Listening to...
Sandy Lam
Phoebe Snow
Two great songstresses - beautiful voices that can convey heartbreak and yearning.
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.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Out of the mouth of babes
We were at Labrador Park at sunset yesterday.
Kids had a great time scampering among the rocky shore, walking (good thing we had crocs - fake or otherwise) in the sea mud, scanning for fishes and other marine life. Among the families, couples, dogs and kids there, there were at least two wedding couples taking their wedding shots.
I've always wondered, when I see these wedding couples - how come the guy gets off so easy - he just has to take off his jacket, undo a couple a buttons, yank off tie etc to achieve the bare-chested romantic hero look while the poor bride has to slave away with the heavy gown, veil, make-up etc.
Frankly I can't imagine traipsing over mud, sand and rocks, holding up my gown, dabbing away at the face to keep the shine at bay - just to take 'romantic' shots for the wedding album. So hot and uncomfortable! And knowing me, I would have great difficulty looking 'romantic' or anything remotely like a blushing bride if I were wilting under the heat and obsessing about the perspiration, the dress, my heels all self-consciously posing before an interested, unwanted audience.
KH related the following incident to me because I had separated from the group - I was walking on the jetty and they were down on the sand and rocks. A wedding party had come to take pictures near them. The bride wore a flouncy gown and she was, truth be told, rather on the plump side, fleshy arms and extra flesh folding out above the tube neckline.
Caitlin, ever interested in brides and princesses, ventured closer to check things out, then turned and yelled loudly to the rest, clearly within earshot of the bride, "Hey everyone, come and see the fat wedding girl!"
To which, KH later told me, both he and Isaac had made mortified but strangled sounds of protest. And when they told Caitlin later that she should not have called the bride 'fat', my girl retorted, "But daddy, she WAS fat!"
Children - they call a spade a spade and just tell it like it is. No worries about social niceties, formalities, ego, sensitivity etc.
But back to Labrador Park and the jetty - look hard enough and you can spot schools of jellyfish floating translucently in the dark green waters. Very pretty they looked. I also saw this strange-looking fish - very narrow body (looking from the top down), sharp pointed mouth. It was about one and a half feet long and just floated there near the surface. I asked a man fishing nearby what fish that was and he couldn't tell me. It was pretty though and I stood watching it for quite a while until, with a flick of the tail, which flashed blue in the sunlight, it disappeared into the depths. KH later said it was a barracuda when I described it.
We spent a nice evening there - the children enjoyed the search for crabs, sea slugs, shells among the rocks and the sand, they loved the playground. And I enjoyed this kind of quiet time with the family and with KH.
We closed the evening with a sushi dinner in celebration of my birthday on Wednesday (since KH has been working very late over the past week and it would be unlikely that he would get home early on Wednesday to celebrate). The children were blissed out - nothing they like better than a good romp in the park followed by sushi - where they polished off plate after plate of maguro and sake sushi, ikura (expensive tastebuds!). Even baby Trinity got in on it and had her share of chawanmushi and pearls of ikura! I'm only disappointed they didn't have toro - and at the only time in the year that I dare treat myself to the outrageously expensive toro!
All the more I am eagerly waiting for Wednesday where I am booked for lunch at Equinox with a good girlfriend of mine - ready to indulge to my heart's content at the pan-fried foie gras station! Can't wait...
We were at Labrador Park at sunset yesterday.
Kids had a great time scampering among the rocky shore, walking (good thing we had crocs - fake or otherwise) in the sea mud, scanning for fishes and other marine life. Among the families, couples, dogs and kids there, there were at least two wedding couples taking their wedding shots.
I've always wondered, when I see these wedding couples - how come the guy gets off so easy - he just has to take off his jacket, undo a couple a buttons, yank off tie etc to achieve the bare-chested romantic hero look while the poor bride has to slave away with the heavy gown, veil, make-up etc.
Frankly I can't imagine traipsing over mud, sand and rocks, holding up my gown, dabbing away at the face to keep the shine at bay - just to take 'romantic' shots for the wedding album. So hot and uncomfortable! And knowing me, I would have great difficulty looking 'romantic' or anything remotely like a blushing bride if I were wilting under the heat and obsessing about the perspiration, the dress, my heels all self-consciously posing before an interested, unwanted audience.
KH related the following incident to me because I had separated from the group - I was walking on the jetty and they were down on the sand and rocks. A wedding party had come to take pictures near them. The bride wore a flouncy gown and she was, truth be told, rather on the plump side, fleshy arms and extra flesh folding out above the tube neckline.
Caitlin, ever interested in brides and princesses, ventured closer to check things out, then turned and yelled loudly to the rest, clearly within earshot of the bride, "Hey everyone, come and see the fat wedding girl!"
To which, KH later told me, both he and Isaac had made mortified but strangled sounds of protest. And when they told Caitlin later that she should not have called the bride 'fat', my girl retorted, "But daddy, she WAS fat!"
Children - they call a spade a spade and just tell it like it is. No worries about social niceties, formalities, ego, sensitivity etc.
But back to Labrador Park and the jetty - look hard enough and you can spot schools of jellyfish floating translucently in the dark green waters. Very pretty they looked. I also saw this strange-looking fish - very narrow body (looking from the top down), sharp pointed mouth. It was about one and a half feet long and just floated there near the surface. I asked a man fishing nearby what fish that was and he couldn't tell me. It was pretty though and I stood watching it for quite a while until, with a flick of the tail, which flashed blue in the sunlight, it disappeared into the depths. KH later said it was a barracuda when I described it.
We spent a nice evening there - the children enjoyed the search for crabs, sea slugs, shells among the rocks and the sand, they loved the playground. And I enjoyed this kind of quiet time with the family and with KH.
We closed the evening with a sushi dinner in celebration of my birthday on Wednesday (since KH has been working very late over the past week and it would be unlikely that he would get home early on Wednesday to celebrate). The children were blissed out - nothing they like better than a good romp in the park followed by sushi - where they polished off plate after plate of maguro and sake sushi, ikura (expensive tastebuds!). Even baby Trinity got in on it and had her share of chawanmushi and pearls of ikura! I'm only disappointed they didn't have toro - and at the only time in the year that I dare treat myself to the outrageously expensive toro!
All the more I am eagerly waiting for Wednesday where I am booked for lunch at Equinox with a good girlfriend of mine - ready to indulge to my heart's content at the pan-fried foie gras station! Can't wait...
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Playing hooky with Super Yo Yo Man
Super Yo Yo Man, cap on backwards in true 'hood dude style went for a walk with his Super Mummy (his name for me, not mine) today. (Super Yo Yo Man - the name, that is - is his idea. He's into this new identity of swivelling the cap on backwards and adopting the rapper stance and going "Yo! Yo!" and today, he said casually to me: "Just call me Super Yo Yo Man!"
It was just the two of us. We went for a walk in the heart of the city - the business district. Super Yo Yo Man, as usual, charmed the socks off passers-by and fellow MRT passengers with his grin. Or maybe it was just the roundness of his face that made people want to reach out and give his cheeks a good pinch.
Super Yo Yo Man was a trouper - never asked for nen-nen - he knew the golden rule: "No nen-nen outside, nen-nen only at home" and of course, "must walk and not ask mummy to carry." So he walked. We walked and walked.
We walked through Boat Quay, stopped at the Fullerton to sample the Bailey's mooncakes - not a taste of Bailey's disappointingly! Then Super Yo Yo Man saw the river. So we headed that way. Marvelled at Botero's Bird. Checked out Dali's Surrealist Piano - which Super Yo Yo Man approved of as he exclaimed: "Mummy, look! The piano has legs and shoes!"
Wandered past Dali's tribute to Newton and Super Yo Yo Man concluded the statue was lame - literally - because a big toe lay awkwardly to one side, cut off. And what was the deal about the ball hanging from the chest, he wanted to know? I explained about the statue being 'open-hearted' but not sure that Super Yo Yo Man got all of it. Never mind - lots of time to learn about that one.
Enroute to Nam Seng at Far East Sq for wanton mee, Super Yo Yo Man stopped to marvel at the wall of rushing water, spilling down a wall of coral - at least I think its coral - the flow of water over a rocky texture creating very nice patterns. One could sit and look at it for hours. It lent a nice cool feeling, softening the busy rush of the city. People in the city always seem to be in a hurry to go somewhere, so it was nice to be able to slow things down today with Super Yo Yo Man, just stroll, stand and look and move when it suited us.
At Nam Seng, Super Yo Yo Man slurped soup while I polished off the wanton mee. Lovely stuff. Must go back on Sunday mornings when it is open. After lunch, we grabbed a cab to BBC - Bras Basah Complex.
Like a good boy, he walked with me all through Bras Basah complex as I searched for a white board, browsed through some second hand books. Observed that the 2nd hand bookstore was a maze. He's not far wrong. But its a maze I love to be lost in.
On the way to Raffles City, he stopped to look at another water feature outside Chef Chan's restaurant (which I boycott because the famous chef was pretty snotty to kids) - this one being a calmer one with a shallow base filled with pebbles and stones, a small bubble being the only sign of life in the waters.
I never noticed it until today, but the city is really full of water and we're never far away from the sound and the coolness of water. A very good thing.
Today, from the green waters of the Singapore River, to the rushing wall of water at the Citibank building, to the poles of water in perspex at FarEast Sq, the calm fountain outside Chef Chan's, the kiddy favourite called Vitality in the Raffles Marketplace and the one in the atrium of Raffles City, we encountered water in all its moods and presentations.
We are drawn to it - Super Yo Yo Man and me. We like the coolness, the movements from the gentle to the rushing, the sounds, the play of light on water (the use of spotlights for Vitality, for instance, gives a feel of a moonlit beach) - all very interesting. We ended our afternoon at Vitality, sitting on the cool black marble rim and watching the flow and ebb, feeling the odd spray as the shooting jets come crashing down. Super Yo Yo Man and I could have sat there for ages and just watched in silence.
It was a good, lazy afternoon out. I think we both enjoyed it.
Incidentally, looking at the rush of the Shenton Way crowds, the men in suits/ties, the ladies ta-paoing for lunch, in their heels and shirts. I felt, as usual, a bit out of place. A bit grungy in my cheap tee, denim skirt and crocs. And a bit guilty - especially when I thought of my colleagues back at the office. As if I was playing hooky from a job. Despite the fact that it was my day off. I should, a twinge of work-ethic conscience told me, be doing something 'more constructive'. Especially if I say I work part-time and the other part of the time I am supposed to be at home with the kids, nurturing them, watching over them, checking their homework etc.
But at the same time, I felt glad to be able to play hooky with the Super Yo Yo Man. In a way, this is also part of my job as a part-time stay-home mom and what an enjoyable one it is. I like to think we did a bit of culture and art education, a bit physical exercise, lots of negotiation skills, some philosophy about water, some discussion about wind in the MRT tunnels (is that physics in a raw form?)... its been a full day.
There was no pressure to teach or to learn or do 'do something'. But yet, there were lots done. Lazy afternoons like today are not always easy to come by. But how memorable they are when they do.
Super Yo Yo Man, cap on backwards in true 'hood dude style went for a walk with his Super Mummy (his name for me, not mine) today. (Super Yo Yo Man - the name, that is - is his idea. He's into this new identity of swivelling the cap on backwards and adopting the rapper stance and going "Yo! Yo!" and today, he said casually to me: "Just call me Super Yo Yo Man!"
It was just the two of us. We went for a walk in the heart of the city - the business district. Super Yo Yo Man, as usual, charmed the socks off passers-by and fellow MRT passengers with his grin. Or maybe it was just the roundness of his face that made people want to reach out and give his cheeks a good pinch.
Super Yo Yo Man was a trouper - never asked for nen-nen - he knew the golden rule: "No nen-nen outside, nen-nen only at home" and of course, "must walk and not ask mummy to carry." So he walked. We walked and walked.
We walked through Boat Quay, stopped at the Fullerton to sample the Bailey's mooncakes - not a taste of Bailey's disappointingly! Then Super Yo Yo Man saw the river. So we headed that way. Marvelled at Botero's Bird. Checked out Dali's Surrealist Piano - which Super Yo Yo Man approved of as he exclaimed: "Mummy, look! The piano has legs and shoes!"
Wandered past Dali's tribute to Newton and Super Yo Yo Man concluded the statue was lame - literally - because a big toe lay awkwardly to one side, cut off. And what was the deal about the ball hanging from the chest, he wanted to know? I explained about the statue being 'open-hearted' but not sure that Super Yo Yo Man got all of it. Never mind - lots of time to learn about that one.
Enroute to Nam Seng at Far East Sq for wanton mee, Super Yo Yo Man stopped to marvel at the wall of rushing water, spilling down a wall of coral - at least I think its coral - the flow of water over a rocky texture creating very nice patterns. One could sit and look at it for hours. It lent a nice cool feeling, softening the busy rush of the city. People in the city always seem to be in a hurry to go somewhere, so it was nice to be able to slow things down today with Super Yo Yo Man, just stroll, stand and look and move when it suited us.
At Nam Seng, Super Yo Yo Man slurped soup while I polished off the wanton mee. Lovely stuff. Must go back on Sunday mornings when it is open. After lunch, we grabbed a cab to BBC - Bras Basah Complex.
Like a good boy, he walked with me all through Bras Basah complex as I searched for a white board, browsed through some second hand books. Observed that the 2nd hand bookstore was a maze. He's not far wrong. But its a maze I love to be lost in.
On the way to Raffles City, he stopped to look at another water feature outside Chef Chan's restaurant (which I boycott because the famous chef was pretty snotty to kids) - this one being a calmer one with a shallow base filled with pebbles and stones, a small bubble being the only sign of life in the waters.
I never noticed it until today, but the city is really full of water and we're never far away from the sound and the coolness of water. A very good thing.
Today, from the green waters of the Singapore River, to the rushing wall of water at the Citibank building, to the poles of water in perspex at FarEast Sq, the calm fountain outside Chef Chan's, the kiddy favourite called Vitality in the Raffles Marketplace and the one in the atrium of Raffles City, we encountered water in all its moods and presentations.
We are drawn to it - Super Yo Yo Man and me. We like the coolness, the movements from the gentle to the rushing, the sounds, the play of light on water (the use of spotlights for Vitality, for instance, gives a feel of a moonlit beach) - all very interesting. We ended our afternoon at Vitality, sitting on the cool black marble rim and watching the flow and ebb, feeling the odd spray as the shooting jets come crashing down. Super Yo Yo Man and I could have sat there for ages and just watched in silence.
It was a good, lazy afternoon out. I think we both enjoyed it.
Incidentally, looking at the rush of the Shenton Way crowds, the men in suits/ties, the ladies ta-paoing for lunch, in their heels and shirts. I felt, as usual, a bit out of place. A bit grungy in my cheap tee, denim skirt and crocs. And a bit guilty - especially when I thought of my colleagues back at the office. As if I was playing hooky from a job. Despite the fact that it was my day off. I should, a twinge of work-ethic conscience told me, be doing something 'more constructive'. Especially if I say I work part-time and the other part of the time I am supposed to be at home with the kids, nurturing them, watching over them, checking their homework etc.
But at the same time, I felt glad to be able to play hooky with the Super Yo Yo Man. In a way, this is also part of my job as a part-time stay-home mom and what an enjoyable one it is. I like to think we did a bit of culture and art education, a bit physical exercise, lots of negotiation skills, some philosophy about water, some discussion about wind in the MRT tunnels (is that physics in a raw form?)... its been a full day.
There was no pressure to teach or to learn or do 'do something'. But yet, there were lots done. Lazy afternoons like today are not always easy to come by. But how memorable they are when they do.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
The Maniken Piss - 'Live' in Riang
"Mummy I want pee-pee!" Owain shouts, jumping up and shedding his pants quickly.
"Okay," I say. "I'll switch on the bathroom light for you."
"No, no, no," he says hastily, squirming out of my grasp and running butt naked out of the house.
I follow him, it just dawning on me where he was headed and what he was going to do. Before I can stop him, I see him. A small figure in the darkening evening light, back towards the front door, standing in the garden, naked from the waist down, legs apart - in full view of passing cars and dog-walking neighbours - peeing in full Manikin Piss glory.
Done peeing, he shakes once or twice and then dances back into the living room, a gleeful grin on his face as he pulls his pants back on.
Well, it ain't exactly EC in its purest.
But I guess I should be happy for small mercies. Like telling me he wants to pee for a start. I am happy that he has the presence of mind to take his pants off by himself. And to put them back on when he's done. And of course, to go all by himself.
We just need to tweak the programme a bit and work on the appropriate location.
Meanwhile, I guess the garden will get an extra sprinkling of ferts for now - at least until we can move the Manikin Piss back indoors.
"Mummy I want pee-pee!" Owain shouts, jumping up and shedding his pants quickly.
"Okay," I say. "I'll switch on the bathroom light for you."
"No, no, no," he says hastily, squirming out of my grasp and running butt naked out of the house.
I follow him, it just dawning on me where he was headed and what he was going to do. Before I can stop him, I see him. A small figure in the darkening evening light, back towards the front door, standing in the garden, naked from the waist down, legs apart - in full view of passing cars and dog-walking neighbours - peeing in full Manikin Piss glory.
Done peeing, he shakes once or twice and then dances back into the living room, a gleeful grin on his face as he pulls his pants back on.
Well, it ain't exactly EC in its purest.
But I guess I should be happy for small mercies. Like telling me he wants to pee for a start. I am happy that he has the presence of mind to take his pants off by himself. And to put them back on when he's done. And of course, to go all by himself.
We just need to tweak the programme a bit and work on the appropriate location.
Meanwhile, I guess the garden will get an extra sprinkling of ferts for now - at least until we can move the Manikin Piss back indoors.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Sweets, anyone?
The MIL came by yesterday and I guess, will be, as usual, staying for a week. Sigh.
I am bracing myself for the usual slew of taiwanese hokkien mandarin-dubbed dramas, the mindless sit-and-do-nothingness, the mournful range of ills and aches she claims to have and worst of all all - the sweets galore.
The kids look forward to her visits as much as I grimace - for the same reason - the sweets. The woman is a walking candy shop to her grandkids. Despite my remonstrations of "Enough sweets already!" or "No sweets before breakfast/lunch/dinner!", I see my kids walking around with fistfuls of dried cuttlefish, chocolate-coated fingers, empty boxes of glico lying on the living room floor and of course, mouthfuls of mentos.
I grit my teeth and bear it but I swear one day I am going to lose it big time.
Case in point: rushing out to work this morning, distracted. Owain whining for 'nen-nen' which I could not give because (a) I'm late (b) nipples sore and oozing already so I am in bloody agony and (c) nipples full of corticosteroid cream to treat the ever-present and worsening eczema. So I am standing there at the door, one shoe on, bag in hand, cooler bag in the other, the boy is tugging at my skirt and the MIL decides to save the day. She swoops down and offers him a stub of Mentos going: "Sweet? Sweet?"
Before breakfast. On a bloody empty stomach. Of course the boy eagerly takes it and the whining ends. MIL is triumphant. I am boiling.
I say nothing but leave. When I grouse to KH, he says: "Not everyday lah." Sure. Just everyday of this week lah. I mutter something under my breath about too much sugar and braincells and then shut up but inside I am thinking: matter of time. Either he says it or I will. And I will not guarantee I will be nice.
Its not just the sweets issue. Its the excessive tv time that sends the tv-is-ok signal to the kids and so on. Maybe I am just very territorial and protective of my space.
I guess I just feel angry and I feel bad about being angry. I feel intruded upon and then I feel bad about feeling intruded upon. I feel sorry for her and I don't hate her. She is a lonely widow, I tell myself and the mother of my husband. But I wish she would seriously get a life. That sounds really mean but it's well-meant.
Looking at her though, I swear though that (1) I will get a life of my own when I am retired (2) take care of myself when I am old instead of expecting my children to do this (3) never live with my kids and (4) never, ever, ever sell my own house - cos that will be MY refuge and my sanctuary. I expect my children will have their own lives and their own families and while we do love each other, I want to be independent. I don't ever want to be a burden or feel a burden to the people I love.
With all the debate about why Singaporeans don't have kids (because kids are expensive they say and because kids don't take care of their old parents anymore) I say, why see children as walking dollar signs? Why see them as a retirement fund? God help us if we have children because we see kids as an insurance policies against our aging needs. If Singaporeans felt this way, lucky the population is on the wane. Because: what sort of people are we to put price tags on children?
This is why I never believe in endowment policies for kids, saving till the cows come home for a university education (which to me has never been the epitome of material success anyway). I think the kids will thank me more if I kept myself healthy, had a good retirement income, had a roof over my head, a good hospitalisation and medical insurance and made a will. And this can only be financially possible if I didn't have to slave just to pay for 5 $100,000 endowment policies.
Read in the Catholic News the other day about a priest's take on filial piety - and I agree 100%. Bring the kids up with love and they will want to take care of you even if they don't have to. No one can force love.
What has all this got to do with the MIL? sigh. My feelings for her are ambivalent. I swing between tolerance and dislike. Ok, to be fair, I probably don't dislike her as a person, but I dislike how she lives. Does that make sense?
Maybe because I see my own mom - the antithesis of the MIL, that I feel this way. My mother is a woman who chooses to work after retirement, she is financially independent, gallivants around town with her girlfriends, takes care of her family, travels freely (and no granny package tours for her thank you very much! She prefers independent backpack travel!), surfs the internet, reads widely... Perhaps it is an unfair comparison of lifestyles but mom has such a joie de vivre which I wish my MIL would have. She would be so much healthier - physically and mentally.
Ah well, blogging about this makes me feel better. So now I can go home with a nice smile and sit down to dinner without feeling angsty.
But first, I will confiscate as many of the sweets as I can find.
The MIL came by yesterday and I guess, will be, as usual, staying for a week. Sigh.
I am bracing myself for the usual slew of taiwanese hokkien mandarin-dubbed dramas, the mindless sit-and-do-nothingness, the mournful range of ills and aches she claims to have and worst of all all - the sweets galore.
The kids look forward to her visits as much as I grimace - for the same reason - the sweets. The woman is a walking candy shop to her grandkids. Despite my remonstrations of "Enough sweets already!" or "No sweets before breakfast/lunch/dinner!", I see my kids walking around with fistfuls of dried cuttlefish, chocolate-coated fingers, empty boxes of glico lying on the living room floor and of course, mouthfuls of mentos.
I grit my teeth and bear it but I swear one day I am going to lose it big time.
Case in point: rushing out to work this morning, distracted. Owain whining for 'nen-nen' which I could not give because (a) I'm late (b) nipples sore and oozing already so I am in bloody agony and (c) nipples full of corticosteroid cream to treat the ever-present and worsening eczema. So I am standing there at the door, one shoe on, bag in hand, cooler bag in the other, the boy is tugging at my skirt and the MIL decides to save the day. She swoops down and offers him a stub of Mentos going: "Sweet? Sweet?"
Before breakfast. On a bloody empty stomach. Of course the boy eagerly takes it and the whining ends. MIL is triumphant. I am boiling.
I say nothing but leave. When I grouse to KH, he says: "Not everyday lah." Sure. Just everyday of this week lah. I mutter something under my breath about too much sugar and braincells and then shut up but inside I am thinking: matter of time. Either he says it or I will. And I will not guarantee I will be nice.
Its not just the sweets issue. Its the excessive tv time that sends the tv-is-ok signal to the kids and so on. Maybe I am just very territorial and protective of my space.
I guess I just feel angry and I feel bad about being angry. I feel intruded upon and then I feel bad about feeling intruded upon. I feel sorry for her and I don't hate her. She is a lonely widow, I tell myself and the mother of my husband. But I wish she would seriously get a life. That sounds really mean but it's well-meant.
Looking at her though, I swear though that (1) I will get a life of my own when I am retired (2) take care of myself when I am old instead of expecting my children to do this (3) never live with my kids and (4) never, ever, ever sell my own house - cos that will be MY refuge and my sanctuary. I expect my children will have their own lives and their own families and while we do love each other, I want to be independent. I don't ever want to be a burden or feel a burden to the people I love.
With all the debate about why Singaporeans don't have kids (because kids are expensive they say and because kids don't take care of their old parents anymore) I say, why see children as walking dollar signs? Why see them as a retirement fund? God help us if we have children because we see kids as an insurance policies against our aging needs. If Singaporeans felt this way, lucky the population is on the wane. Because: what sort of people are we to put price tags on children?
This is why I never believe in endowment policies for kids, saving till the cows come home for a university education (which to me has never been the epitome of material success anyway). I think the kids will thank me more if I kept myself healthy, had a good retirement income, had a roof over my head, a good hospitalisation and medical insurance and made a will. And this can only be financially possible if I didn't have to slave just to pay for 5 $100,000 endowment policies.
Read in the Catholic News the other day about a priest's take on filial piety - and I agree 100%. Bring the kids up with love and they will want to take care of you even if they don't have to. No one can force love.
What has all this got to do with the MIL? sigh. My feelings for her are ambivalent. I swing between tolerance and dislike. Ok, to be fair, I probably don't dislike her as a person, but I dislike how she lives. Does that make sense?
Maybe because I see my own mom - the antithesis of the MIL, that I feel this way. My mother is a woman who chooses to work after retirement, she is financially independent, gallivants around town with her girlfriends, takes care of her family, travels freely (and no granny package tours for her thank you very much! She prefers independent backpack travel!), surfs the internet, reads widely... Perhaps it is an unfair comparison of lifestyles but mom has such a joie de vivre which I wish my MIL would have. She would be so much healthier - physically and mentally.
Ah well, blogging about this makes me feel better. So now I can go home with a nice smile and sit down to dinner without feeling angsty.
But first, I will confiscate as many of the sweets as I can find.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Snapshot #2
Had to pick up Cait from school yesterday since Bernice, who gives her a ride home was sick and away from school. As usual, Owain pestered me to let him come with me.
"It's hot out there," I say.
"I'll wear my hat!" He runs and grabs his cap to show me.
"It's a long walk to the bus-stop..." I warn.
"I will walk mummy."
So we set off, with him reminding me of my transitlink card for the bus. It was quite a pleasant walk despite the heat - we passed by gardens, banana trees, flowering shrubs etc.
But it was indeed a long walk and as we reached the last 200m, I noticed our valiant trooper flagging a bit, but still not complaining. I scooped him into my arms saying: "Mummy will carry you up the hill ok?"
He snuggles in and says: "Thank you mummy."
Then he says softly, "When you are old and tired, I will carry you!"
And his plump arms hug me tight as I hug him back.
Had to pick up Cait from school yesterday since Bernice, who gives her a ride home was sick and away from school. As usual, Owain pestered me to let him come with me.
"It's hot out there," I say.
"I'll wear my hat!" He runs and grabs his cap to show me.
"It's a long walk to the bus-stop..." I warn.
"I will walk mummy."
So we set off, with him reminding me of my transitlink card for the bus. It was quite a pleasant walk despite the heat - we passed by gardens, banana trees, flowering shrubs etc.
But it was indeed a long walk and as we reached the last 200m, I noticed our valiant trooper flagging a bit, but still not complaining. I scooped him into my arms saying: "Mummy will carry you up the hill ok?"
He snuggles in and says: "Thank you mummy."
Then he says softly, "When you are old and tired, I will carry you!"
And his plump arms hug me tight as I hug him back.
Snapshot #1
A neighbour turned 11 and invited Owain, yes 3-year-old Owain to his birthday barbecue. Benjamin and Owain are best of playground mates - Owain having charmed the 11-year-old boy who looks out for him at the playground, buys him lollies etc.
Half the neighbourhood was there at the barbecue and we had a nice time chatting with our neighbours. The kids, wet from the pool, swarmed around snatching bites from the grill while playing "Freeze N Melt" (aka tag).
When we were leaving, I spotted Gillian sitting quietly in a corner talking to an older boy. Something about the scene made me do a double-take. I didn't quite recognise the girl sitting there as the daughter I knew. Sitting there, legs crossed, chatting, laughing, face rosy from the heat was a half-child, half-woman, poised right on the cusp of change. Facing her was a good-looking, attractive teen. They were clearly enjoying each other's company. It was all innocent and yet, alarm bells rang.
One part of me yelled: but she's only 11! Another just sighed.
It had already begun - the peeling off of childhood skin and the newness of adolescence. She's oblivious to it all of course. But then, I am her mother, years ahead of her on the well-trodden road of growing up. I have been there, done that and I guess maybe it is the sensitivity and the intuition of women and mothers that let me see this.
A neighbour turned 11 and invited Owain, yes 3-year-old Owain to his birthday barbecue. Benjamin and Owain are best of playground mates - Owain having charmed the 11-year-old boy who looks out for him at the playground, buys him lollies etc.
Half the neighbourhood was there at the barbecue and we had a nice time chatting with our neighbours. The kids, wet from the pool, swarmed around snatching bites from the grill while playing "Freeze N Melt" (aka tag).
When we were leaving, I spotted Gillian sitting quietly in a corner talking to an older boy. Something about the scene made me do a double-take. I didn't quite recognise the girl sitting there as the daughter I knew. Sitting there, legs crossed, chatting, laughing, face rosy from the heat was a half-child, half-woman, poised right on the cusp of change. Facing her was a good-looking, attractive teen. They were clearly enjoying each other's company. It was all innocent and yet, alarm bells rang.
One part of me yelled: but she's only 11! Another just sighed.
It had already begun - the peeling off of childhood skin and the newness of adolescence. She's oblivious to it all of course. But then, I am her mother, years ahead of her on the well-trodden road of growing up. I have been there, done that and I guess maybe it is the sensitivity and the intuition of women and mothers that let me see this.
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