Milestone! Trinity is walking!
Yesterday in the office Gillian gave me a call: Mom!! Trin is walking! She walked all the way from the study to the bedroom without holding onto anything!
I felt a pang as I heard this. Why wasn't I around to see this happen?? So much for working half-time hoping to be there for the milestones when they happen. Instead I am stuck in the office coding new subjects, calling for meetings and editing proofs.
When we went home, true enough, Trin was walking. A bit hesitantly, but with a BIG grin on her face, she toddles around. No longer reaching to hold on to things, no longer dropping to her bum everytime something or someone is out of reach, no longer crawling.
There was no stopping her. She went everywhere on her own, thrilled by the mobility. We, on the other hand, had to keep an eye on her. Noticed that she was even stepping up the dining room step the 'normal' way and not crawling up. I kissed her little feet - thinking that they will very soon lost their baby softness and feel.
So I guess it's official - Trinity is walking. At the grand old age of 13months and 27 days. 27 Dec 2006.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Not a child, not yet a woman
It was 9pm and we were in our hotel room in Ipoh. Outside, it was raining heavily. KH and I watching a documentary on killer typhoons in our room, lazy to move after a great Ipoh hor fun dinner. The kids were hooked on Cartoon Network in their room. And thus it was when Gillian skidded into our room, and told me excitedly: mum! it's here! My period!!
Inwardly I go: No-ooooooooooooooo!
Talk about good timing. I don't feel prepared to deal with this. Not while we're on vacation! But who was I kidding - I didn't feel prepared to mother a kid high on puberty hormones! While we've covered the sex bit over the dinner table couple of moons ago, I'm not sure how much of that got through. Though I think now that all mothers worry about this and the truth is: not much really goes through. Couple of thoughts race through my mind. First - gotta find a sanitary napkin and fast! Second - er, is this where I regurgitate the no-sex until you're married lecture? Third - oh no, all that blood and staining!! And what about the Red Party I planned for her? All out the window!
Well, I follow her to the bathroom and have a peek. Yep. No kidding.
I head back to the room. KH raises his eyebrows in a question mark. I nod and he grins: OK, over to you then!
I call the Front Desk - is there a pharmacy open? No pharmacy but the mamak shop across the road is still open.
When I imagined Gillian getting her period, I did not bargain for this scenario: me dashing across the road in a heavy rain at night in a foreign country, buying a pack of sanitary napkins from a mamak shop. Looking at the two types of packages on the dusty shelf made me think wistfully of NTUC and the multiple shelves filled with blue, pink, wings, sleep, day, maxi, liners, tampons etc.
So back in the bathroom I teach her how to tape the pad on, how to dispose of it, how to clean her underwear etc. I also throw in a very fumbly speech on how her body is precious, how she is now a woman etc and of course, a couple of lines under the do-not-have-sex-until-you're-married header. I'm not sure that she took it all in. She seemed very excited and told me that she was scared. Here's my chance to be in the sensitive-mother mode but I blew it. I took the sensible and brisk approach and said: nonsense! Nothing to be scared of. You'll get used to it when things settle down.
Later I told KH: gee, I'm SO glad MY period didn't come! Thank God for lactational amenorrhea! Yay!!
Well, either God wasn't paying close attention when I thanked Him or He had a very bad sense of humour because the very next day, my period came!!
So both Gillian and I were sidelined for most of the holiday, nursing our periods, each of us having our own unique firsts - her first in a lifetime and my first after more than a year. It was lovely being period-free and now, geez, back to fumbling with the pads, the tampons etc. Maybe its time to get myself a mooncup - lulu, you reading this??
Interesting though - my daughter is now a woman. Sort of. Hard to think of her that way. Seems like just yesterday that she was a baby. And now, she's able to have her own babies. Wow.
I am writing this on Boxing Day. Gillian's first period started on 10th Dec and ended only yesterday, Christmas Day. 15 days and two-thirds of those were heavy flow with big clots. We went through about 4 boxes of sanitary napkins. I was concerned enough to bring her to the GP for a look. But the doc felt it was normal. I'll watch her though and see if this is the pattern.
It was 9pm and we were in our hotel room in Ipoh. Outside, it was raining heavily. KH and I watching a documentary on killer typhoons in our room, lazy to move after a great Ipoh hor fun dinner. The kids were hooked on Cartoon Network in their room. And thus it was when Gillian skidded into our room, and told me excitedly: mum! it's here! My period!!
Inwardly I go: No-ooooooooooooooo!
Talk about good timing. I don't feel prepared to deal with this. Not while we're on vacation! But who was I kidding - I didn't feel prepared to mother a kid high on puberty hormones! While we've covered the sex bit over the dinner table couple of moons ago, I'm not sure how much of that got through. Though I think now that all mothers worry about this and the truth is: not much really goes through. Couple of thoughts race through my mind. First - gotta find a sanitary napkin and fast! Second - er, is this where I regurgitate the no-sex until you're married lecture? Third - oh no, all that blood and staining!! And what about the Red Party I planned for her? All out the window!
Well, I follow her to the bathroom and have a peek. Yep. No kidding.
I head back to the room. KH raises his eyebrows in a question mark. I nod and he grins: OK, over to you then!
I call the Front Desk - is there a pharmacy open? No pharmacy but the mamak shop across the road is still open.
When I imagined Gillian getting her period, I did not bargain for this scenario: me dashing across the road in a heavy rain at night in a foreign country, buying a pack of sanitary napkins from a mamak shop. Looking at the two types of packages on the dusty shelf made me think wistfully of NTUC and the multiple shelves filled with blue, pink, wings, sleep, day, maxi, liners, tampons etc.
So back in the bathroom I teach her how to tape the pad on, how to dispose of it, how to clean her underwear etc. I also throw in a very fumbly speech on how her body is precious, how she is now a woman etc and of course, a couple of lines under the do-not-have-sex-until-you're-married header. I'm not sure that she took it all in. She seemed very excited and told me that she was scared. Here's my chance to be in the sensitive-mother mode but I blew it. I took the sensible and brisk approach and said: nonsense! Nothing to be scared of. You'll get used to it when things settle down.
Later I told KH: gee, I'm SO glad MY period didn't come! Thank God for lactational amenorrhea! Yay!!
Well, either God wasn't paying close attention when I thanked Him or He had a very bad sense of humour because the very next day, my period came!!
So both Gillian and I were sidelined for most of the holiday, nursing our periods, each of us having our own unique firsts - her first in a lifetime and my first after more than a year. It was lovely being period-free and now, geez, back to fumbling with the pads, the tampons etc. Maybe its time to get myself a mooncup - lulu, you reading this??
Interesting though - my daughter is now a woman. Sort of. Hard to think of her that way. Seems like just yesterday that she was a baby. And now, she's able to have her own babies. Wow.
I am writing this on Boxing Day. Gillian's first period started on 10th Dec and ended only yesterday, Christmas Day. 15 days and two-thirds of those were heavy flow with big clots. We went through about 4 boxes of sanitary napkins. I was concerned enough to bring her to the GP for a look. But the doc felt it was normal. I'll watch her though and see if this is the pattern.
Monday, December 25, 2006
Merry Christmas!
Isaac asked me the other day: hey mum, what are you most afraid of? Are you afraid of dying?
Thank God that among 5 kids, I have at least ONE introspective thinker/dreamer, a potential SNAG who would consider and talk about these issues! So I thought long and hard, wanting to seize the opportunity to share/nurture/teach. I said at last: well, I'm not afraid of dying. But I am afraid of losing the people I love, especially my family - all of you, who complete my life in so many ways. Where would I be without all of you children and your dad? Imagine life without family, without love...
Long pause. Then he went: err mum, actually I was just thinking of the normal things you're scared of - like you know, lizards? Bugs? Scary movies... That kind of stuff...
That kind of sums up my life.
Merry Christmas from the Chongs.
Isaac asked me the other day: hey mum, what are you most afraid of? Are you afraid of dying?
Thank God that among 5 kids, I have at least ONE introspective thinker/dreamer, a potential SNAG who would consider and talk about these issues! So I thought long and hard, wanting to seize the opportunity to share/nurture/teach. I said at last: well, I'm not afraid of dying. But I am afraid of losing the people I love, especially my family - all of you, who complete my life in so many ways. Where would I be without all of you children and your dad? Imagine life without family, without love...
Long pause. Then he went: err mum, actually I was just thinking of the normal things you're scared of - like you know, lizards? Bugs? Scary movies... That kind of stuff...
That kind of sums up my life.
Merry Christmas from the Chongs.
Friday, December 22, 2006
The Chong Road-trip highlights
Just back from 10 days on the road in Malaysia. Having five kids has seriously curtailed our travel options - even the cheapest budget flights now go into a couple of thousand dollars when you factor in the surcharges, taxes etc! So with no spare cash, we hit the road in Malaysia. And this has forced us to travel deeper into the country, exploring places beyond the usual KL-Malacca circuit.
This trip, we headed up north to Ipoh - a rather nondescript quiet town, now famous as location du jour for Lee Ang's new film and Ipoh hor fun. En route, we stopped at the Kuala Woh Recreational Forest, 13km up the winding foothills leading to Cameron Highlands, off the Tapah exit. There, we found only locals, no tourists, a rushing river shaded by banks of big trees, butterflies in black and green the size of our hands, and a creaky foot suspension bridge. It was a great break from the driving. We loved going on the suspension bridge, wading in the shallow pebble-filled river bed. And the river has hot springs! We discovered this by accident when Isaac yelped as his foot landed unsuspectingly into a hot spot. Further up the river was deeper water and big round boulders. So next trip, we're going swimming!
We also found a decent hotel in Ipoh where we made a comfortable base. We took two adjoining rooms which cost us RM260 a night for both rooms. The room was clean, hot shower worked well, the King-size beds comfy, they had cable tv(which was what the kids wanted) and the breakfast was pretty decent for a small hotel!
Previously, Ipoh was a problem when it came to accomodations - because the places there were just not value for money. Case in point was the run-down Station or Majestic Hotel (a real misnomer!) . It was the old railway station, built along splendid colonial lines and now converted into a hotel. But if you're thinking its the Raffles, think again. The rooms are dark and musty-smelling with no windows, the beds look sad and saggy and the first floor is a warren of massage parlours. The whole place has lost its shine and dignity and its a sad thing to see. And they charge RM200 for a family room - which is two queen-beds!! The last time we stopped here we stayed at the Seri Malaysia, off the main road leading to Ipoh town - and it had the scent of stale durians, the toilet seat was missing, the fridge didn't work and the aircon sucked. So this time, we were very pleased to find a decent place - it gave us reason to come to Ipoh as a place to break our journey up north.
Finally found the famous Ipoh hor fun - ribbons of white that just slides down the throat and chicken nicely poached smooth white! Trin ate everything we ate - down to the chicken, bean sprouts etc. She's always liked our food and hated baby food - the mashy cereal/porridgey stuff - which she always spat out so decisively. So on this trip, she ate everything we ate - her favourite being wanton noodles!
We explored the places around Ipoh - Kellie's Castle, Gua Tempurong etc. Liked the long road heading into the cave area - a long ribbon of grey, bright green fields and wetlands on either side, with a hulking limestone mountain looming up in front of us. The cave is do-able, but unfortunately, poorly lit. It had an underground river, a wind chamber (which was cooling after our long hikes up and down the many stairs and catwalks). So when the kids are older, we'll do the 4-hour hard stuff which includes navigating the underground river.
From Ipoh, we headed to Lumut, intending to cross over to the Pangkor Island Beach R esort. But after doing the sums, I felt that it was too expensive. It cost RM320++ for an Ocean wing and the hotel didn't allow us to all go into one room. It was adamant that we had to have two rooms. And this would have jacked up the cost significantly. And if we stayed one night, the hotel wanted to charge a one-night surcharge! So with all this hesitation, we decided to forget it, and just spend the night in Lumut, heading to Pangkor for a day trip in the morning.
Have to say that Lumut was a dead boring place. We chose to spend the night in the rather run-down Lumut Country Resort. It actually was not a bad place if properly maintained and managed. Nice black and white trim reminiscent of the colonial houses and good layout of the rooms with generous natural light. Cost us RM95 per room per night. We took two rooms. And I spent the whole night hearing light switches go on and off in mine, lots of dragging noises overhead, voices etc - even though I distinctly recall the manager telling us he was giving us a whole wing to ourselves! KH said his room was fine - didn't hear a thing. Go figure.
Pangkor was nice. My first view was of green wooded hills rising from a turquoise sea, wooden houses on beaches with coconut trees, long jetties with fishing boats bobbing away and once in a while, a glimpse of hot pink flashing through the trees. Those were the taxis. All the taxis on Pangkor are painted an exciting hot pink - and all are of the minivan variety, which was great for our large family.
The taxi driver recommended Telok Nipah on the other side of the island. We wended through forests, flanked by beaches on one side and trees and foliage rising from the other. Across the straits, I could see the very posh and expensive Pangkor Laut resort. Too rich for my blood but I figured - we share the same sea/strait so so much for exclusivity!
Telok Nipah was very nice - Gillian and I were landbound thanks to mother nature. But the rest went swimming. KH, at first sceptical about the waters in Pangkor, was won over when he could see shoals of little fishes swimming alongside him. The kids were ecstatic about finding sea-shells, crabs and jellyfish in the water. So we decided that the next trip up, we would stay on the island - either find cheaper (read crappier) accomodation or splurge for a bit of luxury. But we'll definitely be back.
Back on the mainland, we headed for KL where we spent a very nice and comfortable two days in our favourite Micasa Hotel. KL's highlight was a lovely dinner with everyone in my family - Mum, Dad, Paul, Aunty Peggy and Uncle Boris were in town, catching up with Vivian my sister who lives in KL. So we had a great dinner - lots of red meat, pasta and wine - and then headed back to her house to open presents. It was so rare to be able to gather with family like this in KL. The only one missing was the angmoh Paul, my BIL who had gone on his own road-trip, driving from KL up into the far reaches of Laos!
All in, great trip. We had good weather and came home to the torrential rains that eventually flooded out most of Johor and Malacca (still flooding as I write). Discovered new places, hung out with dear ones, made big emotional and physical transitions from girlhood to womanhood. Draining, but still good fun.
Just back from 10 days on the road in Malaysia. Having five kids has seriously curtailed our travel options - even the cheapest budget flights now go into a couple of thousand dollars when you factor in the surcharges, taxes etc! So with no spare cash, we hit the road in Malaysia. And this has forced us to travel deeper into the country, exploring places beyond the usual KL-Malacca circuit.
This trip, we headed up north to Ipoh - a rather nondescript quiet town, now famous as location du jour for Lee Ang's new film and Ipoh hor fun. En route, we stopped at the Kuala Woh Recreational Forest, 13km up the winding foothills leading to Cameron Highlands, off the Tapah exit. There, we found only locals, no tourists, a rushing river shaded by banks of big trees, butterflies in black and green the size of our hands, and a creaky foot suspension bridge. It was a great break from the driving. We loved going on the suspension bridge, wading in the shallow pebble-filled river bed. And the river has hot springs! We discovered this by accident when Isaac yelped as his foot landed unsuspectingly into a hot spot. Further up the river was deeper water and big round boulders. So next trip, we're going swimming!
We also found a decent hotel in Ipoh where we made a comfortable base. We took two adjoining rooms which cost us RM260 a night for both rooms. The room was clean, hot shower worked well, the King-size beds comfy, they had cable tv(which was what the kids wanted) and the breakfast was pretty decent for a small hotel!
Previously, Ipoh was a problem when it came to accomodations - because the places there were just not value for money. Case in point was the run-down Station or Majestic Hotel (a real misnomer!) . It was the old railway station, built along splendid colonial lines and now converted into a hotel. But if you're thinking its the Raffles, think again. The rooms are dark and musty-smelling with no windows, the beds look sad and saggy and the first floor is a warren of massage parlours. The whole place has lost its shine and dignity and its a sad thing to see. And they charge RM200 for a family room - which is two queen-beds!! The last time we stopped here we stayed at the Seri Malaysia, off the main road leading to Ipoh town - and it had the scent of stale durians, the toilet seat was missing, the fridge didn't work and the aircon sucked. So this time, we were very pleased to find a decent place - it gave us reason to come to Ipoh as a place to break our journey up north.
Finally found the famous Ipoh hor fun - ribbons of white that just slides down the throat and chicken nicely poached smooth white! Trin ate everything we ate - down to the chicken, bean sprouts etc. She's always liked our food and hated baby food - the mashy cereal/porridgey stuff - which she always spat out so decisively. So on this trip, she ate everything we ate - her favourite being wanton noodles!
We explored the places around Ipoh - Kellie's Castle, Gua Tempurong etc. Liked the long road heading into the cave area - a long ribbon of grey, bright green fields and wetlands on either side, with a hulking limestone mountain looming up in front of us. The cave is do-able, but unfortunately, poorly lit. It had an underground river, a wind chamber (which was cooling after our long hikes up and down the many stairs and catwalks). So when the kids are older, we'll do the 4-hour hard stuff which includes navigating the underground river.
From Ipoh, we headed to Lumut, intending to cross over to the Pangkor Island Beach R esort. But after doing the sums, I felt that it was too expensive. It cost RM320++ for an Ocean wing and the hotel didn't allow us to all go into one room. It was adamant that we had to have two rooms. And this would have jacked up the cost significantly. And if we stayed one night, the hotel wanted to charge a one-night surcharge! So with all this hesitation, we decided to forget it, and just spend the night in Lumut, heading to Pangkor for a day trip in the morning.
Have to say that Lumut was a dead boring place. We chose to spend the night in the rather run-down Lumut Country Resort. It actually was not a bad place if properly maintained and managed. Nice black and white trim reminiscent of the colonial houses and good layout of the rooms with generous natural light. Cost us RM95 per room per night. We took two rooms. And I spent the whole night hearing light switches go on and off in mine, lots of dragging noises overhead, voices etc - even though I distinctly recall the manager telling us he was giving us a whole wing to ourselves! KH said his room was fine - didn't hear a thing. Go figure.
Pangkor was nice. My first view was of green wooded hills rising from a turquoise sea, wooden houses on beaches with coconut trees, long jetties with fishing boats bobbing away and once in a while, a glimpse of hot pink flashing through the trees. Those were the taxis. All the taxis on Pangkor are painted an exciting hot pink - and all are of the minivan variety, which was great for our large family.
The taxi driver recommended Telok Nipah on the other side of the island. We wended through forests, flanked by beaches on one side and trees and foliage rising from the other. Across the straits, I could see the very posh and expensive Pangkor Laut resort. Too rich for my blood but I figured - we share the same sea/strait so so much for exclusivity!
Telok Nipah was very nice - Gillian and I were landbound thanks to mother nature. But the rest went swimming. KH, at first sceptical about the waters in Pangkor, was won over when he could see shoals of little fishes swimming alongside him. The kids were ecstatic about finding sea-shells, crabs and jellyfish in the water. So we decided that the next trip up, we would stay on the island - either find cheaper (read crappier) accomodation or splurge for a bit of luxury. But we'll definitely be back.
Back on the mainland, we headed for KL where we spent a very nice and comfortable two days in our favourite Micasa Hotel. KL's highlight was a lovely dinner with everyone in my family - Mum, Dad, Paul, Aunty Peggy and Uncle Boris were in town, catching up with Vivian my sister who lives in KL. So we had a great dinner - lots of red meat, pasta and wine - and then headed back to her house to open presents. It was so rare to be able to gather with family like this in KL. The only one missing was the angmoh Paul, my BIL who had gone on his own road-trip, driving from KL up into the far reaches of Laos!
All in, great trip. We had good weather and came home to the torrential rains that eventually flooded out most of Johor and Malacca (still flooding as I write). Discovered new places, hung out with dear ones, made big emotional and physical transitions from girlhood to womanhood. Draining, but still good fun.
Friday, December 01, 2006
The Cops, the Plumber and the Husband...
...had a face off in the Riang corral last night. Neighbours peeked over fences surreptitiously. Or peered from their windows at the unfolding drama at the Riang corral last night.
Drama drama drama.
It started with a the gulley in the back wash area choking up and stinking up the house with the stench of bad drains, something long dead and decaying. Yeah, eeks...
So yours truly tried to help and decided to make a call to the plumber. Scanning the classified ads, it was a case of tikam-tikam or eeny-meeny-miney-mo as I looked for someone to call. I picked this innocuous ad that looked a tad more professionally done than others and which promised no obligation. It also stated they would come in half an hour etc.
First thing that struck me - the guy on the other end of the line sounded drunk (he was slurring or maybe I am being anal again). Second, he refused to give me his name and cross-examined me on my name, address etc without waiting to hear what my problem was. Third, he kept ignoring my requests for a verbal quote by rudely asking for my name etc. Finally, when pressed, he said it was free - they would just come and have a look. I double-checked and asked if they would charge for transport etc if they came and we decided not to do the job. He slurred that it was free, free, free lah! OK... Mr Slurry finally gave his name as Tay.
Now don't ask me WHY in heaven's name, if I felt so uneasy, that I said ok. As I went through the conversation, I had a premonition of disaster looming. But said ok I did and told the guy that I was leaving the house at 8pm (and I was - it was my night to watch the Amazing Race Asia!) and his man had to come before that.
KH came home and blanched when I told him what I had done. He sneered: they will want to do something and we will have to pay - mark my words! I was sniffy: well, they assured me they wouldn't.
Guess who had to eat her words?
8.15pm and a guy called - sounding more drunk and slurry than the guy on the line. Couldn't get head or tail out of him. That was the Plumber. Not a good sign.
8.40pm I called the hotline again and told Mr Slurry that I wanted to cancel. I had to leave and his man is nowhere in sight. He said I should have cancelled the appointment. My hackles raised, I told him that hello, I said before 8pm or forget it. Just then, like bad timing in a black comedy, a van pulls up.
Out steps Laurel and Hardy - one tall and thin and slurry. The other shorter and more coherent, dressed all in black.
KH was in a black mood by then and so was I. Showed the pair to the kitchen. KH went out back and told them in no uncertain terms: DO NOT DO ANYTHING.
The taller and thin old man whom I shall call The Plumber said:don't worry, just looking only. And KH shot back: if you want to look in a dirty drain, that's your business but DON'T DO ANYTHING.
Guy sticks a hand down the line and tells me - choked. Yes, I know, does not take rocket science to tell me that. Goes to the other opening, sticks a hand in there and says again: choked. And out runs a stream of cockroaches. (your hair standing yet?!) The atmosphere was heavy and I was very fed up so I took a newspaper and whacked all the six roaches dead. Made me feel a bit better.
Then the Plumber calls Mr Slurry on the phone. Came back with a quote of $220. I refused and told them to leave. They tried to bargain it down and did not want to leave. KH came back, yelled and waved his arms and told them to get out of our house. Incredibly, still did not want to leave. The Plumber kept (a) telling me to speak to his boss (b) lowering the price - it went from $220 to $180 to $150 to $130 and (3) asking me what my budget was. Play this loop in repeat mode for half an hour - yep, he kept standing in my kitchen refusing to leave and just kept on at it.
KH yelled and threatened to bodily evict him to no avail.
So we called the cops. KH took his tools and dumped them on the road outside the house. I walked to the front - realising that it would be just futile to engage in further debate. The Plumber followed me out - so that was a step in the right direction -out of my house I mean. Then the Plumber continued his loop-de-loop spiel and KH just stood there and asked him what was the company name, the address etc. To which the man refused to give and insisted that we will see the company name and address when a receipt is given after the job is done. And so on and so forth... Then he whined that he had travelled from Jurong (Not my problem when the number I called was in Toa Payoh and they had numbers for different districts in Singapore!) and had to answer to his boss, needed to eat, accused us of bullying the elderly etc. He threw in every argument he could think of! We just stood there and waited for the cops. No point talking.
Finally the cops came. Three of them - in multi-racial Singapore style - one Indian, one Malay and one Chinese. Wonder if this is intentional - do we send our patrol officers in this racial configuration so that they would be ready to face off with any criminal of any race??
They too, stood outside alternately bargaining, coaxing, threatening, negotiating etc with the Plumber. The other short guy who came with the plumber had quietly fled. The cops looked the ad where I called. Talked to me, then talked to Mr Slurry on the phone, and tried to persuade the Plumber to leave. This went a couple of rounds. Each of them took turns to talk to the guy. And after a while, you could see that even the cops were frustrated.
Finally, they said that it might be simpler if we just paid the Plumber $20 to get him off our premises.
I baulked but KH was tired and by then, it was close to 10pm. So he paid $20 and when the cops asked the Plumber for a receipt, the guy claimed he didn't have one! Yeah right...
Finally the guy left, the cops left and KH was left to clear the chokage.
We left the porch light on and the back light on the whole night, and the phone off the hook. In case the &*$#&^% decided to come back and vandalise our house or try anything funny.
I am beginning to think that this sort of scam is really common - they say no obligation in their ads or over the phone. But when they show up, they give an exhorbitant quote for the job, then bargain the price down or in our case, just refuse to leave until we pay some 'transport' money or 'checking fee'.
To me, this is cheating plain and simple. I did ask the cops if I could charge them for trespassing when they didn't want to leave. Or what about cheating? False advertising? They cops advised me that there was nothing they could do and if I wanted to pursue it, it had to go through a civil action.
I suspect most people just let it go. But while I am not going to let it go entirely, there are a couple of things I can do - not legal action, but I do want answers and I want to create awareness. So let me mull on this...
Guess I owe KH 20 bucks... and I still need to find a reliable plumber who will repair my leaky tap, my cistern and shower.
...had a face off in the Riang corral last night. Neighbours peeked over fences surreptitiously. Or peered from their windows at the unfolding drama at the Riang corral last night.
Drama drama drama.
It started with a the gulley in the back wash area choking up and stinking up the house with the stench of bad drains, something long dead and decaying. Yeah, eeks...
So yours truly tried to help and decided to make a call to the plumber. Scanning the classified ads, it was a case of tikam-tikam or eeny-meeny-miney-mo as I looked for someone to call. I picked this innocuous ad that looked a tad more professionally done than others and which promised no obligation. It also stated they would come in half an hour etc.
First thing that struck me - the guy on the other end of the line sounded drunk (he was slurring or maybe I am being anal again). Second, he refused to give me his name and cross-examined me on my name, address etc without waiting to hear what my problem was. Third, he kept ignoring my requests for a verbal quote by rudely asking for my name etc. Finally, when pressed, he said it was free - they would just come and have a look. I double-checked and asked if they would charge for transport etc if they came and we decided not to do the job. He slurred that it was free, free, free lah! OK... Mr Slurry finally gave his name as Tay.
Now don't ask me WHY in heaven's name, if I felt so uneasy, that I said ok. As I went through the conversation, I had a premonition of disaster looming. But said ok I did and told the guy that I was leaving the house at 8pm (and I was - it was my night to watch the Amazing Race Asia!) and his man had to come before that.
KH came home and blanched when I told him what I had done. He sneered: they will want to do something and we will have to pay - mark my words! I was sniffy: well, they assured me they wouldn't.
Guess who had to eat her words?
8.15pm and a guy called - sounding more drunk and slurry than the guy on the line. Couldn't get head or tail out of him. That was the Plumber. Not a good sign.
8.40pm I called the hotline again and told Mr Slurry that I wanted to cancel. I had to leave and his man is nowhere in sight. He said I should have cancelled the appointment. My hackles raised, I told him that hello, I said before 8pm or forget it. Just then, like bad timing in a black comedy, a van pulls up.
Out steps Laurel and Hardy - one tall and thin and slurry. The other shorter and more coherent, dressed all in black.
KH was in a black mood by then and so was I. Showed the pair to the kitchen. KH went out back and told them in no uncertain terms: DO NOT DO ANYTHING.
The taller and thin old man whom I shall call The Plumber said:don't worry, just looking only. And KH shot back: if you want to look in a dirty drain, that's your business but DON'T DO ANYTHING.
Guy sticks a hand down the line and tells me - choked. Yes, I know, does not take rocket science to tell me that. Goes to the other opening, sticks a hand in there and says again: choked. And out runs a stream of cockroaches. (your hair standing yet?!) The atmosphere was heavy and I was very fed up so I took a newspaper and whacked all the six roaches dead. Made me feel a bit better.
Then the Plumber calls Mr Slurry on the phone. Came back with a quote of $220. I refused and told them to leave. They tried to bargain it down and did not want to leave. KH came back, yelled and waved his arms and told them to get out of our house. Incredibly, still did not want to leave. The Plumber kept (a) telling me to speak to his boss (b) lowering the price - it went from $220 to $180 to $150 to $130 and (3) asking me what my budget was. Play this loop in repeat mode for half an hour - yep, he kept standing in my kitchen refusing to leave and just kept on at it.
KH yelled and threatened to bodily evict him to no avail.
So we called the cops. KH took his tools and dumped them on the road outside the house. I walked to the front - realising that it would be just futile to engage in further debate. The Plumber followed me out - so that was a step in the right direction -out of my house I mean. Then the Plumber continued his loop-de-loop spiel and KH just stood there and asked him what was the company name, the address etc. To which the man refused to give and insisted that we will see the company name and address when a receipt is given after the job is done. And so on and so forth... Then he whined that he had travelled from Jurong (Not my problem when the number I called was in Toa Payoh and they had numbers for different districts in Singapore!) and had to answer to his boss, needed to eat, accused us of bullying the elderly etc. He threw in every argument he could think of! We just stood there and waited for the cops. No point talking.
Finally the cops came. Three of them - in multi-racial Singapore style - one Indian, one Malay and one Chinese. Wonder if this is intentional - do we send our patrol officers in this racial configuration so that they would be ready to face off with any criminal of any race??
They too, stood outside alternately bargaining, coaxing, threatening, negotiating etc with the Plumber. The other short guy who came with the plumber had quietly fled. The cops looked the ad where I called. Talked to me, then talked to Mr Slurry on the phone, and tried to persuade the Plumber to leave. This went a couple of rounds. Each of them took turns to talk to the guy. And after a while, you could see that even the cops were frustrated.
Finally, they said that it might be simpler if we just paid the Plumber $20 to get him off our premises.
I baulked but KH was tired and by then, it was close to 10pm. So he paid $20 and when the cops asked the Plumber for a receipt, the guy claimed he didn't have one! Yeah right...
Finally the guy left, the cops left and KH was left to clear the chokage.
We left the porch light on and the back light on the whole night, and the phone off the hook. In case the &*$#&^% decided to come back and vandalise our house or try anything funny.
I am beginning to think that this sort of scam is really common - they say no obligation in their ads or over the phone. But when they show up, they give an exhorbitant quote for the job, then bargain the price down or in our case, just refuse to leave until we pay some 'transport' money or 'checking fee'.
To me, this is cheating plain and simple. I did ask the cops if I could charge them for trespassing when they didn't want to leave. Or what about cheating? False advertising? They cops advised me that there was nothing they could do and if I wanted to pursue it, it had to go through a civil action.
I suspect most people just let it go. But while I am not going to let it go entirely, there are a couple of things I can do - not legal action, but I do want answers and I want to create awareness. So let me mull on this...
Guess I owe KH 20 bucks... and I still need to find a reliable plumber who will repair my leaky tap, my cistern and shower.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
It is late by my standards. 10.40pm. I am usually in dreamland by now. But tonight, I am still surfing, listening to some jazz, Trinity sound asleep in my arms.
The house is quiet and still. The lights downstairs are off. Only the Christmas tree lights are twinkling and giving off a glow. Everyone else is asleep. Owain though, is still awake and sitting in a corner quietly making robots with his big duplo blocks. He has graduated to the smaller Lego bricks but still prefers to use the duplo. Once in a while, he looks up and tells me something about his robots or asks me to admire his work. I do - they're really nice squat symmetrical little pieces. Can you tell? I am proud of these achievements.
Ah now he's come over for his fix of nen-nen. One moment a bigger boy, serious and busy with his imagination and hands, the next, still my babe, still needing me for his nen-nen.
Maybe it's something about the music or the cool rainy breeze blowing in, but I am drifting back through time tonight. Specifically to another cool and rainy night when I am 16 and attending a 'function' at Futura. My then-boyfriend is sitting next to me. We are sitting on the steps of the lobby waiting for my dad to come pick me up. The party ended early because of unexpected rain and strong winds. While everyone else has either gone home or headed up to Agus' penthouse, we are sitting down here waiting. It is a nice cool night. I have a stuffed cat in my lap - a present from (now this I can't remember) a friend? Or my boyfriend?
We're just sitting, holding hands and talking, enjoying the cool breeze, when out of the blue, he plants a soft kiss on my cheek. I am taken by surprise but before I can say anything, we are bathed in the glare of headlights. Dad pulls up and the boyfriend quickly pulls away and greets my dad. I hustle into the car and the moment is gone. For some reason tonight, I remember that moment, back in time. It was my first kiss.
Life is full of special unexpected moments. And when you're a teenager facing a tumult of emotions, the heady mix of invincibility and passion of youth, you think this is how it will always be and you try so hard to keep the moment alive. But of course, we can't. And so while we may grow up, marry someone else, have children, grow old, I think there is always something in us that remembers those special first moments. And hopefully, if I can still remember these and if they are still meaningful to me and if I can still grasp the import of these 'first moments', then hopefully I will be sensitive to my children's own coming-of-age.
The house is quiet and still. The lights downstairs are off. Only the Christmas tree lights are twinkling and giving off a glow. Everyone else is asleep. Owain though, is still awake and sitting in a corner quietly making robots with his big duplo blocks. He has graduated to the smaller Lego bricks but still prefers to use the duplo. Once in a while, he looks up and tells me something about his robots or asks me to admire his work. I do - they're really nice squat symmetrical little pieces. Can you tell? I am proud of these achievements.
Ah now he's come over for his fix of nen-nen. One moment a bigger boy, serious and busy with his imagination and hands, the next, still my babe, still needing me for his nen-nen.
Maybe it's something about the music or the cool rainy breeze blowing in, but I am drifting back through time tonight. Specifically to another cool and rainy night when I am 16 and attending a 'function' at Futura. My then-boyfriend is sitting next to me. We are sitting on the steps of the lobby waiting for my dad to come pick me up. The party ended early because of unexpected rain and strong winds. While everyone else has either gone home or headed up to Agus' penthouse, we are sitting down here waiting. It is a nice cool night. I have a stuffed cat in my lap - a present from (now this I can't remember) a friend? Or my boyfriend?
We're just sitting, holding hands and talking, enjoying the cool breeze, when out of the blue, he plants a soft kiss on my cheek. I am taken by surprise but before I can say anything, we are bathed in the glare of headlights. Dad pulls up and the boyfriend quickly pulls away and greets my dad. I hustle into the car and the moment is gone. For some reason tonight, I remember that moment, back in time. It was my first kiss.
Life is full of special unexpected moments. And when you're a teenager facing a tumult of emotions, the heady mix of invincibility and passion of youth, you think this is how it will always be and you try so hard to keep the moment alive. But of course, we can't. And so while we may grow up, marry someone else, have children, grow old, I think there is always something in us that remembers those special first moments. And hopefully, if I can still remember these and if they are still meaningful to me and if I can still grasp the import of these 'first moments', then hopefully I will be sensitive to my children's own coming-of-age.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Nursing rooms
Was out on my own last week - in orchard road. Had to express milk in the middle of the afternoon. So I headed for Takashimaya's nursing rooms. The nursing room had two other mothers in there nursing their babies.
I asked politely if I could join them as I needed to express milk. One mom showed me where the outlets were but I was hand expressing, so no need for any power.
I sat there in a corner, t-shirt tugged up, bra undone, surreptitiously hand expressing into a bottle. I don't know why but I felt vaguely uncomfortable. Both other moms were nursing their babies and didn't seem inclined to make conversation. Maybe they were shy or didn't know how to make conversation with a half-naked woman vigourously milking her boobs! Either way I got a sense that people were uncomfortable and the discomfort was infectious!
I was surprised at myself being so uncomfy. I am usually not prudish. I usually enjoy talking to other nursing mothers when I do have to nurse/express in nursing rooms, imagining a sisterhood among us. But this time, I actually had to turn my body halfway towards the wall and work fast - and of course, the more 'kan cheong spider' I became, the poorer the letdown!
It got me thinking about nursing rooms and where a hand-expresser like me could express milk without facing a silent wall of disapproval. Does this mean that I should hand express in the loo? But why should I? I would not feed my babe in the loo so why should I hand express there? Why would it be wrong to sit in a semi-public nursing room and hand express? Is it me? Or am I just picking up on their vibes?
The whole concept of nursing room means nursing away from public view. It is something that does not sit right with me. Because why should mothers hide away to nurse their babes? I do appreciate that having a nursing room is useful in a pinch for expressers who need a place to express milk without resorting to the loo. But I guess there is the ick factor for moms to deal with when they come face to face (or face to boob!) with a mom like me.
Perhaps we're so divorced from the reality that yeah, breastfeeding does involve the boobies and yeah, this is what they look like and what they do? We're all so covered up when we're nursing - even in the nursing rooms, and when we pump, there's always the technology/machinery as a shield. So I don't blame moms for being disconcerted, but I do hope we'll all just live and let live, know what I mean?
The sight of naked breasts are still very much linked to M18 films or National Geographic docus. But a pair of them in the nursing room of Takashimaya? Erm....
Was out on my own last week - in orchard road. Had to express milk in the middle of the afternoon. So I headed for Takashimaya's nursing rooms. The nursing room had two other mothers in there nursing their babies.
I asked politely if I could join them as I needed to express milk. One mom showed me where the outlets were but I was hand expressing, so no need for any power.
I sat there in a corner, t-shirt tugged up, bra undone, surreptitiously hand expressing into a bottle. I don't know why but I felt vaguely uncomfortable. Both other moms were nursing their babies and didn't seem inclined to make conversation. Maybe they were shy or didn't know how to make conversation with a half-naked woman vigourously milking her boobs! Either way I got a sense that people were uncomfortable and the discomfort was infectious!
I was surprised at myself being so uncomfy. I am usually not prudish. I usually enjoy talking to other nursing mothers when I do have to nurse/express in nursing rooms, imagining a sisterhood among us. But this time, I actually had to turn my body halfway towards the wall and work fast - and of course, the more 'kan cheong spider' I became, the poorer the letdown!
It got me thinking about nursing rooms and where a hand-expresser like me could express milk without facing a silent wall of disapproval. Does this mean that I should hand express in the loo? But why should I? I would not feed my babe in the loo so why should I hand express there? Why would it be wrong to sit in a semi-public nursing room and hand express? Is it me? Or am I just picking up on their vibes?
The whole concept of nursing room means nursing away from public view. It is something that does not sit right with me. Because why should mothers hide away to nurse their babes? I do appreciate that having a nursing room is useful in a pinch for expressers who need a place to express milk without resorting to the loo. But I guess there is the ick factor for moms to deal with when they come face to face (or face to boob!) with a mom like me.
Perhaps we're so divorced from the reality that yeah, breastfeeding does involve the boobies and yeah, this is what they look like and what they do? We're all so covered up when we're nursing - even in the nursing rooms, and when we pump, there's always the technology/machinery as a shield. So I don't blame moms for being disconcerted, but I do hope we'll all just live and let live, know what I mean?
The sight of naked breasts are still very much linked to M18 films or National Geographic docus. But a pair of them in the nursing room of Takashimaya? Erm....
Crying it out
S* asked what I believe about crying it out.
For a start, I believe babies cry because that is the only way they can communicate until they acquire some language. I also believe that babies cry for good reasons. Yes, they do cry to get attention, they do cry to get you to do something, but what is so bad about that? They are babies after all and they won't be babies forever. But until they are able to meet their own needs in terms of security and confidence, in soothing themselves, as parents, we'll just have to fill those needs.
Everything I have read about how babies' brains develop and the impact of stress on the growing baby, about how emotions, memories shape cognition and development, personality and character, just reinforces what I believe about not letting a baby cry it out.
Mother nature has already given us the tools for mothering. Birth, and breastfeeding in particular, produces hormones that promote mothering behaviour - prolactin, oxytocin etc. These hormones help us feel protective, they slow us down (feeling relaxed and sleepy) to mother and to be attuned, sensitive to the needs of the baby/child. They promote the warm fuzzy feel-good feelings - oxytocin's main job. After a while, the hormonal dance gets so intricate and so well-co-ordinated that even the sound of a baby's cry, or the smell of his skin, can cause milk to let-down, causes our hearts to race and instinctively, we look to respond.
That is precisely why, if you ask the mothers who try the CIO methods, why they feel so gut-wrenched when they leave their babies to cry it out. Hormonally, we are wired to mother, to respond to a cry of distress. But CIO techniques go against the grain of the mothering nature. And CIO techniques are created by culture, not nature. Yes the literature promotes CIO, supports the idea that babies should be taught to be 'independent', to learn to 'self-soothe', to learn to sleep according to schedule. But who writes these books? How well do they understand the biology of parenting? What are the benefits to the baby who is taught to 'sleep through the night'? Where is the value?
The doctor on one website says that by teaching a child to fall asleep on her own, "you will be teaching her some very valuable skills! Although this is extremely difficult, it is really worth the struggle. To be successful in life she needs to learn how to put herself to sleep. When she does, she, and you will be much happier."
What are these 'valuable skills'? And why are we in such a hurry to teach these? How does success in life relate to a need to put oneself to sleep? I think children have no problem going to sleep. The issue is WHEN they go to sleep and for HOW LONG - and who has an issue with this? The parents.
I believe there is a lot of money to be made by experts telling anxious mothers and fathers what to do and offering solutions that may work for the adult but not the child. They tell us what we want to hear - that there is a solution, that we CAN train babies, that it will be better for everyone in the end. But is it really?
We trust the 'experts' - the doctors, the writers, the child development specialists etc - more than we trust our instincts as parents, more than we trust in our ability to communicate with and understand our babies.
As adults, if we are told to do a task which we feel ill-prepared for, we would naturally feel stressed, afraid, anxious. So will babies. The only difference is that we can articulate how we feel and the babies can't - they can only cry.
To leave a baby to cry it out sends certain signals to the baby - chiefly that their needs do not matter, their needs are not valid. It is a glitch in the correct communication cycle where baby signals a need and a response is given.
How does this build trust? Or independence? Or security? I believe independence cannot be forced, that babies will learn to self-soothe and to sleep 'through the night' when they are ready for it and not before. To force a child to do so by ignoring his cries would be to place him in a situation where he has no control - and this can be a very frightening place for a child who is unable to verbalise his fears or rationalise why mom or dad won't come and help him when he cries. Come to think of it, it would be frightening to anyone caught
The psychological impact of such stress may have far-reaching consequences. Yes, in the short term, you may 'teach' or 'train' a child to sleep. But what the child really learns is that his cry has no value, that no matter how hard or how long he cries, mom and dad are not going to come.
Physically, there are also significant changes that take place when the baby is under stress. Heart rate goes up, blood pressure shoots up, respiration becomes more rapid, catecholamines are released in large amounts, cortisol level also shoots up. If the body is constantly exposed to stress in a stressful environment, it can and will affect growth and cognitive development because the child is constantly in a fight-or-flight mode. So emotionally, mentally, physically, the child is affected.
See position paper on controlled crying or CIO techniques:
http://www.aaimhi.org/documents/position%20papers/controlled_crying.pdf
While I do believe that as children grow older, they will be able to benefit from the structure of having a daily routine. But this is really an age-appropriate issue which hinges on readiness, on language acquisition as well.
S* asked what I believe about crying it out.
For a start, I believe babies cry because that is the only way they can communicate until they acquire some language. I also believe that babies cry for good reasons. Yes, they do cry to get attention, they do cry to get you to do something, but what is so bad about that? They are babies after all and they won't be babies forever. But until they are able to meet their own needs in terms of security and confidence, in soothing themselves, as parents, we'll just have to fill those needs.
Everything I have read about how babies' brains develop and the impact of stress on the growing baby, about how emotions, memories shape cognition and development, personality and character, just reinforces what I believe about not letting a baby cry it out.
Mother nature has already given us the tools for mothering. Birth, and breastfeeding in particular, produces hormones that promote mothering behaviour - prolactin, oxytocin etc. These hormones help us feel protective, they slow us down (feeling relaxed and sleepy) to mother and to be attuned, sensitive to the needs of the baby/child. They promote the warm fuzzy feel-good feelings - oxytocin's main job. After a while, the hormonal dance gets so intricate and so well-co-ordinated that even the sound of a baby's cry, or the smell of his skin, can cause milk to let-down, causes our hearts to race and instinctively, we look to respond.
That is precisely why, if you ask the mothers who try the CIO methods, why they feel so gut-wrenched when they leave their babies to cry it out. Hormonally, we are wired to mother, to respond to a cry of distress. But CIO techniques go against the grain of the mothering nature. And CIO techniques are created by culture, not nature. Yes the literature promotes CIO, supports the idea that babies should be taught to be 'independent', to learn to 'self-soothe', to learn to sleep according to schedule. But who writes these books? How well do they understand the biology of parenting? What are the benefits to the baby who is taught to 'sleep through the night'? Where is the value?
The doctor on one website says that by teaching a child to fall asleep on her own, "you will be teaching her some very valuable skills! Although this is extremely difficult, it is really worth the struggle. To be successful in life she needs to learn how to put herself to sleep. When she does, she, and you will be much happier."
What are these 'valuable skills'? And why are we in such a hurry to teach these? How does success in life relate to a need to put oneself to sleep? I think children have no problem going to sleep. The issue is WHEN they go to sleep and for HOW LONG - and who has an issue with this? The parents.
I believe there is a lot of money to be made by experts telling anxious mothers and fathers what to do and offering solutions that may work for the adult but not the child. They tell us what we want to hear - that there is a solution, that we CAN train babies, that it will be better for everyone in the end. But is it really?
We trust the 'experts' - the doctors, the writers, the child development specialists etc - more than we trust our instincts as parents, more than we trust in our ability to communicate with and understand our babies.
As adults, if we are told to do a task which we feel ill-prepared for, we would naturally feel stressed, afraid, anxious. So will babies. The only difference is that we can articulate how we feel and the babies can't - they can only cry.
To leave a baby to cry it out sends certain signals to the baby - chiefly that their needs do not matter, their needs are not valid. It is a glitch in the correct communication cycle where baby signals a need and a response is given.
How does this build trust? Or independence? Or security? I believe independence cannot be forced, that babies will learn to self-soothe and to sleep 'through the night' when they are ready for it and not before. To force a child to do so by ignoring his cries would be to place him in a situation where he has no control - and this can be a very frightening place for a child who is unable to verbalise his fears or rationalise why mom or dad won't come and help him when he cries. Come to think of it, it would be frightening to anyone caught
The psychological impact of such stress may have far-reaching consequences. Yes, in the short term, you may 'teach' or 'train' a child to sleep. But what the child really learns is that his cry has no value, that no matter how hard or how long he cries, mom and dad are not going to come.
Physically, there are also significant changes that take place when the baby is under stress. Heart rate goes up, blood pressure shoots up, respiration becomes more rapid, catecholamines are released in large amounts, cortisol level also shoots up. If the body is constantly exposed to stress in a stressful environment, it can and will affect growth and cognitive development because the child is constantly in a fight-or-flight mode. So emotionally, mentally, physically, the child is affected.
See position paper on controlled crying or CIO techniques:
http://www.aaimhi.org/documents/position%20papers/controlled_crying.pdf
While I do believe that as children grow older, they will be able to benefit from the structure of having a daily routine. But this is really an age-appropriate issue which hinges on readiness, on language acquisition as well.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
La Dolce Vita
I am up to my neck in work - both in the office, at at home, racing to complete course work etc. But that has not stopped me from fantasing. And planning the trip to Europe next year.
Tentatively I know I want to cover Rome, Venice (for mom). It will be my third time back to Rome and Venice. I am a bit tired of Rome but cannot get enough of Venice. KH says we should live there for a year - ah, pipe dream! But what a lovely one... The nooks and crannies of that ancient city, the twisting and turning of narrow streets flanked by silent canals, flagged by lines of laundry and potted plants, fanning out into tiny unexpected piazzas. There's so much to walk and absorb in Venice. I just love to walk and walk and get lost and when its time to go back to the hotel, just follow the per rialto or per san marco signs. And at nights - just sitting in St Mark's as the cafe orchestras play in a near empty square - you can't beat that kind of atmosphere and romance. So yes, I am still looking forward to Venice.
Still contemplating Assisi, Siena. Definitely one hilltown at least. Italy is not Italy without the hilltowns. But without car, the transfers from train to bus and vice versa might be a hassle. Pleasant puzzles to contemplate.
But this time, I am thinking of moving up to Austria. Not to Vienna (somehow the northern cities leave me cold) but just to Salzburg, and perhaps a day or two on idyllic Hallstattersee, population 1200. Then either west to Neuchwanstein castle in Bavaria or back down to Milan and the Italian lakes. I do think that an Italian holiday is not complete without some 'water' - be it the lakes (Como or Garda are my preferences) or the Cinque Terra in Liguria. And the quiet time by the water is always very therapeutic and healing. My mind keeps going back to Varenna on Como or the cliffside walk in Vernazza.
How nice to fantasise.
And who to bring? Well, baby Trinity certainly. But will it just be mom, me and babe? I always feel Europe is so incomplete without KH. And what about Mr RightBreast as mom teasingly calls Owain? Poor babe will be lost without his nen-nen for so many days!!
Am I getting ahead of myself? Will we even go?
I am up to my neck in work - both in the office, at at home, racing to complete course work etc. But that has not stopped me from fantasing. And planning the trip to Europe next year.
Tentatively I know I want to cover Rome, Venice (for mom). It will be my third time back to Rome and Venice. I am a bit tired of Rome but cannot get enough of Venice. KH says we should live there for a year - ah, pipe dream! But what a lovely one... The nooks and crannies of that ancient city, the twisting and turning of narrow streets flanked by silent canals, flagged by lines of laundry and potted plants, fanning out into tiny unexpected piazzas. There's so much to walk and absorb in Venice. I just love to walk and walk and get lost and when its time to go back to the hotel, just follow the per rialto or per san marco signs. And at nights - just sitting in St Mark's as the cafe orchestras play in a near empty square - you can't beat that kind of atmosphere and romance. So yes, I am still looking forward to Venice.
Still contemplating Assisi, Siena. Definitely one hilltown at least. Italy is not Italy without the hilltowns. But without car, the transfers from train to bus and vice versa might be a hassle. Pleasant puzzles to contemplate.
But this time, I am thinking of moving up to Austria. Not to Vienna (somehow the northern cities leave me cold) but just to Salzburg, and perhaps a day or two on idyllic Hallstattersee, population 1200. Then either west to Neuchwanstein castle in Bavaria or back down to Milan and the Italian lakes. I do think that an Italian holiday is not complete without some 'water' - be it the lakes (Como or Garda are my preferences) or the Cinque Terra in Liguria. And the quiet time by the water is always very therapeutic and healing. My mind keeps going back to Varenna on Como or the cliffside walk in Vernazza.
How nice to fantasise.
And who to bring? Well, baby Trinity certainly. But will it just be mom, me and babe? I always feel Europe is so incomplete without KH. And what about Mr RightBreast as mom teasingly calls Owain? Poor babe will be lost without his nen-nen for so many days!!
Am I getting ahead of myself? Will we even go?
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Stammering for help!
Was having usual morning brekkie and chat with KH today when he casually mentioned: Eh, you know Owain does not stammer as much these days ya?
I stop and think and you know, he's right. I say: yeah, probably because I am nursing him more these days?
I was trying to cut back on nursing because my nipples were so sore but because they are recently looking better, I have been nursing him more often and fobbing him off less. And yes, coincidence or not, it tallies with the stammering getting less.
KH comments then that our children cannot take 'cold turkey' treatment. Its too traumatising for them. I agree and say - maybe not just our children but probably all children. We can't just cut them off like that, it will affect them in some way.
KH, being very insightful today, says: well, that's the thing isn't it? If we just insist on OUR way and force it on the child, something will surely snap. Maybe we won't see it today, or even tomorrow. It may not show up for years and even then, the child or adult may not link it to what happened in his childhood, but then again, it just might.
KH himself stammers and recalls that it took him half an hour to get a sentence out once, when he was a child! Over the years, he managed to get it under control and stammers much less but once in a while, a word will still get him. He does believe though, that this happened because he was forced to be a right-hander instead of the lefty he believes he was born to be. He still favours his left - left master eye, carries bags on the left, kicks with left foot during soccer etc. He believes that somehow, the brain, when forced to shift/change direction, must have over-compensated and left him with the stammer.
Today's conversation reinforces what I believe re crying it out, co-sleeping, breastfeeding etc. At every age, they have their needs and if we just push through what we want at the expense of their needs, something invisible, intangible in them, will surely give.
As for Owain, I am glad that his stammering is getting less. I will certainly nurse him more, now that my boobies are feeling a little happier.
Though I have to say he looked darn cute trying to get his words out!
Was having usual morning brekkie and chat with KH today when he casually mentioned: Eh, you know Owain does not stammer as much these days ya?
I stop and think and you know, he's right. I say: yeah, probably because I am nursing him more these days?
I was trying to cut back on nursing because my nipples were so sore but because they are recently looking better, I have been nursing him more often and fobbing him off less. And yes, coincidence or not, it tallies with the stammering getting less.
KH comments then that our children cannot take 'cold turkey' treatment. Its too traumatising for them. I agree and say - maybe not just our children but probably all children. We can't just cut them off like that, it will affect them in some way.
KH, being very insightful today, says: well, that's the thing isn't it? If we just insist on OUR way and force it on the child, something will surely snap. Maybe we won't see it today, or even tomorrow. It may not show up for years and even then, the child or adult may not link it to what happened in his childhood, but then again, it just might.
KH himself stammers and recalls that it took him half an hour to get a sentence out once, when he was a child! Over the years, he managed to get it under control and stammers much less but once in a while, a word will still get him. He does believe though, that this happened because he was forced to be a right-hander instead of the lefty he believes he was born to be. He still favours his left - left master eye, carries bags on the left, kicks with left foot during soccer etc. He believes that somehow, the brain, when forced to shift/change direction, must have over-compensated and left him with the stammer.
Today's conversation reinforces what I believe re crying it out, co-sleeping, breastfeeding etc. At every age, they have their needs and if we just push through what we want at the expense of their needs, something invisible, intangible in them, will surely give.
As for Owain, I am glad that his stammering is getting less. I will certainly nurse him more, now that my boobies are feeling a little happier.
Though I have to say he looked darn cute trying to get his words out!
Monday, November 20, 2006
as kryptonite is to superman
Its the end of the year and time for the round of Parent-Teacher meetings. Isaac did very well, topping his class in three of the subjects, failing in Chinese as usual. But this time, surprise surprise, there was actually an improvement. Last year, he was last in class for Chinese - beaten by even his Indian, ang-moh classmates! This year, he was third from the bottom and had registered a 100% increase in marks gained - that is, he used to get 7, now he's got 15! We think its due to Kumon and we're hoping that he will be able to buck up enough to at least pass chinese in the PSLE.
Mr Philip, his form teacher, related this to us - he was invigilating the chinese composition paper and was walking around the class when he stopped at Isaac's desk. Our friend had, on his entire sheet of paper, TWO lines. Mr Philip said: "I couldn't say a lot but I had to drop a hint, so I told him - I think you better write some more. I went round the class again and when I came back to him, it was still just two lines!!" Mr Philip added: "Chinese to him is like kryptonite to superman!"
Its the end of the year and time for the round of Parent-Teacher meetings. Isaac did very well, topping his class in three of the subjects, failing in Chinese as usual. But this time, surprise surprise, there was actually an improvement. Last year, he was last in class for Chinese - beaten by even his Indian, ang-moh classmates! This year, he was third from the bottom and had registered a 100% increase in marks gained - that is, he used to get 7, now he's got 15! We think its due to Kumon and we're hoping that he will be able to buck up enough to at least pass chinese in the PSLE.
Mr Philip, his form teacher, related this to us - he was invigilating the chinese composition paper and was walking around the class when he stopped at Isaac's desk. Our friend had, on his entire sheet of paper, TWO lines. Mr Philip said: "I couldn't say a lot but I had to drop a hint, so I told him - I think you better write some more. I went round the class again and when I came back to him, it was still just two lines!!" Mr Philip added: "Chinese to him is like kryptonite to superman!"
Monday, November 13, 2006
Standoff at the Riang corral part 2
Sunday and we were out for lunch at Zi Yean, a new dim sum favourite with us. The drama started when we were getting out of the car. KH told Owain that he was not going to carry him and the little guy had to walk. It was not far - just less than 30m to the table.
The little guy refused.
The rest of us left the dad to get on with it while we went to the restaurant, placed our order etc. 15min later and KH still did not appear. Instead, Gillian came back and reported: mum, Owain does not want to get out of the car and dad asked you to go over.
So I went. As I approached the car, I saw a family - granny, adult kids, grandkids - huddling near our car, pointing to Owain, tsk-tsking away. I saw Owain's round face through the car windows, eyes screwed shut and mouth wide open wailing away. I saw KH's grim face. Ahh... okay. I get it: standoff.
KH didn't say a word. He walked away as I came. The other family continued standing there watching us quite openly. I guess they are wondering how I will handle this.
I told Owain: wait, let me get a tissue. He sniffled. I wiped his face, neck, shirt, hands - all full of saliva and tears. I asked: where are your shoes? He turned around and got them. Put them on. Come on down from the car. Hold my hand. Wait here while I lock the car. Come on, lets see the fish - ooh that one's dying! Come on, let's go and eat. And he did it - everything I told him to. No fuss.
The other family watching smiled in relief and one of them chucked Owain fondly on the cheek. I smiled back at them.
KH later told me that he knew that it was a standoff because Owain refused to budge and insisted on being carried while he, being The Dad, refused to relent and carry him. So he figured it was time for a neutral party to step in and defuse the situation. He said he could forsee getting into more standoffs with Owain, Cait and possibly Trinity in future. All three are very strong-willed personalities.
Sunday and we were out for lunch at Zi Yean, a new dim sum favourite with us. The drama started when we were getting out of the car. KH told Owain that he was not going to carry him and the little guy had to walk. It was not far - just less than 30m to the table.
The little guy refused.
The rest of us left the dad to get on with it while we went to the restaurant, placed our order etc. 15min later and KH still did not appear. Instead, Gillian came back and reported: mum, Owain does not want to get out of the car and dad asked you to go over.
So I went. As I approached the car, I saw a family - granny, adult kids, grandkids - huddling near our car, pointing to Owain, tsk-tsking away. I saw Owain's round face through the car windows, eyes screwed shut and mouth wide open wailing away. I saw KH's grim face. Ahh... okay. I get it: standoff.
KH didn't say a word. He walked away as I came. The other family continued standing there watching us quite openly. I guess they are wondering how I will handle this.
I told Owain: wait, let me get a tissue. He sniffled. I wiped his face, neck, shirt, hands - all full of saliva and tears. I asked: where are your shoes? He turned around and got them. Put them on. Come on down from the car. Hold my hand. Wait here while I lock the car. Come on, lets see the fish - ooh that one's dying! Come on, let's go and eat. And he did it - everything I told him to. No fuss.
The other family watching smiled in relief and one of them chucked Owain fondly on the cheek. I smiled back at them.
KH later told me that he knew that it was a standoff because Owain refused to budge and insisted on being carried while he, being The Dad, refused to relent and carry him. So he figured it was time for a neutral party to step in and defuse the situation. He said he could forsee getting into more standoffs with Owain, Cait and possibly Trinity in future. All three are very strong-willed personalities.
Standoff at the Riang corral 1
I seem to now have an 11-year-old on my hands who would either (a) engage in heated debate with me or (b) stare sullenly at the ground refusing to answer whenever we go head-to-head. It seems to be the start of the adolescent/teenhood "you-don't-understand-me" phase?
Just on Friday, she yelled at a neighbour's kid to "Get out!" Loud enough to be heard several houses down the row. When I told her off, she came back with: "You never listen to me! You never listen to me even when I am telling you the truth!" and then as the conversation went off on an emotional tangent, she started counting off on her fingers the number of times she helped me carry the baby, gave me the thermometer when I was sick, kept everyone away from me to let me rest etc. Which prodded me to retort and say something which I thought I would never say:"If you want to count the number of times you did something for me, how about the number of times when I did something for you! Starting with the fact that I carried you for nine months and gave birth to you!"
Yikes, sounded like a bad soap opera script! As soon as I said it, I wanted to laugh. I didn't of course, but it did help cool me down pretty quickly though. The rest of the argument went on with her staring sullenly down at the floor. But I was calmer and at the end, she understood what I was talking about. By the time we finished, we were ok with one another and ended up playing a game of TextTwist on the computer together.
So what were we arguing about?
She felt that the neighbour's kid she was yelling at was never going to listen to her if she told him nicely to go home. My POV was: Try that first. She said: But the guy's a jerk! I agree - the guy is a jerk, one that is spoiled rotten to boot, one that has taken my stuff without my permission, stolen stuff from Isaac and told Cait to cover for him. So yes, the guy's a jerk. But you still shouldn't yell. What will the neighbours think? Her point was: she does not give a hoot what the neighbours think of her yelling at someone like that. My point was: she should, because it reflects poorly on her and on us as a family. The neighbours, after all, do not have the full picture of what this boy is and as people do, will only judge on what they see/know.
I don't know if I told her the right thing. I do see where she is coming from and I don't know if this stems from being oblivious and insensitive to the opinions of others or if she knows but just does not care, but she seems to think that people will not talk about bad behaviour and even if they do, she does not hear them and so she does not care. I can understand and admire part of that philosophy because I am somewhat like that myself.
I guess I am just worried. My relationship with her has been rocky at times and I am now beginning to see that she is no longer a little girl but getting to be a pretty vocal teen! Discipline is like walking a tightrope these days. How do you guide, be sensitive to her growing sense of self, not intrude unnecessarily? Without blowing your top? Particularly so with her ADHD, the impulsivity factor is so strong.
I seem to now have an 11-year-old on my hands who would either (a) engage in heated debate with me or (b) stare sullenly at the ground refusing to answer whenever we go head-to-head. It seems to be the start of the adolescent/teenhood "you-don't-understand-me" phase?
Just on Friday, she yelled at a neighbour's kid to "Get out!" Loud enough to be heard several houses down the row. When I told her off, she came back with: "You never listen to me! You never listen to me even when I am telling you the truth!" and then as the conversation went off on an emotional tangent, she started counting off on her fingers the number of times she helped me carry the baby, gave me the thermometer when I was sick, kept everyone away from me to let me rest etc. Which prodded me to retort and say something which I thought I would never say:"If you want to count the number of times you did something for me, how about the number of times when I did something for you! Starting with the fact that I carried you for nine months and gave birth to you!"
Yikes, sounded like a bad soap opera script! As soon as I said it, I wanted to laugh. I didn't of course, but it did help cool me down pretty quickly though. The rest of the argument went on with her staring sullenly down at the floor. But I was calmer and at the end, she understood what I was talking about. By the time we finished, we were ok with one another and ended up playing a game of TextTwist on the computer together.
So what were we arguing about?
She felt that the neighbour's kid she was yelling at was never going to listen to her if she told him nicely to go home. My POV was: Try that first. She said: But the guy's a jerk! I agree - the guy is a jerk, one that is spoiled rotten to boot, one that has taken my stuff without my permission, stolen stuff from Isaac and told Cait to cover for him. So yes, the guy's a jerk. But you still shouldn't yell. What will the neighbours think? Her point was: she does not give a hoot what the neighbours think of her yelling at someone like that. My point was: she should, because it reflects poorly on her and on us as a family. The neighbours, after all, do not have the full picture of what this boy is and as people do, will only judge on what they see/know.
I don't know if I told her the right thing. I do see where she is coming from and I don't know if this stems from being oblivious and insensitive to the opinions of others or if she knows but just does not care, but she seems to think that people will not talk about bad behaviour and even if they do, she does not hear them and so she does not care. I can understand and admire part of that philosophy because I am somewhat like that myself.
I guess I am just worried. My relationship with her has been rocky at times and I am now beginning to see that she is no longer a little girl but getting to be a pretty vocal teen! Discipline is like walking a tightrope these days. How do you guide, be sensitive to her growing sense of self, not intrude unnecessarily? Without blowing your top? Particularly so with her ADHD, the impulsivity factor is so strong.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
It was not always like that...
Further to my previous post, Gillian's school was not always like that. Six years ago when we selected her Pri Sch, KH and I considered several factors. Top of the list was the fact that Gillian was already diagnosed to be ADHD and dyslexic. We wanted a place that was not that stressful academically, with standards which we considered reasonable. It had to be a Catholic school. It had to be a convent since I enjoyed my Marymount Convent days so much. And, this was the hard part, it had to be a small enough school with a 'kampong gotong royong' atmosphere - where the principal and teachers were warm and kind, and knew the students well. It had to be 'family-like'.
We went to a few schools and this one fit the bill. We had a nice session talking to the principal, she was warm and kind. We walked around the school and it felt right. It was small - only three to four classes per level. The school buildings were old but we didn't mind. We liked the worn feel of it. We liked the small little green garden in the heart of the school. The little statues that peered out from here and there in the school - the rocky grotto, the entrance porch - all so kitschy but yet so reminiscent of my school days in MC. We decided that this school could care best for her.
When Gillian went in, it was as we imagined - the teachers were warm, caring and concerned. They went the extra mile for her. But then slowly, things changed. The school moved, the old buildings were torn down, the old principal retired, a new principal came on board. And gradually, the school lost its special, old-town feel about it.
New need not be wonderful. What is happening with the school also seems to be just a microcosm of what is happening in the country in general. In our hurry to progress, to be bigger, newer and better and faster, we have lost our old buildings, swept away our old ways of life, our old-fashioned values. We see this kind of impatience in the way we live, our buildings, our jobs, our leisure, our culture, our relationships, our values etc. So if you ask me, not all things new are wonderful. Bigger need not be better. And sometimes, progress is not necessarily desirable. Some things are better left unchanged, or at least, changed slowly with wisdom and with heart. Unfortunately, with this school, that does not seem to be so.
I'm probably the only parent who thinks so though. Judging from the enthusiastic applause at the Parent-Teacher Tea, when performance yardsticks were given, when the facilities were unveiled and ambitious plans presented, I think I might just be the odd dinosaur out who actually regretted the passing of the old ways in the old school.
But then, I am old-fashioned that way.
Further to my previous post, Gillian's school was not always like that. Six years ago when we selected her Pri Sch, KH and I considered several factors. Top of the list was the fact that Gillian was already diagnosed to be ADHD and dyslexic. We wanted a place that was not that stressful academically, with standards which we considered reasonable. It had to be a Catholic school. It had to be a convent since I enjoyed my Marymount Convent days so much. And, this was the hard part, it had to be a small enough school with a 'kampong gotong royong' atmosphere - where the principal and teachers were warm and kind, and knew the students well. It had to be 'family-like'.
We went to a few schools and this one fit the bill. We had a nice session talking to the principal, she was warm and kind. We walked around the school and it felt right. It was small - only three to four classes per level. The school buildings were old but we didn't mind. We liked the worn feel of it. We liked the small little green garden in the heart of the school. The little statues that peered out from here and there in the school - the rocky grotto, the entrance porch - all so kitschy but yet so reminiscent of my school days in MC. We decided that this school could care best for her.
When Gillian went in, it was as we imagined - the teachers were warm, caring and concerned. They went the extra mile for her. But then slowly, things changed. The school moved, the old buildings were torn down, the old principal retired, a new principal came on board. And gradually, the school lost its special, old-town feel about it.
New need not be wonderful. What is happening with the school also seems to be just a microcosm of what is happening in the country in general. In our hurry to progress, to be bigger, newer and better and faster, we have lost our old buildings, swept away our old ways of life, our old-fashioned values. We see this kind of impatience in the way we live, our buildings, our jobs, our leisure, our culture, our relationships, our values etc. So if you ask me, not all things new are wonderful. Bigger need not be better. And sometimes, progress is not necessarily desirable. Some things are better left unchanged, or at least, changed slowly with wisdom and with heart. Unfortunately, with this school, that does not seem to be so.
I'm probably the only parent who thinks so though. Judging from the enthusiastic applause at the Parent-Teacher Tea, when performance yardsticks were given, when the facilities were unveiled and ambitious plans presented, I think I might just be the odd dinosaur out who actually regretted the passing of the old ways in the old school.
But then, I am old-fashioned that way.
New, but not necessarily better
Gillian's school is going single-session next year. She comes home with a long letter from the school, excited about the change. After several years in the holding campus, the new school building is finally ready and with the larger size and enhanced facilities, the school is able to go single session. Normally, I am pretty non-committal about this. I think a single-session school is not a bad idea. But the more I read of the letter, the more I frowned.
With the single session in place, the girls will now start school at 7.30am (a mere 10-minute 'improvement' from the current 7.20am). The teachers will then engage the girls in various activities ranging from PE to USSR (yes that got me too until I realised it meant: Uninterrupted Sustained Silent Reading. The lengths people go to just to create 'cute' or quirky acronyms never fails to annoy me. Call a spade a spade and forget the cheesy acronyms already!) So from 7.30am to 8am, the girls either have PE or reading. Class proper starts at 8am. School follows as per normal with staggered recess times.
The P5/6 girls have lunch around 1230pm and then all this followed by CCA, remedial, supplementary etc until 4pm.
For someone like Gillian, who has to get up at 5.45am to take the school bus at 6.20am, the new SS timetable will mean very long school days. And on those days when she has no remedial or CCA, she still has to stay on in school because the bus only picks the girls up at4pm. So what should she do on those days? Presumably the girls would keep busy somehow - finishing off their homework etc. But for someone like Gillian, this is very hard because she requires supervision and mentoring to get the work done.
Seems like this SS idea is just a compulsory extension of the normal school hours. I don't see any evidence where the school is making more productive use of the time, there are no details of any enrichment or after-school activities offered. To me, it just spells a longer (more tiring!) day for the girls and a more expensive one for parents because they now have to pay for lunch at school, as opposed to lunch at home. I thought we were in a culture where schools should 'teach less, learn more' but hours like these seem to imply the opposite!
I have other beefs. With the new school building, the entrances and exits have been re-arranged so much so that parents now have to take a longer route to reach the school because of the one-way streets. And parking is no longer allowed in the school so parents just have to park in the residential areas. I don't know about you, but I imagine the residents of Jalan Pacheli, Li Hwan Drive and the other streets nearby will be none too happy about the inevitable congestion! I know I wouldn't! I am not sure if this was ever factored in when the school drew up its plans for redevelopment. Nor, I think, were the residents ever consulted in this exercise.
Secondly, the school decided to close a side gate. Where previously girls taking the public bus can now stop, cut across a park and a small residential lane and be in school in under 5minutes, they now have to make a significantly longer detour. Why do this? For almost 30 years or so, the side gate at Cooling Close has remained open and presumably, with no complaints from the Sisters across whose compound the girls have to cut in order to get to school. I can't see the sisters complaining about this now. So why the change? Come rain or shine, the girls and parents who take public transport now have to walk much farther to get to school.
So how exactly have all these changes benefitted the girls? A new school building with spanking new facilities is an exciting thing but these policy changes seem to have been made without much thought for the girls or with much consultation with parents. This kind of top-heavy approach really makes me think twice about whether the school is the right one for my other girls. To me, its not about the building and the facilities or even the curricula, but whether the school is managed sensibly and with heart. Right now, I fail to see either of these qualities in this school.
So next year, its back to the drawing board for Caitlin when it comes to P1 registration.
Gillian's school is going single-session next year. She comes home with a long letter from the school, excited about the change. After several years in the holding campus, the new school building is finally ready and with the larger size and enhanced facilities, the school is able to go single session. Normally, I am pretty non-committal about this. I think a single-session school is not a bad idea. But the more I read of the letter, the more I frowned.
With the single session in place, the girls will now start school at 7.30am (a mere 10-minute 'improvement' from the current 7.20am). The teachers will then engage the girls in various activities ranging from PE to USSR (yes that got me too until I realised it meant: Uninterrupted Sustained Silent Reading. The lengths people go to just to create 'cute' or quirky acronyms never fails to annoy me. Call a spade a spade and forget the cheesy acronyms already!) So from 7.30am to 8am, the girls either have PE or reading. Class proper starts at 8am. School follows as per normal with staggered recess times.
The P5/6 girls have lunch around 1230pm and then all this followed by CCA, remedial, supplementary etc until 4pm.
For someone like Gillian, who has to get up at 5.45am to take the school bus at 6.20am, the new SS timetable will mean very long school days. And on those days when she has no remedial or CCA, she still has to stay on in school because the bus only picks the girls up at4pm. So what should she do on those days? Presumably the girls would keep busy somehow - finishing off their homework etc. But for someone like Gillian, this is very hard because she requires supervision and mentoring to get the work done.
Seems like this SS idea is just a compulsory extension of the normal school hours. I don't see any evidence where the school is making more productive use of the time, there are no details of any enrichment or after-school activities offered. To me, it just spells a longer (more tiring!) day for the girls and a more expensive one for parents because they now have to pay for lunch at school, as opposed to lunch at home. I thought we were in a culture where schools should 'teach less, learn more' but hours like these seem to imply the opposite!
I have other beefs. With the new school building, the entrances and exits have been re-arranged so much so that parents now have to take a longer route to reach the school because of the one-way streets. And parking is no longer allowed in the school so parents just have to park in the residential areas. I don't know about you, but I imagine the residents of Jalan Pacheli, Li Hwan Drive and the other streets nearby will be none too happy about the inevitable congestion! I know I wouldn't! I am not sure if this was ever factored in when the school drew up its plans for redevelopment. Nor, I think, were the residents ever consulted in this exercise.
Secondly, the school decided to close a side gate. Where previously girls taking the public bus can now stop, cut across a park and a small residential lane and be in school in under 5minutes, they now have to make a significantly longer detour. Why do this? For almost 30 years or so, the side gate at Cooling Close has remained open and presumably, with no complaints from the Sisters across whose compound the girls have to cut in order to get to school. I can't see the sisters complaining about this now. So why the change? Come rain or shine, the girls and parents who take public transport now have to walk much farther to get to school.
So how exactly have all these changes benefitted the girls? A new school building with spanking new facilities is an exciting thing but these policy changes seem to have been made without much thought for the girls or with much consultation with parents. This kind of top-heavy approach really makes me think twice about whether the school is the right one for my other girls. To me, its not about the building and the facilities or even the curricula, but whether the school is managed sensibly and with heart. Right now, I fail to see either of these qualities in this school.
So next year, its back to the drawing board for Caitlin when it comes to P1 registration.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Happy birthday Trinity Rose!
Babe turned 1 on Mon.
Imagine, just a year ago, Trin slid out of me! Clever girl did it all by herself - no yanking or pulling or catching, she just glided out smoothly right in front of the midwives who didn't believe my blow-by-blow account of my progress: the baby is coming. the water bag is going to burst. lift my leg. ah, here she is!
In the year she's been with us, she's been everyone's darling. Even kor-kor Owain goes, fingering her face in his funny deep baby voice: Treeeee-nnnnyyyyy! Baaaayyy-by! Gu-gu-go-wa-aa! And when I left her downstairs as I went up to do my work, he would stomp up and demand of me rather indignantly: why you leave your baby downstairs!
She's the little darling of all her sibs - for now at least. And she's showing loads of personality and will already. She's not walking, nor really saying anything recognisable but I am in no hurry. I just want to enjoy every moment of her babyhood. Its been an amazing year that just flew by all too soon.
We were up to our gills in cake already - cake from the birthday party a week ago, cake from mom's birthday last monday, cake on isaac's actual birthday on sat and now cake again! So we got 4 slices of strawberry cheesecake, stuck a candle in it and let Ms Trin blow it out. When all the cake was cut into tinier pieces and all of us munching away, we realised that the birthday girl had no cake and was in fact, munching on the candle!
Happy birthday baby - we all love you, my little Tweenity Wosebud...
Babe turned 1 on Mon.
Imagine, just a year ago, Trin slid out of me! Clever girl did it all by herself - no yanking or pulling or catching, she just glided out smoothly right in front of the midwives who didn't believe my blow-by-blow account of my progress: the baby is coming. the water bag is going to burst. lift my leg. ah, here she is!
In the year she's been with us, she's been everyone's darling. Even kor-kor Owain goes, fingering her face in his funny deep baby voice: Treeeee-nnnnyyyyy! Baaaayyy-by! Gu-gu-go-wa-aa! And when I left her downstairs as I went up to do my work, he would stomp up and demand of me rather indignantly: why you leave your baby downstairs!
She's the little darling of all her sibs - for now at least. And she's showing loads of personality and will already. She's not walking, nor really saying anything recognisable but I am in no hurry. I just want to enjoy every moment of her babyhood. Its been an amazing year that just flew by all too soon.
We were up to our gills in cake already - cake from the birthday party a week ago, cake from mom's birthday last monday, cake on isaac's actual birthday on sat and now cake again! So we got 4 slices of strawberry cheesecake, stuck a candle in it and let Ms Trin blow it out. When all the cake was cut into tinier pieces and all of us munching away, we realised that the birthday girl had no cake and was in fact, munching on the candle!
Happy birthday baby - we all love you, my little Tweenity Wosebud...
So You Want An AMD...
Sitting in the playground with mom at 10pm last night after watching The Amazing Race 10 and she suddenly said: I want to do an AMD.
AMD, for those who don't know, is Advanced Medical Directive (the colder definition of a living will) - basically a form which one fills in and signs, witnessed by a doctor and neutral party to say something like: let me die in peace and dignity without tubes and needles hanging out of me.
Mom and I are no stranger to discussions like this - which is something else I love about her. Unlike other senior citizens (hah! she'd whack me if she read me calling her this!) she is not averse to discussing death issues. We've spoken about cremation, what to do with the ashes etc. In any case, as she continued last night, you already know what I want even without an AMD right?
I say yes mom, I do, but I don't want to fight my sibs in case things go very emotional. I don't want to have to fight them off over the switch, know what i mean? So maybe an AMD is not a bad idea.
But people still struggle with this and for us Catholics, there are other issues to consider. Better get the theology of this right, I say. We argue rather amiably on the right and wrong of it. Very interesting - where do we get off saying when we want to time? When is time really time? Is all intervention to extend life wrong then? What about kidney dialysis? Even meds for hypertension? The continuum to better life and better health and hence longer life is a long one and ranges, at one end from the simple vitamin to, at the other end, money-intensive stem cell research and treatment. We humans look for any way to extend and improve our mortality. At what cost?
The AMD sits on this continuum. At very micro levels, we have our personal decisions to make. But on the macro level, what we do affects and vice versa. And at those macro levels, the politics of money and big business pollute the picture even further.
My discussion with mom came full circle when KH and the kids arrived. They greeted their grandma boisterously and hit the playground - yes past 10pm at night. Sitting there with mom, our conversation turned to other stuff - plans for Italy etc.
But taking a bird's eye view as we sit there, surrounded by the children, I don't want to think of the day when mom would no longer be around - that is a painful thought. But I know it will come and I dread the day when it does.
AMD or not, if I have to be the one to flick the switch and sit with her as she goes, I guess I will because she counts on me to do this and I'll just have to do my best not to let her down. That's the way it has been all our lives so why should it be different at the very end?
Sitting in the playground with mom at 10pm last night after watching The Amazing Race 10 and she suddenly said: I want to do an AMD.
AMD, for those who don't know, is Advanced Medical Directive (the colder definition of a living will) - basically a form which one fills in and signs, witnessed by a doctor and neutral party to say something like: let me die in peace and dignity without tubes and needles hanging out of me.
Mom and I are no stranger to discussions like this - which is something else I love about her. Unlike other senior citizens (hah! she'd whack me if she read me calling her this!) she is not averse to discussing death issues. We've spoken about cremation, what to do with the ashes etc. In any case, as she continued last night, you already know what I want even without an AMD right?
I say yes mom, I do, but I don't want to fight my sibs in case things go very emotional. I don't want to have to fight them off over the switch, know what i mean? So maybe an AMD is not a bad idea.
But people still struggle with this and for us Catholics, there are other issues to consider. Better get the theology of this right, I say. We argue rather amiably on the right and wrong of it. Very interesting - where do we get off saying when we want to time? When is time really time? Is all intervention to extend life wrong then? What about kidney dialysis? Even meds for hypertension? The continuum to better life and better health and hence longer life is a long one and ranges, at one end from the simple vitamin to, at the other end, money-intensive stem cell research and treatment. We humans look for any way to extend and improve our mortality. At what cost?
The AMD sits on this continuum. At very micro levels, we have our personal decisions to make. But on the macro level, what we do affects and vice versa. And at those macro levels, the politics of money and big business pollute the picture even further.
My discussion with mom came full circle when KH and the kids arrived. They greeted their grandma boisterously and hit the playground - yes past 10pm at night. Sitting there with mom, our conversation turned to other stuff - plans for Italy etc.
But taking a bird's eye view as we sit there, surrounded by the children, I don't want to think of the day when mom would no longer be around - that is a painful thought. But I know it will come and I dread the day when it does.
AMD or not, if I have to be the one to flick the switch and sit with her as she goes, I guess I will because she counts on me to do this and I'll just have to do my best not to let her down. That's the way it has been all our lives so why should it be different at the very end?
False measles. Dang.
Trinity Rose passed her first birthday on Monday covered in spots. The spots came as the fever broke on Sunday. While I knew that in all likelihood it was going to false measles, the way the spots erupted (behind the ears, on the head, then spead downwards as the days passed - to the trunk, arms and legs) gave me hope that it was measles. Even Lolita took one look and said it was measles. But Trin didn't have any other symptoms and I knew the risk of it being measles was tiny with obedient singaporeans queuing up to jab their babies. If I wanted her to catch measles naturally, I would stand a better chance of it in England than in Singapore!
Those who know me know why I am so eager to put my kids through a natural course of what has been marketed as a 'killer disease', 'full of suffering' etc.
The bullseye I am aiming for is natural immunity - lifelong immunity. My Get Out of MMR Free card from the Chance pile of life.
But unfortunately, the dr took one look at Trin this morning and said, nope - false measles.
Dang. Maybe I ought to buy them all plane tickets to England.
Trinity Rose passed her first birthday on Monday covered in spots. The spots came as the fever broke on Sunday. While I knew that in all likelihood it was going to false measles, the way the spots erupted (behind the ears, on the head, then spead downwards as the days passed - to the trunk, arms and legs) gave me hope that it was measles. Even Lolita took one look and said it was measles. But Trin didn't have any other symptoms and I knew the risk of it being measles was tiny with obedient singaporeans queuing up to jab their babies. If I wanted her to catch measles naturally, I would stand a better chance of it in England than in Singapore!
Those who know me know why I am so eager to put my kids through a natural course of what has been marketed as a 'killer disease', 'full of suffering' etc.
The bullseye I am aiming for is natural immunity - lifelong immunity. My Get Out of MMR Free card from the Chance pile of life.
But unfortunately, the dr took one look at Trin this morning and said, nope - false measles.
Dang. Maybe I ought to buy them all plane tickets to England.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Breast cancer
Met a woman today who suspected she has breast cancer. She is in her 30s, with a 3yo son and a year old baby girl. She had had a persistent lump that was initially chalked down to a plugged duct. She massaged and massaged under the advice of an LC but the lump did not go away. Finally, she had a mammogram and recently, a biopsy. She would get her results only a couple of days from now, but the doctors have apparently hinted that the prognosis was not good. Worrying, was how they termed it.
She said her lymph nodes were swollen and suspected that it was not only malignant but in stage three. She had no other symptoms.
Surgery was definitely on the cards whether or not the lump was malignant but she clearly had her mind on the worst. Her words came quick, fast and tight, etched in fear, tinged by bitterness. She didn't mind losing a breast she said, but she had two babies and she wanted to see them grow up. My children need me, she said simply.
I felt she was jumping the gun and expecting the worst because the results were not out. But in her shoes, who was to say I would not do the same? As she said, brace herself for the worst. Her husband was distraught, the pastor, himself a cancer survivor had spoken to both.
I didn't know what to say. So I mainly listened. The fact that she was spilling her guts on something so wrenchingly personal to a virtual stranger like me spoke volumes. A combination of shock and fear. Maybe by telling someone all this, it would be more real. Yet she didn't want it to be real - who would?
She accused breastfeeding of being misleading. "We've all been told. We think by breastfeeding we won't get it. This is not true! In fact, why are we not told there is a risk of calcification? If I had known this, I would have stopped breastfeeding earlier!"
I agreed with her that breastfeeding is not the bullet-proof vest people think it is. But the risk of breast cancer is far higher if one does NOT breastfeed. It was not the time for the Breastvocate to go into action. So I just listened. She needed to talk and I could only help by listening.
We agreed - everyone needs a good baseline mammo. She urged me to go for one when I stopped breastfeeding. I agree. And it should not only be recommended for women above 40. She said the breast surgeon told her he was seeing more women in their 30s. I would not be surprised - combine stress, diet and lifestyle - trouble looms like the iceberg for the Titanic. We t alked about stress, about taking it easy even if the diagnosis came out benign - maybe taking long leave or switching jobs to a lower stress one. We talked about genetic markers etc. Her mother had cancer. My aunt died of breast cancer, so I have been touched remotely by this. We all are, in one way or another.
It could be you, it could be me. I hope it's not her. I hope she'll be ok. I wanted to ask for her number or an email to check in on her, but was afraid of being too presumptuous. But I was afraid of my own limitation - what could I say? What did I know? I was not going through it...
Right at the end of our visit to the doctor (we met chatting in the waiting room while waiting for our turn), we left together. In the lift, I looked at her bright-eyed little boy and I looked at her and wished her luck, saying I hope it turns out ok. I mean it. That little boy needs his mama.
Met a woman today who suspected she has breast cancer. She is in her 30s, with a 3yo son and a year old baby girl. She had had a persistent lump that was initially chalked down to a plugged duct. She massaged and massaged under the advice of an LC but the lump did not go away. Finally, she had a mammogram and recently, a biopsy. She would get her results only a couple of days from now, but the doctors have apparently hinted that the prognosis was not good. Worrying, was how they termed it.
She said her lymph nodes were swollen and suspected that it was not only malignant but in stage three. She had no other symptoms.
Surgery was definitely on the cards whether or not the lump was malignant but she clearly had her mind on the worst. Her words came quick, fast and tight, etched in fear, tinged by bitterness. She didn't mind losing a breast she said, but she had two babies and she wanted to see them grow up. My children need me, she said simply.
I felt she was jumping the gun and expecting the worst because the results were not out. But in her shoes, who was to say I would not do the same? As she said, brace herself for the worst. Her husband was distraught, the pastor, himself a cancer survivor had spoken to both.
I didn't know what to say. So I mainly listened. The fact that she was spilling her guts on something so wrenchingly personal to a virtual stranger like me spoke volumes. A combination of shock and fear. Maybe by telling someone all this, it would be more real. Yet she didn't want it to be real - who would?
She accused breastfeeding of being misleading. "We've all been told. We think by breastfeeding we won't get it. This is not true! In fact, why are we not told there is a risk of calcification? If I had known this, I would have stopped breastfeeding earlier!"
I agreed with her that breastfeeding is not the bullet-proof vest people think it is. But the risk of breast cancer is far higher if one does NOT breastfeed. It was not the time for the Breastvocate to go into action. So I just listened. She needed to talk and I could only help by listening.
We agreed - everyone needs a good baseline mammo. She urged me to go for one when I stopped breastfeeding. I agree. And it should not only be recommended for women above 40. She said the breast surgeon told her he was seeing more women in their 30s. I would not be surprised - combine stress, diet and lifestyle - trouble looms like the iceberg for the Titanic. We t alked about stress, about taking it easy even if the diagnosis came out benign - maybe taking long leave or switching jobs to a lower stress one. We talked about genetic markers etc. Her mother had cancer. My aunt died of breast cancer, so I have been touched remotely by this. We all are, in one way or another.
It could be you, it could be me. I hope it's not her. I hope she'll be ok. I wanted to ask for her number or an email to check in on her, but was afraid of being too presumptuous. But I was afraid of my own limitation - what could I say? What did I know? I was not going through it...
Right at the end of our visit to the doctor (we met chatting in the waiting room while waiting for our turn), we left together. In the lift, I looked at her bright-eyed little boy and I looked at her and wished her luck, saying I hope it turns out ok. I mean it. That little boy needs his mama.
Small world
Been taking Cait to KK for follow-ups on her eye, which is getting better very nicely now! We can see more of those lovely peepers. Contusion still there but doc thinks it will go. Or they can aspirate, which he is reluctant to do - firstly because it is invasive and secondly, because it will risk infection. So we've decided to let it be and do nothing for now. If it does not get smaller, we go back and see him again in 3 weeks. Or I could email him.
As it turns out, the good doctor and I have met before. He looked a couple of times at me and then asked: have we met before? maybe you've come in to a&e... and i was about to say i don't think so, but i go in to a&e pretty often - check out my kids! then it struck me... or rather, he said it - SGH a&e and dengue fever. jackpot.
About 3 yrs ago, when Owain was 8 wks old, I contracted dengue with very high fever. (Yes those woozy days of nursing Owain and alternately freezing and sweating in front of Beep the Bus with thermometer in hand) At the SGH a&e, the good doc wanted to ward me because my platelet count was alarmingly low and I refused because they didn't want to let Owain in. This very doctor consulted with sr doctors who concurred that Owain was at risk of contracting the virus (hah!) and suggested putting him on formula (oh the very idea! Not a good one to suggest to a breastvocate like me). But all's well that ends well - they bent policy and allowed Owain to room in with me (a first for the hospital in a non-maternity ward) and I didn't bite his head off too much for suggesting this nonsense. Maybe too woozy to do so. Heh.
That aside I did think the doc was cute, had a wife pg with twins. And I remember telling him to go natural etc for the birth - the funniest thing! We had good vibes. Then months later, I met him and his wife at One North, the now defunct makansutra food place. We said hi of course. And now, years later, we meet again! Small world indeed.
The good doc now has another baby 18months old. But both births were sections. I asked him why. Said first birth had to be section because one twin was breech. Hmm... as far as I know now, breech presentation would not be a problem with twins. Second birth was also a section. So you know I had a lot to say about that. He marvelled that I now had 5 kids - and proud of 'em! And was intrigued that I had not vaccinated my 3 babes. We would be happy to chat but he had a long line of patients, so he gave his email addy. To be continued!
Been taking Cait to KK for follow-ups on her eye, which is getting better very nicely now! We can see more of those lovely peepers. Contusion still there but doc thinks it will go. Or they can aspirate, which he is reluctant to do - firstly because it is invasive and secondly, because it will risk infection. So we've decided to let it be and do nothing for now. If it does not get smaller, we go back and see him again in 3 weeks. Or I could email him.
As it turns out, the good doctor and I have met before. He looked a couple of times at me and then asked: have we met before? maybe you've come in to a&e... and i was about to say i don't think so, but i go in to a&e pretty often - check out my kids! then it struck me... or rather, he said it - SGH a&e and dengue fever. jackpot.
About 3 yrs ago, when Owain was 8 wks old, I contracted dengue with very high fever. (Yes those woozy days of nursing Owain and alternately freezing and sweating in front of Beep the Bus with thermometer in hand) At the SGH a&e, the good doc wanted to ward me because my platelet count was alarmingly low and I refused because they didn't want to let Owain in. This very doctor consulted with sr doctors who concurred that Owain was at risk of contracting the virus (hah!) and suggested putting him on formula (oh the very idea! Not a good one to suggest to a breastvocate like me). But all's well that ends well - they bent policy and allowed Owain to room in with me (a first for the hospital in a non-maternity ward) and I didn't bite his head off too much for suggesting this nonsense. Maybe too woozy to do so. Heh.
That aside I did think the doc was cute, had a wife pg with twins. And I remember telling him to go natural etc for the birth - the funniest thing! We had good vibes. Then months later, I met him and his wife at One North, the now defunct makansutra food place. We said hi of course. And now, years later, we meet again! Small world indeed.
The good doc now has another baby 18months old. But both births were sections. I asked him why. Said first birth had to be section because one twin was breech. Hmm... as far as I know now, breech presentation would not be a problem with twins. Second birth was also a section. So you know I had a lot to say about that. He marvelled that I now had 5 kids - and proud of 'em! And was intrigued that I had not vaccinated my 3 babes. We would be happy to chat but he had a long line of patients, so he gave his email addy. To be continued!
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Snapshots of Mandalay Road
Mom's birthday was on Monday and she turned 63 - which I still consider very young, especially for someone with her joie de vivre. Family celebrated with a steamboat dinner at Golden Mile (very yum!) and a cake at home. Mom and I have always said we'd go to Italy together - she because she wants to see Rome and Venice and I because I think its cool to travel with mom. I've been thinking of this for years and I think its time. If I wait for all my kids to grow up, we might never have the chance to do this - mom is not getting any younger. So I think I'd like to fix it for next year - May/June in the spring or late Sept/Oct in the autumn. But the planning starts now.
Yesterday in the car coming home from Ikea, mom was reminiscing about the Mandalay Road days. I love to listen to her - love to imagine my mom as this young girl, in the spring of her life, training to be a teacher, her friends, her romances, my dad as this gangly young man courting her. I've always liked that time in the past - the 60s, 50s etc.
"Mother Angela, Mother Campion... Sister Holy Child..." those were the names of the FMDM nuns who trained mom and her gang to be nurses. Mom was only about 17 then and back then, training meant living in the hostel at Mandalay Road. There were 15 of them in the hostel, training to be nurses. The bungalow was an old colonial with wide verandas running round the upper floor. The girls' bedrooms were on the upper floor. The 15 girls were split into three rooms - 6 in one, then 3, then 6. Mom was one of the 3 in the middle room. There was a classroom on the same floor and another classroom on the ground floor - and that one held all the bones - real human bones - which the girls studied for anatomy class. There was also a full skeleton which the girls affectionately called Jimmy. And in the classroom upstairs, a mannequin the girls called Deborah.
The bungalow was terribly spooky and was in fact, haunted. "We would hear footsteps but there would be no one there. Then the phone would ring downstairs in the middle of the night but when we answered, it would be dead. We could hear a voice calling... and Margaret actually saw a woman combing her long hair right next to her one night! We were so scared that we would push our beds together to sleep! But the nuns didn't like that of course and we would be scolded terribly if they found out. So we always had to push the beds back in the morning!"
The kids were all agog and for once, the car was silent as they listened to mom. "Apparently," mom went on, "the house was haunted by the ghost of a doctor's wife who hanged herself in the main stairwell."
But it wasn't all about ghosts. It was fun too. "The nuns were strict. We would be scolded and scolded for little things. When it was lights out, they meant it. We could not read or talk. So if we wanted to read the comics or talk to each other in other rooms, we'd sneak off to the toilets in a group. The lights from the toilet could not be seen from the nuns' quarters! And one night, when we were really scared and pushing the beds together, we accidentally broke a wall! And the nuns were furious!"
Then there was The Scratcher - a man who rode around on motorbikes with a razor, slashing women's faces. Mom was not clear if this was real, because they never caught him, or if it was an urban legend. But she remembers the nuns contemptuously scolding the girls, "All of you are so vain! You think people really want to scratch you?? Who would want to?" And then there was the Orang Minyak or Oily Man, who would slick himself with oil and molest women and because he was so slippery with oil, no one would ever be able to catch him. Another urban legend?
Then there were the boys. Who drove up to the nurses' quarters and flashed their headlights at the girls' rooms. And then there was my dad, tall and thin, who called himself Sinoran - and I only first heard of this a couple of days ago and it just floored me! - which meant, according to mom, an amalgamation of two words - sino which refered to Chinese and 'ren' which was man. So I guess it meant something like 'chinaman'. Everyone called him that. Mom's friends still refer to him with that today. Martin Christopher was just his baptism name which he took on in order to be baptised, in order to marry mom. (It was that or no wedding, my grandma threatened. See the things we do for love?)
Why I am writing this? I think these are snapshots of an era gone by. Its a form of oral history. If I don't record this, it will be gone with mom when she passes on. And I think memories are a great way of reliving the past and remembering the life of a person. So when I think of mom, its not just in the context of her role as a mother or a grandmother, but as a woman, a girl, a daughter.
I hope with this blog, maybe my kids will see a different side to me one day as well.
Mom's birthday was on Monday and she turned 63 - which I still consider very young, especially for someone with her joie de vivre. Family celebrated with a steamboat dinner at Golden Mile (very yum!) and a cake at home. Mom and I have always said we'd go to Italy together - she because she wants to see Rome and Venice and I because I think its cool to travel with mom. I've been thinking of this for years and I think its time. If I wait for all my kids to grow up, we might never have the chance to do this - mom is not getting any younger. So I think I'd like to fix it for next year - May/June in the spring or late Sept/Oct in the autumn. But the planning starts now.
Yesterday in the car coming home from Ikea, mom was reminiscing about the Mandalay Road days. I love to listen to her - love to imagine my mom as this young girl, in the spring of her life, training to be a teacher, her friends, her romances, my dad as this gangly young man courting her. I've always liked that time in the past - the 60s, 50s etc.
"Mother Angela, Mother Campion... Sister Holy Child..." those were the names of the FMDM nuns who trained mom and her gang to be nurses. Mom was only about 17 then and back then, training meant living in the hostel at Mandalay Road. There were 15 of them in the hostel, training to be nurses. The bungalow was an old colonial with wide verandas running round the upper floor. The girls' bedrooms were on the upper floor. The 15 girls were split into three rooms - 6 in one, then 3, then 6. Mom was one of the 3 in the middle room. There was a classroom on the same floor and another classroom on the ground floor - and that one held all the bones - real human bones - which the girls studied for anatomy class. There was also a full skeleton which the girls affectionately called Jimmy. And in the classroom upstairs, a mannequin the girls called Deborah.
The bungalow was terribly spooky and was in fact, haunted. "We would hear footsteps but there would be no one there. Then the phone would ring downstairs in the middle of the night but when we answered, it would be dead. We could hear a voice calling... and Margaret actually saw a woman combing her long hair right next to her one night! We were so scared that we would push our beds together to sleep! But the nuns didn't like that of course and we would be scolded terribly if they found out. So we always had to push the beds back in the morning!"
The kids were all agog and for once, the car was silent as they listened to mom. "Apparently," mom went on, "the house was haunted by the ghost of a doctor's wife who hanged herself in the main stairwell."
But it wasn't all about ghosts. It was fun too. "The nuns were strict. We would be scolded and scolded for little things. When it was lights out, they meant it. We could not read or talk. So if we wanted to read the comics or talk to each other in other rooms, we'd sneak off to the toilets in a group. The lights from the toilet could not be seen from the nuns' quarters! And one night, when we were really scared and pushing the beds together, we accidentally broke a wall! And the nuns were furious!"
Then there was The Scratcher - a man who rode around on motorbikes with a razor, slashing women's faces. Mom was not clear if this was real, because they never caught him, or if it was an urban legend. But she remembers the nuns contemptuously scolding the girls, "All of you are so vain! You think people really want to scratch you?? Who would want to?" And then there was the Orang Minyak or Oily Man, who would slick himself with oil and molest women and because he was so slippery with oil, no one would ever be able to catch him. Another urban legend?
Then there were the boys. Who drove up to the nurses' quarters and flashed their headlights at the girls' rooms. And then there was my dad, tall and thin, who called himself Sinoran - and I only first heard of this a couple of days ago and it just floored me! - which meant, according to mom, an amalgamation of two words - sino which refered to Chinese and 'ren' which was man. So I guess it meant something like 'chinaman'. Everyone called him that. Mom's friends still refer to him with that today. Martin Christopher was just his baptism name which he took on in order to be baptised, in order to marry mom. (It was that or no wedding, my grandma threatened. See the things we do for love?)
Why I am writing this? I think these are snapshots of an era gone by. Its a form of oral history. If I don't record this, it will be gone with mom when she passes on. And I think memories are a great way of reliving the past and remembering the life of a person. So when I think of mom, its not just in the context of her role as a mother or a grandmother, but as a woman, a girl, a daughter.
I hope with this blog, maybe my kids will see a different side to me one day as well.
Blur Breast
Fissures have healed. And for one and a half days (Monday and Tuesday), the nipples looked nice and smooth without any redness or soreness. But yesterday, despite all the moisturising and the calendula cream, the red rash was back, the flaking was back. Its been like this ding-donging to and fro for months - healed for a day and then back again to square one.
As for the plugged duct, massaged and expressed like mad on Monday and the fever went away. The milk was yellowish and salty at first (definitely signs of a plugged duct and borderline infection) but the more I got the flow going, it changed to whitish and became sweeter. And because the nipples seemed better, I allowed the milk monster to have his nen-nen in the early morning and sporadically on Tuesday - so I guess he also helped clear it. But there is still residual redness on the upper quadrant and some soreness. The milk expressed from the affected pore today looks clear and normal, tastes normal.
Also, seem to have discovered a galactocele beneath the areola - shifting form like a bunch of tiny grapes - when the breast is full, it swells up (probably with milk) and when gently pressed, milk slowly balloons from one of the pores. The milk from there is cool, clear like water and incredibly sweet. Yum.
Fissures have healed. And for one and a half days (Monday and Tuesday), the nipples looked nice and smooth without any redness or soreness. But yesterday, despite all the moisturising and the calendula cream, the red rash was back, the flaking was back. Its been like this ding-donging to and fro for months - healed for a day and then back again to square one.
As for the plugged duct, massaged and expressed like mad on Monday and the fever went away. The milk was yellowish and salty at first (definitely signs of a plugged duct and borderline infection) but the more I got the flow going, it changed to whitish and became sweeter. And because the nipples seemed better, I allowed the milk monster to have his nen-nen in the early morning and sporadically on Tuesday - so I guess he also helped clear it. But there is still residual redness on the upper quadrant and some soreness. The milk expressed from the affected pore today looks clear and normal, tastes normal.
Also, seem to have discovered a galactocele beneath the areola - shifting form like a bunch of tiny grapes - when the breast is full, it swells up (probably with milk) and when gently pressed, milk slowly balloons from one of the pores. The milk from there is cool, clear like water and incredibly sweet. Yum.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Record number
9 fissures. Yes, count 'em. Two of them at least 1cm long. Several of them less than 0.5cm but all over the nipple, the sides, the base etc. Add to that, a blocked duct.
Last night/this morning, as usual, Owain asked for nen-nen which I gave. But the pain was so gut-wrenchingly bad, I had to pull him off after just a few sucks, less than five minutes. It was so unusually excruciating that it throbbed and stung even after he had gone off the breast. I lay there and cried in the dark. Then got out of bed to see what or why it was so bad.
So at 4.31am in the morning, I sat in the landing outside the bedroom, and counted the cuts - all bleeding and watery, and with a breast that is rock-hard from all the accumulated milk. Ended up grabbing a sterile bottle and handexpressing. Then Owain came out to look for me, sniffling and asking for nen-nen and I could not give it to him. It was just too painful. Poor boy.
Now in the office, expressed the affected breast by hand and feeling feverish. With all the cuts, I am afraid of infection getting in and complicating the picture. Last thing I need is mastitis joining the happy party here.
9 fissures. Yes, count 'em. Two of them at least 1cm long. Several of them less than 0.5cm but all over the nipple, the sides, the base etc. Add to that, a blocked duct.
Last night/this morning, as usual, Owain asked for nen-nen which I gave. But the pain was so gut-wrenchingly bad, I had to pull him off after just a few sucks, less than five minutes. It was so unusually excruciating that it throbbed and stung even after he had gone off the breast. I lay there and cried in the dark. Then got out of bed to see what or why it was so bad.
So at 4.31am in the morning, I sat in the landing outside the bedroom, and counted the cuts - all bleeding and watery, and with a breast that is rock-hard from all the accumulated milk. Ended up grabbing a sterile bottle and handexpressing. Then Owain came out to look for me, sniffling and asking for nen-nen and I could not give it to him. It was just too painful. Poor boy.
Now in the office, expressed the affected breast by hand and feeling feverish. With all the cuts, I am afraid of infection getting in and complicating the picture. Last thing I need is mastitis joining the happy party here.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Loyalty and friendship
Interesting dinner incident. Gillian and Isaac throwing daggers at each other across the dinner table. Gillian threatening to spill Isaac's secrets like "I'm gonna tell mum about that time when you told me not to tell..."
I stopped her and said I didn't want to hear it.
To me, loyalty is the issue here. If you've been honoured with a secret or entrusted with a dear friend's thoughts, dreams, failures, fears - be honoured and keep those close to your heart. And should the good times end, its important to still keep these close to your heart. To do otherwise would be disloyal and indicative of a shallow character - a fair-weather friend. I don't know if I over-reacted (probably I did - I tend to get very emotional over issues like these) but I told her I didn't think it was good to treat her brother like this. It was just plain wrong. How to expect people to trust you?
I've been on the receiving end before - of disloyalty in a friendship. It cut so deep that I can never forget this. When you trust someone so much, and when you genuinely like that person, you believe in her and are loyal to the core, the last thing you ever imagine that person would do is to cut you loose and set the sharks on you.
So I've learnt the painful way and this means a great deal to me. I certainly hope that my kids won't act like this. Maybe loyalty is old-fashioned in today's world. But that's just me.
Interesting dinner incident. Gillian and Isaac throwing daggers at each other across the dinner table. Gillian threatening to spill Isaac's secrets like "I'm gonna tell mum about that time when you told me not to tell..."
I stopped her and said I didn't want to hear it.
To me, loyalty is the issue here. If you've been honoured with a secret or entrusted with a dear friend's thoughts, dreams, failures, fears - be honoured and keep those close to your heart. And should the good times end, its important to still keep these close to your heart. To do otherwise would be disloyal and indicative of a shallow character - a fair-weather friend. I don't know if I over-reacted (probably I did - I tend to get very emotional over issues like these) but I told her I didn't think it was good to treat her brother like this. It was just plain wrong. How to expect people to trust you?
I've been on the receiving end before - of disloyalty in a friendship. It cut so deep that I can never forget this. When you trust someone so much, and when you genuinely like that person, you believe in her and are loyal to the core, the last thing you ever imagine that person would do is to cut you loose and set the sharks on you.
So I've learnt the painful way and this means a great deal to me. I certainly hope that my kids won't act like this. Maybe loyalty is old-fashioned in today's world. But that's just me.
Swelling up and saints
The major swelling on Ning's left eye is tracking down, as we were warned it would. But it is also tracking across the bridge of the nose to the other unaffected eye! So the bridge is swelling up, the lower lid of the right eye is also swelling up and looking a bit purply. The right eye's upper lid is also a bit puffy so Ning's right eye looks rather reduced amid the swelling.
Not sure if this is normal. Poor girl.
Eczemic nipple update. Right side (Owain's side) is flaking away and has two open slits near the base of the nipple. Excruciating to nurse. I've fobbed him off but he is very insistent and cried and cried. Poor boy. I feel like a real ass for denying him the nen-nen. Pictures of saints come to mind and I wonder: did they ever complain, and if they did, would this make them less of a saint? Like when saint something-or-other was tortured by - I'm just imagining this here - being made to walk on burning coals or something like that, did they bitch about it mentally? Or did they smile beatifically, nobly and had nothing but good thoughts as they tred across those red hot coals? Did the word 'ouch' even cross their mind? Did they think murderous bad $#@*& thoughts about the cause of their misery?
You can tell: I'm not cut out for sainthood.
The major swelling on Ning's left eye is tracking down, as we were warned it would. But it is also tracking across the bridge of the nose to the other unaffected eye! So the bridge is swelling up, the lower lid of the right eye is also swelling up and looking a bit purply. The right eye's upper lid is also a bit puffy so Ning's right eye looks rather reduced amid the swelling.
Not sure if this is normal. Poor girl.
Eczemic nipple update. Right side (Owain's side) is flaking away and has two open slits near the base of the nipple. Excruciating to nurse. I've fobbed him off but he is very insistent and cried and cried. Poor boy. I feel like a real ass for denying him the nen-nen. Pictures of saints come to mind and I wonder: did they ever complain, and if they did, would this make them less of a saint? Like when saint something-or-other was tortured by - I'm just imagining this here - being made to walk on burning coals or something like that, did they bitch about it mentally? Or did they smile beatifically, nobly and had nothing but good thoughts as they tred across those red hot coals? Did the word 'ouch' even cross their mind? Did they think murderous bad $#@*& thoughts about the cause of their misery?
You can tell: I'm not cut out for sainthood.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
The flip side of cord blood banking
Wrote to ST Forum on cord blood banking. Yesterday a Mr Kong from ST Forum called me while I was at KKWCH attending to Ning. He wanted to clarify the point about cord blood being 'waste'. I was a bit distracted by Ning's situation and my battery level was low so I tried to explain as best I could. Mr Kong was very nice about it. He said he would need to make some changes but would try to be faithful to my message and try his best to do justice to it.
So the letter was published in today's straits times. Reading it, I can't find any portion that is significantly changed. Here it is:
"I REFER to the article, 'Parents pin hopes on cord blood banks' (ST, Oct 12), on the rising number of parents who harvest their babies' cord blood.
As a mother and a childbirth educator, I feel that it is important that parents weigh carefully the risks and benefits of harvesting their baby's cord blood.
Cord blood should not be considered as 'waste', something to be thrown away if not harvested for storage in a cord-blood bank.
While it may be standard practice today for the umbilical cord to be clamped and cut immediately after birth, not many parents know that there are valid physiological reasons for leaving the cord alone until it has stopped pulsating and the baby's pulmonary and respiratory systems are working well.
However, clamping and cutting the cord immediately after birth is necessary for cord-blood harvesting. This action takes away 60-150ml of blood, about one third to half the total blood volume in a normal baby.
There are studies that show that babies whose cords were not cut immediately at birth show higher blood pressure, better oxygen levels and higher haemoglobin levels than their counterparts whose cords were clamped and cut immediately.
Delayed clamping, even for only two minutes, has been shown to boost iron stores in babies as late as six months after birth.
This is information that parents should be told if they are considering cord-blood banking. In the interest of allowing parents to make an informed choice, doctors should give them a complete picture of what it means to harvest cord blood.
Parents should consider not only the merits of each facility for cord-blood banking but also if it is even necessary or in their baby's best interests to clamp and cut the cord early just to harvest cord blood."
It's something which I have been saying for the longest time and I'm glad it's finally out. I hope more parents will now be aware that there are alternatives and will start asking questions. Hopefully doctors will also read it and re-think active management policies for managing third stage labour.... Fat hope huh?? sigh.
Wrote to ST Forum on cord blood banking. Yesterday a Mr Kong from ST Forum called me while I was at KKWCH attending to Ning. He wanted to clarify the point about cord blood being 'waste'. I was a bit distracted by Ning's situation and my battery level was low so I tried to explain as best I could. Mr Kong was very nice about it. He said he would need to make some changes but would try to be faithful to my message and try his best to do justice to it.
So the letter was published in today's straits times. Reading it, I can't find any portion that is significantly changed. Here it is:
"I REFER to the article, 'Parents pin hopes on cord blood banks' (ST, Oct 12), on the rising number of parents who harvest their babies' cord blood.
As a mother and a childbirth educator, I feel that it is important that parents weigh carefully the risks and benefits of harvesting their baby's cord blood.
Cord blood should not be considered as 'waste', something to be thrown away if not harvested for storage in a cord-blood bank.
While it may be standard practice today for the umbilical cord to be clamped and cut immediately after birth, not many parents know that there are valid physiological reasons for leaving the cord alone until it has stopped pulsating and the baby's pulmonary and respiratory systems are working well.
However, clamping and cutting the cord immediately after birth is necessary for cord-blood harvesting. This action takes away 60-150ml of blood, about one third to half the total blood volume in a normal baby.
There are studies that show that babies whose cords were not cut immediately at birth show higher blood pressure, better oxygen levels and higher haemoglobin levels than their counterparts whose cords were clamped and cut immediately.
Delayed clamping, even for only two minutes, has been shown to boost iron stores in babies as late as six months after birth.
This is information that parents should be told if they are considering cord-blood banking. In the interest of allowing parents to make an informed choice, doctors should give them a complete picture of what it means to harvest cord blood.
Parents should consider not only the merits of each facility for cord-blood banking but also if it is even necessary or in their baby's best interests to clamp and cut the cord early just to harvest cord blood."
It's something which I have been saying for the longest time and I'm glad it's finally out. I hope more parents will now be aware that there are alternatives and will start asking questions. Hopefully doctors will also read it and re-think active management policies for managing third stage labour.... Fat hope huh?? sigh.
Not again!
"Tell her lah!" mom prompted dad eagerly and when he was slow to reply, she went on, "You know your dad has been picking up Ning from school these past few days and yesterday, he told me that Ning was the prettiest, the most beautiful girl there! I told your father he should tell you, it would make you so proud!"
And so it did. I beamed with pride. My babe is beautiful. But just minutes after mom said that, Caitlin had a bad accident. Afterwards, mom blamed herself for saying that. Of course it was not her fault. This incident could have happened at any time at the rate the girl kept jumping on the sofa and leaping from one to another.
We had gone out for a drive around the estate to calm Ms Trinity Rose down because she cried so inconsolably when I merely took away a dirty shoe and told her sternly "No!". As we were driving off, we saw Ning standing at the gate looking unhappy that she was included in the car. Dad offered to pick her up and bring her along for the ride. But as we cruised past, we saw her already back in the house, jumping on the sofa, so we left. Dad later said we should have taken her for the car ride, then it wouldn't have happened. But such is life eh?
Minutes later, we got a frantic call from home asking us to drive home - Ning had had a bad fall and bleeding. Dad drove home quickly and I rushed back to the house. I saw globs of blood on the floor, the coffee table, her uniform stained with patches of red. She was sobbing in Lolita's arms.
There was an open gash on her left eyebrow. But what alarmed me was the eye itself. The eyelid had swollen shut; the size of a shiny, purple hen's egg. Luckily dad and mom were there. They drove us to Mt Alvernia hospital. Ning cried all the way there and kept repeating: "I don't want them to laugh at me! My friends will laugh at me!"
She definitely required stitches. The eye itself looked ok when the dr pried up the eyelid (which caused Ning some pain) to look. But the x-ray showed a possible fracture of the upper edge of the left eye socket. The hospital wanted an opthalmologist to confirm. So they tried calling. While waiting, Ning fell asleep.
Now this is the part that left me fuming. We waited for more than an hour while the hospital tried, without success, to get a consultant specialist down to the emergency room to have a look. Ning was insured under KH's company's group hospitalisation and medical insurance scheme, Aviva. So the specialist had to come from Aviva's panel of doctors. The nurses tried to call and page. No fault of theirs. But not ONE of the six opthalmologists from the panel came. Some had no response to the paging. Others were not contactable, no answering service, and some refused to come. One said he does not treat at Mt Alvernia. The hospital then tried their own specialists but one was on leave and the covering doctor said he did not treat children! So in frustration and anger, I discharged Ning and took her over to KKWCH. KH had arrived by then, so all of us including mom and dad, drove over to KH, mom sitting in our backseat with Ning's head on her lap. I have a lot to say on this and will speak my piece in a letter to Aviva, MAH, MOH and the press. But first, I had to get Ning treated.
At the hospital, she was seen immediately. The eye looked ok - they tested her vision by asking me to pry up her swollen lid. It was painful for Ning and painful for me to be the cause of it! Then the doctor looked at the x-rays and tried to prod the area. Ning said it hurt. The doctor kept asking her which part was painful - the eyelid or the upper part and watching her, I honestly don't think Ning could even differentiate the area. In any case there was too much swelling there to tell, so the doctor said the x-rays will be shown to the x-ray specialist the next day for an opinion.
As for the gash, they recommended stitching but not under GA as they did not know the extent of the damage and did not want to risk masking of symptoms of a head injury as both the after-effects of GA and a head injury were similar. So they applied a gel and we waited for half an hour. Then Ning was bundled onto a restraining board, velcroed and rolled into a blanket. The doctor stitched away while we talked to her to distract her from the stitching. She was a trooper and never cried at all, tearing and wincing only at the last stitch. I was so proud of her.
We - KH, Ning, baby Trinity and I - ended our evening with dinner at KKWCH's McDonalds before going home, drained and tired from the stress of the events.
"Tell her lah!" mom prompted dad eagerly and when he was slow to reply, she went on, "You know your dad has been picking up Ning from school these past few days and yesterday, he told me that Ning was the prettiest, the most beautiful girl there! I told your father he should tell you, it would make you so proud!"
And so it did. I beamed with pride. My babe is beautiful. But just minutes after mom said that, Caitlin had a bad accident. Afterwards, mom blamed herself for saying that. Of course it was not her fault. This incident could have happened at any time at the rate the girl kept jumping on the sofa and leaping from one to another.
We had gone out for a drive around the estate to calm Ms Trinity Rose down because she cried so inconsolably when I merely took away a dirty shoe and told her sternly "No!". As we were driving off, we saw Ning standing at the gate looking unhappy that she was included in the car. Dad offered to pick her up and bring her along for the ride. But as we cruised past, we saw her already back in the house, jumping on the sofa, so we left. Dad later said we should have taken her for the car ride, then it wouldn't have happened. But such is life eh?
Minutes later, we got a frantic call from home asking us to drive home - Ning had had a bad fall and bleeding. Dad drove home quickly and I rushed back to the house. I saw globs of blood on the floor, the coffee table, her uniform stained with patches of red. She was sobbing in Lolita's arms.
There was an open gash on her left eyebrow. But what alarmed me was the eye itself. The eyelid had swollen shut; the size of a shiny, purple hen's egg. Luckily dad and mom were there. They drove us to Mt Alvernia hospital. Ning cried all the way there and kept repeating: "I don't want them to laugh at me! My friends will laugh at me!"
She definitely required stitches. The eye itself looked ok when the dr pried up the eyelid (which caused Ning some pain) to look. But the x-ray showed a possible fracture of the upper edge of the left eye socket. The hospital wanted an opthalmologist to confirm. So they tried calling. While waiting, Ning fell asleep.
Now this is the part that left me fuming. We waited for more than an hour while the hospital tried, without success, to get a consultant specialist down to the emergency room to have a look. Ning was insured under KH's company's group hospitalisation and medical insurance scheme, Aviva. So the specialist had to come from Aviva's panel of doctors. The nurses tried to call and page. No fault of theirs. But not ONE of the six opthalmologists from the panel came. Some had no response to the paging. Others were not contactable, no answering service, and some refused to come. One said he does not treat at Mt Alvernia. The hospital then tried their own specialists but one was on leave and the covering doctor said he did not treat children! So in frustration and anger, I discharged Ning and took her over to KKWCH. KH had arrived by then, so all of us including mom and dad, drove over to KH, mom sitting in our backseat with Ning's head on her lap. I have a lot to say on this and will speak my piece in a letter to Aviva, MAH, MOH and the press. But first, I had to get Ning treated.
At the hospital, she was seen immediately. The eye looked ok - they tested her vision by asking me to pry up her swollen lid. It was painful for Ning and painful for me to be the cause of it! Then the doctor looked at the x-rays and tried to prod the area. Ning said it hurt. The doctor kept asking her which part was painful - the eyelid or the upper part and watching her, I honestly don't think Ning could even differentiate the area. In any case there was too much swelling there to tell, so the doctor said the x-rays will be shown to the x-ray specialist the next day for an opinion.
As for the gash, they recommended stitching but not under GA as they did not know the extent of the damage and did not want to risk masking of symptoms of a head injury as both the after-effects of GA and a head injury were similar. So they applied a gel and we waited for half an hour. Then Ning was bundled onto a restraining board, velcroed and rolled into a blanket. The doctor stitched away while we talked to her to distract her from the stitching. She was a trooper and never cried at all, tearing and wincing only at the last stitch. I was so proud of her.
We - KH, Ning, baby Trinity and I - ended our evening with dinner at KKWCH's McDonalds before going home, drained and tired from the stress of the events.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Hit the books and hit the ground running...
After months of dilly-dallying and going into a nice stupor, my graddip studies have suddenly roared back to life. I am reminded that I have only 2 months to go and loads of work to do. D-Day Dec 31 2006 - graduation.
But first, to get there, I've got to complete my supervised series, write reams of papers - lesson plans etc, borrow a videocam to record my sessions, write my observations of various maternal-child health services here in Singapore, complete a video presentation unit... God help me!! I've written to KKWCH to ask permission to sit in on one of their classes, study the lactation unit, the hospital practices etc. But no reply yet... yikes! I've already completed three birth observations, and the birth centre in Bangkok (but lost my notes! See how klutz I am!!)... but there's loads more to be done.
I am really seriously thinking of throwing it in. But the thought of chucking 5k down the grinder with nothing to show really makes me feel kinda ill.
I can see the BP rising and late nights looming. So much for a peaceful year end! I'd be busy racing to the finish line with all the work that is left.
On top of that, work in the office is also piling up and I am sitting on at least 5 different committees in the poly. There's at least one audit, two major publications, three major events coming up and I am in serious danger of losing at least one of the balls I am desperately juggling now.
The good thing about all this is: my coursemates from Down Under and I are back in touch and we are keeping each other's spirits up as much as possible. Helen, Gill, Vina and me - the last of the Grad Dippers. Everyone is facing some level of stress and work in the Grad Dip, but I reckon mine is worse. I promise never, never, never to do this to myself again. Make this the one and only paper qualification I will ever have. Will remind KH to please, please kick me in the butt if I ever even think about doing another course like this!
Why oh why didn't I take up mom's advice to just learn driving instead of this monster-load Grad Dip CBE???
No, no... must look ahead, think positive, not negative! This time next year I can put alphabets next to my name! (if I ever get through the next 3 months and finish the course lah)
What cheap thrills I live for...
After months of dilly-dallying and going into a nice stupor, my graddip studies have suddenly roared back to life. I am reminded that I have only 2 months to go and loads of work to do. D-Day Dec 31 2006 - graduation.
But first, to get there, I've got to complete my supervised series, write reams of papers - lesson plans etc, borrow a videocam to record my sessions, write my observations of various maternal-child health services here in Singapore, complete a video presentation unit... God help me!! I've written to KKWCH to ask permission to sit in on one of their classes, study the lactation unit, the hospital practices etc. But no reply yet... yikes! I've already completed three birth observations, and the birth centre in Bangkok (but lost my notes! See how klutz I am!!)... but there's loads more to be done.
I am really seriously thinking of throwing it in. But the thought of chucking 5k down the grinder with nothing to show really makes me feel kinda ill.
I can see the BP rising and late nights looming. So much for a peaceful year end! I'd be busy racing to the finish line with all the work that is left.
On top of that, work in the office is also piling up and I am sitting on at least 5 different committees in the poly. There's at least one audit, two major publications, three major events coming up and I am in serious danger of losing at least one of the balls I am desperately juggling now.
The good thing about all this is: my coursemates from Down Under and I are back in touch and we are keeping each other's spirits up as much as possible. Helen, Gill, Vina and me - the last of the Grad Dippers. Everyone is facing some level of stress and work in the Grad Dip, but I reckon mine is worse. I promise never, never, never to do this to myself again. Make this the one and only paper qualification I will ever have. Will remind KH to please, please kick me in the butt if I ever even think about doing another course like this!
Why oh why didn't I take up mom's advice to just learn driving instead of this monster-load Grad Dip CBE???
No, no... must look ahead, think positive, not negative! This time next year I can put alphabets next to my name! (if I ever get through the next 3 months and finish the course lah)
What cheap thrills I live for...
A rural life?
This morning while having our brekkie of wanton mee, KH and I indulged in our usual fantasy of life-after-retirement. We were talking about the haze-stricken areas of Kalimantan and the tiny hidden villages in the forests which are now smothered under all that bad air. KH was reminiscing over one business trip which saw him taking a small commuter plane that landed in a tiny airstrip in the middle of nowhere, to meet a business associate in a small town by a river. It was, according to him, a sleepy town, not unpicturesque with the brown lazy river meandering past, slicing through dark green jungle on either bank. On Friday night, the town came to life with tribal people making their way to the town. The people pitched in to erect a huge tent, like a circus tent. It was their weekend market where trading between the town and the tribes took place.
We discussed staying in place like this, whereupon KH commented that I would go mad from boredom after the first week. I objected. What did he mean? I huffed. I kinda liked the idea - going far away from another life, to set up a new life in a different place. We'd plant organic veg, have our own livestock, fish in the nearby river. I could see myself living in a single-storey bungalow atop a hill some distance from town and if ever I needed to head to town, I'd do so in my ancient Vespa. But this, I know, is just romantic rubbish. KH is right - not that I would die of boredom, but I would find the going hard as a city girl.
The harsh reality is probably more like me chasing a chicken round the back yard, desperately trying to summon up enough courage to dispatch it neatly for dinner. Now how on earth does one pluck feathers from a dead chicken??? (See what comes from sanitising everything in Singapore? Once upon a time we could see chickens being slaughtered in dirty wet markets. Today, they come to us already dead, frozen and nakedly featherless in supermarket freezers!)
And did I mention that animals have no respect for me? They smell my fear a mile off. So they would probably end up ruling the roost! And for all the organic veg talk, we all know I don't have a single green digit among my fingers and I'd probably get blisters just trying to break the earth with a hoe! As a matter of fact, I DO break out in blisters when I wield the shears and do a bit of weeding in the garden. And as for the Vespa, well, KH does not even trust me on a bicycle!
Nice fantasy though - with a bit of a bizarre undertone of Marie Antoinette and her perfumed sheep in her hamlet at Versailles! Yes the ill-fated queen played at village living before her head rolled in the revolution.
This fantasy though, ranks second - after my all-time favourite of KH and me jaunting off on a land rover on the overland route from Singapore to Europe. Believe it or not, we even talked about what would happen if one of us kicked the bucket on the overland route! The answer: cremate and carry on!
What is life without dreaming right?
And notice the kids do not figure in all these plans... ah, one day!!
This morning while having our brekkie of wanton mee, KH and I indulged in our usual fantasy of life-after-retirement. We were talking about the haze-stricken areas of Kalimantan and the tiny hidden villages in the forests which are now smothered under all that bad air. KH was reminiscing over one business trip which saw him taking a small commuter plane that landed in a tiny airstrip in the middle of nowhere, to meet a business associate in a small town by a river. It was, according to him, a sleepy town, not unpicturesque with the brown lazy river meandering past, slicing through dark green jungle on either bank. On Friday night, the town came to life with tribal people making their way to the town. The people pitched in to erect a huge tent, like a circus tent. It was their weekend market where trading between the town and the tribes took place.
We discussed staying in place like this, whereupon KH commented that I would go mad from boredom after the first week. I objected. What did he mean? I huffed. I kinda liked the idea - going far away from another life, to set up a new life in a different place. We'd plant organic veg, have our own livestock, fish in the nearby river. I could see myself living in a single-storey bungalow atop a hill some distance from town and if ever I needed to head to town, I'd do so in my ancient Vespa. But this, I know, is just romantic rubbish. KH is right - not that I would die of boredom, but I would find the going hard as a city girl.
The harsh reality is probably more like me chasing a chicken round the back yard, desperately trying to summon up enough courage to dispatch it neatly for dinner. Now how on earth does one pluck feathers from a dead chicken??? (See what comes from sanitising everything in Singapore? Once upon a time we could see chickens being slaughtered in dirty wet markets. Today, they come to us already dead, frozen and nakedly featherless in supermarket freezers!)
And did I mention that animals have no respect for me? They smell my fear a mile off. So they would probably end up ruling the roost! And for all the organic veg talk, we all know I don't have a single green digit among my fingers and I'd probably get blisters just trying to break the earth with a hoe! As a matter of fact, I DO break out in blisters when I wield the shears and do a bit of weeding in the garden. And as for the Vespa, well, KH does not even trust me on a bicycle!
Nice fantasy though - with a bit of a bizarre undertone of Marie Antoinette and her perfumed sheep in her hamlet at Versailles! Yes the ill-fated queen played at village living before her head rolled in the revolution.
This fantasy though, ranks second - after my all-time favourite of KH and me jaunting off on a land rover on the overland route from Singapore to Europe. Believe it or not, we even talked about what would happen if one of us kicked the bucket on the overland route! The answer: cremate and carry on!
What is life without dreaming right?
And notice the kids do not figure in all these plans... ah, one day!!
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Reading...
A Civil Contract - Georgette Heyer
Raising Boys - Steve Biddulph
A Wrinkle in Time - Madeline L'Engle
the latest edition of National Geographic...
Georgette Heyer is comfort reading. Think a more accessible entry into Jane Austen's time. Authentic language, styling, lots of dry good wit, restrained regency romance. Been reading Heyer since sec sch days and I have a decent collection of her books. So once in a while, I'd go back to her just for comfort. The series has been recently re-issued and the new Bishan Lib has loads of those. So I've been borrowing the ones I don't have. Still good after all these years. The heroines are all sensible and intelligent - none of the bosom-heaving, ripped cleavage sort! And the men - definitely not of the Fabio make but elegant, polite and noble.
Raising Boys - not a book I read at one sitting so this is read in snatches, paras, slowly digested. Read it before but still a good book to re-read.
Wrinkle in Time - my new fave. A children's classic which I have only just discovered. Love it so much I want to get the whole Time trilogy.
And NG... always a good flip and browse - also read in snatches. Fascinating read in this month's issue on the 3million year old baby skull which was recently found. Always looking for new insights into how humans evolved and how this impacted birth, babyhood and childhood.
So you know my reading habits - just like my life - too many balls/books in the air.
A Civil Contract - Georgette Heyer
Raising Boys - Steve Biddulph
A Wrinkle in Time - Madeline L'Engle
the latest edition of National Geographic...
Georgette Heyer is comfort reading. Think a more accessible entry into Jane Austen's time. Authentic language, styling, lots of dry good wit, restrained regency romance. Been reading Heyer since sec sch days and I have a decent collection of her books. So once in a while, I'd go back to her just for comfort. The series has been recently re-issued and the new Bishan Lib has loads of those. So I've been borrowing the ones I don't have. Still good after all these years. The heroines are all sensible and intelligent - none of the bosom-heaving, ripped cleavage sort! And the men - definitely not of the Fabio make but elegant, polite and noble.
Raising Boys - not a book I read at one sitting so this is read in snatches, paras, slowly digested. Read it before but still a good book to re-read.
Wrinkle in Time - my new fave. A children's classic which I have only just discovered. Love it so much I want to get the whole Time trilogy.
And NG... always a good flip and browse - also read in snatches. Fascinating read in this month's issue on the 3million year old baby skull which was recently found. Always looking for new insights into how humans evolved and how this impacted birth, babyhood and childhood.
So you know my reading habits - just like my life - too many balls/books in the air.
Monday, October 09, 2006
"But I like nen-nen!"
Poor Owain! He's been getting lots of negativity from everyone lately - the helper, his mama, his grandad, his dad. And me.
"So big boy already still nen-nen!!" "Owain, only little babies drink nen-nen!" and others along the same line.
I hear it all in silence and sometimes I say similar lines. But I wince everytime I say those. Because I am not convinced 100% - not even 50% - that what I am doing is right. Nor am I comfortable with the negativity that is going around. So if I don't like it, why say it?
I usually enjoy our nursing sessions. But lately, nursing has been very very painful. My nipples are so severely eczemic and the skin so dry, that fissures form, tear open and bleed and weep. Can you imagine, everytime I even undo the cup to nurse it hurts - because the raw bits have dried onto the cotton so it gets pulled apart afresh everytime I undo the cup.
Everytime he latches on and draws the nipple in, it feels like the whole bit is on fire, sliced up finely. I usually grit, grimace, sometimes yell when its particularly bad. He is aware of this because he looks up at me and says: mummy your nen-nen pain?
So I have been putting him off nursing. And he has been screaming blue murder everytime I try to fob him off. I offer to hold him instead of nurse him, cuddle him to sleep instead, but he would have none of it and usually ends up screaming/crying so miserably that I just give in. Then I end up feeling angry with him and with myself, my body tensed up in anticipation of pain during nursing. Far from lovey-dovey, cosy, comforting and serene - all the happy elements it used to have!
Our nursing conversations go like this:
"Mummy I want nen-nen!"
"Later Owain."
"Nooooo!! Pleeeease mummy please! Just a lil bit, short while only!"
"I just gave you nen-nen! Less than five minutes ago!!"
"Pleeease mummy! But I like nen-nen!"
"No. Let me eat/read/write/work in peace for a while. I'll give you nen-nen later."
"Noooooo!" he wails. Then, "I drink, you eat (insert whatever activity I was in the midst of)!"
This goes on for a while, to and fro. And when I finally give in, it goes like this:
"Remember, Owain, SHORT while only ah!!"
"Okay mummy..." and he grins eagerly as I undo the necessary, practically jumping in glee.
"And when I say STOP..."
"STOP!" he repeats by rote.
"And when I say let go, Owain..."
"Let go!" he repeats again.
"You're sure you remember... not bluffing me are you? Cos everytime I tell you to stop you don't stop..."
And he protests: "Not bluffing you mummy, not bluffing you!!" And of course he will never keep to his promise.
As he takes the first suck, I too suck in my breath in a deep breath and blow out.
KH commented that it looks like I'm in labour. Har har.
What does he know? It is bl**dy painful! At least contractions DO end and there is a pause before the next one comes. This kind of pain is non-stop. And this guy nurses (I kid you not!) every half an hour... at least every hour... and through the night!
I feel bad about fobbing him off, guilty about entertaining thoughts of weaning him. Knowing that I will almost certainly regret weaning when it does become permanent. KH has said, looking at my reactions everytime I get a request to nurse, and looking at Owain's frequency, that it is time to wean. But look at him - still pretty much a baby isn't he? The reasons for nursing him past 1 year still hold true. He is still exploring, and learning and the breast is still a haven. All that has not changed. His needs are still valid. Why should all this change just because my breasts have become eczemic?
Am I being selfish? I certainly feel this way. But the pain is incredible. The nipples look red, raw and rough. And the silly nipples are not healing either. I have tried steroidal creams - nada. So I have come to the conclusion that it is really not going to heal but I'll just have to fire-fight and make sure the dryness and itch does not (a) spread and get larger and (b) split open into fissures. Between the California Baby Calendula Cream (which seems to work better than the steroidal creams) and Palmer's Cocoa Butter, I think we can manage for the time being - although I do feel like the little boy with his finger in the dyke! Its all pretty much stop-gap, I know...
Today, I read this article and it touched me. I have always been a proponent of letting the child signal its readiness - in birth, breastfeeding etc. Its hard to do this and I do feel unsure at times if I am doing the right thing or if I am on the right track. But reading this article helped remind me just WHY I wanted to nurse my babies until they self-weaned and why I believe so much in a child's natural rhythms.
http://www.mothering.com/articles/new_baby/breastfeeding/difficult-promise.html
So Owain gets a reprieve from weaning for now. I'll grit and bear it for as long as I can. Not a matyr but I don't want to do something that will be traumatic emotionally for him and for me. Far easier to take deep breaths as if I am in labour than to wean and regret. And in a way, perservering through this is a kind of labour of love isn't it?
Poor Owain! He's been getting lots of negativity from everyone lately - the helper, his mama, his grandad, his dad. And me.
"So big boy already still nen-nen!!" "Owain, only little babies drink nen-nen!" and others along the same line.
I hear it all in silence and sometimes I say similar lines. But I wince everytime I say those. Because I am not convinced 100% - not even 50% - that what I am doing is right. Nor am I comfortable with the negativity that is going around. So if I don't like it, why say it?
I usually enjoy our nursing sessions. But lately, nursing has been very very painful. My nipples are so severely eczemic and the skin so dry, that fissures form, tear open and bleed and weep. Can you imagine, everytime I even undo the cup to nurse it hurts - because the raw bits have dried onto the cotton so it gets pulled apart afresh everytime I undo the cup.
Everytime he latches on and draws the nipple in, it feels like the whole bit is on fire, sliced up finely. I usually grit, grimace, sometimes yell when its particularly bad. He is aware of this because he looks up at me and says: mummy your nen-nen pain?
So I have been putting him off nursing. And he has been screaming blue murder everytime I try to fob him off. I offer to hold him instead of nurse him, cuddle him to sleep instead, but he would have none of it and usually ends up screaming/crying so miserably that I just give in. Then I end up feeling angry with him and with myself, my body tensed up in anticipation of pain during nursing. Far from lovey-dovey, cosy, comforting and serene - all the happy elements it used to have!
Our nursing conversations go like this:
"Mummy I want nen-nen!"
"Later Owain."
"Nooooo!! Pleeeease mummy please! Just a lil bit, short while only!"
"I just gave you nen-nen! Less than five minutes ago!!"
"Pleeease mummy! But I like nen-nen!"
"No. Let me eat/read/write/work in peace for a while. I'll give you nen-nen later."
"Noooooo!" he wails. Then, "I drink, you eat (insert whatever activity I was in the midst of)!"
This goes on for a while, to and fro. And when I finally give in, it goes like this:
"Remember, Owain, SHORT while only ah!!"
"Okay mummy..." and he grins eagerly as I undo the necessary, practically jumping in glee.
"And when I say STOP..."
"STOP!" he repeats by rote.
"And when I say let go, Owain..."
"Let go!" he repeats again.
"You're sure you remember... not bluffing me are you? Cos everytime I tell you to stop you don't stop..."
And he protests: "Not bluffing you mummy, not bluffing you!!" And of course he will never keep to his promise.
As he takes the first suck, I too suck in my breath in a deep breath and blow out.
KH commented that it looks like I'm in labour. Har har.
What does he know? It is bl**dy painful! At least contractions DO end and there is a pause before the next one comes. This kind of pain is non-stop. And this guy nurses (I kid you not!) every half an hour... at least every hour... and through the night!
I feel bad about fobbing him off, guilty about entertaining thoughts of weaning him. Knowing that I will almost certainly regret weaning when it does become permanent. KH has said, looking at my reactions everytime I get a request to nurse, and looking at Owain's frequency, that it is time to wean. But look at him - still pretty much a baby isn't he? The reasons for nursing him past 1 year still hold true. He is still exploring, and learning and the breast is still a haven. All that has not changed. His needs are still valid. Why should all this change just because my breasts have become eczemic?
Am I being selfish? I certainly feel this way. But the pain is incredible. The nipples look red, raw and rough. And the silly nipples are not healing either. I have tried steroidal creams - nada. So I have come to the conclusion that it is really not going to heal but I'll just have to fire-fight and make sure the dryness and itch does not (a) spread and get larger and (b) split open into fissures. Between the California Baby Calendula Cream (which seems to work better than the steroidal creams) and Palmer's Cocoa Butter, I think we can manage for the time being - although I do feel like the little boy with his finger in the dyke! Its all pretty much stop-gap, I know...
Today, I read this article and it touched me. I have always been a proponent of letting the child signal its readiness - in birth, breastfeeding etc. Its hard to do this and I do feel unsure at times if I am doing the right thing or if I am on the right track. But reading this article helped remind me just WHY I wanted to nurse my babies until they self-weaned and why I believe so much in a child's natural rhythms.
http://www.mothering.com/articles/new_baby/breastfeeding/difficult-promise.html
So Owain gets a reprieve from weaning for now. I'll grit and bear it for as long as I can. Not a matyr but I don't want to do something that will be traumatic emotionally for him and for me. Far easier to take deep breaths as if I am in labour than to wean and regret. And in a way, perservering through this is a kind of labour of love isn't it?
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Jennifer Love Hewitt... where are you when I need you?
Looks like it's time to call the ghost whisperer again. 6 years ago, Fr Vincent Chee blessed the house after a spate of disturbances. Since then, all was calm and peaceful on the Riang front.
Now it looks like another unwanted guest is disturbing the peace again.
Odd little incidents have been happening over the past few months.
The television switching off itself in broad daylight as Owain watched Sesame Street. The television switching on by itself in front of me and Isaac as we sat there in the living room talking. Each thought it was the other who pressed the start button on the remote - until we realised that the remote was on the sofa behind us and with no one else in the immediate vicinity. Those were one-off incidents that never happened again. Then there were Trinity's unexplainable hysterical crying bouts. Happened once or twice when she was really little - 2 to 3 months old? And again, yesterday. Then there were the times when I'd get the flesh-creeping feeling as if someone was watching me - usually at night when I was the last one up to bed.
They say babies can see things. You'd know if a house was 'clean' or 'dirty' if you brought a baby in to it and she reacted. I know this is true. At various times, Trinity has screamed for no reason and each time, I could guess what it was. Even Owain has, when he was a baby, but not as often as Trinity.
Yesterday's crying bout was bad. Lolita said that for no reason, Trinity started screaming at 11+ in the morning. Nothing would calm her. A bottle of ebm was finished and she still sobbed. At the time, only Lolita, Trinity and Owain were at home and they were in the living room. Lolita said, and I knew exactly what she meant, that Trinity "cried differently". Normally, she would be sleepy and grumpy and given the ebm, would settle down and sleep. That day, she howled non-stop until exhausted, she slept. In the afternoon, around 3+ the same thing happened. Gillian, carrying her, said Trinity kept looking at the side garden. Nothing would pacify her. Lolita called me at work and I heard the screams. Was on the verge of packing it in and cabbing home but had to see my boss, so I couldn't. Asked Lolita to take Trin out for a walk - out of the house. Lolita said she did. And the minute they left, Trin was alright. They went for a walk round the neighbourhood. But the minute she stepped back in the house, Trin screamed again. So off they went. The second time they returned, it was better - Trin was calm.
And yesterday, Lolita commented that our house was full of ghosts. She knew because her hair kept standing on end at certain times, particularly in certain places. So where were the hotspots? She identified the backyard, her bedroom and the dining room.
I knew she was not lying because I knew these to be the troubled spots too. Years ago at a barbecue held in the garden, my sister had taken me aside whispered that she had seen a faceless shadowed form in a blurred white gown/robe hovering (she used the word because whatever she saw had no feet) near the water pot. The side garden where the waterpot was was also responsible for crying jags by the babies (Owain and Trinity) - the babies would cry/literally scream non-stop and inconsolably when they were out there once in a while - usually at twilight/dusk. So eventually I made it a rule that the babies were not to be carried out there after 7+ at night.
The previous maid who also slept in the back room had reported instances where she too felt spooked for no reason, and on one memorable stormy rainy night, had glimpsed a long-haired form peering in from the outside.
Lolita also told me that when she sometimes ate outside near the backyard, food would inexplicably slip from her grasp. I challenged her and said her hands must have been oily. She said no, no matter how tightly she grasped the spoon or the piece of meat, it would go. Then she would know and she would take a bit of food/rice and throw it on the ground. She said it was Filipine custom to do so - the ghosts wanted to eat.
The girl was unfazed by all this though. She said that this was very common in the Philippines. Practically every house had a resident spook or two. No matter how many times the priest was called in, these things stayed. She had never seen one but had felt the presence of many - so much so that while she was discomfited by it, she was not afraid - this being an almost familiar feeling. She was surprised that Singapore had ghosts though and had asked her recruiter about it. Her recruiter confirmed it of course. Singapore, while looking like a glossy metropolitan, is still full of spooks.
So what to do?
Last night after dinner, in the waning light, I went out back and stood there in the semi-darkness. I didn't speak out loud, but I think the ghosts do hear what I am saying in my mind. I asked them to leave us alone. To not disturb us, particularly Trinity. But if it or they, frightened Trinity again, I would come after them. Ghost or no ghost.
Am I scared? Yep. But I am also quite fed up. Its one thing playing with the TV remote and giving us the heeby-jeebies but to scare my babes? That's really outside of enough!
My mom offered us her place as a refuge since KH was still out of town. But I'm not going to be driven out from MY home. If anyone should go, it's not going to be me.
So I guess it's time to call in the reinforcements. I need a sensitive priest. Fr Chee, at 70+ is getting on in age. Moreover, he's moved to Woodlands and no longer at IHM which is down the road.
I know these things will escalate. It starts off with the creepy feelings and slowly get worse. Yesterday was the first time that Trinity was affected in broad daylight, not once, but twice. So better start getting help before the infestation gets worse.
Looks like it's time to call the ghost whisperer again. 6 years ago, Fr Vincent Chee blessed the house after a spate of disturbances. Since then, all was calm and peaceful on the Riang front.
Now it looks like another unwanted guest is disturbing the peace again.
Odd little incidents have been happening over the past few months.
The television switching off itself in broad daylight as Owain watched Sesame Street. The television switching on by itself in front of me and Isaac as we sat there in the living room talking. Each thought it was the other who pressed the start button on the remote - until we realised that the remote was on the sofa behind us and with no one else in the immediate vicinity. Those were one-off incidents that never happened again. Then there were Trinity's unexplainable hysterical crying bouts. Happened once or twice when she was really little - 2 to 3 months old? And again, yesterday. Then there were the times when I'd get the flesh-creeping feeling as if someone was watching me - usually at night when I was the last one up to bed.
They say babies can see things. You'd know if a house was 'clean' or 'dirty' if you brought a baby in to it and she reacted. I know this is true. At various times, Trinity has screamed for no reason and each time, I could guess what it was. Even Owain has, when he was a baby, but not as often as Trinity.
Yesterday's crying bout was bad. Lolita said that for no reason, Trinity started screaming at 11+ in the morning. Nothing would calm her. A bottle of ebm was finished and she still sobbed. At the time, only Lolita, Trinity and Owain were at home and they were in the living room. Lolita said, and I knew exactly what she meant, that Trinity "cried differently". Normally, she would be sleepy and grumpy and given the ebm, would settle down and sleep. That day, she howled non-stop until exhausted, she slept. In the afternoon, around 3+ the same thing happened. Gillian, carrying her, said Trinity kept looking at the side garden. Nothing would pacify her. Lolita called me at work and I heard the screams. Was on the verge of packing it in and cabbing home but had to see my boss, so I couldn't. Asked Lolita to take Trin out for a walk - out of the house. Lolita said she did. And the minute they left, Trin was alright. They went for a walk round the neighbourhood. But the minute she stepped back in the house, Trin screamed again. So off they went. The second time they returned, it was better - Trin was calm.
And yesterday, Lolita commented that our house was full of ghosts. She knew because her hair kept standing on end at certain times, particularly in certain places. So where were the hotspots? She identified the backyard, her bedroom and the dining room.
I knew she was not lying because I knew these to be the troubled spots too. Years ago at a barbecue held in the garden, my sister had taken me aside whispered that she had seen a faceless shadowed form in a blurred white gown/robe hovering (she used the word because whatever she saw had no feet) near the water pot. The side garden where the waterpot was was also responsible for crying jags by the babies (Owain and Trinity) - the babies would cry/literally scream non-stop and inconsolably when they were out there once in a while - usually at twilight/dusk. So eventually I made it a rule that the babies were not to be carried out there after 7+ at night.
The previous maid who also slept in the back room had reported instances where she too felt spooked for no reason, and on one memorable stormy rainy night, had glimpsed a long-haired form peering in from the outside.
Lolita also told me that when she sometimes ate outside near the backyard, food would inexplicably slip from her grasp. I challenged her and said her hands must have been oily. She said no, no matter how tightly she grasped the spoon or the piece of meat, it would go. Then she would know and she would take a bit of food/rice and throw it on the ground. She said it was Filipine custom to do so - the ghosts wanted to eat.
The girl was unfazed by all this though. She said that this was very common in the Philippines. Practically every house had a resident spook or two. No matter how many times the priest was called in, these things stayed. She had never seen one but had felt the presence of many - so much so that while she was discomfited by it, she was not afraid - this being an almost familiar feeling. She was surprised that Singapore had ghosts though and had asked her recruiter about it. Her recruiter confirmed it of course. Singapore, while looking like a glossy metropolitan, is still full of spooks.
So what to do?
Last night after dinner, in the waning light, I went out back and stood there in the semi-darkness. I didn't speak out loud, but I think the ghosts do hear what I am saying in my mind. I asked them to leave us alone. To not disturb us, particularly Trinity. But if it or they, frightened Trinity again, I would come after them. Ghost or no ghost.
Am I scared? Yep. But I am also quite fed up. Its one thing playing with the TV remote and giving us the heeby-jeebies but to scare my babes? That's really outside of enough!
My mom offered us her place as a refuge since KH was still out of town. But I'm not going to be driven out from MY home. If anyone should go, it's not going to be me.
So I guess it's time to call in the reinforcements. I need a sensitive priest. Fr Chee, at 70+ is getting on in age. Moreover, he's moved to Woodlands and no longer at IHM which is down the road.
I know these things will escalate. It starts off with the creepy feelings and slowly get worse. Yesterday was the first time that Trinity was affected in broad daylight, not once, but twice. So better start getting help before the infestation gets worse.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Thursday, September 28, 2006
36 candles...
The cake shop knew better.
It sliced two years off my age and gave KH 36 candles instead of 38. So there were 36 candles blazing away on the cake as my kids sang happy birthday to me. Not KH's fault, but I felt kinda shortchanged. I am not the sort of woman who is coy about her age. I rather enjoy my years and I'm proud of every strand of grey I have on my head, preferring to fob off my hairdresser's pleas to please colour/highlight my hair to hide the grey. What's the point? I prefer to wear the grey as a badge of honour - marking the years of my life. And these have been blessed happy ones. We are going to grow old, like it or not, and no amount of botox, lipo or tact, will deny that passage. The smiles will show how young we are.
Yesterday started with a phonecall from my mom. "Happy returns of the day!" she chorused.
"Thanks mom!" I say, pleased to hear her voice. "Wouldn't be here without you!"
"It was right about now, right?" she said. It was 9.45am then.
"Yes mom, almost there. Born at 10.19am!" I said. "You would have been in second stage now, pushing already!" And we both laugh.
Birthdays are happy days for mothers too as we remember how we birth our children. 38 years down the road, and my mom has not forgotten any detail.
She remembers that of all 3 of her children, I was the only one that came 'naturally' without being induced. I was her 'midnight run' to the hospital. And I was breech until almost the very end, turned by the estimable W.C. Cheng himself. That, of course, was before the discovery that ECVs didn't make as much money as C-sections - hence TMC now having the dubious honour of being the private hospital with the highest C-sec rate in the nation!
But that aside, it was my birthday and one that both my mother and I celebrate. And as it is every year, I thank her for giving birth to me.
After that, it was a flurry of SMS birthday greetings from dear friends old and new, and one prized one from my gal pal Gayle in Bangkok who reminded me "not to pig out!" Thanks pal.
But pig out, unfortunately, I did. On caviar, oysters on the rocks, foie gras, slipper lobsters, sushi, sashimi and other delectable yummies at Equinox with a good girlfriend of mine who took leave to spend the afternoon with me. We had a gorgeous lunch 70 storeys high up in the air, marvelling at the landscape far below us, lunching on good food and conversation. How nice it was to kick back in lovely surroundings and talk about anything under the sun - men, babies, children, our worries, our hopes, work, Singapore Idol and so on...
We spent the afternoon drifting among the racks at HMV, That CD Shop and Borders - our favourite places - in search of good books and good music. I couldn't find Phoebe Snow and the song 'Something Real' in all these places. Would you believe they didn't carry stock! And Snow is a critically acclaimed musician who known for her folksy-blues, jazzy renditions. Before the likes of Jewel, there was Phoebe Snow and even HMV didn't carry her! But when I went home after parting ways with my friend, I received a call - she had gone on to Gramaphone at Paragon and tracked down a copy for me, bless her!
Back home, my work-laden KH came home early despite bad deadlines (though I know he stayed up later till 1am to finish his work while the house slept), with cake in tow. The man kept going out to the gate watching for something it wasn't until 10pm that I finally knew why. A van pulled up and KH called gleefully, "Something for you dear! Come and see!" It was a lovely big bouquet of lilies and roses. The children were in awe and hopping with excitement.
I was touched - it has been years since I received flowers from him. A rare moment of romance! He deserved a kiss and as I gave him a peck on the lips, the girls watched giggling and fascinatedly while the boys went: "Ewww!!"
Its been a good day. One of the nicest birthdays. I'm glad I am 38. Two years before the big 4-0. I'll be ready.
And looking forward to it.
The cake shop knew better.
It sliced two years off my age and gave KH 36 candles instead of 38. So there were 36 candles blazing away on the cake as my kids sang happy birthday to me. Not KH's fault, but I felt kinda shortchanged. I am not the sort of woman who is coy about her age. I rather enjoy my years and I'm proud of every strand of grey I have on my head, preferring to fob off my hairdresser's pleas to please colour/highlight my hair to hide the grey. What's the point? I prefer to wear the grey as a badge of honour - marking the years of my life. And these have been blessed happy ones. We are going to grow old, like it or not, and no amount of botox, lipo or tact, will deny that passage. The smiles will show how young we are.
Yesterday started with a phonecall from my mom. "Happy returns of the day!" she chorused.
"Thanks mom!" I say, pleased to hear her voice. "Wouldn't be here without you!"
"It was right about now, right?" she said. It was 9.45am then.
"Yes mom, almost there. Born at 10.19am!" I said. "You would have been in second stage now, pushing already!" And we both laugh.
Birthdays are happy days for mothers too as we remember how we birth our children. 38 years down the road, and my mom has not forgotten any detail.
She remembers that of all 3 of her children, I was the only one that came 'naturally' without being induced. I was her 'midnight run' to the hospital. And I was breech until almost the very end, turned by the estimable W.C. Cheng himself. That, of course, was before the discovery that ECVs didn't make as much money as C-sections - hence TMC now having the dubious honour of being the private hospital with the highest C-sec rate in the nation!
But that aside, it was my birthday and one that both my mother and I celebrate. And as it is every year, I thank her for giving birth to me.
After that, it was a flurry of SMS birthday greetings from dear friends old and new, and one prized one from my gal pal Gayle in Bangkok who reminded me "not to pig out!" Thanks pal.
But pig out, unfortunately, I did. On caviar, oysters on the rocks, foie gras, slipper lobsters, sushi, sashimi and other delectable yummies at Equinox with a good girlfriend of mine who took leave to spend the afternoon with me. We had a gorgeous lunch 70 storeys high up in the air, marvelling at the landscape far below us, lunching on good food and conversation. How nice it was to kick back in lovely surroundings and talk about anything under the sun - men, babies, children, our worries, our hopes, work, Singapore Idol and so on...
We spent the afternoon drifting among the racks at HMV, That CD Shop and Borders - our favourite places - in search of good books and good music. I couldn't find Phoebe Snow and the song 'Something Real' in all these places. Would you believe they didn't carry stock! And Snow is a critically acclaimed musician who known for her folksy-blues, jazzy renditions. Before the likes of Jewel, there was Phoebe Snow and even HMV didn't carry her! But when I went home after parting ways with my friend, I received a call - she had gone on to Gramaphone at Paragon and tracked down a copy for me, bless her!
Back home, my work-laden KH came home early despite bad deadlines (though I know he stayed up later till 1am to finish his work while the house slept), with cake in tow. The man kept going out to the gate watching for something it wasn't until 10pm that I finally knew why. A van pulled up and KH called gleefully, "Something for you dear! Come and see!" It was a lovely big bouquet of lilies and roses. The children were in awe and hopping with excitement.
I was touched - it has been years since I received flowers from him. A rare moment of romance! He deserved a kiss and as I gave him a peck on the lips, the girls watched giggling and fascinatedly while the boys went: "Ewww!!"
Its been a good day. One of the nicest birthdays. I'm glad I am 38. Two years before the big 4-0. I'll be ready.
And looking forward to it.
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