R.I.P dear phone
On Saturday after class, I was at J8 running a few errands before heading home. KH was working all of Saturday (he would eventually only return home on Sunday morning at 6am after pulling an all-nighter at the office) so he couldn't pick me up as he usually does. So after class, I walked to J8, bought ingredients to make a porkchop dinner, some drinks etc.
I was carrying a lot of barang-barang. Hailed a cab and got in. But with the hassle of transferring a lot of bags etc into the cab, my little handbag fell onto the road. I picked it up, did not notice that my phone had gone under the cab. In fact I did not even notice that the phone was missing until Sunday morning.
By then of course it was too late. A visit back to the scene of the crime showed only a smashed battery, a battered case backing and a number button hanging forlornly from a string of rubber. No sign of the SIM card, or anything else.
I was so angry with myself for my carelessness. Losing all the phone numbers in my contact list is vexing enough. But given time, I can rebuild the list.
What was more of a heartache was to lose the photographs I had taken - shots of Trin as a little baby, Trinity curled up like a papoose, asleep in my yellow sling, Owain as he grew from a baldy 2yo to now, wearing his blue sunglasses and a crown, Owain as he nursed, 3yo Cait looking beautiful in her little Indian outfit, Owain's teeth stained purple with gentian violet and so on. Then there were the sounds - baby Trinity crying in a high newborn wail. Owain singing a boisterous Twinkle Twinkle Little Star (it was my ringtone), Cait singing We Are The People In Your Neighbourhood (from sesame stree). And messages: Sam's message the day after Trinity's birth, KH's messages from Paris.
I can never get those back again.
Losing the phone really made me sad. You know how I feel so silly about attaching sentimental value to inanimate objects - well, my phone was no different. It had accompanied me everywhere I went and weird though this may sound, I felt affectionately attached to it on some level. It was a medium through which some of the best memories of my life passed through.
That sounds terrible and silly and maudlin, and I can just hear the sensible, no-nonsense types snorting: ridiculous! See how much value she places on a phone. Just a phone!
But the biggest heartache was the realisation that I could never get those little snapshots of memory back again. It felt like I had lost some part of my babies' babyhood/childhood. Like erasing a part of my life. I mourn for this.
So I am still sad. But helping me get over it a teeny bit was my new phone. I needed a phone to operate (for business, for family to contact me etc) so that Sunday itself, I went right out to get a new phone. Bought myself a bronzy-brown Sony Ericsson K800 Cybershot. I've always liked it and eyed it for a new phone should the opportunity ever come my way. Well it finally did but under such sad circumstances.
Well, if I learnt anything from this, it is to make sure I know how to transfer all my data from the phone to the PC/hard disk. Then even if the phone goes ka-boom, I still have what is most precious to me - those fleeting moments captured on camera but have now passed away.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
586 minutes
That's how long my kids yakked on the handphone in a one month period.
My eyes popped when I saw the handphone bill on Saturday.
It started with Gillian trying to get her brother in trouble. She showed me the messages on the handphone he was getting and sending. It annoyed me because I already told the kids that the handphone was to be used only in the event of an emergency or when one of them had to stay back in school, use public transport etc. The phone package I signed up for did not include messages and only comprised free incoming calls and 80min of outgoing calls. I had explicitly told them this from the first day I got them the handphone.
So when Gillian told me about her brother messaging merrily away, it set me on the warpath. Upon which I decided to open my phone bill and check the charges they had incurred for messaging. Imagine my shock when I saw that the whole bill for them came up to $102! My own handphone bill only came up to $49 - and this despite the fact that I was using the handphone more often recently due to the house phone being out of order. The killer in the bill was not the messages but the outgoing calls - 586min far exceeded the 80free minutes given in the package. Grrr....
Well, they both got a big earful from me when I read them the riot act. And they each have to pay me $39 (after I took away the normal phone package charges that I usually paid). This will be deducted from their allowance - they have a choice (bite the bullet and go allowance free for 30 days or take half their allowance for 7weeks). And if they pull this stunt again, I will just cancel the phone totally.
That's how long my kids yakked on the handphone in a one month period.
My eyes popped when I saw the handphone bill on Saturday.
It started with Gillian trying to get her brother in trouble. She showed me the messages on the handphone he was getting and sending. It annoyed me because I already told the kids that the handphone was to be used only in the event of an emergency or when one of them had to stay back in school, use public transport etc. The phone package I signed up for did not include messages and only comprised free incoming calls and 80min of outgoing calls. I had explicitly told them this from the first day I got them the handphone.
So when Gillian told me about her brother messaging merrily away, it set me on the warpath. Upon which I decided to open my phone bill and check the charges they had incurred for messaging. Imagine my shock when I saw that the whole bill for them came up to $102! My own handphone bill only came up to $49 - and this despite the fact that I was using the handphone more often recently due to the house phone being out of order. The killer in the bill was not the messages but the outgoing calls - 586min far exceeded the 80free minutes given in the package. Grrr....
Well, they both got a big earful from me when I read them the riot act. And they each have to pay me $39 (after I took away the normal phone package charges that I usually paid). This will be deducted from their allowance - they have a choice (bite the bullet and go allowance free for 30 days or take half their allowance for 7weeks). And if they pull this stunt again, I will just cancel the phone totally.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Eating Japanese
Now, not because I am going to Japan at the end of the year... ok, partly!
But mainly because I am intrigued by the Japanese diet. Lots of fish, lots of omega-3 fat, lots of soy, small portions, green tea, lovely presentation, lots of veg from the land and the sea. Something in that combination spells good health or Japan would not be the nation that has the longest lifespan, the lowest rates of heart disease, stroke, lowest levels of obesity.
So I started reading The Japan Diet by Naomi Moriyama and checking out the food plans. Baby steps to change: I started drinking mugicha (barley tea) for every meal at home. Trin loves it! And cutting back on the soft drinks while outside. In kopi tiams, green tea and nothing else. (ok, the green tea sold in cans is still sugarised but it's still better than a whole lot of other soft drink options!) For a soft drink/sugar addict like me, this is major change!
I also plan to cook one Japanese meal a week for a start. Yesterday we had Oyako-don. Next week, I don't know! Maybe some chirashi-sushi again. Or I may try some wakame udon.
Health aside, I think it's a good idea to get the kids to try different types of Japanese food so that by the time we get to Japan, they would be more familiar with the options there.
Can't live without my sambal and curries so the Japanese angle will be just that - an angle, not the whole shebang. A foot in the door to change.
Now, not because I am going to Japan at the end of the year... ok, partly!
But mainly because I am intrigued by the Japanese diet. Lots of fish, lots of omega-3 fat, lots of soy, small portions, green tea, lovely presentation, lots of veg from the land and the sea. Something in that combination spells good health or Japan would not be the nation that has the longest lifespan, the lowest rates of heart disease, stroke, lowest levels of obesity.
So I started reading The Japan Diet by Naomi Moriyama and checking out the food plans. Baby steps to change: I started drinking mugicha (barley tea) for every meal at home. Trin loves it! And cutting back on the soft drinks while outside. In kopi tiams, green tea and nothing else. (ok, the green tea sold in cans is still sugarised but it's still better than a whole lot of other soft drink options!) For a soft drink/sugar addict like me, this is major change!
I also plan to cook one Japanese meal a week for a start. Yesterday we had Oyako-don. Next week, I don't know! Maybe some chirashi-sushi again. Or I may try some wakame udon.
Health aside, I think it's a good idea to get the kids to try different types of Japanese food so that by the time we get to Japan, they would be more familiar with the options there.
Can't live without my sambal and curries so the Japanese angle will be just that - an angle, not the whole shebang. A foot in the door to change.
Red herrings
At the parents gathering that I wrote about earlier, I noticed a couple sitting at the far end. She was heavily pregnant and both of them looked very very young. Early 20s perhaps. As I spoke, I thought she looked a bit stiff and bored and wondered if perhaps she did not agree with what I said.
Later after the talk, they came up to me and we chatted for a while. The couple was very sweet and very shy. The girl was from Hong Kong and English was not familiar to her - hence her stiff and frozen demeanour. She did not understand what I was going on about half the time! When we chatted, it was the young father who asked the questions and translated what I said.
They were due in three weeks time and from the questions they asked, they were absolutely clueless about what was ahead of them. For instance, they asked if they would be getting labour contractions for weeks before the baby came! They did not know what were the signs of impending labour and did not know what were contractions! I don't know if they have done any reading up at all. If anyone needed a crash course, it would have been them. Wish I had offered to just spend some time with them to prepare them. But given the little time ahead, given the language barrier, I wonder if this 'help' would have scared them more than helped them!
Lesson learnt for me though, is this: never assume that everyone understands what I am saying. I deserve a bonk over the head for underestimating this simple fact. And if someone seems to freeze up in class, very likely I have gone waaaay over their heads and have lost them somewhere along the line. And fear/nervousness/shyness can often be mistaken for standoffishness too! People do clam up when they are tense/anxious - how could I have forgotten this! *Boing!*
Ditto for couples who joke about in class, giggle to each other and who seem not to take things seriously, who seem reluctant to participate in activities, who prefer to keep to themselves. I have come across couples like this in my class and wonder how to reach them. I often suspect that they may have concerns or underlying fears that they are not addressing directly - and are using the flippant clown act to mask this. Well, these are challenges for me too - how to reach them, how to get them to open up, participate...
After all, while my job would be so much simpler if the couple were already well-informed, already knew what they wanted, why on earth would they need me? Like preaching to the choir right? Far harder but infinitely more rewarding I think, to reach out to couples who do not know, who are clueless, who are afraid.
Food for thought for a childbirth educator.
At the parents gathering that I wrote about earlier, I noticed a couple sitting at the far end. She was heavily pregnant and both of them looked very very young. Early 20s perhaps. As I spoke, I thought she looked a bit stiff and bored and wondered if perhaps she did not agree with what I said.
Later after the talk, they came up to me and we chatted for a while. The couple was very sweet and very shy. The girl was from Hong Kong and English was not familiar to her - hence her stiff and frozen demeanour. She did not understand what I was going on about half the time! When we chatted, it was the young father who asked the questions and translated what I said.
They were due in three weeks time and from the questions they asked, they were absolutely clueless about what was ahead of them. For instance, they asked if they would be getting labour contractions for weeks before the baby came! They did not know what were the signs of impending labour and did not know what were contractions! I don't know if they have done any reading up at all. If anyone needed a crash course, it would have been them. Wish I had offered to just spend some time with them to prepare them. But given the little time ahead, given the language barrier, I wonder if this 'help' would have scared them more than helped them!
Lesson learnt for me though, is this: never assume that everyone understands what I am saying. I deserve a bonk over the head for underestimating this simple fact. And if someone seems to freeze up in class, very likely I have gone waaaay over their heads and have lost them somewhere along the line. And fear/nervousness/shyness can often be mistaken for standoffishness too! People do clam up when they are tense/anxious - how could I have forgotten this! *Boing!*
Ditto for couples who joke about in class, giggle to each other and who seem not to take things seriously, who seem reluctant to participate in activities, who prefer to keep to themselves. I have come across couples like this in my class and wonder how to reach them. I often suspect that they may have concerns or underlying fears that they are not addressing directly - and are using the flippant clown act to mask this. Well, these are challenges for me too - how to reach them, how to get them to open up, participate...
After all, while my job would be so much simpler if the couple were already well-informed, already knew what they wanted, why on earth would they need me? Like preaching to the choir right? Far harder but infinitely more rewarding I think, to reach out to couples who do not know, who are clueless, who are afraid.
Food for thought for a childbirth educator.
Dinner overseas
Nice balmy Sunday evening. KH took a break from his work at home and we headed out to Changi for a walk on the Changi boardwalk. I had wanted to walk the newest section for some time but we never found the time to go until now.
The walk brought back memories. The huge rock sitting in the water is still there - where an old friend called Jonathan once perched on to strum his guitar under moonlight. My 18th birthday at the Changi chalet, past midnight and a group of us had gone down to the rocky stretch just beyond the big bungalow on the shorefront where Devan Nair had gone to 'recuperate'. Nothing romantic going on but there was a certain romance about the atmosphere. Good times with good friends. And all the unspoken angst of teenhood.
I had gone back to that spot - Christmas Day 1986. I was alone. I spent the whole day there, just sitting under a frangipani tree on a grassy bank right in front of the big rock. Just listened to music and reflected. About everything. Life, exams, uni ahead (or so I thought!), relationships. I had just finished my A levels and did not know what would come next. But I knew it was the end of an idyllic time in my life. Somehow I just knew that that part of my life was over. I left the spot feeling stronger emotionally but very much sunburned!
Looking at it now, I thought the rock was bigger. Somehow everything in memory always seems larger than life.
I showed the kids the bungalow where govt leaders spent their time. Like us, they sometimes booked chalets too and this large house would be reserved for the top. We were not allowed to go up - it was clearly signposted so. Which reminded me of that same night when the group of us had tried to take a shortcut to the rocks only to be met by the caretaker who sternly shooed us off the grounds.
After our walk, we took a bumboat to Ubin. And were immediately transported to a kampong in rural Malaysia! The brown strays, the wooden houses, slatted windows, dirt tracks, hum of cicadas. Ended up having seafood dinner in one of the restaurants fronting the water. Out of all we ordered, the chilli crab was the best - sweet succulent meat that did not crumble away spelt fresh crabs! Owain loved the sambal mussels but I didn't think they were that great.
Maybe the next time we come back we'll go to Chek Jawa. Maybe Ron could guide us!
Nice balmy Sunday evening. KH took a break from his work at home and we headed out to Changi for a walk on the Changi boardwalk. I had wanted to walk the newest section for some time but we never found the time to go until now.
The walk brought back memories. The huge rock sitting in the water is still there - where an old friend called Jonathan once perched on to strum his guitar under moonlight. My 18th birthday at the Changi chalet, past midnight and a group of us had gone down to the rocky stretch just beyond the big bungalow on the shorefront where Devan Nair had gone to 'recuperate'. Nothing romantic going on but there was a certain romance about the atmosphere. Good times with good friends. And all the unspoken angst of teenhood.
I had gone back to that spot - Christmas Day 1986. I was alone. I spent the whole day there, just sitting under a frangipani tree on a grassy bank right in front of the big rock. Just listened to music and reflected. About everything. Life, exams, uni ahead (or so I thought!), relationships. I had just finished my A levels and did not know what would come next. But I knew it was the end of an idyllic time in my life. Somehow I just knew that that part of my life was over. I left the spot feeling stronger emotionally but very much sunburned!
Looking at it now, I thought the rock was bigger. Somehow everything in memory always seems larger than life.
I showed the kids the bungalow where govt leaders spent their time. Like us, they sometimes booked chalets too and this large house would be reserved for the top. We were not allowed to go up - it was clearly signposted so. Which reminded me of that same night when the group of us had tried to take a shortcut to the rocks only to be met by the caretaker who sternly shooed us off the grounds.
After our walk, we took a bumboat to Ubin. And were immediately transported to a kampong in rural Malaysia! The brown strays, the wooden houses, slatted windows, dirt tracks, hum of cicadas. Ended up having seafood dinner in one of the restaurants fronting the water. Out of all we ordered, the chilli crab was the best - sweet succulent meat that did not crumble away spelt fresh crabs! Owain loved the sambal mussels but I didn't think they were that great.
Maybe the next time we come back we'll go to Chek Jawa. Maybe Ron could guide us!
Lounge act
On Saturday I suddenly became a lounge act. I got a taste of what singers in bars, cheap restaurants and on cruise ships feel like.
I was asked to give a talk to a group of parents on birth and breastfeeding. So I duly prepped up, did a powerpoint presentation, got KH to drive me over and showed up.
The place was already noisy and full of kids and babies - that's ok because it was a parents' gathering. Kids were running about in the next room, toddlers toddling up 'on stage' (a tiny raised platform) where I was speaking, babies were being nursed etc. All that was fine with me. I have five kids - I know what its like to have many kids around. But my beef is not with the kids - its with the parents.
So picture this: no clear seating so I had parents sitting at far ends of the room, clusters in the middle etc. One particular cluster in the middle was very busy talking among themselves. They were the organisers! It was very disconcerting for me and I think, distracting to the rest too. Because not only had I to fight for attention with the roaming toddlers, I had to speak above the noise (at one point, the mike finally died too) and to have this group having a tete a tete right in front of me was really really distracting. I could see some other parents intently listening, but I'm not sure if anything significant really went through, thanks to the whole distracting atmosphere. It was hard for me to connect.
sigh.
Hence the lounge act analogy. Where singers perform to an audience who were mostly distracted, eating, talking, flirting etc. I was speaking to an audience largely running around, scrambling for their kid, talking among themselves. Finding a rapport among the audience? Forget about it.
Whether one is invited to speak in a professional capacity or as a parent, the least the organisers could do was to ensure that there was a modicum of crowd control/discipline and better organisation. And certainly, I don't think it was too much to ask for some quiet from the adults while a talk was going on! That is only being courteous and respectful of the speaker. What kind of behavior are they modelling for their children?
I was troubled by this. I had taken the time to prepare my presentation, taken the trouble to come to the event, but I left feeling perturbed in some way. When I shared this with KH, he shook his head and related what his French colleague had shared. This lady had flown from France to the US to give a presentation. But throughout the presentation, the Americans were busy eating, talking and networking at their tables! She was naturally indignant. Who was listening to her presentation? But when she raised the issue with the organisers, she was told it was a 'cultural' thing. This was the American way and it was normal!
Yikes.
I don't know if you consider Saturday's brouhaha to be typical 'parental' behavior - letting their kids run loose, busily yakking among themselves while someone was giving a talk. But I can tell you this: its not MY idea of parental behavior at all. Its just lax and rude behaviour. Culture or not. Parent or not.
On Saturday I suddenly became a lounge act. I got a taste of what singers in bars, cheap restaurants and on cruise ships feel like.
I was asked to give a talk to a group of parents on birth and breastfeeding. So I duly prepped up, did a powerpoint presentation, got KH to drive me over and showed up.
The place was already noisy and full of kids and babies - that's ok because it was a parents' gathering. Kids were running about in the next room, toddlers toddling up 'on stage' (a tiny raised platform) where I was speaking, babies were being nursed etc. All that was fine with me. I have five kids - I know what its like to have many kids around. But my beef is not with the kids - its with the parents.
So picture this: no clear seating so I had parents sitting at far ends of the room, clusters in the middle etc. One particular cluster in the middle was very busy talking among themselves. They were the organisers! It was very disconcerting for me and I think, distracting to the rest too. Because not only had I to fight for attention with the roaming toddlers, I had to speak above the noise (at one point, the mike finally died too) and to have this group having a tete a tete right in front of me was really really distracting. I could see some other parents intently listening, but I'm not sure if anything significant really went through, thanks to the whole distracting atmosphere. It was hard for me to connect.
sigh.
Hence the lounge act analogy. Where singers perform to an audience who were mostly distracted, eating, talking, flirting etc. I was speaking to an audience largely running around, scrambling for their kid, talking among themselves. Finding a rapport among the audience? Forget about it.
Whether one is invited to speak in a professional capacity or as a parent, the least the organisers could do was to ensure that there was a modicum of crowd control/discipline and better organisation. And certainly, I don't think it was too much to ask for some quiet from the adults while a talk was going on! That is only being courteous and respectful of the speaker. What kind of behavior are they modelling for their children?
I was troubled by this. I had taken the time to prepare my presentation, taken the trouble to come to the event, but I left feeling perturbed in some way. When I shared this with KH, he shook his head and related what his French colleague had shared. This lady had flown from France to the US to give a presentation. But throughout the presentation, the Americans were busy eating, talking and networking at their tables! She was naturally indignant. Who was listening to her presentation? But when she raised the issue with the organisers, she was told it was a 'cultural' thing. This was the American way and it was normal!
Yikes.
I don't know if you consider Saturday's brouhaha to be typical 'parental' behavior - letting their kids run loose, busily yakking among themselves while someone was giving a talk. But I can tell you this: its not MY idea of parental behavior at all. Its just lax and rude behaviour. Culture or not. Parent or not.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Almost there...
Australia returned me my scripts/papers last night. Dreaded opening it for fear that I would be asked to re-do it.
I had submitted a video on relaxation and visualisation and four papers on teaching strategies for that unit. Julie Clarke, a childbirth educator from Sydney, marked it. I had good feedback and comments. But the best part was I passed it! Also passed all three observation papers on lactation services, hospital practices, birth centres. Phew!!
I owe KH dinner. Unlike me, he was confident I would pass.
Three more papers left to be graded and returned. And once I pass those, I will get my Grad Dip!
Can't wait. But also very very scary!
Australia returned me my scripts/papers last night. Dreaded opening it for fear that I would be asked to re-do it.
I had submitted a video on relaxation and visualisation and four papers on teaching strategies for that unit. Julie Clarke, a childbirth educator from Sydney, marked it. I had good feedback and comments. But the best part was I passed it! Also passed all three observation papers on lactation services, hospital practices, birth centres. Phew!!
I owe KH dinner. Unlike me, he was confident I would pass.
Three more papers left to be graded and returned. And once I pass those, I will get my Grad Dip!
Can't wait. But also very very scary!
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Wanted...
Reflecting on the flip side of being unwanted, there are so many in the world who are unwanted, who go through life feeling unloved and unwanted. These include not only babies, children, but the elderly, the handicapped, anyone living on the far margins of society. This includes all the unwanted pets, dogs, animals etc.
In KL tonight, I know of three dogs who will sleep safely and dream happy doggy dreams. They were rescued - from the roads, the pound and from certain death. They are wanted and loved.
My sister started by taking in a mangy-looking thin brown mongrel with gangly legs and big sad brown eyes last year. She called the big dog, incongruously, Poppet. Under her care, Poppet blossomed, put on weight, thrived on her love. Whenever we visit her in KL, poor Poppet usually ends up traumatised by too many loving caresses by eager small hands and the occasional tail-pulling incident.
Then about a fortnight ago, while my sister was off on a diving trip, Poppet ran off. Heartbroken and grief-stricken, she and my brother-in-law searched the streets of KL, putting up posters, flyers in mailboxes, drove to construction sites and abandoned plots to check out the packs of strays that congregate there, checked the municipal pound, the SPCA and so on.
While at the pound, she was appalled by the living conditions of the strays that were rounded up. More than 10 dogs to one cage, jostling for space, for food, sometimes snapping at each other with the stench of dog pee and poo pungent in the air.
One little guy caught her eye. She brought him home. Called him Wolf. A smaller mutt than Poppet. She sure has a way with names, my sister. While she was at it, she sponsored the care of a creamy mixed Lab while she plotted how to get her husband to come around to the idea of having more than one dog at home. Joey, as she called the Lab, was slated to be put down - the pound was getting crowded. By sponsoring his care, she had effectively repealed his death sentence.
Then on Mother's Day, miracle of miracles, she found Poppet. In the sprawling metropolis that is KL, she found her dog in a suburb far from hers. Someone had seen her flyer, seen Poppet and called her. My sister, overjoyed, offered the caller the reward she had posted but the guy declined it, saying it was enough just to see the reunion. There are still good samaritans left in this world after all.
Poppet was 5kg thinner than before and had a bad cut on one of his legs. When we spoke on the phone last night, Poppet was still in doggy hospital (could not be discharged cos the vet's wife was giving birth!) and was due home today.
Poppet would have to learn to get along with Wolf, my sister said. And possibly Joey too.
Somehow, I'm sure they will. After all, they, more than anyone, would have known how hard life was out there, and what a haven my sister's home is for them - shelter, food and lots of love. For better or worse, they are now part of a family - squabbles over territory notwithstanding.
So many unwanteds in the world. Can't save them all. But I'm glad that those three at least have left the ranks of the unwanted.
Reflecting on the flip side of being unwanted, there are so many in the world who are unwanted, who go through life feeling unloved and unwanted. These include not only babies, children, but the elderly, the handicapped, anyone living on the far margins of society. This includes all the unwanted pets, dogs, animals etc.
In KL tonight, I know of three dogs who will sleep safely and dream happy doggy dreams. They were rescued - from the roads, the pound and from certain death. They are wanted and loved.
My sister started by taking in a mangy-looking thin brown mongrel with gangly legs and big sad brown eyes last year. She called the big dog, incongruously, Poppet. Under her care, Poppet blossomed, put on weight, thrived on her love. Whenever we visit her in KL, poor Poppet usually ends up traumatised by too many loving caresses by eager small hands and the occasional tail-pulling incident.
Then about a fortnight ago, while my sister was off on a diving trip, Poppet ran off. Heartbroken and grief-stricken, she and my brother-in-law searched the streets of KL, putting up posters, flyers in mailboxes, drove to construction sites and abandoned plots to check out the packs of strays that congregate there, checked the municipal pound, the SPCA and so on.
While at the pound, she was appalled by the living conditions of the strays that were rounded up. More than 10 dogs to one cage, jostling for space, for food, sometimes snapping at each other with the stench of dog pee and poo pungent in the air.
One little guy caught her eye. She brought him home. Called him Wolf. A smaller mutt than Poppet. She sure has a way with names, my sister. While she was at it, she sponsored the care of a creamy mixed Lab while she plotted how to get her husband to come around to the idea of having more than one dog at home. Joey, as she called the Lab, was slated to be put down - the pound was getting crowded. By sponsoring his care, she had effectively repealed his death sentence.
Then on Mother's Day, miracle of miracles, she found Poppet. In the sprawling metropolis that is KL, she found her dog in a suburb far from hers. Someone had seen her flyer, seen Poppet and called her. My sister, overjoyed, offered the caller the reward she had posted but the guy declined it, saying it was enough just to see the reunion. There are still good samaritans left in this world after all.
Poppet was 5kg thinner than before and had a bad cut on one of his legs. When we spoke on the phone last night, Poppet was still in doggy hospital (could not be discharged cos the vet's wife was giving birth!) and was due home today.
Poppet would have to learn to get along with Wolf, my sister said. And possibly Joey too.
Somehow, I'm sure they will. After all, they, more than anyone, would have known how hard life was out there, and what a haven my sister's home is for them - shelter, food and lots of love. For better or worse, they are now part of a family - squabbles over territory notwithstanding.
So many unwanteds in the world. Can't save them all. But I'm glad that those three at least have left the ranks of the unwanted.
Unwanted
So the baby hatch worked. Someone has finally dropped off a child in the controversial baby hatch in the Japanese hospital at Kumamoto.
On the one hand, I believe it is better for a baby to live, given away hopefully to foster parents who can love him and give him a better life. Far better an option than abortion. Still, the heart aches to think of a baby being given up, lacking the love of his natural parents.
But the baby who is left in the hatch is not a baby but a child. A boy of 3 to 4 years of age. Owain's age.
I cannot comprehend how someone can just abandon his child like this. Apparently the father had dropped him off at the hatch. This was not a newborn, but a child who has forged a bond, learned to trust and to love.
I think of Owain, so bright, so vocal, so aware. A child of 3 or 4 years must be able to talk, think, certainly feel love and rejection. What will this do to the child? My heart just goes out to him.
Going home tonight to hug my son. Hoping someone at that Catholic hospital far away in Kumamoto will hug that little boy too.
So the baby hatch worked. Someone has finally dropped off a child in the controversial baby hatch in the Japanese hospital at Kumamoto.
On the one hand, I believe it is better for a baby to live, given away hopefully to foster parents who can love him and give him a better life. Far better an option than abortion. Still, the heart aches to think of a baby being given up, lacking the love of his natural parents.
But the baby who is left in the hatch is not a baby but a child. A boy of 3 to 4 years of age. Owain's age.
I cannot comprehend how someone can just abandon his child like this. Apparently the father had dropped him off at the hatch. This was not a newborn, but a child who has forged a bond, learned to trust and to love.
I think of Owain, so bright, so vocal, so aware. A child of 3 or 4 years must be able to talk, think, certainly feel love and rejection. What will this do to the child? My heart just goes out to him.
Going home tonight to hug my son. Hoping someone at that Catholic hospital far away in Kumamoto will hug that little boy too.
Eating my words
Well, I am forced to eat my words.
After going on and on about how we dislike cars outfitted with DVD players and screens, how children get so glued to the tv during car rides, how bad it is for the eyesight etc etc, I am forced to swallow some humble pie as our new car will - sigh - be one of those cars to have a DVD screen for the kids.
We went to sign the papers for the Wish over the weekend. Maybe the salesman was in a good mood - he threw in the DVD player and screen FOC.
The children were ecstatic. They cheered. I frowned and glared at KH. KH shrugged helplessly. It's free, he said.
I wagged my finger at the grinning monsters and muttered something about setting rules. Gillian was already busy planning the next road trip and which DVD to bring along and watch.
Our road trips up north have always been a major production. With 5 kids in the car, the amount of luggage has increased and so has the volume level. The chap in the second row would be armed to the teeth with his books. The girl would be Manager in Charge of Sweets, handing out the snacks to the guys at the back as well as the driver in front - who always needs his Cadbury chocolate fix (and that had better be Fruit & Nut too!). The two little ones behind would be covered in blankets, surrounded by luggage and pillows. And not so long ago, everyone would be in their PJs as we usually drove at night down to Malacca.
Along with the comforters, big towels, pillows, cushions, bags of crackers, snacks, chocolates and sweets and the inevitable litter that follows, there will be squabbles about which CD to play, which track on the CD to put on perpetual play mode, who is so NOT the American Idol in the car and so on.
And now, with deference to technology and progress, our arguments will just shift from the humble CD to the DVD. Instead of what to listen, the kids will just argue about what to watch, who gets to choose the DVD du jour and could the big oaf in front please lower his/her head so the little guys at the back can watch and so on. Its happening already - in our living rooms. Gillian inevitably wants the fluffy light pop romances - anything with Lindsay Lohan or Hilary Duff in it. Isaac will lobby hard for anything that has guns and explosions or hobbits. Caitlin will plead for anything that has Barbie's plastic smiles and Owain is happy to settle for any cartoon - but preferably The Incredibles. I foresee those arguments moving from the living room to the car.
Oh joy.
Ground rules definitely need to be set. And soon.
Well, I am forced to eat my words.
After going on and on about how we dislike cars outfitted with DVD players and screens, how children get so glued to the tv during car rides, how bad it is for the eyesight etc etc, I am forced to swallow some humble pie as our new car will - sigh - be one of those cars to have a DVD screen for the kids.
We went to sign the papers for the Wish over the weekend. Maybe the salesman was in a good mood - he threw in the DVD player and screen FOC.
The children were ecstatic. They cheered. I frowned and glared at KH. KH shrugged helplessly. It's free, he said.
I wagged my finger at the grinning monsters and muttered something about setting rules. Gillian was already busy planning the next road trip and which DVD to bring along and watch.
Our road trips up north have always been a major production. With 5 kids in the car, the amount of luggage has increased and so has the volume level. The chap in the second row would be armed to the teeth with his books. The girl would be Manager in Charge of Sweets, handing out the snacks to the guys at the back as well as the driver in front - who always needs his Cadbury chocolate fix (and that had better be Fruit & Nut too!). The two little ones behind would be covered in blankets, surrounded by luggage and pillows. And not so long ago, everyone would be in their PJs as we usually drove at night down to Malacca.
Along with the comforters, big towels, pillows, cushions, bags of crackers, snacks, chocolates and sweets and the inevitable litter that follows, there will be squabbles about which CD to play, which track on the CD to put on perpetual play mode, who is so NOT the American Idol in the car and so on.
And now, with deference to technology and progress, our arguments will just shift from the humble CD to the DVD. Instead of what to listen, the kids will just argue about what to watch, who gets to choose the DVD du jour and could the big oaf in front please lower his/her head so the little guys at the back can watch and so on. Its happening already - in our living rooms. Gillian inevitably wants the fluffy light pop romances - anything with Lindsay Lohan or Hilary Duff in it. Isaac will lobby hard for anything that has guns and explosions or hobbits. Caitlin will plead for anything that has Barbie's plastic smiles and Owain is happy to settle for any cartoon - but preferably The Incredibles. I foresee those arguments moving from the living room to the car.
Oh joy.
Ground rules definitely need to be set. And soon.
Is the best good enough?
Gillian came home with a big grin and told me quite proudly: Mum I got 33 upon 100 for English! And 50 upon 100 for science!
Whereupon I went ballistic. WHAT! I thundered. You think those marks are good?? I couldn't believe it. I thought she was always able to pass her English at least. I knew Maths was a problem but this! I said as much to her.
To cut an extremely long, frustrating and angst-filled argument short, she said that her mistakes in her paper were all careless mistakes, that she got distracted along the way but also insisted that she had tried her best and reminded me that I had said that as long as she tries her best, that was good enough.
I was stumped for a while. I kept quiet and thought hard.
Yes I did say that. Everyone says that. Your mama, your daddy, me, Melissa, Miss Mah, Mrs Gopal... Just try your best, give it your best, do your best. And that will be good enough.
But is it really?
How do we know that the child has really tried her best? Given her all during those 2 hours? Put every ounce of concentration and thinking and effort into the work required? Cannot be measured. Cannot be seen. Only can be trusted - and therein lies the bone of contention.
I said at last: you did not try your best. I still believe that if you did your best, that is all that daddy and I can ever ask of you. But I don't believe you did give your best. Giving your best does not mean just 'giving your best' during the exam. Giving your best means working all the way up to and including the 2hours of your exam. It means making the effort to work hard, to study hard, to read books, to help yourself BEFORE the exam as well. But I don't see you doing that. I see you always wanting a good time, always wanting to watch TV, go out to play, go to your cousins' house etc. But I never see you voluntarily read a book, read the newspapers without me nagging you for it. How much effort did you actually really put in? Nothing!
Its not enough to just 'try your best' at the exam. Big deal. If a runner wanted to win a race, is it enough to just go to the tracks on that day and 'try his best'? Without training for it? How do you think he will do? Will he win? Do you think he really gave his best then?
She shook her head. I don't know if it got through to her. But I feel like I have short-changed my daughter in some way. Maybe all that talk about 'trying your best' is just gloss. The attempt to not put pressure or undue stress has backfired on me. On her. This morning I read the same thing on AP - parents who say to their children: just do your best. But I've come to realise - that is not quite good enough anymore. Better for parents to just lay down the expectations and negotiate a target that both child and parents think are acceptable to try for.
I am learning all the time. sigh.
So anyway, I was angry. She was in tears. I am angry with the whole situation and ask myself for the umpteenth futile time - why she just cannot be more responsible and concerned and proactive about her work. Why her attitude is so perpetually sunny that nothing ever sticks.
Finally, she says: I just want you to be happy mum.
I grit my teeth and say: What do you think? You think I am happy right now?
You see? Its the naivete and innocence of it all that is so jarring - she lives in that kind of mental world where everything is so simple - I like, so I take. I want mum to be happy. I don't like maths, so I don't try. Oh a hard question, er I don't understand - skip it! Everything is ruled by her feelings, her wants and not the shoulds. Her raison d'etre is just: I feel like it.
To sidetrack a bit but to emphasise the point, while we were at Borders, she came up to me with a CD of The Cheetah Girls and we had this exchange:
G: Daddy won't buy this for me!
Me: And so...
G: So I want you to buy it for me.
Me: Why do you want it? What's so good about this?
G: Because I like it.
Me: Have you earned it? Did you work for it? If I buy you every single CD you like, what would happen?
G: I'll be very happy lor!
Me: Not going to happen Gill. I am not getting this for you.
G: But why!!!
Me: Show me you worked for it and I will gladly reward your effort. But otherwise, forget it!
G: You know what this means right?
Me: What?
G: I'll just have to keep going on YouTube to hear them sing!
Me: No! It means you jolly well stay off my computer!
You see what I mean? Argh!
Back to yesterday. We ended with me giving the usual schpiel about 'what-are-you-going-to-do-with-the-rest-of-your-life'. But it never does any good. I told her as much: after we talk, you're going to forget about what we talked about and just go back to your old ways. She denied it of course. But true enough, by 8.30pm, she was happy-go-lucky again, water off a duck's back, asking to watch Deal or No Deal. Can you see me shaking my head as I write?
I asked her at the end of our painful conversation to decide what she wants to do. She's got about 4 miserable months left before the PSLE hits. She needs to work her butt off and she needs all the divine intervention she can get - God help her!
And God please grant me enough bloody patience to go through it because now I finally know why some humans spontaneously go up in flames!
Gillian came home with a big grin and told me quite proudly: Mum I got 33 upon 100 for English! And 50 upon 100 for science!
Whereupon I went ballistic. WHAT! I thundered. You think those marks are good?? I couldn't believe it. I thought she was always able to pass her English at least. I knew Maths was a problem but this! I said as much to her.
To cut an extremely long, frustrating and angst-filled argument short, she said that her mistakes in her paper were all careless mistakes, that she got distracted along the way but also insisted that she had tried her best and reminded me that I had said that as long as she tries her best, that was good enough.
I was stumped for a while. I kept quiet and thought hard.
Yes I did say that. Everyone says that. Your mama, your daddy, me, Melissa, Miss Mah, Mrs Gopal... Just try your best, give it your best, do your best. And that will be good enough.
But is it really?
How do we know that the child has really tried her best? Given her all during those 2 hours? Put every ounce of concentration and thinking and effort into the work required? Cannot be measured. Cannot be seen. Only can be trusted - and therein lies the bone of contention.
I said at last: you did not try your best. I still believe that if you did your best, that is all that daddy and I can ever ask of you. But I don't believe you did give your best. Giving your best does not mean just 'giving your best' during the exam. Giving your best means working all the way up to and including the 2hours of your exam. It means making the effort to work hard, to study hard, to read books, to help yourself BEFORE the exam as well. But I don't see you doing that. I see you always wanting a good time, always wanting to watch TV, go out to play, go to your cousins' house etc. But I never see you voluntarily read a book, read the newspapers without me nagging you for it. How much effort did you actually really put in? Nothing!
Its not enough to just 'try your best' at the exam. Big deal. If a runner wanted to win a race, is it enough to just go to the tracks on that day and 'try his best'? Without training for it? How do you think he will do? Will he win? Do you think he really gave his best then?
She shook her head. I don't know if it got through to her. But I feel like I have short-changed my daughter in some way. Maybe all that talk about 'trying your best' is just gloss. The attempt to not put pressure or undue stress has backfired on me. On her. This morning I read the same thing on AP - parents who say to their children: just do your best. But I've come to realise - that is not quite good enough anymore. Better for parents to just lay down the expectations and negotiate a target that both child and parents think are acceptable to try for.
I am learning all the time. sigh.
So anyway, I was angry. She was in tears. I am angry with the whole situation and ask myself for the umpteenth futile time - why she just cannot be more responsible and concerned and proactive about her work. Why her attitude is so perpetually sunny that nothing ever sticks.
Finally, she says: I just want you to be happy mum.
I grit my teeth and say: What do you think? You think I am happy right now?
You see? Its the naivete and innocence of it all that is so jarring - she lives in that kind of mental world where everything is so simple - I like, so I take. I want mum to be happy. I don't like maths, so I don't try. Oh a hard question, er I don't understand - skip it! Everything is ruled by her feelings, her wants and not the shoulds. Her raison d'etre is just: I feel like it.
To sidetrack a bit but to emphasise the point, while we were at Borders, she came up to me with a CD of The Cheetah Girls and we had this exchange:
G: Daddy won't buy this for me!
Me: And so...
G: So I want you to buy it for me.
Me: Why do you want it? What's so good about this?
G: Because I like it.
Me: Have you earned it? Did you work for it? If I buy you every single CD you like, what would happen?
G: I'll be very happy lor!
Me: Not going to happen Gill. I am not getting this for you.
G: But why!!!
Me: Show me you worked for it and I will gladly reward your effort. But otherwise, forget it!
G: You know what this means right?
Me: What?
G: I'll just have to keep going on YouTube to hear them sing!
Me: No! It means you jolly well stay off my computer!
You see what I mean? Argh!
Back to yesterday. We ended with me giving the usual schpiel about 'what-are-you-going-to-do-with-the-rest-of-your-life'. But it never does any good. I told her as much: after we talk, you're going to forget about what we talked about and just go back to your old ways. She denied it of course. But true enough, by 8.30pm, she was happy-go-lucky again, water off a duck's back, asking to watch Deal or No Deal. Can you see me shaking my head as I write?
I asked her at the end of our painful conversation to decide what she wants to do. She's got about 4 miserable months left before the PSLE hits. She needs to work her butt off and she needs all the divine intervention she can get - God help her!
And God please grant me enough bloody patience to go through it because now I finally know why some humans spontaneously go up in flames!
Friday, May 11, 2007
My sad breasts
I can't explain it but I am feeling very antsy these days whenever Owain nurses. I get a very uncomfortable, impatient feeling in the pit of my stomach and I really feel like shoving him off at times - have to confess that sometimes I do! Then I feel really bad about it and let him back on. I don't know if this has anything to do with the tandeming or the extended nursing, but it is really getting to me. I explain to him how I feel - that I don't like nursing sometimes, and also because my nen-nen hurts a lot. He nods as if he understands but still asks to nurse - as if he can't help himself and can't deny the urge to nurse. And sometimes after I explain, it's very heartbreaking to hear him say: sorry I hurt you mummy.
"No, it's not that. It's all me." I tell him this, but I'm not sure he understands. Even I don't quite understand it why I feel like this.
Also does not help that my right nipple/areola (his side) is consistently, persistently oozing and eczemic. I have given up on 'alternative' meds and resorted to steroid-based hydrocortisone creams. Each time it works for about two days and then the skin starts to split, peel, ooze again. No amount of moisturising helps either. Faithful applications of lansinoh and palmer's cocoa butter no longer help either. It is raw, purple, red, painful, freakish-looking and just very depressing. My right areola has actually 'expanded' in size compared to the left side. I suppose it is scarring from the eczema. The weepy area of the areola has also thickened to a 'mound-like' lump and the whole thing just looks lumpy. Ugh. Awful. KH thinks it's not normal for the breast to look like this. Tell me about it!
I've been having this for months on end and its just not working out. If anything, it seems to have gotten worse from when I last saw the docs almost a year ago.
Then two nights ago, Trin tore a tiny line in my left nipple base so it really hurts while nursing. Last night it got so bad I had to sit up, cradle her, carefully support the breast, check the latch etc in order to avoid pain. So my sleep was shot to bits. Lying down to nurse was extremely painful because of the location of the cut - the tongue action for nursing aggravates the pain.
All these issues are really getting to me.
I am contemplating seeing the docs at the Breast Centre or at the NSC again but I can guess what they will say - weaning will solve everything. What else can they tell me right? But weaning is not going to be the first option for me. I'll be danged if I stop nursing now because of this. These two are my last babies - I think! And if they are, then I am going to extend the breastfeeding experience for as long as I can.
I can't explain it but I am feeling very antsy these days whenever Owain nurses. I get a very uncomfortable, impatient feeling in the pit of my stomach and I really feel like shoving him off at times - have to confess that sometimes I do! Then I feel really bad about it and let him back on. I don't know if this has anything to do with the tandeming or the extended nursing, but it is really getting to me. I explain to him how I feel - that I don't like nursing sometimes, and also because my nen-nen hurts a lot. He nods as if he understands but still asks to nurse - as if he can't help himself and can't deny the urge to nurse. And sometimes after I explain, it's very heartbreaking to hear him say: sorry I hurt you mummy.
"No, it's not that. It's all me." I tell him this, but I'm not sure he understands. Even I don't quite understand it why I feel like this.
Also does not help that my right nipple/areola (his side) is consistently, persistently oozing and eczemic. I have given up on 'alternative' meds and resorted to steroid-based hydrocortisone creams. Each time it works for about two days and then the skin starts to split, peel, ooze again. No amount of moisturising helps either. Faithful applications of lansinoh and palmer's cocoa butter no longer help either. It is raw, purple, red, painful, freakish-looking and just very depressing. My right areola has actually 'expanded' in size compared to the left side. I suppose it is scarring from the eczema. The weepy area of the areola has also thickened to a 'mound-like' lump and the whole thing just looks lumpy. Ugh. Awful. KH thinks it's not normal for the breast to look like this. Tell me about it!
I've been having this for months on end and its just not working out. If anything, it seems to have gotten worse from when I last saw the docs almost a year ago.
Then two nights ago, Trin tore a tiny line in my left nipple base so it really hurts while nursing. Last night it got so bad I had to sit up, cradle her, carefully support the breast, check the latch etc in order to avoid pain. So my sleep was shot to bits. Lying down to nurse was extremely painful because of the location of the cut - the tongue action for nursing aggravates the pain.
All these issues are really getting to me.
I am contemplating seeing the docs at the Breast Centre or at the NSC again but I can guess what they will say - weaning will solve everything. What else can they tell me right? But weaning is not going to be the first option for me. I'll be danged if I stop nursing now because of this. These two are my last babies - I think! And if they are, then I am going to extend the breastfeeding experience for as long as I can.
Mother's Day
I took Mum out to lunch yesterday at the Raffles.
Now that sounds so nice doesn't it? Mum said in her all 64 years she's never been to the Raffles. And she was going on and on about how expensive it was, how she couldn't eat at buffets, not worth it, would never step in here if not for me etc.
But I could tell she was pleased. Underneath all the protests and gruffness, she was happy.
It was a Mother's Day lunch treat for her AND for me as a mother. We feasted on oysters, lobsters, sashimi, lovely goose rillette, beef carpaccio, mussels, crab and so on. It was lovely and nice to enjoy this with mum. We talked about when I was young, we talked about her grandchildren, and all the rest in between. It was a nice long and lazy lunch.
I think about those days when I was young and how I was always dressed in nice clothes, pretty dresses from Metro and Great Wall. I never knew then how poor my mother was. How she would skimp on meals. Or only had 1 dress to her name (the rest were shorts/tees for home and her nurse uniforms) - while I was decked out in so many. The story that sticks with me of course is how she had to pawn her wedding bling to buy milk powder. She had to skimp and to save and worry about money often. She says all that so matter-of-factly. But I never knew, never had the slightest idea that we were not exactly rolling in cash. She never put on a long face, showed any resentment. And while dad was often busy with his bowling or chess or billiards, Mum was always there.
I owe Mum a lot and I can never give back as much as she has given me. Even today she is still giving. This lunch is but a small treat to say thank you. In effect, I know that nothing I do can ever be enough to say thank you. I am happy that she has a pretty good life today - healthy, retired, but still working, still earning a decent salary, travelling widely, reading widely, surrounded by children and grandkids who love her. Her life has been an example to me. I hope one day I can live up to it.
I took Mum out to lunch yesterday at the Raffles.
Now that sounds so nice doesn't it? Mum said in her all 64 years she's never been to the Raffles. And she was going on and on about how expensive it was, how she couldn't eat at buffets, not worth it, would never step in here if not for me etc.
But I could tell she was pleased. Underneath all the protests and gruffness, she was happy.
It was a Mother's Day lunch treat for her AND for me as a mother. We feasted on oysters, lobsters, sashimi, lovely goose rillette, beef carpaccio, mussels, crab and so on. It was lovely and nice to enjoy this with mum. We talked about when I was young, we talked about her grandchildren, and all the rest in between. It was a nice long and lazy lunch.
I think about those days when I was young and how I was always dressed in nice clothes, pretty dresses from Metro and Great Wall. I never knew then how poor my mother was. How she would skimp on meals. Or only had 1 dress to her name (the rest were shorts/tees for home and her nurse uniforms) - while I was decked out in so many. The story that sticks with me of course is how she had to pawn her wedding bling to buy milk powder. She had to skimp and to save and worry about money often. She says all that so matter-of-factly. But I never knew, never had the slightest idea that we were not exactly rolling in cash. She never put on a long face, showed any resentment. And while dad was often busy with his bowling or chess or billiards, Mum was always there.
I owe Mum a lot and I can never give back as much as she has given me. Even today she is still giving. This lunch is but a small treat to say thank you. In effect, I know that nothing I do can ever be enough to say thank you. I am happy that she has a pretty good life today - healthy, retired, but still working, still earning a decent salary, travelling widely, reading widely, surrounded by children and grandkids who love her. Her life has been an example to me. I hope one day I can live up to it.
Choices
I dived right into the AP discussion on choices between a sahm and a wohm. What inevitably crops up at discussions like this is the 'no choice' argument. Without fail, you will get someone saying this.
I do not believe that we lack choice. Even Adam had a choice in the Garden and look what the silly man decided! Since the day mankind was made, we've always had choices.
So I cannot understand why some would choose to retreat behind the 'no choice' excuse for their lives being the way they are. And I suspect, those who do, generally tend to be unhappy and vaguely discontented. They would rather look over the fence at their neighbour's garden, marvel or envy at what is there, then to spend time thinking about how they want their garden to look and fixing it up!
To say that one does not have a choice in life is to imply a certain helplessness, a gloomy doom -our lives are tossed about at the mercy of the fates. The religious may even call this - God's will. But to me, I think it is a travesty to blame the state of our lives as 'God's will'. God has His will but He surely gave us free will to decide how we want to live. There are many things that we have no influence over and we accept these unexpected little meteors He throws in our paths - an illness, a death, the collapse of a bank, bad weather, traffic jams on the CTE (ok that's not God's will, just poor urban planning!), the haze, the tsunami etc. We accept these with equanimity because yes, God's will be done. But life is such that we also have the power of free will to decide how we should live our lives.
Maybe it is just scary to take control, to realise the power that we have in our hands to take charge of our lives, to make scary changes if necessary. It is scary to own our mistakes, and if we are not ascribing misfortune to the fates, then surely we are responsible for our own bad decisions. Far safer to just say we have no choice and live life according to someone else's script. Safer, maybe. But how unsatisfying!
Interestingly enough, Spiderman 3 had the same theme - that of choices. I won't spoil it for those who have not watched. But the issue of choices and how it changes life, and how we use those choices, certainly permeated the whole movie.
We watched Spiderman 3 on Wednesday - thanks to the nice ladies at NTUC Link's Mummy 'n' Me. My kids were all agog, and those who were within earshot of us must have caught the kids 'whispering': "Eh, its my turn to have the popcorn! Where's my drink?" Also, Ning hissing loudly after returning from the loo: OWAIN! Why are you sitting in my chair! or heard Isaac chortling and repeating the funny lines to himself. And if you're the poor unfortunate guy sitting in front of Owain, my apologies for him kicking your seat throughout the show. And if you're the chap sitting behind me, I apologise for glowering at you - that was before I realised the one shaking my seat was my daughter Gillian jiggling away and not you kicking me. sigh. I can't take these monsters anywhere without blushing!
We had six tickets and Lolita came with us. I have to confess an ulterior motive - I wanted to watch the show in peace. And I knew that with Trin there, I would get no peace. She would want to get up and walk down the steps, stick her hands through the seat gap to the unsuspecting patron in front and so on. So I'm grateful that Lolita was there to humour her and carry her when she got cranky-sleepy and not me.
It was a good movie - fun to watch. Nothing cerebral. Just good ol'fashioned entertainment for the family. The boys loved it. Gillian sniffled at the end - but I have to confess that I did too. But at more than 2hrs long, I felt it was a wee bit too long.
I dived right into the AP discussion on choices between a sahm and a wohm. What inevitably crops up at discussions like this is the 'no choice' argument. Without fail, you will get someone saying this.
I do not believe that we lack choice. Even Adam had a choice in the Garden and look what the silly man decided! Since the day mankind was made, we've always had choices.
So I cannot understand why some would choose to retreat behind the 'no choice' excuse for their lives being the way they are. And I suspect, those who do, generally tend to be unhappy and vaguely discontented. They would rather look over the fence at their neighbour's garden, marvel or envy at what is there, then to spend time thinking about how they want their garden to look and fixing it up!
To say that one does not have a choice in life is to imply a certain helplessness, a gloomy doom -our lives are tossed about at the mercy of the fates. The religious may even call this - God's will. But to me, I think it is a travesty to blame the state of our lives as 'God's will'. God has His will but He surely gave us free will to decide how we want to live. There are many things that we have no influence over and we accept these unexpected little meteors He throws in our paths - an illness, a death, the collapse of a bank, bad weather, traffic jams on the CTE (ok that's not God's will, just poor urban planning!), the haze, the tsunami etc. We accept these with equanimity because yes, God's will be done. But life is such that we also have the power of free will to decide how we should live our lives.
Maybe it is just scary to take control, to realise the power that we have in our hands to take charge of our lives, to make scary changes if necessary. It is scary to own our mistakes, and if we are not ascribing misfortune to the fates, then surely we are responsible for our own bad decisions. Far safer to just say we have no choice and live life according to someone else's script. Safer, maybe. But how unsatisfying!
Interestingly enough, Spiderman 3 had the same theme - that of choices. I won't spoil it for those who have not watched. But the issue of choices and how it changes life, and how we use those choices, certainly permeated the whole movie.
We watched Spiderman 3 on Wednesday - thanks to the nice ladies at NTUC Link's Mummy 'n' Me. My kids were all agog, and those who were within earshot of us must have caught the kids 'whispering': "Eh, its my turn to have the popcorn! Where's my drink?" Also, Ning hissing loudly after returning from the loo: OWAIN! Why are you sitting in my chair! or heard Isaac chortling and repeating the funny lines to himself. And if you're the poor unfortunate guy sitting in front of Owain, my apologies for him kicking your seat throughout the show. And if you're the chap sitting behind me, I apologise for glowering at you - that was before I realised the one shaking my seat was my daughter Gillian jiggling away and not you kicking me. sigh. I can't take these monsters anywhere without blushing!
We had six tickets and Lolita came with us. I have to confess an ulterior motive - I wanted to watch the show in peace. And I knew that with Trin there, I would get no peace. She would want to get up and walk down the steps, stick her hands through the seat gap to the unsuspecting patron in front and so on. So I'm grateful that Lolita was there to humour her and carry her when she got cranky-sleepy and not me.
It was a good movie - fun to watch. Nothing cerebral. Just good ol'fashioned entertainment for the family. The boys loved it. Gillian sniffled at the end - but I have to confess that I did too. But at more than 2hrs long, I felt it was a wee bit too long.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
His Wish Is Fulfilled
And so KH finally got his Wish. After wrangling with the dealer over COEs etc the dealer finally agreed to give him the Wish without having to top up money for the COE, which looks like it will keep going up.
So he's happy.
Isaac and I are sad. We love our current car. She's served us well, carrying our brood all over the place, up north, across the sea, up hills, past mountains, down tiny potholed lanes to all the nooks and crevices we've been. We'll be sad to lose her and to say good bye.
And so KH finally got his Wish. After wrangling with the dealer over COEs etc the dealer finally agreed to give him the Wish without having to top up money for the COE, which looks like it will keep going up.
So he's happy.
Isaac and I are sad. We love our current car. She's served us well, carrying our brood all over the place, up north, across the sea, up hills, past mountains, down tiny potholed lanes to all the nooks and crevices we've been. We'll be sad to lose her and to say good bye.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Left brain, right brain
Last week I was at the Big Bookshop, browsing after lunch. I wanted to buy Cait some activity books since she is into cutting. She likes to make her own 'books', cut out hearts etc from scrap paper when she is not doodling away. But lately, she's been coming to me saying that she's bored. And I have to confess, my attention has been on my work, on Owain, on Trin, and the older kids and Cait has slipped under the radar.
So I wanted to buy her a book that we could work with together. Browsing there, I found some very interesting 'activity' books. Good paper quality, nice illustrations, all in colour! The books catered to different age groups eg 4 - 5, 5 - 6, 6 - 7 and so on. And the 'activities' in there were geared towards stimulating either the right brain or the left brain. There were two volumes in each age group - one for left and the other for right brain development.
I thought the concept was so interesting! Why did I never discover these before? Among some of the exercises were patterning, memory work, logic etc. For example, the child would be given 30sec to look at a picture eg a beach scene. After 30sec, she had to flip the page and circle out items from a similar picture that were not in the original scene.
The books were a refreshing change from the usual Singaporean versions which catered to Nursery, K1, K2 etc, focused on maths, english, chinese etc.
Only drawback - everything was in Mandarin! Yes, the books came from Beijing!
My good friend who was with me at the time reassured me that it was so simple even I could read - hee! So I bought one home to try it out. I also bought another full-colour cut-n-paste activity book - loved the colour, the thick paper and the cute illustrations. And yes, it was also all in Chinese!
Cait loved both books. She loved the colour, the illustrations and loved doing the exercises in the right brain book. It takes me a while to frown over the Mandarin descriptors and instructions and then to translate it to Cait but apart from that, its all systems go.
Cait got hooked and bugged me to 'do' 14 pages straight with her in one afternoon! While she sailed through most of the stuff in there, she had some difficulty with the concept of perspectives. Eg they show a tabletop of fruit. Next picture shows four children standing around each side of the table. Cait had to circle the child whose perspective of vision matched the earlier picture. She also found the bit on reflections tricky (so did I! I found it difficult to explain to her about mirror reflections being the opposite of the actual and I don't know if my explanation left her more confused than enlightened.) Some patterning work also got her confused - and it wasn't the usual straightforward ABABABAB kind of pattern. The use of shapes within shapes, circles and lines made it a tad complicated. Even when I looked through the work, I had to stop and look carefully first before deciding if she got it right or wrong.
Definitely not easy.
But she likes it, so looks like I'll be going back to get the left brain version soon. More importantly, I'm glad the chunk of work I was trying to complete is over. Now I'll have more time to just sit with her and do cutting and pasting. And we can play with the large bottles of paint I bought - I have plans to do this with Trinity and Owain too. And if Cait is game for the right/left brain stuff, I'm there too.
Last week I was at the Big Bookshop, browsing after lunch. I wanted to buy Cait some activity books since she is into cutting. She likes to make her own 'books', cut out hearts etc from scrap paper when she is not doodling away. But lately, she's been coming to me saying that she's bored. And I have to confess, my attention has been on my work, on Owain, on Trin, and the older kids and Cait has slipped under the radar.
So I wanted to buy her a book that we could work with together. Browsing there, I found some very interesting 'activity' books. Good paper quality, nice illustrations, all in colour! The books catered to different age groups eg 4 - 5, 5 - 6, 6 - 7 and so on. And the 'activities' in there were geared towards stimulating either the right brain or the left brain. There were two volumes in each age group - one for left and the other for right brain development.
I thought the concept was so interesting! Why did I never discover these before? Among some of the exercises were patterning, memory work, logic etc. For example, the child would be given 30sec to look at a picture eg a beach scene. After 30sec, she had to flip the page and circle out items from a similar picture that were not in the original scene.
The books were a refreshing change from the usual Singaporean versions which catered to Nursery, K1, K2 etc, focused on maths, english, chinese etc.
Only drawback - everything was in Mandarin! Yes, the books came from Beijing!
My good friend who was with me at the time reassured me that it was so simple even I could read - hee! So I bought one home to try it out. I also bought another full-colour cut-n-paste activity book - loved the colour, the thick paper and the cute illustrations. And yes, it was also all in Chinese!
Cait loved both books. She loved the colour, the illustrations and loved doing the exercises in the right brain book. It takes me a while to frown over the Mandarin descriptors and instructions and then to translate it to Cait but apart from that, its all systems go.
Cait got hooked and bugged me to 'do' 14 pages straight with her in one afternoon! While she sailed through most of the stuff in there, she had some difficulty with the concept of perspectives. Eg they show a tabletop of fruit. Next picture shows four children standing around each side of the table. Cait had to circle the child whose perspective of vision matched the earlier picture. She also found the bit on reflections tricky (so did I! I found it difficult to explain to her about mirror reflections being the opposite of the actual and I don't know if my explanation left her more confused than enlightened.) Some patterning work also got her confused - and it wasn't the usual straightforward ABABABAB kind of pattern. The use of shapes within shapes, circles and lines made it a tad complicated. Even when I looked through the work, I had to stop and look carefully first before deciding if she got it right or wrong.
Definitely not easy.
But she likes it, so looks like I'll be going back to get the left brain version soon. More importantly, I'm glad the chunk of work I was trying to complete is over. Now I'll have more time to just sit with her and do cutting and pasting. And we can play with the large bottles of paint I bought - I have plans to do this with Trinity and Owain too. And if Cait is game for the right/left brain stuff, I'm there too.
Our 20 (ok, 22!) Top Makan Spots
In no particular order. And only because I'm feeling bored this afternoon...
1. Blanco Court Prawn Mee at Beach Road - I insisted on eating here even though I was well into labour. We arrived at 9.30am. I ate hurriedly in between contractions and left the place when my contractions were coming 1 in 3min. Mum, who was with us, was fretting and nervous but dad was cool - he said in his laidback way that I still had to eat - in labour or not! I finally birthed Owain around 11am-plus! So much for the power of good food!!
2. Wanton Mee at Tembeling Road - AAS Chairman Gerard Ee gets his carbo fix here too. On occasion, we go to Feifei around the corner but we find that the standards have dropped. The chicken (as in chicken rice) is still very good though!
3. Tai Tong Prawn Mee at East Coast Road - followed them all the way from the old MacPherson Market, to Kitchener Road, to Owen Road and now to East Coast. Isaac loves the intestine noodles here.
4. Bak Chor Mee at Blk 85 Toa Payoh Lor 4 - a Saturday staple if I am not teaching.
5. Carrot cake at Blk 111 Toa Payoh Lor 1 - Lee Hsien Yang ta-paos from here too. We saw him early one Sunday morning picking up his order. According to the owner, he usually calls to order first.
6. Sushi at any Genki Sushi outlet (but usually either Forum or United Sq)
7. Any Pastamania outlet
8. Breakfast at Queensway McDonalds
9. Maxwell Market - for the China Street Ngoh Hiang, the tiny DIY hum chin peng, Guangdong Wanton Mee, steamed radish cake, pumpkin cake and chee cheong fun and raw fish from any porridge stall - at least until the chinatown one comes back!)
10. Fatman Satay and Cho Kee Wanton Mee at Old Airport Road Food Centre
11. Chicken Rice (any one will do! But we like the one at Braddell Road, Toa Payoh Lor 4, Pao Sing at Gardens - KH refuses to buy from them because they have a very bad queue system, so I always have to do it if we want to buy from them!)
12. Pork porridge and raw fish and the chee cheong fun at Chinatown Complex (closed for reno). The porridge and raw fish have been around since my late grand-father's time when the whole clan - 11 uncles, aunties and many assorted cousins - used to descend on the place. Today, the tradition still lives on. I bring my kids and I see my cousins there too sometimes with their kids. And yes, all my kids eat raw fish from the time they are past 1 year old. And they love it!
13. Thien Kee Steamboat at Golden Mile Complex. Also a family fave from waaaay back.
14. Braised duck at Serangoon Gardens Market
15. Come Daily Fried Hokkien Prawn Mee at Toa Payoh Lor 1 Market (always sold out by 7pm. So now we call in advance. KH has the owner's namecard and handphone number!)
16. Zi Yean zhi char and dim sum at Redhill (everything we've tried there is superb!)
17. Toa Payoh Lor 1 Market - for the fried breakfast beehoon, carrot cake, freshly baked muffins, min jiang kueh, handmade teochew pau and at night, Pots n Pans which serve decent western grub.
18. Wanton Mee/satay/chicken wings, sambal stingray at Chomp Chomp (though we seriously hate the parking! Even waiting to ta-pao is stressful!)
19. Dark fried hokkien mee at Lau Fu Jian, Amoy Street or Qian Xiang Yuan, Jalan Besar
20. Ramen at Ramen Ramen at Plaza Singapura (though this is not KH's favourite)
21. Hoover Rojak at Whampoa Market. Also, the duck rice, the duck porridge - yum.
22. Outram char koey teow at Hong Lim Complex. Long queues too at the Serangoon Gardens Market stall, the one from Newton Circus. But IMO, not worth the queue - the cockles tend to be over-cooked. For char koey teow, when I'm alone, I hit the Tangs Island Cafe - done penang style, savoury not sweet but can't beat the real deal up north.
As with any self-respecting Singaporean, we love food. We like to suss out good food places, here and in Malaysia (one day I'll do my Malaysia list). We used to rely on the makansutra, but these days we've found it to be quite disappointing - food standards drop, typos, wrong addresses, information etc. So we no longer rely on it so much.
Over time, we realise that we keep going back to the same old places - probably because the food is good. So the above list is representative of where we usually get our food fixes.
Right now though - and this is hardly gourmet! - we're eating our way through BK Kids' Meals. Yes, thanks to the Spiderman 3 craze. Owain is nuts about the Kids' Meal toys - which I have to say do look quite cute!
In no particular order. And only because I'm feeling bored this afternoon...
1. Blanco Court Prawn Mee at Beach Road - I insisted on eating here even though I was well into labour. We arrived at 9.30am. I ate hurriedly in between contractions and left the place when my contractions were coming 1 in 3min. Mum, who was with us, was fretting and nervous but dad was cool - he said in his laidback way that I still had to eat - in labour or not! I finally birthed Owain around 11am-plus! So much for the power of good food!!
2. Wanton Mee at Tembeling Road - AAS Chairman Gerard Ee gets his carbo fix here too. On occasion, we go to Feifei around the corner but we find that the standards have dropped. The chicken (as in chicken rice) is still very good though!
3. Tai Tong Prawn Mee at East Coast Road - followed them all the way from the old MacPherson Market, to Kitchener Road, to Owen Road and now to East Coast. Isaac loves the intestine noodles here.
4. Bak Chor Mee at Blk 85 Toa Payoh Lor 4 - a Saturday staple if I am not teaching.
5. Carrot cake at Blk 111 Toa Payoh Lor 1 - Lee Hsien Yang ta-paos from here too. We saw him early one Sunday morning picking up his order. According to the owner, he usually calls to order first.
6. Sushi at any Genki Sushi outlet (but usually either Forum or United Sq)
7. Any Pastamania outlet
8. Breakfast at Queensway McDonalds
9. Maxwell Market - for the China Street Ngoh Hiang, the tiny DIY hum chin peng, Guangdong Wanton Mee, steamed radish cake, pumpkin cake and chee cheong fun and raw fish from any porridge stall - at least until the chinatown one comes back!)
10. Fatman Satay and Cho Kee Wanton Mee at Old Airport Road Food Centre
11. Chicken Rice (any one will do! But we like the one at Braddell Road, Toa Payoh Lor 4, Pao Sing at Gardens - KH refuses to buy from them because they have a very bad queue system, so I always have to do it if we want to buy from them!)
12. Pork porridge and raw fish and the chee cheong fun at Chinatown Complex (closed for reno). The porridge and raw fish have been around since my late grand-father's time when the whole clan - 11 uncles, aunties and many assorted cousins - used to descend on the place. Today, the tradition still lives on. I bring my kids and I see my cousins there too sometimes with their kids. And yes, all my kids eat raw fish from the time they are past 1 year old. And they love it!
13. Thien Kee Steamboat at Golden Mile Complex. Also a family fave from waaaay back.
14. Braised duck at Serangoon Gardens Market
15. Come Daily Fried Hokkien Prawn Mee at Toa Payoh Lor 1 Market (always sold out by 7pm. So now we call in advance. KH has the owner's namecard and handphone number!)
16. Zi Yean zhi char and dim sum at Redhill (everything we've tried there is superb!)
17. Toa Payoh Lor 1 Market - for the fried breakfast beehoon, carrot cake, freshly baked muffins, min jiang kueh, handmade teochew pau and at night, Pots n Pans which serve decent western grub.
18. Wanton Mee/satay/chicken wings, sambal stingray at Chomp Chomp (though we seriously hate the parking! Even waiting to ta-pao is stressful!)
19. Dark fried hokkien mee at Lau Fu Jian, Amoy Street or Qian Xiang Yuan, Jalan Besar
20. Ramen at Ramen Ramen at Plaza Singapura (though this is not KH's favourite)
21. Hoover Rojak at Whampoa Market. Also, the duck rice, the duck porridge - yum.
22. Outram char koey teow at Hong Lim Complex. Long queues too at the Serangoon Gardens Market stall, the one from Newton Circus. But IMO, not worth the queue - the cockles tend to be over-cooked. For char koey teow, when I'm alone, I hit the Tangs Island Cafe - done penang style, savoury not sweet but can't beat the real deal up north.
As with any self-respecting Singaporean, we love food. We like to suss out good food places, here and in Malaysia (one day I'll do my Malaysia list). We used to rely on the makansutra, but these days we've found it to be quite disappointing - food standards drop, typos, wrong addresses, information etc. So we no longer rely on it so much.
Over time, we realise that we keep going back to the same old places - probably because the food is good. So the above list is representative of where we usually get our food fixes.
Right now though - and this is hardly gourmet! - we're eating our way through BK Kids' Meals. Yes, thanks to the Spiderman 3 craze. Owain is nuts about the Kids' Meal toys - which I have to say do look quite cute!
Monday, May 07, 2007
Done!
Finally finished the last of the observations and will be sending them off to Aus tomorrow! Yay!! The last paper was a 12-pg whopper on prenatal class analysis. The last hurdle was a 2000-word essay on the following:
Well, I haven't crossed the tape yet until I get my Grad Dip paper in my hands. And I just might fail these last few hurdles. So I am not counting my chickens yet. For now, just damn thankful that I at least finished the rounds.
And now... for my website...
Finally finished the last of the observations and will be sending them off to Aus tomorrow! Yay!! The last paper was a 12-pg whopper on prenatal class analysis. The last hurdle was a 2000-word essay on the following:
It has been argued that contemporary Childbirth Education meets the needs of middle-classed, heterosexual, well-educated couples, but is less proficient in meeting the needs of clients with socio-cultural backgrounds different to the mainstream. Choose one of the following, and working within your professional boundaries, describe how you would seek to ensure their socio-cultural needs would be met in the classes you teach. A client who is:
From a non-English speaking background
Lesbian
Aboriginal or a Torres Strait Islander
Physically disabled
An adult survivor of child sexual assault
Adolescent
Socio-economically disadvantaged
A survivor of female genital mutilation
Not in a committed relationship
Intellectually impaired
Religious background different from Christian/Judaism eg Moslem
A victim of domestic violence
Can cry right??
I picked socio-economically disadvantaged. It was this or adolescent pregnancy - which would not have been that difficult too. But how to write on stuff like "survivor of female genital mutilation"?!! So 2,163 words later, I am DONE!
Then I had to do a class profile for this group that I selected, including needs analysis etc. Crack head. Bang head against wall. But I got it done. Amazingly, as I hammered out the needs analysis for this proposed client group, I found myself thinking that it can actually be done - there just might be a market for this group of people. The cost has to be kept very very low of course but it just might be possible! So I am toying with the idea of linking up with some external organisations and just seeing where this might take me.
Don't know if I will pass or fail but I am just so glad to be DONE!! Yippee!! Hopefully that will be the last word I'll ever have to write for this Grad Dip. Its been fun, its been exciting. Yes, its been challenging. My coursemates say this has been harder than a Masters programme. I dunno about that but much as I love birth education, I am so mentally exhausted.Well, I haven't crossed the tape yet until I get my Grad Dip paper in my hands. And I just might fail these last few hurdles. So I am not counting my chickens yet. For now, just damn thankful that I at least finished the rounds.
And now... for my website...
Food at Riang 2
I am procrastinating. One last para/table and I can send the last batch of stuff off to Aus. But I know myself - I procrastinate unpleasant tasks. There has to be a cure for this. But I am not about to find out.
At my feet, under the table, sits Owain fiddling with (what else) the little red car, working his way out of Level 36. He's stuck on it and has been stuck since yesterday. I can tell he is also not quite in the mood to figure things out - he gets frustrated, bored, more impatient, asking for help many times (which I cruelly do not give).
So here I sit thinking about food. Instead of checking my text for the web and sending it to acidprint. Instead of finishing that last table of needs analysis for my paper on prenatal classes. I promise myself to get down to it the minute I've indulged myself in this.
We went to Tiong Bahru market on Sat morning for breakfast. Parking is still a nightmare but slightly more manageable since they now have additional lots on top of the wet market/food centre. We were pleasantly surprised by how breezy and spacious the place was. There were queues of course, at the popular stall, but not so very long - and none at the famous chwee kueh stall!
I grew up on the chwee kueh sold there. I remember car rides in the early hours of the morning - either bringing my mum for her morning shift at the hospital or bringing her home after a night shift. She would smell of antiseptic and disinfectant (so I grew up loving the smell of hospitals). I enjoyed these rides in the quiet dark streets, the highlight of course being the chwee kueh from the market. Brown packets soaked through with orange oil, the fragrance of the chai-poh filling the car, making my mouth water in anticipation. I could polish off 20 pieces of chwee kueh at a go. Now you know why I am the size I am!
So on Sat, since there was no queue, I made a beeline for the chwee kueh stall, ordering the kids to stay put at the empty table we found. People in Singapore use packets of tissue paper to 'chope' their seats. I just use my kids - plant them on a stool with strict orders to NOT move or else.
And one more thing I liked about the new Tiong Bahru market - the large round tables with EIGHT stools! At last! A hawker centre with tables/stools enough for my large family. With a chair to spare too! I thought to myself - maybe one more baby to fill that last seat. I plan my family size in accordance with the number of seats I can find at a table in a hawker centre. I can see the disapproving frowns now - tsk tsk, they go. How haphazardly she plans her family. How irresponsible. So I've been told. :-)
We eat. I think the chwee kueh is not bad, but lost a bit of the standard. Gillian polishes off 8 at a time. Still a long way away from my old record. The wanton mee done HK style was 'not bad' according to my fellow connoiseur of wanton mee - Isaac Chong. Other stalls also looked promising but there was no time to linger and savour.
Looks like Tiong Bahru is now on the list of the Chong family's fave food places. Together with Maxwell market, Whampoa market, Toa Payoh market. One day I'll make a list of the places we like.
But for now, as I promised myself - back to the grindstone.
I am procrastinating. One last para/table and I can send the last batch of stuff off to Aus. But I know myself - I procrastinate unpleasant tasks. There has to be a cure for this. But I am not about to find out.
At my feet, under the table, sits Owain fiddling with (what else) the little red car, working his way out of Level 36. He's stuck on it and has been stuck since yesterday. I can tell he is also not quite in the mood to figure things out - he gets frustrated, bored, more impatient, asking for help many times (which I cruelly do not give).
So here I sit thinking about food. Instead of checking my text for the web and sending it to acidprint. Instead of finishing that last table of needs analysis for my paper on prenatal classes. I promise myself to get down to it the minute I've indulged myself in this.
We went to Tiong Bahru market on Sat morning for breakfast. Parking is still a nightmare but slightly more manageable since they now have additional lots on top of the wet market/food centre. We were pleasantly surprised by how breezy and spacious the place was. There were queues of course, at the popular stall, but not so very long - and none at the famous chwee kueh stall!
I grew up on the chwee kueh sold there. I remember car rides in the early hours of the morning - either bringing my mum for her morning shift at the hospital or bringing her home after a night shift. She would smell of antiseptic and disinfectant (so I grew up loving the smell of hospitals). I enjoyed these rides in the quiet dark streets, the highlight of course being the chwee kueh from the market. Brown packets soaked through with orange oil, the fragrance of the chai-poh filling the car, making my mouth water in anticipation. I could polish off 20 pieces of chwee kueh at a go. Now you know why I am the size I am!
So on Sat, since there was no queue, I made a beeline for the chwee kueh stall, ordering the kids to stay put at the empty table we found. People in Singapore use packets of tissue paper to 'chope' their seats. I just use my kids - plant them on a stool with strict orders to NOT move or else.
And one more thing I liked about the new Tiong Bahru market - the large round tables with EIGHT stools! At last! A hawker centre with tables/stools enough for my large family. With a chair to spare too! I thought to myself - maybe one more baby to fill that last seat. I plan my family size in accordance with the number of seats I can find at a table in a hawker centre. I can see the disapproving frowns now - tsk tsk, they go. How haphazardly she plans her family. How irresponsible. So I've been told. :-)
We eat. I think the chwee kueh is not bad, but lost a bit of the standard. Gillian polishes off 8 at a time. Still a long way away from my old record. The wanton mee done HK style was 'not bad' according to my fellow connoiseur of wanton mee - Isaac Chong. Other stalls also looked promising but there was no time to linger and savour.
Looks like Tiong Bahru is now on the list of the Chong family's fave food places. Together with Maxwell market, Whampoa market, Toa Payoh market. One day I'll make a list of the places we like.
But for now, as I promised myself - back to the grindstone.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Expert level 34
Owain is now playing the Adult version of Rush Hour. He is now at Expert level card 34.
When he first started playing, it was more for fun - the kids challenge each other. And its a good way to keep them quiet and occupied while I get to do my thing. But he has left Caitlin in the dust. She's still stuck at Intermediate level 17. She gets bored and distracted fast. He doesn't. She gives up easier than he does. He will, whenever I suggest moves or try to move the car pieces, gently move my hand aside or say patiently: I don't need help mum.
Everytime I am at the PC working, seated or sprawled on the floor beside me would be Owain and the clickety-clack of the car pieces moving. At regular intervals, I would hear: OK mummy I got the red car out for you. Can I do one more?
Expert level, I have to own, is no joke. I tried this myself and I don't think I went beyond Advance - got stuck and gave up. Last night, we tried Level 33. I fiddled with it but gave up after a while and left the game aside. Next thing I knew, Owain had piped up excitedly: OK mum, I got it out! I got the red car out!
I tried to slow him down, believing that Advanced and Expert were too hard. So we started again from level 1. But he finished each setpiece within minutes and I realised that they were not challenging enough for him anymore. So we went back to Advanced and kept on at it until here we are today at Expert level 34.
Looking back, I don't know why I tried to slow him down. Did I think he was incapable of managing? Did I secretly hope he could do it, wanted him to do it but feared he could not and hence dash my hopes? His progress, for a 3yo, is amazing. If you could only see the intense concentration on his face, watch his pudgy little hands move the colourful cars... I don't know what I am afraid of. I am proud of him, but I also do not want to overload him or stress him out. There is a fine line between what a parent wants and what a child wants. Do I want him to excel, push him onward or does he? I am angsting about this and rather incoherently too - but the gist is, I just don't want him to do what he does not want to do, beyond what he is capable of. But thus far, he seems hooked and so why hold him back right?
Just recently KH and I had a brief exchange about Isaac. Isaac had signed up for the Maths Olympiad competition. He came home excited one day and said that his teacher, who called his class 'the Maths class' told them that getting past ruond 1 in the Olympiad would earn them a cert. But, he said eyes gleaming, getting to the next stage would guarantee, quoting his teacher "a one-way ticket to NUS High" - apparently regardless of PSLE aggregate.
Now he knows, more than anyone, how he stands re his grades and PSLE prospects. His Chinese grades, so spectacularly bad, will pull his aggregate down faster than the Titanic. So he knows that his chance of getting to SJI or any good school for that matter, are very slim unless (1) he bucks up on Chinese - and that means a monumental leap or (2) he gets A* grades for his other subjects. So this Maths Olympiad thing is like a way out for him - and hence his enthusiasm.
I encouraged him to sign up for the Olympiad. I thought he enjoyed maths. I felt that the experience would be useful - pushing the envelope mentally so to speak. And the boy always has had a competitive streak in him.
I don't know how true it is about the NUS High thing. But KH said, even if he can get in, I don't want him to go to NUS High.
Why not? I argued. I think if he could get in, that's a good place to be.
KH replied: Too stressful. And everything is about Maths, Maths Maths - so boring!
My dad, who sitting within earshot agreed - ya, must be all-rounder - cannot be just maths alone lah.
It made me think again - are we limiting him? Self-censoring his abilities? Our dreams or his?
Anyway moot point. KH privately thinks he cannot make it past round 1 anyway. :-)
Owain is now playing the Adult version of Rush Hour. He is now at Expert level card 34.
When he first started playing, it was more for fun - the kids challenge each other. And its a good way to keep them quiet and occupied while I get to do my thing. But he has left Caitlin in the dust. She's still stuck at Intermediate level 17. She gets bored and distracted fast. He doesn't. She gives up easier than he does. He will, whenever I suggest moves or try to move the car pieces, gently move my hand aside or say patiently: I don't need help mum.
Everytime I am at the PC working, seated or sprawled on the floor beside me would be Owain and the clickety-clack of the car pieces moving. At regular intervals, I would hear: OK mummy I got the red car out for you. Can I do one more?
Expert level, I have to own, is no joke. I tried this myself and I don't think I went beyond Advance - got stuck and gave up. Last night, we tried Level 33. I fiddled with it but gave up after a while and left the game aside. Next thing I knew, Owain had piped up excitedly: OK mum, I got it out! I got the red car out!
I tried to slow him down, believing that Advanced and Expert were too hard. So we started again from level 1. But he finished each setpiece within minutes and I realised that they were not challenging enough for him anymore. So we went back to Advanced and kept on at it until here we are today at Expert level 34.
Looking back, I don't know why I tried to slow him down. Did I think he was incapable of managing? Did I secretly hope he could do it, wanted him to do it but feared he could not and hence dash my hopes? His progress, for a 3yo, is amazing. If you could only see the intense concentration on his face, watch his pudgy little hands move the colourful cars... I don't know what I am afraid of. I am proud of him, but I also do not want to overload him or stress him out. There is a fine line between what a parent wants and what a child wants. Do I want him to excel, push him onward or does he? I am angsting about this and rather incoherently too - but the gist is, I just don't want him to do what he does not want to do, beyond what he is capable of. But thus far, he seems hooked and so why hold him back right?
Just recently KH and I had a brief exchange about Isaac. Isaac had signed up for the Maths Olympiad competition. He came home excited one day and said that his teacher, who called his class 'the Maths class' told them that getting past ruond 1 in the Olympiad would earn them a cert. But, he said eyes gleaming, getting to the next stage would guarantee, quoting his teacher "a one-way ticket to NUS High" - apparently regardless of PSLE aggregate.
Now he knows, more than anyone, how he stands re his grades and PSLE prospects. His Chinese grades, so spectacularly bad, will pull his aggregate down faster than the Titanic. So he knows that his chance of getting to SJI or any good school for that matter, are very slim unless (1) he bucks up on Chinese - and that means a monumental leap or (2) he gets A* grades for his other subjects. So this Maths Olympiad thing is like a way out for him - and hence his enthusiasm.
I encouraged him to sign up for the Olympiad. I thought he enjoyed maths. I felt that the experience would be useful - pushing the envelope mentally so to speak. And the boy always has had a competitive streak in him.
I don't know how true it is about the NUS High thing. But KH said, even if he can get in, I don't want him to go to NUS High.
Why not? I argued. I think if he could get in, that's a good place to be.
KH replied: Too stressful. And everything is about Maths, Maths Maths - so boring!
My dad, who sitting within earshot agreed - ya, must be all-rounder - cannot be just maths alone lah.
It made me think again - are we limiting him? Self-censoring his abilities? Our dreams or his?
Anyway moot point. KH privately thinks he cannot make it past round 1 anyway. :-)
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