy.
After I managed to pry the proud daddy and his camera away from the K1 class windows, we headed for a late brekkie at one of my favourite wanton mee places at Tembeling Road - yum! Then it was off home to take Cait to school. She was dressed in her uniform, ready and eager to go since 10am even though school only started at 2.30pm! By the time we left the house, she had bugged us no end about "is it time to go to school now??"
CHIJ TP was really no-nonsense. I had imagined at least taking her up to the hall, watching her as she sat with her class and waving bye-bye as the class went off to the classrooms. But no, hordes of equally bewildered parents had their plans for long, lingering and loving goodbyes cut short by efficient teachers who cordoned off the stairway to the hall, firmly taking charge of the girls and leading them upstairs - no parents allowed to follow. I could almost hear the silent "But - but - but!!" going on. KH, like them, was deprived of his photo ops. So I just kissed her, told her to have fun and to enjoy school, handed her over to the VP and left.
Cait was her usual sanguine self - sunny and eager for school. So I have no worries. For now. This might just come and bite me in the butt two weeks later. I seem to recall saying the same thing about her in K1 but once the novelty wore off, she howled for months in the morning, whined about putting on her uniform, developed a tummy ache, cried on Sunday nights and generally acted like school was anathema to her.
But for now at least, she seems happy to go to school. She came home at 6.50pm in her school bus, her neatly tied up hair now half undone and eyes shining, waving goodbye to her other P1 mates in the bus - who would have a long long ride home since they lived in Changi and Pasir Ris! (Yes I kid you not. I really wonder why these parents do this to their children.)
Dinner at home that day was a raucous affair with everyone trying to speak (and all with their mouths full!) at the same time. Everyone seemed positive and chirpy. Isaac was happy to be with his sidekick Patrick again, after being cruelly separated by the school holidays for more than 6 weeks. Gillian said she made some friends - girls from KC Pri (and warning bells started to ring in my head, I had seen the KC Pri girls in her class and they looked a fun, havoc bunch!) and generally thought school was fun and boring - yes have fun figuring out the paradox! Owain said he liked school, but did not make any friends (and no, contrary to his sister teasing, no girl has said he was cute yet!) and oh yes, he peed in his pants in the bus! The journey is long - about an hour - even though MK is just a straight 5min drive from our house by car! So O said he could not 'tahan' anymore and peed in his pants "a bit!". So I told him that he should go to the toilet before getting on the bus and to raise his hand, tell his teacher and ask to go. He's been faithfully doing this since and has not wet himself since that day. Caitlin said school was fun, teacher is nice, she liked it a lot and even though she can't remember the names of her table-mates, it was lucky to have Juliet (her MK classmate) in the same class!
I told KH that it was good to hear that they all had good experiences so far - but geez, my babies were growing up and away from me. It's too soon! I only have Trin at home and in a few short years, she too would take the first steps on that bus to K1 and that would be the beginning of letting go. Maybe we should have another baby? I suggested. Sigh, went he. Heh.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Tantrum update 2
Had a bad one last night. She screamed because I refused to give her a chocolated coated cookie finger from the fridge at 11pm!
So KH brought her up to the room - still yowling away - and put her on the floor. Then KH and I got into bed, switched on our bedside lights and continued to read. Meanwhile Trin is still screaming her head off, drumming her heels on the floor.
I have to say that I now feel a bit bad for not feeling bad last night. Maybe I am getting to be a bit immune to all the hysterics - which is bad right? I have read that controlled crying has this effect on parents who practise it - the growing immunity and decreased sensitivity to the cries. I tell myself that the difference is this one is 26months old and no longer a vulnerable newborn!
After a while, she stood up, still screaming and crying and looked at us on the bed. She held her arms out and cried: Me, me, me!
I sat there and opened my arms and waited. She came over, climbed up and I pulled her onto my lap and we nursed. Now all peace and quiet, just some hiccupy sobs once in a while. Then we lay down together, nursed in bed and drifted off to sleep.
Maybe this is the way to go?
Had a bad one last night. She screamed because I refused to give her a chocolated coated cookie finger from the fridge at 11pm!
So KH brought her up to the room - still yowling away - and put her on the floor. Then KH and I got into bed, switched on our bedside lights and continued to read. Meanwhile Trin is still screaming her head off, drumming her heels on the floor.
I have to say that I now feel a bit bad for not feeling bad last night. Maybe I am getting to be a bit immune to all the hysterics - which is bad right? I have read that controlled crying has this effect on parents who practise it - the growing immunity and decreased sensitivity to the cries. I tell myself that the difference is this one is 26months old and no longer a vulnerable newborn!
After a while, she stood up, still screaming and crying and looked at us on the bed. She held her arms out and cried: Me, me, me!
I sat there and opened my arms and waited. She came over, climbed up and I pulled her onto my lap and we nursed. Now all peace and quiet, just some hiccupy sobs once in a while. Then we lay down together, nursed in bed and drifted off to sleep.
Maybe this is the way to go?
Life After Death
I just sat through two hours of ploughing through the forum posts on Marc's death at the singaporebikes.com forum. Some posts left me smiling, some posts left me teary. The number of people who remembered Marc for his smile! He was a nice guy and that shone through in the number of tributes his fellow bikers paid him. I was so moved to read them.
Uncle B and Aunty P also posted a message thanking everyone for their support during this time.
I have uploaded his funeral pictures on the web album. For now, it is only open to Aunty P and family. I think they might want to post pictures of the bikers convoy on singaporebikes.com too. Will leave it to them to do so and not jump the gun here.
Reading the posts on singaporebikes.com helped me feel a bit better. I also feel a bit more resigned towards the a****** who was responsible for Marc's death. Slugging my handbag about his head will not bring Marc back. It might help me feel better though! But honestly, there is no point in feeling bitter and angry. Marc is gone. Gone is gone.
On New Year's Day, we all paid a visit to granddad in the Holy Trinity columbarium. Aunty P came as well. She looked tired and very fragile emotionally. R still looked shell-shocked. I think only Uncle B's immense strength is holding things up. We all had a word with granddad quietly in our hearts. Its been 6 years already. Then Aunty P choked up when she told granddad that Marc was gone and to ask granddad to take care of his grandson. Who didn't tear up then?
Later I gave Aunty P a hug and told her: well, Marc is not only with granddad now, but also with Aunty Sam! Ah the indomitable Sam Tan. What a lovely woman and a generous, fun and strong and delightful personality. She's not my blood-related aunt but Uncle B's sister, and therefore Marc's direct aunt. I'd gotten to know her as a child and really liked/enjoyed her gung-ho, free-spirited, fun, happy-go-lucky ways. She was a grand great gal! She lived life passionately too. She died of cancer some years ago and is still remembered in my prayers. And that was one thing that cheered me up a bit - that Marc is now with Aunty Sam! Aunty Sam would take good care of him.
My prayer list for loved ones gone away is getting longer. And I can never seem to finish reciting the names of them all before the priest carries on with the rest of the mass. I always frantically try to say them all, but usually, its the faces that come to me and not the names. I told mum this the other day and she said ah well, God knows who they are already. When you get older, it can only get longer.
But for the record, here is my complete list:
Marc
Granddad
Ah Ma
Kong Kong
Aunty Kitty
Aunty Catherine
Aunty Sam
My father-in-law
My grandmother-in-law
Baby Paul Emmaus
My friend Kenneth's nephew
Eileen (my Library kaki and colleague)
Mrs Ng my geography teacher
Mrs Thwaites my Literature teacher (the singing gorgon)
Bonny Hicks (yes the model/writer who lived the infamous high life - to me, she would always only be just my school mate, the beautiful girl with the shy smile who lived a floor below me, with her sausage dog and her siamese cat)
So God, now you know. Bless them all and give them rest in Your house. And may they be my welcoming committee when its my turn to go.
What do I mean by that?
I've heard beautiful things about life after death. Mostly my images are shaped by my Catholic upbringing. But there are other things too - shaped by shifting dreams. My friend Kenneth, who lost his brother-in-law and young nephew in a bad car accident, said that his mother so wracked by grief and injury from the same car accident, had a dream that her grandson was playing in a beautiful meadow full of green and flowers with many other children playing and running around. He looked well and told her not to worry, he was in a good place and he was happy. Wow - a meadow filled with flowers, full of happy children.
Well, whether it is a meadow, a palace with many rooms (so says the bible!) or cloudy terrain with angel harpists and choirs, whatever your image of life after may be, I believe in it. It's there waiting.
Being Catholic, we are always told that we should pray for those who have died and to remember them, because they too remember us and pray for us. And at the time of our death, they may be the ones to come welcome us. One memorable account of this is taken from Joan Hon's lovely book about the late Hon Sui Sen. Ms Hon (also a Catholic) was writing about the deathbed of her aunt, a gentle, loving woman from all accounts. This lady was dying and in the minutes before her death, there was an incident which seemed to indicate that she was greeted by the soul of her long-dead teacher/mentor whom she had loved and who had loved her dearly too. She passed away not long after.
Experiences closer to home are my own dreams of my kong-kong - a black and white dream of all of us on this windswept hill-top, far below us a sparkling sea. We (his whole family) were seated in ringed tiers of wooden pews. We could see kong-kong and while I can't remember the words or any conversation, I just got the feeling that he was alright now, at peace. This came years after his death - because he died when I was 5 - and I had this dream only a year or so ago. Mum also had dreams of granddad in church with her and then taking a bus with her, looking neat and well and telling her he was fine.
Of course there were all those that we learnt about purgatory, about why prayers are needful - the dead are still part of our family just as we are part of theirs. We're just in different places at the same time. Praying helps to connect us. We remember them this way, we think about them. And vice versa. And right up to our own death, as we go on to life after that, they will be right there, smiling and ready to greet us and bring us home.
I don't know how true this is or how far off I am from Catholic doctrine, but I read this somewhere and it always seemed nice for me to know that on Christmas Day 1000 souls are released from purgatory to join the angels in heaven. And who comes to greet them home? Mother Mary of course. Lovely image isn't it? I find this so comforting, especially now.
I have always believed that there is a better place after this earth. What comforts me is knowing that the people we love who have gone on are now there, or on their way there.
And I strongly believe in what I told Aunty P: that Marc is now with granddad and with Aunty Sam, who will surely look after him. We have to keep praying for him, knowing that one day, when its our turn to go, they will be right there waiting for us. And knowing this, how can we fear death?
I just sat through two hours of ploughing through the forum posts on Marc's death at the singaporebikes.com forum. Some posts left me smiling, some posts left me teary. The number of people who remembered Marc for his smile! He was a nice guy and that shone through in the number of tributes his fellow bikers paid him. I was so moved to read them.
Uncle B and Aunty P also posted a message thanking everyone for their support during this time.
I have uploaded his funeral pictures on the web album. For now, it is only open to Aunty P and family. I think they might want to post pictures of the bikers convoy on singaporebikes.com too. Will leave it to them to do so and not jump the gun here.
Reading the posts on singaporebikes.com helped me feel a bit better. I also feel a bit more resigned towards the a****** who was responsible for Marc's death. Slugging my handbag about his head will not bring Marc back. It might help me feel better though! But honestly, there is no point in feeling bitter and angry. Marc is gone. Gone is gone.
On New Year's Day, we all paid a visit to granddad in the Holy Trinity columbarium. Aunty P came as well. She looked tired and very fragile emotionally. R still looked shell-shocked. I think only Uncle B's immense strength is holding things up. We all had a word with granddad quietly in our hearts. Its been 6 years already. Then Aunty P choked up when she told granddad that Marc was gone and to ask granddad to take care of his grandson. Who didn't tear up then?
Later I gave Aunty P a hug and told her: well, Marc is not only with granddad now, but also with Aunty Sam! Ah the indomitable Sam Tan. What a lovely woman and a generous, fun and strong and delightful personality. She's not my blood-related aunt but Uncle B's sister, and therefore Marc's direct aunt. I'd gotten to know her as a child and really liked/enjoyed her gung-ho, free-spirited, fun, happy-go-lucky ways. She was a grand great gal! She lived life passionately too. She died of cancer some years ago and is still remembered in my prayers. And that was one thing that cheered me up a bit - that Marc is now with Aunty Sam! Aunty Sam would take good care of him.
My prayer list for loved ones gone away is getting longer. And I can never seem to finish reciting the names of them all before the priest carries on with the rest of the mass. I always frantically try to say them all, but usually, its the faces that come to me and not the names. I told mum this the other day and she said ah well, God knows who they are already. When you get older, it can only get longer.
But for the record, here is my complete list:
Marc
Granddad
Ah Ma
Kong Kong
Aunty Kitty
Aunty Catherine
Aunty Sam
My father-in-law
My grandmother-in-law
Baby Paul Emmaus
My friend Kenneth's nephew
Eileen (my Library kaki and colleague)
Mrs Ng my geography teacher
Mrs Thwaites my Literature teacher (the singing gorgon)
Bonny Hicks (yes the model/writer who lived the infamous high life - to me, she would always only be just my school mate, the beautiful girl with the shy smile who lived a floor below me, with her sausage dog and her siamese cat)
So God, now you know. Bless them all and give them rest in Your house. And may they be my welcoming committee when its my turn to go.
What do I mean by that?
I've heard beautiful things about life after death. Mostly my images are shaped by my Catholic upbringing. But there are other things too - shaped by shifting dreams. My friend Kenneth, who lost his brother-in-law and young nephew in a bad car accident, said that his mother so wracked by grief and injury from the same car accident, had a dream that her grandson was playing in a beautiful meadow full of green and flowers with many other children playing and running around. He looked well and told her not to worry, he was in a good place and he was happy. Wow - a meadow filled with flowers, full of happy children.
Well, whether it is a meadow, a palace with many rooms (so says the bible!) or cloudy terrain with angel harpists and choirs, whatever your image of life after may be, I believe in it. It's there waiting.
Being Catholic, we are always told that we should pray for those who have died and to remember them, because they too remember us and pray for us. And at the time of our death, they may be the ones to come welcome us. One memorable account of this is taken from Joan Hon's lovely book about the late Hon Sui Sen. Ms Hon (also a Catholic) was writing about the deathbed of her aunt, a gentle, loving woman from all accounts. This lady was dying and in the minutes before her death, there was an incident which seemed to indicate that she was greeted by the soul of her long-dead teacher/mentor whom she had loved and who had loved her dearly too. She passed away not long after.
Experiences closer to home are my own dreams of my kong-kong - a black and white dream of all of us on this windswept hill-top, far below us a sparkling sea. We (his whole family) were seated in ringed tiers of wooden pews. We could see kong-kong and while I can't remember the words or any conversation, I just got the feeling that he was alright now, at peace. This came years after his death - because he died when I was 5 - and I had this dream only a year or so ago. Mum also had dreams of granddad in church with her and then taking a bus with her, looking neat and well and telling her he was fine.
Of course there were all those that we learnt about purgatory, about why prayers are needful - the dead are still part of our family just as we are part of theirs. We're just in different places at the same time. Praying helps to connect us. We remember them this way, we think about them. And vice versa. And right up to our own death, as we go on to life after that, they will be right there, smiling and ready to greet us and bring us home.
I don't know how true this is or how far off I am from Catholic doctrine, but I read this somewhere and it always seemed nice for me to know that on Christmas Day 1000 souls are released from purgatory to join the angels in heaven. And who comes to greet them home? Mother Mary of course. Lovely image isn't it? I find this so comforting, especially now.
I have always believed that there is a better place after this earth. What comforts me is knowing that the people we love who have gone on are now there, or on their way there.
And I strongly believe in what I told Aunty P: that Marc is now with granddad and with Aunty Sam, who will surely look after him. We have to keep praying for him, knowing that one day, when its our turn to go, they will be right there waiting for us. And knowing this, how can we fear death?
Friday, December 28, 2007
Grief
I spent Christmas Eve at Marc's wake. Christmas Day was spent at mass in the morning (joyful yet contemplative for me as I listened to the message of Mary's first-born son coming into world and thought about Aunty P's first-born leaving the world) and then at Marc's wake again in the afternoon. Boxing Day morning was spent at Marc's funeral and cremation. By afternoon, I was emotionally tired, eyes swollen and puffy and with a throbbing heavy head that made me feel like throwing up.
It has been emotionally exhausting and draining.
Grief hits at odd times. I'd be fine most of the time. Then break down at odd times. Or find myself with tears in my eyes at the weirdest and most inconvenient moments - like when I am telling someone about Marc, or when I see motorbikes on the road, or when I am in the toilet. Even the sight of a child-sized toilet bowl in the loo set me off! And then I would feel embarrassed at tearing up! I would look at people around me - my in-laws, the general crowd - at a hawker centre, at my children's schools while buying their books and I felt divorced from them all. Detached and wondering - how come they don't know. How come nothing has changed for them? How come things can be so normal for them? Don't they know? His face is on the front page of The New Paper. I see people browsing and I felt like saying: Hey that's my cousin you know?
And the messages of condolences people say drive me nuts. The worse one came from my in-laws. I had my sister-in-law saying chirpily with a big smile: I am sorry for your loss! And her husband saying: Oh that's life right? Life is so unpredictable. I was so angry I teared up. I think they thought I was tearing up because I was sad. But I wasn't. I was angry. Unpredictable? Like we're talking about the weather? What the hell are you saying? You don't know what you're talking about. Just shut up and spare me these pseuo-philosophical babble. And yes I also get angry when people nod and say: yes, those motorbikes are so dangerous. Bikes are not dangerous - other reckless drivers and riders are dangerous!
Sometimes I ask myself: why do I feel so much? Why do I feel so sad? After all, he's 'just' my cousin. And we were not close. I hadn't seen him for two years. And yet. It does not change the fact that I am so sad. I don't know why. And I don't know why being 'just a cousin' would not entitle me to feel grief and pain. I don't think KH really understands, maybe not even my brother and my sister or my mum. Maybe they think I am just being sentimental. Maybe I am.
When mum first told me the news on Sunday, it didn't sink in yet. I still felt the same. I think it only really hit home on Monday, Christmas Eve, when I attended the wake. Marc's body arrived at the wake only a scant 10 minutes after we'd got there. So we got to welcome him home. They put a screen up so we can't see, but it stands to reason that they had to dress Marc and so on, and for his family to see him. The sound of stifled sobs and faint keening was painful to hear.
But yet it wasn't until mum told me HOW he died that I first started to feel. And then the tears came. They were tears of anger and fury. He didn't die out of his own recklessness, and his machine didn't fail him. He died where it was safest to ride - on a track with no cars. He died because of some bloody lame, half-assed, stupid stunt pulled by a stupid idiot who wanted to show off. And now that jerk is alive while Marc is dead. That jerk walked off the track and left my cousin lying there, his body broken. It sounds strange but I wanted to swing my handbag about his head. I wanted to kick him. Slap him. Hard. And then harder. I felt so hot and so angry my chest hurt. Mum told me the bikers' online forums were buzzing about Marc's death and bikers had angry words for the a****** who did this. I wish lynching is legal.
It was Christmas but I didn't feel forgiving or charitable. I just felt so much rage and anger. I still do.
Reading the pages of media coverage on his death only made me angrier. Yes, so what if the other guy came to apologise? It will never bring Marc back. So what if the other guy will have guilt for the rest of his life? At least he's alive isn't he? So what if the guy's father said it was "unfortunate" that Marc died while his son lived, that it was 'fated'. At least his son is alive isn't it? To me, that is the height of insensitivity! My aunt and uncle lost their son. My younger cousin lost his brother. Rachel lost her husband to be. I lost my Christmas Eve memories. Every one of us lost years of memories that will never happen. No, I am nowhere near ready to forgive.
I looked at the bikers who attended Marc's wake and his funeral and I was touched. I never knew he had so many friends. I never knew he was so passionate about biking. He was just kind, quiet Marc with the big gummy grin, who patiently sat with children, carried my baby. How much did I know about my family - my cousins, my aunts and uncles? Time is so short. Everytime we meet at family gatherings everyone would just sit and chat about inane stuff - the world around us, politics, our jobs, children's antics etc. But how well do we know each other? It took Marc's death for me to realise that we just don't know each other well and if we're family, that makes it doubly a pity. Everyone has a story to tell, how much do we really know? What do I take away from all this? I was a journalist - how did I get my stories then? Research and interviews. And I think that's just what I will do. Sit down and really talk. Get to know them. Write it all down. Starting from my grandma - her life story. I never had time for Marc. I want to make time now.
Here's an anecdote about him shared by Steph, another cousin of ours. Steph's family and Marc's family lived in the same block of flats when they were both growing up. Steph's memory of Marc is a short but lovely one. She said: Whenever dad threw me out of the house, kor-kor Marc would come keep me company at the stair landing until I was allowed to go back in. Marc is about 8 years older than Steph, so for a teenaged guy to patiently sit by his little cousin and keep her company - well, you get the idea of the sort of sweet guy he was.
And I see Rachel, Marc's fiancee. I never got to know her. And they were together for at least two years. It all seems so wasted.
Three key incidents over the past days really touched me at this time. First, it was grandma, so saddened by Marc's death. She was the last of us all to see him - he had gone to see her the other day after hearing she was not well. Rachel went with him. Grandma liked Rachel and said she showered her with hugs and kisses! She said Marc didn't say much (he never did!) but just smiled a lot, gave her some money and said he would come see her again. When we heard, in the days before his death, we all thought it was so sweet of him!
Grandma could not leave the house but asked us to buy some flowers for him. It was Christmas Day but mum and I found a flower stall open at the market. We cobbled together some white daisies and yellow roses. The flowers were placed on his casket and followed him into cremation. The sight of that forlorn bouquet sitting at the head of the casket as it entered the cremation chamber really undid me. I thought of his visit to grandma and I cried.
The second incident that really made an impact was to see the long rows of bikes sending him off. There were more than 30 bikes that day, lined up in two long rows behind the hearse, engines revving. It hurt to see Rachel, walking in between the lines, weeping hard and calling loudly through her tears: "Thank you for sending him! Thank you for sending him! Ride safely and carefully!"
And finally, Aunty P's choked voice at the funeral thanking everyone for coming. She started with the words: 28 years ago, my boy came from me... and now 28 years later, he is gone. She went on to say that she was glad that he died doing something he loved so much, and to encourage the other bikers to keep following their passion, to keep riding, not to let Marc's death discourage them, but to also ride safely, practise extreme caution for the people around them.
I am slowly winding back down from all that has happened. I need time to feel better.
Now everytime I see a bike on the road, I think of Marc and tears will come to my eyes. But I think there will come a day when they won't and I will think of Marc with a smile instead. And I will imagine that big gummy grin of his right back in return.
I spent Christmas Eve at Marc's wake. Christmas Day was spent at mass in the morning (joyful yet contemplative for me as I listened to the message of Mary's first-born son coming into world and thought about Aunty P's first-born leaving the world) and then at Marc's wake again in the afternoon. Boxing Day morning was spent at Marc's funeral and cremation. By afternoon, I was emotionally tired, eyes swollen and puffy and with a throbbing heavy head that made me feel like throwing up.
It has been emotionally exhausting and draining.
Grief hits at odd times. I'd be fine most of the time. Then break down at odd times. Or find myself with tears in my eyes at the weirdest and most inconvenient moments - like when I am telling someone about Marc, or when I see motorbikes on the road, or when I am in the toilet. Even the sight of a child-sized toilet bowl in the loo set me off! And then I would feel embarrassed at tearing up! I would look at people around me - my in-laws, the general crowd - at a hawker centre, at my children's schools while buying their books and I felt divorced from them all. Detached and wondering - how come they don't know. How come nothing has changed for them? How come things can be so normal for them? Don't they know? His face is on the front page of The New Paper. I see people browsing and I felt like saying: Hey that's my cousin you know?
And the messages of condolences people say drive me nuts. The worse one came from my in-laws. I had my sister-in-law saying chirpily with a big smile: I am sorry for your loss! And her husband saying: Oh that's life right? Life is so unpredictable. I was so angry I teared up. I think they thought I was tearing up because I was sad. But I wasn't. I was angry. Unpredictable? Like we're talking about the weather? What the hell are you saying? You don't know what you're talking about. Just shut up and spare me these pseuo-philosophical babble. And yes I also get angry when people nod and say: yes, those motorbikes are so dangerous. Bikes are not dangerous - other reckless drivers and riders are dangerous!
Sometimes I ask myself: why do I feel so much? Why do I feel so sad? After all, he's 'just' my cousin. And we were not close. I hadn't seen him for two years. And yet. It does not change the fact that I am so sad. I don't know why. And I don't know why being 'just a cousin' would not entitle me to feel grief and pain. I don't think KH really understands, maybe not even my brother and my sister or my mum. Maybe they think I am just being sentimental. Maybe I am.
When mum first told me the news on Sunday, it didn't sink in yet. I still felt the same. I think it only really hit home on Monday, Christmas Eve, when I attended the wake. Marc's body arrived at the wake only a scant 10 minutes after we'd got there. So we got to welcome him home. They put a screen up so we can't see, but it stands to reason that they had to dress Marc and so on, and for his family to see him. The sound of stifled sobs and faint keening was painful to hear.
But yet it wasn't until mum told me HOW he died that I first started to feel. And then the tears came. They were tears of anger and fury. He didn't die out of his own recklessness, and his machine didn't fail him. He died where it was safest to ride - on a track with no cars. He died because of some bloody lame, half-assed, stupid stunt pulled by a stupid idiot who wanted to show off. And now that jerk is alive while Marc is dead. That jerk walked off the track and left my cousin lying there, his body broken. It sounds strange but I wanted to swing my handbag about his head. I wanted to kick him. Slap him. Hard. And then harder. I felt so hot and so angry my chest hurt. Mum told me the bikers' online forums were buzzing about Marc's death and bikers had angry words for the a****** who did this. I wish lynching is legal.
It was Christmas but I didn't feel forgiving or charitable. I just felt so much rage and anger. I still do.
Reading the pages of media coverage on his death only made me angrier. Yes, so what if the other guy came to apologise? It will never bring Marc back. So what if the other guy will have guilt for the rest of his life? At least he's alive isn't he? So what if the guy's father said it was "unfortunate" that Marc died while his son lived, that it was 'fated'. At least his son is alive isn't it? To me, that is the height of insensitivity! My aunt and uncle lost their son. My younger cousin lost his brother. Rachel lost her husband to be. I lost my Christmas Eve memories. Every one of us lost years of memories that will never happen. No, I am nowhere near ready to forgive.
I looked at the bikers who attended Marc's wake and his funeral and I was touched. I never knew he had so many friends. I never knew he was so passionate about biking. He was just kind, quiet Marc with the big gummy grin, who patiently sat with children, carried my baby. How much did I know about my family - my cousins, my aunts and uncles? Time is so short. Everytime we meet at family gatherings everyone would just sit and chat about inane stuff - the world around us, politics, our jobs, children's antics etc. But how well do we know each other? It took Marc's death for me to realise that we just don't know each other well and if we're family, that makes it doubly a pity. Everyone has a story to tell, how much do we really know? What do I take away from all this? I was a journalist - how did I get my stories then? Research and interviews. And I think that's just what I will do. Sit down and really talk. Get to know them. Write it all down. Starting from my grandma - her life story. I never had time for Marc. I want to make time now.
Here's an anecdote about him shared by Steph, another cousin of ours. Steph's family and Marc's family lived in the same block of flats when they were both growing up. Steph's memory of Marc is a short but lovely one. She said: Whenever dad threw me out of the house, kor-kor Marc would come keep me company at the stair landing until I was allowed to go back in. Marc is about 8 years older than Steph, so for a teenaged guy to patiently sit by his little cousin and keep her company - well, you get the idea of the sort of sweet guy he was.
And I see Rachel, Marc's fiancee. I never got to know her. And they were together for at least two years. It all seems so wasted.
Three key incidents over the past days really touched me at this time. First, it was grandma, so saddened by Marc's death. She was the last of us all to see him - he had gone to see her the other day after hearing she was not well. Rachel went with him. Grandma liked Rachel and said she showered her with hugs and kisses! She said Marc didn't say much (he never did!) but just smiled a lot, gave her some money and said he would come see her again. When we heard, in the days before his death, we all thought it was so sweet of him!
Grandma could not leave the house but asked us to buy some flowers for him. It was Christmas Day but mum and I found a flower stall open at the market. We cobbled together some white daisies and yellow roses. The flowers were placed on his casket and followed him into cremation. The sight of that forlorn bouquet sitting at the head of the casket as it entered the cremation chamber really undid me. I thought of his visit to grandma and I cried.
The second incident that really made an impact was to see the long rows of bikes sending him off. There were more than 30 bikes that day, lined up in two long rows behind the hearse, engines revving. It hurt to see Rachel, walking in between the lines, weeping hard and calling loudly through her tears: "Thank you for sending him! Thank you for sending him! Ride safely and carefully!"
And finally, Aunty P's choked voice at the funeral thanking everyone for coming. She started with the words: 28 years ago, my boy came from me... and now 28 years later, he is gone. She went on to say that she was glad that he died doing something he loved so much, and to encourage the other bikers to keep following their passion, to keep riding, not to let Marc's death discourage them, but to also ride safely, practise extreme caution for the people around them.
I am slowly winding back down from all that has happened. I need time to feel better.
Now everytime I see a bike on the road, I think of Marc and tears will come to my eyes. But I think there will come a day when they won't and I will think of Marc with a smile instead. And I will imagine that big gummy grin of his right back in return.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Ghosts of Christmas Past
Tonight will be a very sad Christmas Eve.
Yesterday, mum called me and sounded unhappy, hesitant and a bit in shock. She said: Some sad news for Christmas...
I immediately thought it was my grandma, who while out of hospital, is clearly slowly fading, you can almost see all her systems shutting down slowly - the hospital's report had indicated a failing liver, failing kidneys, chronic heart failure etc. So we had all planned to spend a quiet Christmas Eve with her in her tiny 3-room flat tonight. Dad's recent bypass, my grandma's fall and hospital stint etc, made it clearer how fragile everything really was. I think we all just felt a need to be close this Christmas.
Then came Mum's call yesterday. It wasn't my grandma.
Mum sort of hesitated then just blurted out: Marcus is dead.
My 28-year-old cousin is dead. Killed in a motorbike accident in Johor. The information came in short phrases. Aunty P is understandably distraught, heading to Johor to retrieve his body and making funeral arrangements. We'll still gather, mum added, on Christmas Eve as we planned - just celebrate with Popo and keep her company... she trailed off uncertainly.
So many questions - what was he doing there? Who was he with? A bit of futile anger: didn't he learn his lesson? He had a bad bike accident some years ago already - why continue riding? Who called Aunty P? Wake details? No answers for now. Some answers of course, we will never get.
Christmas Eve will be quiet and very sad. I don't think my aunt will be there tonight. But we will feel the gaps very keenly. Our family has always had this tradition every Christmas Eve when we gather. Its been so for as long as I can remember. After our usual makan, we will open presents. We usually go from the youngest to the oldest. And as each one opens his/her present, the cameras would flash and catch us with gleeful Christmas beams as we survey our haul for the year. Marcus would always be part of this group.
Later as I grew up, earned money as a working adult, had kids of my own, I would buy gifts for my younger cousins like Marcus and so the tradition would continue. It was always a struggle buying something for him because we were not close - there was an 11-year gap between us. He is the same age as my brother. But he dutifully grinned and thanked me for every crappy t-shirt, key-chain, toy that I would get for him. The last Christmas gift that I ever got for him was a small wooden IQ game. That was two years ago because Marcus didn't turn up at our Christmas gathering last year. This year, I debated about buying a gift, not sure if he would turn up. I decided not to, believing he wouldn't.
As I told mum: Maybe if I'd bought a gift, expecting him to show up, all this would not have happened.
But then I reflect and think: who am I to be so significant and so prideful to think that a gesture of mine would have stayed the hand of God? God would have taken him no matter who did what.
My feelings of sadness are very disjointed. No, I am not close to him. But we shared some threads of a common history. I see Christmases past. I see him as a child - geez he was an ugly baby - but he had a good heart. Always a kind boy. He was thin and scrawny, dark with eyes that looked too black and too big for his narrow face. I see him with my brother - all of us, still children, in a chalet on Sentosa. I see him carrying my baby (I can't remember which one - he was always very patient and gentle with all of them) - knackily, gingerly and I remember a voice (one of my uncles) saying Wah Marcus you know how to carry the baby so well! I see him in images of Christmas past. I feel for my aunt and my uncle - to lose him so young. As a mother myself, I ache for her. I dread to think what it must be like, painfully impossible to imagine the kind of hell they go through. It does not matter what age the child was, for how long you've had him. If I can see the ghosts of Christmases past, what more my aunt? More than Christmas - from the day he was born, big milestones and the most insignificant and mundane of events - she would have to suffer through all these.
And when this happens so close to Christmas, you know that Christmas will never be the same again.
Why is this year-end so awful? 2007 can't end soon enough for me. Hopefully 2008 will be better.
Tonight will be a very sad Christmas Eve.
Yesterday, mum called me and sounded unhappy, hesitant and a bit in shock. She said: Some sad news for Christmas...
I immediately thought it was my grandma, who while out of hospital, is clearly slowly fading, you can almost see all her systems shutting down slowly - the hospital's report had indicated a failing liver, failing kidneys, chronic heart failure etc. So we had all planned to spend a quiet Christmas Eve with her in her tiny 3-room flat tonight. Dad's recent bypass, my grandma's fall and hospital stint etc, made it clearer how fragile everything really was. I think we all just felt a need to be close this Christmas.
Then came Mum's call yesterday. It wasn't my grandma.
Mum sort of hesitated then just blurted out: Marcus is dead.
My 28-year-old cousin is dead. Killed in a motorbike accident in Johor. The information came in short phrases. Aunty P is understandably distraught, heading to Johor to retrieve his body and making funeral arrangements. We'll still gather, mum added, on Christmas Eve as we planned - just celebrate with Popo and keep her company... she trailed off uncertainly.
So many questions - what was he doing there? Who was he with? A bit of futile anger: didn't he learn his lesson? He had a bad bike accident some years ago already - why continue riding? Who called Aunty P? Wake details? No answers for now. Some answers of course, we will never get.
Christmas Eve will be quiet and very sad. I don't think my aunt will be there tonight. But we will feel the gaps very keenly. Our family has always had this tradition every Christmas Eve when we gather. Its been so for as long as I can remember. After our usual makan, we will open presents. We usually go from the youngest to the oldest. And as each one opens his/her present, the cameras would flash and catch us with gleeful Christmas beams as we survey our haul for the year. Marcus would always be part of this group.
Later as I grew up, earned money as a working adult, had kids of my own, I would buy gifts for my younger cousins like Marcus and so the tradition would continue. It was always a struggle buying something for him because we were not close - there was an 11-year gap between us. He is the same age as my brother. But he dutifully grinned and thanked me for every crappy t-shirt, key-chain, toy that I would get for him. The last Christmas gift that I ever got for him was a small wooden IQ game. That was two years ago because Marcus didn't turn up at our Christmas gathering last year. This year, I debated about buying a gift, not sure if he would turn up. I decided not to, believing he wouldn't.
As I told mum: Maybe if I'd bought a gift, expecting him to show up, all this would not have happened.
But then I reflect and think: who am I to be so significant and so prideful to think that a gesture of mine would have stayed the hand of God? God would have taken him no matter who did what.
My feelings of sadness are very disjointed. No, I am not close to him. But we shared some threads of a common history. I see Christmases past. I see him as a child - geez he was an ugly baby - but he had a good heart. Always a kind boy. He was thin and scrawny, dark with eyes that looked too black and too big for his narrow face. I see him with my brother - all of us, still children, in a chalet on Sentosa. I see him carrying my baby (I can't remember which one - he was always very patient and gentle with all of them) - knackily, gingerly and I remember a voice (one of my uncles) saying Wah Marcus you know how to carry the baby so well! I see him in images of Christmas past. I feel for my aunt and my uncle - to lose him so young. As a mother myself, I ache for her. I dread to think what it must be like, painfully impossible to imagine the kind of hell they go through. It does not matter what age the child was, for how long you've had him. If I can see the ghosts of Christmases past, what more my aunt? More than Christmas - from the day he was born, big milestones and the most insignificant and mundane of events - she would have to suffer through all these.
And when this happens so close to Christmas, you know that Christmas will never be the same again.
Why is this year-end so awful? 2007 can't end soon enough for me. Hopefully 2008 will be better.
Tantrum updates
The two nights after I posted on Trin's tantrums, things eased up and she slept peacefully without any undue screaming. So Mag and Serene, you girls may be right about the need for adjustment. Nevertheless we still live on tenterhooks everytime the whine-tug session starts. And we still try to head her off where possible. Isaac commented, Trinny is such a demanding baby - we all better give her what she wants or else she'll scream!
The other day Owain suggested: Mum, I know how to stop Trinny from crying. All mummies sing lullabies to their babies. Why don't you sing to Trinny mum. That will stop her from crying. And if that does not work, then quickly give her nen-nen!
Yeah, son. I hear you! But even nen-nen does not do the trick all the time.
Case in point was the early hours of this morning. 6am. She was attached and shallow sucking for hours and my nipple felt so water-logged and sore that I pulled out quickly when I thought I felt the slackness of her mouth in deep sleep. Fat hope. She stirred, kicked, whined, sat up and pointed: there! there!
And me sitting up offering to nurse and she's going: no, no! there! there!
Of course once I sit up, I gotta go pee - thanks to age and laziness for not doing my kegels religiously - my bladder control isn't what it used to be. So I desperately say: Trin, I got to go to the toilet. Daddy carry you okay?
No! No! Dowan! There! There! THERE!!
So I kick KH awake (actually I think he was already awake and just trying his luck at possum) and we sleepily go to the bathroom. Yes I managed to pee with her clinging to me, my bladder feeling like it was about to burst and my resentment building up.
She didn't let me go back to sleep. Insisted that I carry her 'there!' (don't know where!) but this time, thankfully, after about 10 minutes, she allowed me to carry her back to bed where we nursed back to sleep.
The two nights after I posted on Trin's tantrums, things eased up and she slept peacefully without any undue screaming. So Mag and Serene, you girls may be right about the need for adjustment. Nevertheless we still live on tenterhooks everytime the whine-tug session starts. And we still try to head her off where possible. Isaac commented, Trinny is such a demanding baby - we all better give her what she wants or else she'll scream!
The other day Owain suggested: Mum, I know how to stop Trinny from crying. All mummies sing lullabies to their babies. Why don't you sing to Trinny mum. That will stop her from crying. And if that does not work, then quickly give her nen-nen!
Yeah, son. I hear you! But even nen-nen does not do the trick all the time.
Case in point was the early hours of this morning. 6am. She was attached and shallow sucking for hours and my nipple felt so water-logged and sore that I pulled out quickly when I thought I felt the slackness of her mouth in deep sleep. Fat hope. She stirred, kicked, whined, sat up and pointed: there! there!
And me sitting up offering to nurse and she's going: no, no! there! there!
Of course once I sit up, I gotta go pee - thanks to age and laziness for not doing my kegels religiously - my bladder control isn't what it used to be. So I desperately say: Trin, I got to go to the toilet. Daddy carry you okay?
No! No! Dowan! There! There! THERE!!
So I kick KH awake (actually I think he was already awake and just trying his luck at possum) and we sleepily go to the bathroom. Yes I managed to pee with her clinging to me, my bladder feeling like it was about to burst and my resentment building up.
She didn't let me go back to sleep. Insisted that I carry her 'there!' (don't know where!) but this time, thankfully, after about 10 minutes, she allowed me to carry her back to bed where we nursed back to sleep.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
This wild child o'mine
Its 3am and I am standing at the second floor landing outside the bedrooms. For some strange reason, I've got Besame Mucho running through my head and I am swaying in time to it. I am half-asleep on my feet. Trinity is heavy in my arms, her head flopping over my shoulder. But she's not asleep. Not yet at least.
When I try to tiptoe back into the bedroom, she snaps awake, an arm pointing in a vague unspecified direction and she's going: "there! there!"
And if I don't move in that direction fast enough, her persistent "there!" will escalate into a shrill, full-blown tantrum.
Its happened before.
Actually, its been happening every night for the past week already. Ever since we came back from Japan, she's had very bad screaming tantrums - first taking place in the daytime - Lolita says it happens before and after her afternoon naps (I had the 'pleasure' of experiencing this one Sunday afternoon where she literally screamed for 2hours non-stop, until we missed the ALF gathering in the Jacob Ballas garden!). This stopped when we went to Malaysia. But when we came back, so did the tantrums. This time though, they're taking place at night - middle of the night.
I cannot begin to say how frustrated, angry, fed up I feel whenever she goes into one of these tailspins. Nothing calms her. Nothing distracts her. She just screams. On and on and on. I don't know what she wants and I don't know how to help her. At the same time, I am greatly resentful that she's eating into my sleep.
Two nights ago I was so angry that I smacked her hard on her bottom and told KH: That's it! I'm either killing her or putting her up for adoption!
Not that this did any good. She seemed to understand what I said and howled and screamed louder than ever - and this was at 4am in the morning.
KH says I was not fast enough to give her the breast. But on the contrary, the breast was already in her mouth when she started to pull away, push at me with her legs, point and say: "there! there!" When I tried to offer her the breast again, she pushed and said: "No, no!" So I don't know what is the issue, and whatever it is, even the breast no longer solves it.
We're living on eggshells. I find myself tensing up at night at her slightest movement. Not surprising that I have not been sleeping well at night and nodding off during the day.
More and more I am beginning to suspect that she's got some kind of development or speech delay. Her storehouse of words is woefully limited. Whenever I look at milestone development tables I always feel a bit depressed - especially when I realise that she fits the description of a 12month - 18month old baby than the 2 to 3yr toddler description! But more than anything, it is this latest spate of tantrums that is leaving us exhausted both physically and in spirit. The tantrums, I fear, could stem from a fundamental delay or disorder somewhere - because if a child lacks words, how to communicate? And this kind of frustration would compound any tantrum - because it boils down to the fact that I just don't get what the heck she wants.
I always feel very resentful at having to struggle with her and I resent feeling like I am kept hostage by her demands. For instance there was one night when she insisted I bring her to the dining table to nurse. Less than five minutes later, she's pulled off the boob and pointing to the sofa and tugging me saying "nen-nen" agitatedly. So we go over. Again, less than a minute later, she's off and pointing at the study room and off we go again.
Some babies are so easy to love and some babies make it near impossible. When she's happy and compliant, wow - she's an angel, lovely to play with, cuddle etc. But when she starts to demand - better cave or else.
I've been an authoritarian parent with #1 and #2, and a more 'attachment parenting style' with #3 and #4. But with #5, how to practise this? We've been 'attached' since birth but now how? How to dish out 'positive discipline' when a kid is screaming into your ear? There is no reasoning with her. The best we can do is second guess and try to head her off when she starts showing the familiar signs before losing control. I also wonder - if there is no authoritative boundary, where does she get off? Will that make it scarier for her in the long run? And losing moral authority for me - how will that work out in the longer term if I keep giving in just to keep the peace?
While I know that parenting isn't about winning or losing or showing a child who is 'boss', I do find it hard to accept that this child is calling all the shots and that I, and the whole household, all of us are practically held to ransom for fear of setting off another screaming bout. Dr James Dobson says that parents should not be afraid to show authority. He dismisses positive discipline. So what should I do?
On top of that, what are my feelings? For a start, I deeply, deeply resent all this - I feel angry that I have to cater to all her demands. If her demands at least made sense to me, maybe I wouldn't feel so angry, but they all just seem so pointless - to me at least. The bottomline is: if you don't give her what she wants, she screams. And once she gets going, nothing gets her to stop - we tried changing hands, playing her favourite music (High School Musical 2 soundtrack), the breast, bringing her out for a walk in the neighbourhood (no good - you'd hear her howls all the way!), her brothers and sisters try giving her toys etc, nope - nothing works. Everybody tries but nothing works. I've even tried 'extinguishing' the behaviour by just ignoring her - so she lies there on the floor, writhing and screaming, sobbing until she's gulping for air, eyes swollen. But in the end, I've still had to give in and carry her. Its heartrending to watch. And I feel conflicted too - angry because of the behaviour, helpless, sad to watch her in such a state.
I just don't know what to do.
KH is on tenterhooks with her too. He told me during lunch today: I thought you handled Trin very well this morning. I was awake. Did you think I wasn't? When she moved, I was already awake. I was hoping she wouldn't scream - lucky you carried her before she went off!
Hmph. Lucky for who? I think sourly.
Which brings me back to where I started in this post - 3am and walking the floor with a tantrummy baby. I hope things will get better. In desperation, I bought a book from Borders on Sunday: Kids, Parents and Power Struggles.
I don't know if it will work. Somehow most parenting books talk about dealing with tantrums when the kids are older - 4 or 5? Hardly anyone talks about dealing with non-verbal 2-year-olds in a tantrum. But never say never. I'm desperate enough to give it a go.
Next on the cards - an assessment from a speech therapist AND a visit to the polyclinic to get a referral to KKH's Child Development Unit. I know I will be nagged about the vaccinations (lack of) but this is the last thing on my mind now. What is more important is to find out what the heck is going on and to do something about it. Fast.
Its 3am and I am standing at the second floor landing outside the bedrooms. For some strange reason, I've got Besame Mucho running through my head and I am swaying in time to it. I am half-asleep on my feet. Trinity is heavy in my arms, her head flopping over my shoulder. But she's not asleep. Not yet at least.
When I try to tiptoe back into the bedroom, she snaps awake, an arm pointing in a vague unspecified direction and she's going: "there! there!"
And if I don't move in that direction fast enough, her persistent "there!" will escalate into a shrill, full-blown tantrum.
Its happened before.
Actually, its been happening every night for the past week already. Ever since we came back from Japan, she's had very bad screaming tantrums - first taking place in the daytime - Lolita says it happens before and after her afternoon naps (I had the 'pleasure' of experiencing this one Sunday afternoon where she literally screamed for 2hours non-stop, until we missed the ALF gathering in the Jacob Ballas garden!). This stopped when we went to Malaysia. But when we came back, so did the tantrums. This time though, they're taking place at night - middle of the night.
I cannot begin to say how frustrated, angry, fed up I feel whenever she goes into one of these tailspins. Nothing calms her. Nothing distracts her. She just screams. On and on and on. I don't know what she wants and I don't know how to help her. At the same time, I am greatly resentful that she's eating into my sleep.
Two nights ago I was so angry that I smacked her hard on her bottom and told KH: That's it! I'm either killing her or putting her up for adoption!
Not that this did any good. She seemed to understand what I said and howled and screamed louder than ever - and this was at 4am in the morning.
KH says I was not fast enough to give her the breast. But on the contrary, the breast was already in her mouth when she started to pull away, push at me with her legs, point and say: "there! there!" When I tried to offer her the breast again, she pushed and said: "No, no!" So I don't know what is the issue, and whatever it is, even the breast no longer solves it.
We're living on eggshells. I find myself tensing up at night at her slightest movement. Not surprising that I have not been sleeping well at night and nodding off during the day.
More and more I am beginning to suspect that she's got some kind of development or speech delay. Her storehouse of words is woefully limited. Whenever I look at milestone development tables I always feel a bit depressed - especially when I realise that she fits the description of a 12month - 18month old baby than the 2 to 3yr toddler description! But more than anything, it is this latest spate of tantrums that is leaving us exhausted both physically and in spirit. The tantrums, I fear, could stem from a fundamental delay or disorder somewhere - because if a child lacks words, how to communicate? And this kind of frustration would compound any tantrum - because it boils down to the fact that I just don't get what the heck she wants.
I always feel very resentful at having to struggle with her and I resent feeling like I am kept hostage by her demands. For instance there was one night when she insisted I bring her to the dining table to nurse. Less than five minutes later, she's pulled off the boob and pointing to the sofa and tugging me saying "nen-nen" agitatedly. So we go over. Again, less than a minute later, she's off and pointing at the study room and off we go again.
Some babies are so easy to love and some babies make it near impossible. When she's happy and compliant, wow - she's an angel, lovely to play with, cuddle etc. But when she starts to demand - better cave or else.
I've been an authoritarian parent with #1 and #2, and a more 'attachment parenting style' with #3 and #4. But with #5, how to practise this? We've been 'attached' since birth but now how? How to dish out 'positive discipline' when a kid is screaming into your ear? There is no reasoning with her. The best we can do is second guess and try to head her off when she starts showing the familiar signs before losing control. I also wonder - if there is no authoritative boundary, where does she get off? Will that make it scarier for her in the long run? And losing moral authority for me - how will that work out in the longer term if I keep giving in just to keep the peace?
While I know that parenting isn't about winning or losing or showing a child who is 'boss', I do find it hard to accept that this child is calling all the shots and that I, and the whole household, all of us are practically held to ransom for fear of setting off another screaming bout. Dr James Dobson says that parents should not be afraid to show authority. He dismisses positive discipline. So what should I do?
On top of that, what are my feelings? For a start, I deeply, deeply resent all this - I feel angry that I have to cater to all her demands. If her demands at least made sense to me, maybe I wouldn't feel so angry, but they all just seem so pointless - to me at least. The bottomline is: if you don't give her what she wants, she screams. And once she gets going, nothing gets her to stop - we tried changing hands, playing her favourite music (High School Musical 2 soundtrack), the breast, bringing her out for a walk in the neighbourhood (no good - you'd hear her howls all the way!), her brothers and sisters try giving her toys etc, nope - nothing works. Everybody tries but nothing works. I've even tried 'extinguishing' the behaviour by just ignoring her - so she lies there on the floor, writhing and screaming, sobbing until she's gulping for air, eyes swollen. But in the end, I've still had to give in and carry her. Its heartrending to watch. And I feel conflicted too - angry because of the behaviour, helpless, sad to watch her in such a state.
I just don't know what to do.
KH is on tenterhooks with her too. He told me during lunch today: I thought you handled Trin very well this morning. I was awake. Did you think I wasn't? When she moved, I was already awake. I was hoping she wouldn't scream - lucky you carried her before she went off!
Hmph. Lucky for who? I think sourly.
Which brings me back to where I started in this post - 3am and walking the floor with a tantrummy baby. I hope things will get better. In desperation, I bought a book from Borders on Sunday: Kids, Parents and Power Struggles.
I don't know if it will work. Somehow most parenting books talk about dealing with tantrums when the kids are older - 4 or 5? Hardly anyone talks about dealing with non-verbal 2-year-olds in a tantrum. But never say never. I'm desperate enough to give it a go.
Next on the cards - an assessment from a speech therapist AND a visit to the polyclinic to get a referral to KKH's Child Development Unit. I know I will be nagged about the vaccinations (lack of) but this is the last thing on my mind now. What is more important is to find out what the heck is going on and to do something about it. Fast.
Love-Box
As a follow up to my earlier post on Gillian. We passed one of those bus-stop poster ads yesterday and this one had the ad for the Love Box condoms on it. Have you seen it? They're actually condoms but packaged in a compact tin box.
So we passed this and Gillian casually pointed it out: Oh look Love-Box! My friend has one of these.
I did a mental double-take but asked coolly: Yeah? Who's your friend?
Gina.
Oh. How old is she?
My age.
Jaw dropped. I muttered something about her being kinda young for this and then asked: Do you know what this is for?
She gave me a surprised look. Well they're condoms! People use them during sex.
Oh. Okay. Good that you know this. Who uses it during sex?
The guy of course!
Hmm. Yes you're right.
So much for teaching about the birds and the bees. Back to school for mom, not Gillian. How come I always come off sounding so school-marmish on this topic! Argh!
Nice designs on the Love-Box though.
As a follow up to my earlier post on Gillian. We passed one of those bus-stop poster ads yesterday and this one had the ad for the Love Box condoms on it. Have you seen it? They're actually condoms but packaged in a compact tin box.
So we passed this and Gillian casually pointed it out: Oh look Love-Box! My friend has one of these.
I did a mental double-take but asked coolly: Yeah? Who's your friend?
Gina.
Oh. How old is she?
My age.
Jaw dropped. I muttered something about her being kinda young for this and then asked: Do you know what this is for?
She gave me a surprised look. Well they're condoms! People use them during sex.
Oh. Okay. Good that you know this. Who uses it during sex?
The guy of course!
Hmm. Yes you're right.
So much for teaching about the birds and the bees. Back to school for mom, not Gillian. How come I always come off sounding so school-marmish on this topic! Argh!
Nice designs on the Love-Box though.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Babies, birds and the bees
Children seemed to be on Gillian's mind this trip up to Malaysia.
We had stopped for dinner at KFC at the Ayer Keroh rest stop. Gillian came up to me and pointed at a family two tables away, saying: 9 children. Mummy, they have more children than us!
I looked over. It was a Malay family and yes, they had 9 children. The youngest was about 2years old and the oldest, maybe 16 or 17? Gillian said, I thought we already have many children, but they have even more than us! She seemed very impressed.
Later in Frasers Hill, she told KH and I: I think its okay to have more children if you want.
Really? I teased her. I thought you always freaked out at the thought of taking care of one more baby? You said you don't want to run after any more babies remember? Sure you can handle one more more?
Can! she waved airily.
But geez the thought of one more baby makes me sag with exhaustion. Tempting, but tiring! The thought of doing it all over - pregnancy, labour and birth were the fun bits, but the slog is to raise the child well up to adulthood - is just too large and daunting. Its not so much the financial cost but the emotional one. With every child I go through emotional somersaults - when they tantrum (like Trinity is doing these days! Oh the frustration of not being able to decipher her cries, not being able to calm or help her!) , the worry if or when they develop slower or develop different (ADHD, Aspergers, and Trin's lack of speech) , the stress of managing their work in school and then now as I am finding out, the minefield of puberty. It sounds like parenthood is no fun and a real slog. Well it is a real slog but it is not that it is no fun. Can be fun. Lots of fun. I enjoy being around them. But there are only so many hats that a woman can wear at one time without looking like a complete idiot. And motherhood is a very very big hat.
Later in the trip, I had some sad news from a friend who had lost her baby at 12weeks gestation. Gillian, being of the age where her ears are extra sharp, perked up at my phone conversation. She came up to me later and asked: What's wrong with Auntie Em?
I told her what happened and said that Auntie Em was understandably feeling very sad and was upset about it happening. Gillian asked: What about you mum? How do you feel? Are you also sad?
I said, well yes. Its never a nice thing to happen. I'm sad for Auntie Em but at the same time, I believe that this is God's will. He must have a reason for this to happen. We just don't understand why.
Then I don't know what made me open up to her, but I told her what I find very hard to talk about. I said, well this happened to mummy before too. Before you were born. I had a miscarriage too.
Her eyes widened and she said: Why didn't you tell us before? You mean you had more children - that means there are more of us! Why don't you and daddy tell us this?
Well, this is not something pleasant to talk about, I said. I was quite sad. Daddy finds it hard to talk about this sort of thing too (being a typical man, I added silently). But yes, it happened twice before. Before you were born.
Were you married to each other then? she asked. Oh this is very touchy. I found myself floundering. Yikes. How to answer this? Okay, the truth - Yes, we were married. That was the short answer and the truth. The longer answer was something she didn't need to know at that point.
Gillian nodded and said, well some people get pregnant before getting married and then they have abortions. I see it on tv all the time, she added blithely. See why I utterly and totally dislike Channel 8 dramas???
I said yes that happens, but that is a very very wrong thing to do. Its not the baby's fault that he is made and killing him is wrong. So, I continued, looking closely at her, you should never be with a guy until you're married. If you do end up pregnant, you know usually the guy does not take care of you and you'd have to take care of yourself and your baby and its a big responsibility that will not just go away - you have to take care of the baby until it grows up.
Now when I look back I wonder - why on earth do I always botch up stuff like this? Fumble, fumble and fumble. First, make a judgmental comment. Then make sweeping statements and finally, use fear - all the wrong things to do.
I've thought about this for the longest time, talked to friends etc. I know what I'd do if, God forbid, this ever happens. Yes I'd be angry as hell and I'd take a heck of a long time to get over it, but I would never turn my kids away, throw them out of the house like some outraged Asian parent 100 years ago. I know what I'd do: take her in, care for the baby as if its my own. But should I tell her this? What if she gets the idea that okay, since mum is so open about it, all things are carte blanche??? So when push comes to shove - I resort to type - use fear and finger wagging. Out of the window flew every bit of sensible balanced advice I'd read about how to approach moments like this - 'teachable moments' they call it. Yes I am smirking and my eyes are rolling as I type that. I wish 'teachable moments' would come labelled with big shiny neon lights that hit me on the head.
First, I should have just been factual, not judgemental. And there is the issue of what I said - DON'T be with a guy until you're married blah blah blah. Yes, I believe this, being a Catholic, I know this is the party line. But I also do know that the times we live in are so different. Saying NO all the time might not cut it anymore. Would it be better then to give all the information on birth control? I've read of mothers who bring their daughters to clinics for birth control pills. It sounds like a practical approach. But I honestly cannot see myself doing this - for now at least. I think this is way too liberal. On the other hand, being dogmatic about the 'no sex bit' might just alienate. Such a fine, teensy thin line to walk.
Maybe its me. Maybe I didn't handle it right this time. Maybe the wide aisles of The Gardens in Mid-Valley is not exactly the best place to have this sort of talk. But then maybe this sort of talk should be handled in this way - casual, not intense, while walking in a mall. I don't know. Feeling my way around.
After that, Gillian was thrilled - not with the "Don't do IT" bit, (don't know how much of that sank in) but with the idea that we're actually a larger family than we already are. There are two unknown siblings that came before. She ran forward to her dad and her typical exuberant way, said excitedly: Daddy! Did you know we are actually already a larger family - 7 children! Why didn't you tell us earlier??
Then she whispered to Isaac loudly: Zaac, mummy told me that she actually had two more babies before I was born....
With her going to KC (maybe) next year, and the infamous Bridge of Love just linking Marine Parade Road, I don't know how much longer she will still have the giggly wide-eyed attitude about sex and crucially, about getting information from me, her mother, about sex. And while I can handle the biological aspect no problem, I find myself stumbling for words when we're talking about the emotional aspects. How honest should I be? How much does she need to know? How weightily will she regard the information?
And while I am busy agonising over Gillian, quietly almost slipping beneath the radar, I suddenly realise I have Isaac on the cusp of puberty too. He had his first 'wet' dream in Fraser's Hill. And last night, I found out he'd finished reading Gaiman's book "Stardust" - with some uh, rather descriptive passages in there. No wonder he asked us mildly in the car on the NS Highway: all the stuff they do in the movies, the kissing and all... is all that real?
KH and I launched into a "don't believe all you see in the movies" spiel but I wonder now if we actually read the moment right. I don't think he was actually questioning the reality of it - a movie is a movie and he knows that. But rather, now with more factors in the equation, I think that question might have held a deeper meaning than we suspected.
I'm not ready for Isaac. I'm still floundering with Gillian. And Mr KH is no help. Time to pick up a copy of Raising Boys yet again.
Rounding yet another curve in life again.
Children seemed to be on Gillian's mind this trip up to Malaysia.
We had stopped for dinner at KFC at the Ayer Keroh rest stop. Gillian came up to me and pointed at a family two tables away, saying: 9 children. Mummy, they have more children than us!
I looked over. It was a Malay family and yes, they had 9 children. The youngest was about 2years old and the oldest, maybe 16 or 17? Gillian said, I thought we already have many children, but they have even more than us! She seemed very impressed.
Later in Frasers Hill, she told KH and I: I think its okay to have more children if you want.
Really? I teased her. I thought you always freaked out at the thought of taking care of one more baby? You said you don't want to run after any more babies remember? Sure you can handle one more more?
Can! she waved airily.
But geez the thought of one more baby makes me sag with exhaustion. Tempting, but tiring! The thought of doing it all over - pregnancy, labour and birth were the fun bits, but the slog is to raise the child well up to adulthood - is just too large and daunting. Its not so much the financial cost but the emotional one. With every child I go through emotional somersaults - when they tantrum (like Trinity is doing these days! Oh the frustration of not being able to decipher her cries, not being able to calm or help her!) , the worry if or when they develop slower or develop different (ADHD, Aspergers, and Trin's lack of speech) , the stress of managing their work in school and then now as I am finding out, the minefield of puberty. It sounds like parenthood is no fun and a real slog. Well it is a real slog but it is not that it is no fun. Can be fun. Lots of fun. I enjoy being around them. But there are only so many hats that a woman can wear at one time without looking like a complete idiot. And motherhood is a very very big hat.
Later in the trip, I had some sad news from a friend who had lost her baby at 12weeks gestation. Gillian, being of the age where her ears are extra sharp, perked up at my phone conversation. She came up to me later and asked: What's wrong with Auntie Em?
I told her what happened and said that Auntie Em was understandably feeling very sad and was upset about it happening. Gillian asked: What about you mum? How do you feel? Are you also sad?
I said, well yes. Its never a nice thing to happen. I'm sad for Auntie Em but at the same time, I believe that this is God's will. He must have a reason for this to happen. We just don't understand why.
Then I don't know what made me open up to her, but I told her what I find very hard to talk about. I said, well this happened to mummy before too. Before you were born. I had a miscarriage too.
Her eyes widened and she said: Why didn't you tell us before? You mean you had more children - that means there are more of us! Why don't you and daddy tell us this?
Well, this is not something pleasant to talk about, I said. I was quite sad. Daddy finds it hard to talk about this sort of thing too (being a typical man, I added silently). But yes, it happened twice before. Before you were born.
Were you married to each other then? she asked. Oh this is very touchy. I found myself floundering. Yikes. How to answer this? Okay, the truth - Yes, we were married. That was the short answer and the truth. The longer answer was something she didn't need to know at that point.
Gillian nodded and said, well some people get pregnant before getting married and then they have abortions. I see it on tv all the time, she added blithely. See why I utterly and totally dislike Channel 8 dramas???
I said yes that happens, but that is a very very wrong thing to do. Its not the baby's fault that he is made and killing him is wrong. So, I continued, looking closely at her, you should never be with a guy until you're married. If you do end up pregnant, you know usually the guy does not take care of you and you'd have to take care of yourself and your baby and its a big responsibility that will not just go away - you have to take care of the baby until it grows up.
Now when I look back I wonder - why on earth do I always botch up stuff like this? Fumble, fumble and fumble. First, make a judgmental comment. Then make sweeping statements and finally, use fear - all the wrong things to do.
I've thought about this for the longest time, talked to friends etc. I know what I'd do if, God forbid, this ever happens. Yes I'd be angry as hell and I'd take a heck of a long time to get over it, but I would never turn my kids away, throw them out of the house like some outraged Asian parent 100 years ago. I know what I'd do: take her in, care for the baby as if its my own. But should I tell her this? What if she gets the idea that okay, since mum is so open about it, all things are carte blanche??? So when push comes to shove - I resort to type - use fear and finger wagging. Out of the window flew every bit of sensible balanced advice I'd read about how to approach moments like this - 'teachable moments' they call it. Yes I am smirking and my eyes are rolling as I type that. I wish 'teachable moments' would come labelled with big shiny neon lights that hit me on the head.
First, I should have just been factual, not judgemental. And there is the issue of what I said - DON'T be with a guy until you're married blah blah blah. Yes, I believe this, being a Catholic, I know this is the party line. But I also do know that the times we live in are so different. Saying NO all the time might not cut it anymore. Would it be better then to give all the information on birth control? I've read of mothers who bring their daughters to clinics for birth control pills. It sounds like a practical approach. But I honestly cannot see myself doing this - for now at least. I think this is way too liberal. On the other hand, being dogmatic about the 'no sex bit' might just alienate. Such a fine, teensy thin line to walk.
Maybe its me. Maybe I didn't handle it right this time. Maybe the wide aisles of The Gardens in Mid-Valley is not exactly the best place to have this sort of talk. But then maybe this sort of talk should be handled in this way - casual, not intense, while walking in a mall. I don't know. Feeling my way around.
After that, Gillian was thrilled - not with the "Don't do IT" bit, (don't know how much of that sank in) but with the idea that we're actually a larger family than we already are. There are two unknown siblings that came before. She ran forward to her dad and her typical exuberant way, said excitedly: Daddy! Did you know we are actually already a larger family - 7 children! Why didn't you tell us earlier??
Then she whispered to Isaac loudly: Zaac, mummy told me that she actually had two more babies before I was born....
With her going to KC (maybe) next year, and the infamous Bridge of Love just linking Marine Parade Road, I don't know how much longer she will still have the giggly wide-eyed attitude about sex and crucially, about getting information from me, her mother, about sex. And while I can handle the biological aspect no problem, I find myself stumbling for words when we're talking about the emotional aspects. How honest should I be? How much does she need to know? How weightily will she regard the information?
And while I am busy agonising over Gillian, quietly almost slipping beneath the radar, I suddenly realise I have Isaac on the cusp of puberty too. He had his first 'wet' dream in Fraser's Hill. And last night, I found out he'd finished reading Gaiman's book "Stardust" - with some uh, rather descriptive passages in there. No wonder he asked us mildly in the car on the NS Highway: all the stuff they do in the movies, the kissing and all... is all that real?
KH and I launched into a "don't believe all you see in the movies" spiel but I wonder now if we actually read the moment right. I don't think he was actually questioning the reality of it - a movie is a movie and he knows that. But rather, now with more factors in the equation, I think that question might have held a deeper meaning than we suspected.
I'm not ready for Isaac. I'm still floundering with Gillian. And Mr KH is no help. Time to pick up a copy of Raising Boys yet again.
Rounding yet another curve in life again.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
I miss Japan!
I don't think I've recovered from the Japan trip yet. Half of me still thinks that the trip has not yet happened. I still expect to go on the trip when its already over! Sort of an anti-climactic feel actually. Weirdly I am also experiencing Japan withdrawal symptoms. I still surf wistfully to Japan Guide. Two nights ago I watched Japan Hour and sighed. I still check the weather forecast for Tokyo. I walk along Riang and see fallen leaves and I am back in the lanes of Kyoto, wondering if more of the leaves have turned or if more have fallen. I now push my water heater to its hottest and still feel dissatisfied - ah, the rotemburo has spoilt me. In a crowded MRT train with Owain the other day, we both reminisce about what it was like on the train in Tokyo. And he still asks me from time to time: Mum, how many more days before we go to Japan? I laugh and sigh. I've just got that restless, dissatisfied feeling of yearning. I yearn to go back. I have not seen enough, absorbed enough of Japan.
I guess it will take a while before I get out of it. After all, I have been planning for this for almost a year and to have it just fly by in 9 days is really heart-jolting.
I do want to go back. I say that I want to go back by myself. Or maybe with a good girl friend. Or with mum. But I also know that I will miss Kyoto as it was with the children. The place will now echo with memories of this trip. It will hold images of Gillian, Isaac, Caitlin, Owain and baby Trinity as they were. Would that add to a place? Or detract from a new perspective? I said before that I sensed that Japan can be a 'lonely' place, where one finds solitude even in a crowd. Having been there, I still think so. I wonder if I ever go again, with these old echoes and ghosts of this trip, maybe I will feel even lonelier than before. I was right though - there is something about that place that speaks to me. I'm trying to pin it down. Its not like how I also love Venice or Rome - different. I love those places, but Japan is special. It speaks to me in a way, in a place within that those other places don't, much though I love them.
One place that my mind keeps straying to is Rakushisha (the Hut of Fallen Persimmons) in Arashiyama, Kyoto. Just a hut with one or two rooms, screens that open the room entirely to the view outside. A tiny earthen floor kitchen. Outside, a small garden. Persimmons hanging from bare branches. The place was filled with tourists when I went, but yet there was something about its compactness and solitude that I really liked. The fact that it was inhabited by a poet, a place where the great Japanese poet Basho stayed for certain periods, its atmosphere of loneliness (there's that word again!) - just appealed to me.
Can you tell? I really enjoyed myself this trip. I wish I could do it all over again. Just press a rewind button somewhere. Okay, this time without dad's bypass. And this time without losing the 38,000yen Burberry bag!!
But obviously I can't ever go back. There is no rewind button. The Big On Trips blog helps - I always say getting it out of the system via writing or talking or doing something always helps one recover after emotional tsunamis like birth, death, loss etc. For me, this trip was like an emotional tsunami. So the blog helps. Writing this here also helps but I think half of you already think I'm nuts to go on like this about a family holiday!
Well, hopefully this coming Malaysia trip will distract me from mooning on about Japan.
We're heading north again - to our favourite haunts in Ipoh, then up to Frasers Hill for the first time, then to KL, Malacca (this time to Pulau Besar). We leave tomorrow and will be back next week.
I don't think I've recovered from the Japan trip yet. Half of me still thinks that the trip has not yet happened. I still expect to go on the trip when its already over! Sort of an anti-climactic feel actually. Weirdly I am also experiencing Japan withdrawal symptoms. I still surf wistfully to Japan Guide. Two nights ago I watched Japan Hour and sighed. I still check the weather forecast for Tokyo. I walk along Riang and see fallen leaves and I am back in the lanes of Kyoto, wondering if more of the leaves have turned or if more have fallen. I now push my water heater to its hottest and still feel dissatisfied - ah, the rotemburo has spoilt me. In a crowded MRT train with Owain the other day, we both reminisce about what it was like on the train in Tokyo. And he still asks me from time to time: Mum, how many more days before we go to Japan? I laugh and sigh. I've just got that restless, dissatisfied feeling of yearning. I yearn to go back. I have not seen enough, absorbed enough of Japan.
I guess it will take a while before I get out of it. After all, I have been planning for this for almost a year and to have it just fly by in 9 days is really heart-jolting.
I do want to go back. I say that I want to go back by myself. Or maybe with a good girl friend. Or with mum. But I also know that I will miss Kyoto as it was with the children. The place will now echo with memories of this trip. It will hold images of Gillian, Isaac, Caitlin, Owain and baby Trinity as they were. Would that add to a place? Or detract from a new perspective? I said before that I sensed that Japan can be a 'lonely' place, where one finds solitude even in a crowd. Having been there, I still think so. I wonder if I ever go again, with these old echoes and ghosts of this trip, maybe I will feel even lonelier than before. I was right though - there is something about that place that speaks to me. I'm trying to pin it down. Its not like how I also love Venice or Rome - different. I love those places, but Japan is special. It speaks to me in a way, in a place within that those other places don't, much though I love them.
One place that my mind keeps straying to is Rakushisha (the Hut of Fallen Persimmons) in Arashiyama, Kyoto. Just a hut with one or two rooms, screens that open the room entirely to the view outside. A tiny earthen floor kitchen. Outside, a small garden. Persimmons hanging from bare branches. The place was filled with tourists when I went, but yet there was something about its compactness and solitude that I really liked. The fact that it was inhabited by a poet, a place where the great Japanese poet Basho stayed for certain periods, its atmosphere of loneliness (there's that word again!) - just appealed to me.
Can you tell? I really enjoyed myself this trip. I wish I could do it all over again. Just press a rewind button somewhere. Okay, this time without dad's bypass. And this time without losing the 38,000yen Burberry bag!!
But obviously I can't ever go back. There is no rewind button. The Big On Trips blog helps - I always say getting it out of the system via writing or talking or doing something always helps one recover after emotional tsunamis like birth, death, loss etc. For me, this trip was like an emotional tsunami. So the blog helps. Writing this here also helps but I think half of you already think I'm nuts to go on like this about a family holiday!
Well, hopefully this coming Malaysia trip will distract me from mooning on about Japan.
We're heading north again - to our favourite haunts in Ipoh, then up to Frasers Hill for the first time, then to KL, Malacca (this time to Pulau Besar). We leave tomorrow and will be back next week.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
My new travel blog
I've started a new blog on our travels. And the first postings will be on the Japan trip. I have yet to upload pictures - we took a whopping 860 shots plus a video of Trinity dancing in the Burberry Blue Label store!
Meanwhile, feel free to surf in read what's there. So far, I've just posted on my preparations for the trip and an account of day 1. I hope to post bit by bit so do look in from time to time and leave your comments.
The blog is called Big on Trips and the URL is http://bigontrips.blogspot.com/
I've started a new blog on our travels. And the first postings will be on the Japan trip. I have yet to upload pictures - we took a whopping 860 shots plus a video of Trinity dancing in the Burberry Blue Label store!
Meanwhile, feel free to surf in read what's there. So far, I've just posted on my preparations for the trip and an account of day 1. I hope to post bit by bit so do look in from time to time and leave your comments.
The blog is called Big on Trips and the URL is http://bigontrips.blogspot.com/
The only bright spot!
Was Gillian passing her PSLE!!!!!!!
Those who know me know I never expected her to pass, fully prepared to have her retained etc. But the girl surprised me. She passed with a Grade 2 for English and a Grade 3 for Maths. Her total aggregate was 98. Much, much better than I expected. Among the higher end for EM3 kids posted to the Normal Tech course.
On Monday after returning from Japan, we went to school to get her results. Euphoric and happy, we all then went to the two schools shortlisted for the first choice - Katong Convent and PLMGS (Paya Lebar Methodist Girls School). Both had good programmes for Normal (Tech). Both had won the Academic Value-Added awards for the Normal stream (which meant that their Normal students showed marked improvement in academic results).
KC had bowling as a CCA which Gillian liked, it was a convent school, still part of the IJ family and it was her Mama's and Aunts' alma mater. Yes mum is a KC old girl. It had the same Catholic environment that Gillian was used to. And her aggregate qualified her for it - well within the range. We considered PLMGS because it was an award-winning school, with very good programmes for the girls, it was also an all-girls school and it was nearer home, much nearer than KC. PLMGS occupied a spanking new building but Gillian did not like it. She said she did not feel "comfity". On the other hand, she seemed to like KC although it was in an older building and showed its wear and tear. The familiarity of the environment probably played a part - they also had Mother Mary's statue, a serene grotto/garden and Fr Barre's statue around, girls dressed in the same uniform etc.
So she said she preferred KC as first choice. Second choice was PLMGS, third was SJC. Fourth was Zhong Hua Sec just outside our estate, fifth was Beatty Sec a good neighbourhood school in Toa Payoh and finally Bartley Sec, which also seems to be improving, according to my bro who used to study there.
We will know only on Dec 19 if she will get her first choice, but I don't think it would be a problem.
Knowing that Gill has made it really took a big load off our shoulders. Its like we (and KH says he feels the same) wake up in the morning and we feel unsettled as if we're supposed to be worrying about something, but then we realised - gee she's made it! And a load rolls off, we feel lighter and happier. I think the awareness that she's able to make it has also done wonders for Gillian's self-esteem. And that's the biggest reward I think, although she might not realise it. She is already calling in her carrots - $100 from Uncle Paul, a High School Musical 2 CD from me + a hair make-over at Shunji Matsuo (I did promise her this if she ever made it to Sec 1), a cruise from Mama (that will happen when dad gets better), scuba lessons from Aunty Vi. In desperation before the exams, everyone seemed to promise her one thing or another if she passed, so she did and now she's calling it all in!!
Was Gillian passing her PSLE!!!!!!!
Those who know me know I never expected her to pass, fully prepared to have her retained etc. But the girl surprised me. She passed with a Grade 2 for English and a Grade 3 for Maths. Her total aggregate was 98. Much, much better than I expected. Among the higher end for EM3 kids posted to the Normal Tech course.
On Monday after returning from Japan, we went to school to get her results. Euphoric and happy, we all then went to the two schools shortlisted for the first choice - Katong Convent and PLMGS (Paya Lebar Methodist Girls School). Both had good programmes for Normal (Tech). Both had won the Academic Value-Added awards for the Normal stream (which meant that their Normal students showed marked improvement in academic results).
KC had bowling as a CCA which Gillian liked, it was a convent school, still part of the IJ family and it was her Mama's and Aunts' alma mater. Yes mum is a KC old girl. It had the same Catholic environment that Gillian was used to. And her aggregate qualified her for it - well within the range. We considered PLMGS because it was an award-winning school, with very good programmes for the girls, it was also an all-girls school and it was nearer home, much nearer than KC. PLMGS occupied a spanking new building but Gillian did not like it. She said she did not feel "comfity". On the other hand, she seemed to like KC although it was in an older building and showed its wear and tear. The familiarity of the environment probably played a part - they also had Mother Mary's statue, a serene grotto/garden and Fr Barre's statue around, girls dressed in the same uniform etc.
So she said she preferred KC as first choice. Second choice was PLMGS, third was SJC. Fourth was Zhong Hua Sec just outside our estate, fifth was Beatty Sec a good neighbourhood school in Toa Payoh and finally Bartley Sec, which also seems to be improving, according to my bro who used to study there.
We will know only on Dec 19 if she will get her first choice, but I don't think it would be a problem.
Knowing that Gill has made it really took a big load off our shoulders. Its like we (and KH says he feels the same) wake up in the morning and we feel unsettled as if we're supposed to be worrying about something, but then we realised - gee she's made it! And a load rolls off, we feel lighter and happier. I think the awareness that she's able to make it has also done wonders for Gillian's self-esteem. And that's the biggest reward I think, although she might not realise it. She is already calling in her carrots - $100 from Uncle Paul, a High School Musical 2 CD from me + a hair make-over at Shunji Matsuo (I did promise her this if she ever made it to Sec 1), a cruise from Mama (that will happen when dad gets better), scuba lessons from Aunty Vi. In desperation before the exams, everyone seemed to promise her one thing or another if she passed, so she did and now she's calling it all in!!
Updates
Stayed at the hospital till around 10.30pm last night. They kept grandma in the A&E observation room for hours. An ECG was done and it showed a heart attack so they've put her in the high dependency cardiac ward, the next wing from dad's ward. We've been tossing lame jokes about putting them both in the same room to save visiting time.
I saw her just before I left for the night. She looked tired but stable, her vital signs looked encouraging. I know it sounds weird but she looked so cute and cuddly - like the late British Queen Mum. She was very afraid of hospitals and never liked to be in one and so initially, she seemed scared and apprehensive to find herself now in hospital. We reassured her that she was okay, nothing was going to happen, no one was wheeling her into any operating theatre for any surgery. She asked for her maid and fretted about not having company so my aunt will being the maid over this morning.
I looked at her and could not believe that this soft cuddly looking woman was the angry, fearsome, mean dragon lady of the old days, who terrorised her maids no end. She'd mellowed over the past year and she'd had a long life, some parts of it very hard. I told her to just rest and go to sleep for the night and that I'd come back and see her today. I think that's just what she needs - a good long rest, not fearing, not angsting, not brooding, not thinking too much, just giving herself up to rest and to God and to be at peace with herself and with everyone around her.
I saw dad earlier in the evening before I hung around the A&E waiting room. Dad looked loads better. Better enough to snipe and grouch. Sure sign of recovery. He got a bit irritated when we went on about his leg. I'd noticed his ankle swelling up and mum agreed. We both didn't like the look of his stitches/wound, there seemed to be a reddish area radiating out from the site that seemed indicative of infection. Mum told the doctor earlier that she thought his wound might be infected and the doctor agreed. So dad is now on antibiotics. They are already giving Lasiks to lessen the amount of fluids in his lungs, which according to x-rays, look almost fluid-free. But this latest development about swelling in his ankles is unsettling. Will check with the doctor again later.
Stayed at the hospital till around 10.30pm last night. They kept grandma in the A&E observation room for hours. An ECG was done and it showed a heart attack so they've put her in the high dependency cardiac ward, the next wing from dad's ward. We've been tossing lame jokes about putting them both in the same room to save visiting time.
I saw her just before I left for the night. She looked tired but stable, her vital signs looked encouraging. I know it sounds weird but she looked so cute and cuddly - like the late British Queen Mum. She was very afraid of hospitals and never liked to be in one and so initially, she seemed scared and apprehensive to find herself now in hospital. We reassured her that she was okay, nothing was going to happen, no one was wheeling her into any operating theatre for any surgery. She asked for her maid and fretted about not having company so my aunt will being the maid over this morning.
I looked at her and could not believe that this soft cuddly looking woman was the angry, fearsome, mean dragon lady of the old days, who terrorised her maids no end. She'd mellowed over the past year and she'd had a long life, some parts of it very hard. I told her to just rest and go to sleep for the night and that I'd come back and see her today. I think that's just what she needs - a good long rest, not fearing, not angsting, not brooding, not thinking too much, just giving herself up to rest and to God and to be at peace with herself and with everyone around her.
I saw dad earlier in the evening before I hung around the A&E waiting room. Dad looked loads better. Better enough to snipe and grouch. Sure sign of recovery. He got a bit irritated when we went on about his leg. I'd noticed his ankle swelling up and mum agreed. We both didn't like the look of his stitches/wound, there seemed to be a reddish area radiating out from the site that seemed indicative of infection. Mum told the doctor earlier that she thought his wound might be infected and the doctor agreed. So dad is now on antibiotics. They are already giving Lasiks to lessen the amount of fluids in his lungs, which according to x-rays, look almost fluid-free. But this latest development about swelling in his ankles is unsettling. Will check with the doctor again later.
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