New school and fears
Last night Owain and I lay on the bedroom floor just chatting. We had finished a game of aeroplane chess (which he absolutely loves and constantly pesters us to play!) and were just lying around talking. So I took the opportunity to speak to him about school.
I asked him if he wanted to change school or stay at MK. He thought for a moment and then said, quite firmly: Change school. Why? I asked. Why are you not happy at MK?
This time, more information came forth. It was the writing. He said he had problems writing. He did not know his letters and how to write them and other children could. He said tracing letters was no problem but he had difficulty when the dotted lines were gone and he was expected to write freehand. Chinese class was okay because lao shi only gave him a little bit to write. But in Teacher Gertrude's class, there was a lot more writing - and he is clearly averse to that.
Then he said something which made me both sad and angry. He said he finds it hard to write and then blurted: "... and Teacher Gertrude said she will not help me anymore!" And that to him was frightening because he was already having difficulty - so if the teacher was not helping him, then he would have even more difficulty writing. He actually looked frightened and worried. I had to reassure him that it was okay not knowing how to write now, he will learn in his own time, in his own way. And even if Teacher Gertrude did not want to help him, mummy and daddy will always help him.
But gosh how I fumed inside when I heard that!
How can any teacher be so insensitive? Maybe she was frustrated. Maybe she was trying to 'encourage' (in some weird unfathomable way!) him, or maybe she said so jokingly - though I fail to see how this can be considered funny to a child struggling to write. I am trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, but I think saying this sort of thing just reflects the sort of mindset this teacher has. And its the sort of thing that breeds fear instead of joy in learning.
It just reinforced my determination to pull him out.
We went on talking about other things and I told him how sad I was about him losing his friends. He thought about it for a while and then said with all the wisdom that children have, "But I can make other friends in the new school right?"
Of course. I guess I am being sentimental and silly to worry - I think he's got it more right than me. He is not worried - I am. And if he isn't then why should I be?
I said he could get Jason's and Nick's phone numbers and give them his. He said, "But I have no phone mummy."
"They will call our house phone. You live here remember? So you can answer the phone and talk to them."
"But what if they call while I am in the new school?"
"Then you call them back when you get home. You can ask Lolita to find out who's calling and if it was Jason or Nick, she could let you know so you can call them back."
And that was enough to calm his concerns about his friends.
We went on to talk about whether he could bring snacks to his new school and if so, could he bring crackers. Of course, I said. Then the wise boy said: You must buy a big big big packet of crackers and not small ones. Because everytime I bring crackers to school and then the small ones will finish. Bring and finish and bring and finish. Then you have to keep buying and buying. That is very expensive. If you buy a big packet, then it will be cheaper.
Hah! Basic econs lesson on economies of scale! I never taught him that.
I tried to manage his expectations about the new school. I said its not that there will be no more worksheets - there still will be. But this school teaches in a different way. I reminded him about the activities he did with Eileen. He said he liked those. Well, I said, that is how the school teaches - there will be more of those sort of activities. He was not sure if he liked Eileen or if he liked the lao shi - he said he got bored when the lao shi and I talked for so long!
We finally ended the conversation not knowing if the new school will work out, not knowing if he would enjoy himself more at Lumiere than at MK, but I felt more hopeful. This morning when he woke up, he drowsily asked which school he would be going to. When I said MK, he groaned disappointedly. But well, he's got a month to go and then there are the holidays before he can start school at Lumiere. And for me, I intend to write a polite letter to MK by May 1, stating our intention to withdraw from the school. I will feel both regret and relief at doing so, but those are my feelings and I will deal with that.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Lumiere Montessori House
Yesterday I brought Owain to Lumiere for a look-around.
Lumiere is one street away from Riang and about 5min walk from home. It is a single storey bungalow with its own garden and small playground.
The director of the school, Eileen Pillai, welcomed us warmly and showed us around. The school was not big, with only about five classrooms and one small pantry, which led to a shaded outdoor area. I thought the school seemed to have all the Montessori equipment but I can't be sure since I am not familiar with the whole range. It was airconditioned, neat and clean.
For me, its not so much how new or how complete the equipment is, but the mindset and attitudes of the teachers. I spoke with the lao shi for a while as she showed me how she taught Chinese. While there are some worksheets, the mindset is different - it is not worksheets given for worksheets sake, but just to reinforce actions learnt in class. More often than not, there are activities like piecing together Chinese strokes to make a word, or doing matching of Chinese words on laminated cards, or playing games. One way in which she demonstrated stroke practice is to have the kids practise the stroke using finger paints, then using brush strokes, then using coloured pencils, which I thought looked fun! The other was to use coloured markers to practise writing the strokes by tracing it over the character on a plastic-laminated sheet, wiping it off and starting again. They also had sandpaper strokes on individual cards.
Every child had his/her own file and with a checklist of skillsets they need to obtain by a certain date. So what a child learns is tailored to fit his/her needs. This is so in Chinese class and in the main Montessori class. The approach is very different from the usual one-size-fits-all mainstream kindy's. Even class structure is quite loose in that K1 and K2 are kept together and learn together and so on. There is no strict rule to say that K1 is ONLY for 5 year olds.
In fact in Owain's case, Eileen felt that if he came in, it would be better to keep him in the Nursery group for a while until he copes better, possibly considering a shift to the K1/K2 grouping by end of the year. I'm okay with that - in no hurry.
She gave him some tasks just to have a quick check to see what he is capable of, and to observe him while he's engaged on task. She agreed that his hand strength could be better, said that he seems more of a visual learner, that he was carefully watching her and paying attention when she spoke and gave instructions to him. There was no doubt about his strong cognitive ability and she felt that he was more of a hands-on sort of boy and would learn best like this. I agreed with her observations.
We chatted about some other things as well, and generally, as I told KH later, I had very good vibes about her, about the school. I liked her very much. She was, I tried to describe, like a mix of Melissa our therapist friend and Helen, a colleague of mine whom I absolutely respect and get along with. She came across as someone who is very straight, honest with me, clear in her thinking, respectful of children, gentle, compassionate, creative in her approach. And I like that she's still breastfeeding her 3yo who was there, and her 18mo, that she's very pro-attachment with kids and yes - she's Catholic too! So I feel that we have a lot in common and we're on the same page on many issues.
I came away with a good feeling. What's left is to check with Owain about what he really wants. And to grapple with my feelings for changing school. I do regret that we have to change schools. I still like Magdalene's Kindergarten very much and it was very good for Caitlin. I suppose it's just about getting a different fit for every child. It's just that my gut feel tells me that MK is not the right fit for him.
I feel sad that Owain will lose his friends - those names that he spouts so often eg Meg-Gayle, Phoebe, Jason, Matthew etc. I feel sad that he will no longer learn the songs he likes, come home and sing/perform those for me anymore. (We especially get such a kick out of watching him recite the Lord's Prayer in garbled Chinese!) I am not looking forward to writing that letter of withdrawal. I do feel a pang at having to withdraw him.
It can be quite unsettling and stressful to pull out of a school and start a new one! I'm also worried about him making the adjustment. Eileen has been kind enough to offer to let Owain come in for half an hour during Outdoor Play sessions and Circle Time to familiarise himself with the teachers, the other children etc before starting school proper.
KH has more or less given the go-ahead but I think I would want to check with Owain again to be very sure.
Yesterday I brought Owain to Lumiere for a look-around.
Lumiere is one street away from Riang and about 5min walk from home. It is a single storey bungalow with its own garden and small playground.
The director of the school, Eileen Pillai, welcomed us warmly and showed us around. The school was not big, with only about five classrooms and one small pantry, which led to a shaded outdoor area. I thought the school seemed to have all the Montessori equipment but I can't be sure since I am not familiar with the whole range. It was airconditioned, neat and clean.
For me, its not so much how new or how complete the equipment is, but the mindset and attitudes of the teachers. I spoke with the lao shi for a while as she showed me how she taught Chinese. While there are some worksheets, the mindset is different - it is not worksheets given for worksheets sake, but just to reinforce actions learnt in class. More often than not, there are activities like piecing together Chinese strokes to make a word, or doing matching of Chinese words on laminated cards, or playing games. One way in which she demonstrated stroke practice is to have the kids practise the stroke using finger paints, then using brush strokes, then using coloured pencils, which I thought looked fun! The other was to use coloured markers to practise writing the strokes by tracing it over the character on a plastic-laminated sheet, wiping it off and starting again. They also had sandpaper strokes on individual cards.
Every child had his/her own file and with a checklist of skillsets they need to obtain by a certain date. So what a child learns is tailored to fit his/her needs. This is so in Chinese class and in the main Montessori class. The approach is very different from the usual one-size-fits-all mainstream kindy's. Even class structure is quite loose in that K1 and K2 are kept together and learn together and so on. There is no strict rule to say that K1 is ONLY for 5 year olds.
In fact in Owain's case, Eileen felt that if he came in, it would be better to keep him in the Nursery group for a while until he copes better, possibly considering a shift to the K1/K2 grouping by end of the year. I'm okay with that - in no hurry.
She gave him some tasks just to have a quick check to see what he is capable of, and to observe him while he's engaged on task. She agreed that his hand strength could be better, said that he seems more of a visual learner, that he was carefully watching her and paying attention when she spoke and gave instructions to him. There was no doubt about his strong cognitive ability and she felt that he was more of a hands-on sort of boy and would learn best like this. I agreed with her observations.
We chatted about some other things as well, and generally, as I told KH later, I had very good vibes about her, about the school. I liked her very much. She was, I tried to describe, like a mix of Melissa our therapist friend and Helen, a colleague of mine whom I absolutely respect and get along with. She came across as someone who is very straight, honest with me, clear in her thinking, respectful of children, gentle, compassionate, creative in her approach. And I like that she's still breastfeeding her 3yo who was there, and her 18mo, that she's very pro-attachment with kids and yes - she's Catholic too! So I feel that we have a lot in common and we're on the same page on many issues.
I came away with a good feeling. What's left is to check with Owain about what he really wants. And to grapple with my feelings for changing school. I do regret that we have to change schools. I still like Magdalene's Kindergarten very much and it was very good for Caitlin. I suppose it's just about getting a different fit for every child. It's just that my gut feel tells me that MK is not the right fit for him.
I feel sad that Owain will lose his friends - those names that he spouts so often eg Meg-Gayle, Phoebe, Jason, Matthew etc. I feel sad that he will no longer learn the songs he likes, come home and sing/perform those for me anymore. (We especially get such a kick out of watching him recite the Lord's Prayer in garbled Chinese!) I am not looking forward to writing that letter of withdrawal. I do feel a pang at having to withdraw him.
It can be quite unsettling and stressful to pull out of a school and start a new one! I'm also worried about him making the adjustment. Eileen has been kind enough to offer to let Owain come in for half an hour during Outdoor Play sessions and Circle Time to familiarise himself with the teachers, the other children etc before starting school proper.
KH has more or less given the go-ahead but I think I would want to check with Owain again to be very sure.
Fresh house woes
Two nights ago, tired and in a bad temper, I came head to head with - the bathroom door. The annoying thing refused to shut - the rollers of the sliding door long having given out. No matter how I tugged, pulled, slid - it just would not budge smoothly. And at the same time, I was deeply frustrated by (a) Cait crying in the morning before going to school (b) Owain crying in the morning before going to school (c) Gillian up to her old tricks in school. It was late - past 11pm, I was hot and tired and grimy-feeling and it felt like everyone had a problem I could not solve.
So in one big moment of anger, I yelled and kicked the recalcitrant bathroom door.
And I placed a hole in it.
Now I have to replace the blasted door - so maybe this is working out. Should have done this a long time ago when we did the reno last year.
Then yesterday Lolita came to me and said the ground-floor toilet was clogged and not working. At first I thought a bout of pumping might help clear the clog. But it didn't work. I realised water was flowing up and out of two boltholes at the base of the bowl. And the water level in the bowl was sinking until practically nothing. So I don't think this is a simple issue of just a clogged drain.
Called the contractor so he's coming over tonight.
If it ain't one thing... it's another...
Two nights ago, tired and in a bad temper, I came head to head with - the bathroom door. The annoying thing refused to shut - the rollers of the sliding door long having given out. No matter how I tugged, pulled, slid - it just would not budge smoothly. And at the same time, I was deeply frustrated by (a) Cait crying in the morning before going to school (b) Owain crying in the morning before going to school (c) Gillian up to her old tricks in school. It was late - past 11pm, I was hot and tired and grimy-feeling and it felt like everyone had a problem I could not solve.
So in one big moment of anger, I yelled and kicked the recalcitrant bathroom door.
And I placed a hole in it.
Now I have to replace the blasted door - so maybe this is working out. Should have done this a long time ago when we did the reno last year.
Then yesterday Lolita came to me and said the ground-floor toilet was clogged and not working. At first I thought a bout of pumping might help clear the clog. But it didn't work. I realised water was flowing up and out of two boltholes at the base of the bowl. And the water level in the bowl was sinking until practically nothing. So I don't think this is a simple issue of just a clogged drain.
Called the contractor so he's coming over tonight.
If it ain't one thing... it's another...
Recent movies
Last night KH and I went on a 'date' to watch The Forbidden Kingdom. Just some thoughts about it: first, crappy script. Even Jackie Chan was quoted to have said the plot was thin but he only accepted the role because of the sparring scenes with Jet Li. So I did warn KH before the movie started, to leave his sense of logic at the door.
What I liked:
Great fight sequences. The CGI and flight lines aside, the fight scene with Jet and Jackie was mainly old-fashioned fisticuffs. Having watched good ol'fashioned wuxia pian - the old Chen Kuang Tai movies, Ti Lung, Wang Yu (the One-Armed Swordsman), down to Jackie Chan's ground-breaking earlier movies (Drunken Master) and Jet Li's (Shaolin Temple), it was fun to watch a fight scene that was choreographed in the old way - with the old moves eg the "Snake move" or the "Crane move", the "Preying Mantis", the "Tiger", the "Buddha Palm" and the "Wuying jiao" (No Shadow Kick). Gosh, it brought back great memories!! And how I wish we could have a movie like that today - no western gimmicky stuff, poor plot lines, but sheer good fighting fun done w/o too much CGI!
What annoyed me:
The angmo lead - could not imagine a more annoying male lead (kinda like The Karate Kid goes the China!) the female lead - gosh, what the heck was she doing speaking in the third person??? At first it was bewildering and both KH and I wondered: Huh? What is she saying? Who is the 'she' she is talking about? Then it just got annoying. Sample sentence she spouted: "She will not stop until she gets vengeance for the deaths of her mother and father!" ("She" of course referring to herself!!) And of course, the fact that everyone in ancient China suddenly spoke impeccable English! Plus too much reference to LOTR - stone fortress high up on impenetrable fortress accessible only across vast desert, pit of volcanic lava in which magical staff should be flung, the Silent Monk making his appearance as the White Rider on white horse aka Gandalf, etc.
One day I hope they do a great fisticuffs kungfu fight movie the right way - in Cantonese or Mandarin, with minimal special effects and with a great plotline. That's the only way to do justice to a great fight scene with Jet and Jackie.
Till then, think I might head down to Sembawang or Gramophone to pick up a copy of Shaolin Temple.
The other movie I watched a week ago was Definitely Maybe. KH wanted to watch Street Kings so we parted ways at the cineplex.
So - Definitely, Maybe - Definitely long-winded and only Maybe a bit entertaining. Too long, and with a cast that is less than engaging, you do feel the minutes ticking by. Male lead was ho-hum and non-exciting and all his 'girlfriends', with the exception of the lovely Rachel Weisz, also not great. For a romantic date movie/'chick flick', I really didn't feel particularly inspired after watching this.
Last night KH and I went on a 'date' to watch The Forbidden Kingdom. Just some thoughts about it: first, crappy script. Even Jackie Chan was quoted to have said the plot was thin but he only accepted the role because of the sparring scenes with Jet Li. So I did warn KH before the movie started, to leave his sense of logic at the door.
What I liked:
Great fight sequences. The CGI and flight lines aside, the fight scene with Jet and Jackie was mainly old-fashioned fisticuffs. Having watched good ol'fashioned wuxia pian - the old Chen Kuang Tai movies, Ti Lung, Wang Yu (the One-Armed Swordsman), down to Jackie Chan's ground-breaking earlier movies (Drunken Master) and Jet Li's (Shaolin Temple), it was fun to watch a fight scene that was choreographed in the old way - with the old moves eg the "Snake move" or the "Crane move", the "Preying Mantis", the "Tiger", the "Buddha Palm" and the "Wuying jiao" (No Shadow Kick). Gosh, it brought back great memories!! And how I wish we could have a movie like that today - no western gimmicky stuff, poor plot lines, but sheer good fighting fun done w/o too much CGI!
What annoyed me:
The angmo lead - could not imagine a more annoying male lead (kinda like The Karate Kid goes the China!) the female lead - gosh, what the heck was she doing speaking in the third person??? At first it was bewildering and both KH and I wondered: Huh? What is she saying? Who is the 'she' she is talking about? Then it just got annoying. Sample sentence she spouted: "She will not stop until she gets vengeance for the deaths of her mother and father!" ("She" of course referring to herself!!) And of course, the fact that everyone in ancient China suddenly spoke impeccable English! Plus too much reference to LOTR - stone fortress high up on impenetrable fortress accessible only across vast desert, pit of volcanic lava in which magical staff should be flung, the Silent Monk making his appearance as the White Rider on white horse aka Gandalf, etc.
One day I hope they do a great fisticuffs kungfu fight movie the right way - in Cantonese or Mandarin, with minimal special effects and with a great plotline. That's the only way to do justice to a great fight scene with Jet and Jackie.
Till then, think I might head down to Sembawang or Gramophone to pick up a copy of Shaolin Temple.
The other movie I watched a week ago was Definitely Maybe. KH wanted to watch Street Kings so we parted ways at the cineplex.
So - Definitely, Maybe - Definitely long-winded and only Maybe a bit entertaining. Too long, and with a cast that is less than engaging, you do feel the minutes ticking by. Male lead was ho-hum and non-exciting and all his 'girlfriends', with the exception of the lovely Rachel Weisz, also not great. For a romantic date movie/'chick flick', I really didn't feel particularly inspired after watching this.
Near Miss
Caitlin narrowly avoided getting her toes sliced off by the escalator on Sunday.
We were at Marina Square and heading for the carpark after some shopping. Heading down the escalator and as we got off, I saw that she sort of 'stumbled' getting off the escalator and next thing I knew she was holding her left pink croc in her hands. The front of the croc was torn and ripped open and the sole smeared black with oil.
I think Cait was a bit shocked and shaken because she held up the shoe and said a bit dazedly: "Mummy, my shoe is broken. The escalator broke my shoe."
We gathered round her and inspected her shoe and honestly, chills ran down my spine when I saw the places where the rubber was chewed and torn. At that moment, Cait started to cry and hop a bit on the other foot saying that her toes hurt. KH carried her immediately and I had a look at the toes. They were bright red and a bit swollen and tender but gently flexing them saw no immediate reaction from her so we knew her toes were not broken. But gosh, what a narrow escape!
Jo's daughter Shi'yr had her toe torn off in a similar croc-wearing horrific accident some time ago. And after that there was a spate of other similar reported incidents. But as they always say, you never thought it could happen to you.
So we were very very lucky that Cait's toes are okay.
We're still a bit puzzled as to how it happened. She was standing on her own, not playing with anyone, and all she said, when we probed, was that she was standing near the edge. Maybe it was because she was wearing one of those cheap fake pairs, made of cheapo rubber so soft that it could be chewed up by the escalator teeth easily. Can't blame the shoe, can't blame the escalator, only can tell the wearer to be extra careful. But no matter how many times I remind them to step away from the edge of the escalator and stand in the middle (and I know I am usually pretty vigilant about this), all it takes is for one lapse and anything could happen - as it did.
I'm still reluctant get rid of Crocs though. I'm still a big fan and would still let my kids wear Crocs - just have to be more careful on escalators and travellators.
Caitlin narrowly avoided getting her toes sliced off by the escalator on Sunday.
We were at Marina Square and heading for the carpark after some shopping. Heading down the escalator and as we got off, I saw that she sort of 'stumbled' getting off the escalator and next thing I knew she was holding her left pink croc in her hands. The front of the croc was torn and ripped open and the sole smeared black with oil.
I think Cait was a bit shocked and shaken because she held up the shoe and said a bit dazedly: "Mummy, my shoe is broken. The escalator broke my shoe."
We gathered round her and inspected her shoe and honestly, chills ran down my spine when I saw the places where the rubber was chewed and torn. At that moment, Cait started to cry and hop a bit on the other foot saying that her toes hurt. KH carried her immediately and I had a look at the toes. They were bright red and a bit swollen and tender but gently flexing them saw no immediate reaction from her so we knew her toes were not broken. But gosh, what a narrow escape!
Jo's daughter Shi'yr had her toe torn off in a similar croc-wearing horrific accident some time ago. And after that there was a spate of other similar reported incidents. But as they always say, you never thought it could happen to you.
So we were very very lucky that Cait's toes are okay.
We're still a bit puzzled as to how it happened. She was standing on her own, not playing with anyone, and all she said, when we probed, was that she was standing near the edge. Maybe it was because she was wearing one of those cheap fake pairs, made of cheapo rubber so soft that it could be chewed up by the escalator teeth easily. Can't blame the shoe, can't blame the escalator, only can tell the wearer to be extra careful. But no matter how many times I remind them to step away from the edge of the escalator and stand in the middle (and I know I am usually pretty vigilant about this), all it takes is for one lapse and anything could happen - as it did.
I'm still reluctant get rid of Crocs though. I'm still a big fan and would still let my kids wear Crocs - just have to be more careful on escalators and travellators.
Monday, April 21, 2008
What will doctors say next??
In Today newspaper on Saturday, there was an article warning of a heightened risk for poor immunity in babies who were born via C-sec since they were not born via the birth canal. The birth canal being a place warm and rich with maternal bacteria, it stands to reason that a baby, born via the birth canal would be colonised with maternal bacteria. Also stands to logic that this is WHY the vagina is located right next to the anus - not traditionally the 'cleanest' place of human anatomy. With the colonisation of bacteria and subsequent breastfeeding, babies would be equipped with enough maternal antibodies as a first defence in a vulnerable and new immune system.
All this is not new and this theory has been put forward before. It sure makes sense to me.
Couple of things I just want to comment on here:
1) how doctors here responded to the claim put forward by the experts. Incidentally, who ARE these experts who made this claim? Let's see, one is an AP from the School of Biotechnology and Biomolecular Science at the University of New South Wales, another is an Emeritus Professor of Allergy Prevention and Paediatrics at the Institute of Environmental Medicine of the renowned Karolinksa Institute in Stockholm Sweden, and finally one was from Nestle. So all are highly trained, well-specialised researchers and experts in this field - not small potatoes.
So how do our doctors respond? Most were, as expected, cautious and slightly sceptical in their response. I am not surprised. But the response that took the cake was from a neonatologist who said: (and I quote) "General hygiene standards are increasing. Even if a woman goes through natural birth, the birth canal area is cleaned quite well. So the difference in bacteria gained through both delivery methods is less."
My jaw dropped when I read this.
How is the birth canal area "cleaned quite well"? In all my reading, all my research, all my birth observations, I have never once seen a doctor or nurse 'cleaning' the birth canal! How? Even the use of enemas have not prevented women from defecating involuntarily sometimes when the baby is about to be born - let alone having cleaned their 'birth canals'! By birth canal of couse, I understand to mean the vagina. Where and how, pray tell, is the vagina cleaned during labour and birth? Is this another unnecessary hospital intervention? What good reason could there be for doing this?
And even IF, lets give this gentleman the benefit of the doubt, the vagina is swabbed with antiseptic, how much bacteria does that remove? To claim that the "difference in bacteria gained through both delivery methods is less" is sweeping and incorrect - where is the evidence to say so? Have there been double-blind randomised trials done to check bacterial levels in a birth canal pre and post a cleaning swab? I very much doubt so. And what would be the benefit of doing so?
This doctor went on to say that babies are kept in 'clean' environments. So babies in general are 'less exposed' to bacteria after birth. I think he is missing the woods for the trees. The idea is not to expose babies to other bacteria in the air or in hospital wards, but to expose them to maternal bacteria - which serves a physiological purpose of building that first immunological blueprint for the baby. What is more, there are studies which show that the rate of infections in homebirths are no more than those in hospitals, in fact certainly less! And mind you, the home environment is far less 'sterile' than the hospital, by definition of those who are pro-hospital births. Certainly in homebirths, no one is busy swabbing or cleaning the birth canal!
And I'm also not sure that it is entirely beneficial for babies to be kept in 'clean' environments - by that of course I assume he means the plastic box in the hospital nursery, away from their mothers. Far more beneficial, in many more ways, it is to have babies constantly with their mothers from birth onwards. The UNICEF-led Baby-Friendly Hospital Initiative counts rooming-in, constant mother-baby time as one of its requirements for certification.
It is true that the C-section rate is alarmingly high - close to 30% at last count. This says that about 1 in 3 women here can't give birth vaginally. How is this physiologically possible? If this were so, the human race would have died out a long time ago. If you include the statistics for other operative births and inductions, it basically tells you that at least 40 to 50% of women need help to get their babies born in Singapore today. This is mindboggling!
2) This article in Today cited findings by Nestle. While I applaud the general intent of the article - to raise awareness of the risks associated with c-sections, I generally view statistics and studies offered by formula milk companies with some suspicion. Let's not kid ourselves. They aim to sell milk. Lots of artificial baby milk. Finally, in one paragraph of the article I found the hidden agenda (I quote): "If breastfeeding is not feasible, the next best option would be using a milk formula that has been enriched with good bacteria."
Huh? Were they not aware of WHO's recommendations for human milk? First, direct feeding from the mother, if that were not possible, then maternal ebm. If that option were not possible, then DONOR milk from another mother. Finally, if that could not happen, then and only then, should formula be offered.
In the same newspaper, on another page, it was reported that policemen in Bangkok have been trained with some basic baby delivery skills. Armed with a nasal bulb pump for mucus extraction, cord clamps, sterile gloves, and a baby blanket, the Bangkok policemen stand by on the ready for the calls that might come through requesting for assistance on a crowded gridlocked street in Bangkok. On their motorbikes, they move in a pair, to the specific vehicle to attend to the labouring mother. Todate, they have delivered 81 babies over 10 years! What kind of training do they get? Not some 5 to 6 year medical course, not even a year-long diploma or certificate course in midwifery. Just a "couple of days every three months" in state or private hospitals where they can "practise delivery using dolls."
So babies are born in the backseats of cars and taxis, backs of vans, beds of pick-ups in the Thai capital.
How sterile is this? Are birth canals 'cleaned' then? Is there a need to do so? How complicated is birth that policemen, given a quick course in how to deliver a baby, can now confidently do so amid the cacophony and pollution of Bangkok streets?
Everyday, since time immemorial, babies are born in fields, in streets, in shops, in alleyways, in toilets, in airplanes, in cars, buses, taxis, bullock carts, boats, in traffic jams, and in their own homes. And that's exactly the way it should be. Doctors and mothers ought to take a leaf or two from those Bangkok policemen and treat birth the way it should be - a simple, straightforward life event.
The truth is, birth is not all that complicated, frighteningly dangerous and risky business that the hospital and medical fraternity would have you believe it is.
But fear, on the other hand, is a money-churning emotion. And when there is money, there is big business and when there is big business, there is inevitably, politics.
So unless doctors grow less fearful of delivering breech or big babies vaginally (and being open to alternative birth positions to facilitate this), unless they learn to manage each pregnancy and baby individually and trust in vbacs, unless society learns that birth, like everything in life, holds no guarantees and is unpredictable and hence lets go of its litiginous streak, unless women learn to trust themselves and let go their fear of pain and learn to pierce the myths shrouding the beauty of birth, the c-section rate will never go down. It can only go up.
Birth today has become a business. And like any other business, as long as you have women willing to pay for c-secs out of fear or misinformation, you'll have doctors willing to cater to these fears and earn top dollar. Purely transactional.
In Today newspaper on Saturday, there was an article warning of a heightened risk for poor immunity in babies who were born via C-sec since they were not born via the birth canal. The birth canal being a place warm and rich with maternal bacteria, it stands to reason that a baby, born via the birth canal would be colonised with maternal bacteria. Also stands to logic that this is WHY the vagina is located right next to the anus - not traditionally the 'cleanest' place of human anatomy. With the colonisation of bacteria and subsequent breastfeeding, babies would be equipped with enough maternal antibodies as a first defence in a vulnerable and new immune system.
All this is not new and this theory has been put forward before. It sure makes sense to me.
Couple of things I just want to comment on here:
1) how doctors here responded to the claim put forward by the experts. Incidentally, who ARE these experts who made this claim? Let's see, one is an AP from the School of Biotechnology and Biomolecular Science at the University of New South Wales, another is an Emeritus Professor of Allergy Prevention and Paediatrics at the Institute of Environmental Medicine of the renowned Karolinksa Institute in Stockholm Sweden, and finally one was from Nestle. So all are highly trained, well-specialised researchers and experts in this field - not small potatoes.
So how do our doctors respond? Most were, as expected, cautious and slightly sceptical in their response. I am not surprised. But the response that took the cake was from a neonatologist who said: (and I quote) "General hygiene standards are increasing. Even if a woman goes through natural birth, the birth canal area is cleaned quite well. So the difference in bacteria gained through both delivery methods is less."
My jaw dropped when I read this.
How is the birth canal area "cleaned quite well"? In all my reading, all my research, all my birth observations, I have never once seen a doctor or nurse 'cleaning' the birth canal! How? Even the use of enemas have not prevented women from defecating involuntarily sometimes when the baby is about to be born - let alone having cleaned their 'birth canals'! By birth canal of couse, I understand to mean the vagina. Where and how, pray tell, is the vagina cleaned during labour and birth? Is this another unnecessary hospital intervention? What good reason could there be for doing this?
And even IF, lets give this gentleman the benefit of the doubt, the vagina is swabbed with antiseptic, how much bacteria does that remove? To claim that the "difference in bacteria gained through both delivery methods is less" is sweeping and incorrect - where is the evidence to say so? Have there been double-blind randomised trials done to check bacterial levels in a birth canal pre and post a cleaning swab? I very much doubt so. And what would be the benefit of doing so?
This doctor went on to say that babies are kept in 'clean' environments. So babies in general are 'less exposed' to bacteria after birth. I think he is missing the woods for the trees. The idea is not to expose babies to other bacteria in the air or in hospital wards, but to expose them to maternal bacteria - which serves a physiological purpose of building that first immunological blueprint for the baby. What is more, there are studies which show that the rate of infections in homebirths are no more than those in hospitals, in fact certainly less! And mind you, the home environment is far less 'sterile' than the hospital, by definition of those who are pro-hospital births. Certainly in homebirths, no one is busy swabbing or cleaning the birth canal!
And I'm also not sure that it is entirely beneficial for babies to be kept in 'clean' environments - by that of course I assume he means the plastic box in the hospital nursery, away from their mothers. Far more beneficial, in many more ways, it is to have babies constantly with their mothers from birth onwards. The UNICEF-led Baby-Friendly Hospital Initiative counts rooming-in, constant mother-baby time as one of its requirements for certification.
It is true that the C-section rate is alarmingly high - close to 30% at last count. This says that about 1 in 3 women here can't give birth vaginally. How is this physiologically possible? If this were so, the human race would have died out a long time ago. If you include the statistics for other operative births and inductions, it basically tells you that at least 40 to 50% of women need help to get their babies born in Singapore today. This is mindboggling!
2) This article in Today cited findings by Nestle. While I applaud the general intent of the article - to raise awareness of the risks associated with c-sections, I generally view statistics and studies offered by formula milk companies with some suspicion. Let's not kid ourselves. They aim to sell milk. Lots of artificial baby milk. Finally, in one paragraph of the article I found the hidden agenda (I quote): "If breastfeeding is not feasible, the next best option would be using a milk formula that has been enriched with good bacteria."
Huh? Were they not aware of WHO's recommendations for human milk? First, direct feeding from the mother, if that were not possible, then maternal ebm. If that option were not possible, then DONOR milk from another mother. Finally, if that could not happen, then and only then, should formula be offered.
In the same newspaper, on another page, it was reported that policemen in Bangkok have been trained with some basic baby delivery skills. Armed with a nasal bulb pump for mucus extraction, cord clamps, sterile gloves, and a baby blanket, the Bangkok policemen stand by on the ready for the calls that might come through requesting for assistance on a crowded gridlocked street in Bangkok. On their motorbikes, they move in a pair, to the specific vehicle to attend to the labouring mother. Todate, they have delivered 81 babies over 10 years! What kind of training do they get? Not some 5 to 6 year medical course, not even a year-long diploma or certificate course in midwifery. Just a "couple of days every three months" in state or private hospitals where they can "practise delivery using dolls."
So babies are born in the backseats of cars and taxis, backs of vans, beds of pick-ups in the Thai capital.
How sterile is this? Are birth canals 'cleaned' then? Is there a need to do so? How complicated is birth that policemen, given a quick course in how to deliver a baby, can now confidently do so amid the cacophony and pollution of Bangkok streets?
Everyday, since time immemorial, babies are born in fields, in streets, in shops, in alleyways, in toilets, in airplanes, in cars, buses, taxis, bullock carts, boats, in traffic jams, and in their own homes. And that's exactly the way it should be. Doctors and mothers ought to take a leaf or two from those Bangkok policemen and treat birth the way it should be - a simple, straightforward life event.
The truth is, birth is not all that complicated, frighteningly dangerous and risky business that the hospital and medical fraternity would have you believe it is.
But fear, on the other hand, is a money-churning emotion. And when there is money, there is big business and when there is big business, there is inevitably, politics.
So unless doctors grow less fearful of delivering breech or big babies vaginally (and being open to alternative birth positions to facilitate this), unless they learn to manage each pregnancy and baby individually and trust in vbacs, unless society learns that birth, like everything in life, holds no guarantees and is unpredictable and hence lets go of its litiginous streak, unless women learn to trust themselves and let go their fear of pain and learn to pierce the myths shrouding the beauty of birth, the c-section rate will never go down. It can only go up.
Birth today has become a business. And like any other business, as long as you have women willing to pay for c-secs out of fear or misinformation, you'll have doctors willing to cater to these fears and earn top dollar. Purely transactional.
Breakfast in Jalan Besar 2 + Swim Carnival
I blogged using my mobile phone earlier but had more to say and the phone's tiny buttons are not conducive to long messages! So here's the extended version.
The dim sum in the back alley way was a nice brekkie experience. We had sent Isaac off to the Jalan Besar swimming complex earlier for his Swimming Carnival and since he was only swimming in event no 20 and #26, we had time for a leisurely brekkie.
Shortly after taking that picture, the skies turned black and opened up in a torrential rain. The alley we were sitting in became an island as the waters rose around us and slowly inched closer. By the time we left, the dirty waters were lapping at the red plastic stools.
Still, it was nice to have brekkie outdoors on a cool morning, newspapers and novel in hand. KH had his Today newspaper with him and I had Gerald Durrell's "My Family and Other Animals". The other patrons of the restaurant were old men upward of their 70s and PCK-style contractors complete with bad perms and open-neck shirts! In an adjacent alley, I saw a fat sleek rat run into a doorway. So yes, this was atmospheric and reminiscent of eating in Singapore in the 60s and 70s!
The storm and the rain meant that the swimming carnival events were pushed back. When we arrived at the swimming complex more than an hour after dropping Isaac off, we realised that not even one event had been swum yet - everything was pushed back and the kids and parents left cooling their heels in the gallery.
The event proper only started at 10.30am. KH left to pick up Owain from school so I was the only cheerleader there when Isaac's event was called. He participated in the P6 50m backstroke and the 50m breaststroke. The P6 backstroke event was a shoo-in since there were not enough participants so no earlier heats were required. But for the P6 breaststroke, there were earlier heats and Isaac had come in last in them so we were surprised and pleased to hear that he had made it to the finals!
We know he is not a strong swimmer but we've been encouraging him to take part ever since he was in P4. For us, the spirit of competition, the atmosphere, the camaraderie, the excitement and the good stress associated with it were reason enough. So year after year, despite the lack of medals, our boy has been gamely signing up and going for competition. Plus he does enjoy himself splashing in the warm-up pool with his friends before the events are called.
It's always very cute to watch him psych himself up before the race. Sitting at the pool before his event is called, he would make a furtive sign of the cross and clasp his hands in brief prayer. Never the most religious of boys, it was funny to see him give a quick prayer like this!
Well, we know that winning might be a wee bit tough, so all of us just hope he won't come in last - and he didn't! From observing him this year, he seemed more confident than before, and certainly faster too. Even though his backstroke was the same as before - stroking backwards with TWO arms instead of alternate arms - he still managed to come in second last. Brilliant boy! We're so proud of him for making the effort, for going out there and competing and giving his best. He could have said: no, sure lose so why bother etc. But he didn't - he gamely went in and swam his best. And for us, that's what counts!
As he swam, I walked alongside hollering and cheering and KH said: geez you sound like one competitive mother! I retorted: you want to know what's 'competitive', try talking to those other mothers over there - the ones armed with stopwatches and discussing timing!
Going for the Swimming Carnival is also fun for for me as a mom because really, you see boys in all shapes and sizes and of all abilities and talents (0r lack of!). I enjoy watching the unbridled fun and horsing around by the boys in the pool, all of them tanned, slick with water, like supple seals, faces alive and bright with mischief.
And without exception, practically every Swimming Carnival would have what I call the False Start Event. This year was no different. The P2 breaststroke event had a false start so the boys were told to stop swimming. After the first 3 metres of thrashing about in the water, most boys complied - except one. This boy enthusiastically kept swimming. On and on. Blithely ignoring the frantic shouts from parents and officials to "Stop swimming!!", past the foghorn announcements by the commentator: "Boy, boy, you can stop now! Stop swimming now!" and even past the line that they dropped into the water to halt his single-minded progress down the pool - he simply lifted the nylon line over his head and carried on. He only stopped two metres from the finish line when he was near enough to finally see an official bending at the edge in front of him, one hand held up to cut him off.
Then there was the P4 backstroke event. Swimming at lane one was a portly kid. Dressed in a blue full swimsuit, not trunks. He was slow, yes - the slowest in fact, but that was not the funny part. The funny part was everytime this fat boy lifted one arm to stroke backwards, the other side of his body would dip so steeply into the water, I was afraid he would just tip over. He looked like he was struggling by the mid-point, so much so that Mr Philip the HOD for PE walked over, peered into the pool (and by then the race was over since he was the last swimmer left still swimming) and with that funny deadpan look, kept looking at him and walking alongside, as if to ensure that he would not really sink! The expression on Philip's face was priceless!
And then there were the parents - particularly the parents who take swimming carnivals and kids' performances very, very *seriously*. The ones with the clipboards and stopwatches (no they were not the officials), who yelled serious instructions to their sons in the water and later analysed performance and timing. One father was famously overheard to have said in frustration: "There's no one pushing him, dammit!" And his son was leading...
Hey, its not the Olympics, ladies and gentlemen! Lighten up!
After the swim, we treated Isaac to a bowl of his favourite pigs' intestines prawn noodles to celebrate. This being the last swimming carnival for us for SJI Jr, I do feel a bit nostalgic and sad. My boy is growing up and moving on. And frankly, I would miss the fun of rolling my eyes at over-competitive parents and laughing in delight at the False Start Events, but as KH pointed out, Owain will have his turn in SJI Jr in a couple of years so I just might find myself back in Jalan Besar swimming complex one day cheering another son on!
I blogged using my mobile phone earlier but had more to say and the phone's tiny buttons are not conducive to long messages! So here's the extended version.
The dim sum in the back alley way was a nice brekkie experience. We had sent Isaac off to the Jalan Besar swimming complex earlier for his Swimming Carnival and since he was only swimming in event no 20 and #26, we had time for a leisurely brekkie.
Shortly after taking that picture, the skies turned black and opened up in a torrential rain. The alley we were sitting in became an island as the waters rose around us and slowly inched closer. By the time we left, the dirty waters were lapping at the red plastic stools.
Still, it was nice to have brekkie outdoors on a cool morning, newspapers and novel in hand. KH had his Today newspaper with him and I had Gerald Durrell's "My Family and Other Animals". The other patrons of the restaurant were old men upward of their 70s and PCK-style contractors complete with bad perms and open-neck shirts! In an adjacent alley, I saw a fat sleek rat run into a doorway. So yes, this was atmospheric and reminiscent of eating in Singapore in the 60s and 70s!
The storm and the rain meant that the swimming carnival events were pushed back. When we arrived at the swimming complex more than an hour after dropping Isaac off, we realised that not even one event had been swum yet - everything was pushed back and the kids and parents left cooling their heels in the gallery.
The event proper only started at 10.30am. KH left to pick up Owain from school so I was the only cheerleader there when Isaac's event was called. He participated in the P6 50m backstroke and the 50m breaststroke. The P6 backstroke event was a shoo-in since there were not enough participants so no earlier heats were required. But for the P6 breaststroke, there were earlier heats and Isaac had come in last in them so we were surprised and pleased to hear that he had made it to the finals!
We know he is not a strong swimmer but we've been encouraging him to take part ever since he was in P4. For us, the spirit of competition, the atmosphere, the camaraderie, the excitement and the good stress associated with it were reason enough. So year after year, despite the lack of medals, our boy has been gamely signing up and going for competition. Plus he does enjoy himself splashing in the warm-up pool with his friends before the events are called.
It's always very cute to watch him psych himself up before the race. Sitting at the pool before his event is called, he would make a furtive sign of the cross and clasp his hands in brief prayer. Never the most religious of boys, it was funny to see him give a quick prayer like this!
Well, we know that winning might be a wee bit tough, so all of us just hope he won't come in last - and he didn't! From observing him this year, he seemed more confident than before, and certainly faster too. Even though his backstroke was the same as before - stroking backwards with TWO arms instead of alternate arms - he still managed to come in second last. Brilliant boy! We're so proud of him for making the effort, for going out there and competing and giving his best. He could have said: no, sure lose so why bother etc. But he didn't - he gamely went in and swam his best. And for us, that's what counts!
As he swam, I walked alongside hollering and cheering and KH said: geez you sound like one competitive mother! I retorted: you want to know what's 'competitive', try talking to those other mothers over there - the ones armed with stopwatches and discussing timing!
Going for the Swimming Carnival is also fun for for me as a mom because really, you see boys in all shapes and sizes and of all abilities and talents (0r lack of!). I enjoy watching the unbridled fun and horsing around by the boys in the pool, all of them tanned, slick with water, like supple seals, faces alive and bright with mischief.
And without exception, practically every Swimming Carnival would have what I call the False Start Event. This year was no different. The P2 breaststroke event had a false start so the boys were told to stop swimming. After the first 3 metres of thrashing about in the water, most boys complied - except one. This boy enthusiastically kept swimming. On and on. Blithely ignoring the frantic shouts from parents and officials to "Stop swimming!!", past the foghorn announcements by the commentator: "Boy, boy, you can stop now! Stop swimming now!" and even past the line that they dropped into the water to halt his single-minded progress down the pool - he simply lifted the nylon line over his head and carried on. He only stopped two metres from the finish line when he was near enough to finally see an official bending at the edge in front of him, one hand held up to cut him off.
Then there was the P4 backstroke event. Swimming at lane one was a portly kid. Dressed in a blue full swimsuit, not trunks. He was slow, yes - the slowest in fact, but that was not the funny part. The funny part was everytime this fat boy lifted one arm to stroke backwards, the other side of his body would dip so steeply into the water, I was afraid he would just tip over. He looked like he was struggling by the mid-point, so much so that Mr Philip the HOD for PE walked over, peered into the pool (and by then the race was over since he was the last swimmer left still swimming) and with that funny deadpan look, kept looking at him and walking alongside, as if to ensure that he would not really sink! The expression on Philip's face was priceless!
And then there were the parents - particularly the parents who take swimming carnivals and kids' performances very, very *seriously*. The ones with the clipboards and stopwatches (no they were not the officials), who yelled serious instructions to their sons in the water and later analysed performance and timing. One father was famously overheard to have said in frustration: "There's no one pushing him, dammit!" And his son was leading...
Hey, its not the Olympics, ladies and gentlemen! Lighten up!
After the swim, we treated Isaac to a bowl of his favourite pigs' intestines prawn noodles to celebrate. This being the last swimming carnival for us for SJI Jr, I do feel a bit nostalgic and sad. My boy is growing up and moving on. And frankly, I would miss the fun of rolling my eyes at over-competitive parents and laughing in delight at the False Start Events, but as KH pointed out, Owain will have his turn in SJI Jr in a couple of years so I just might find myself back in Jalan Besar swimming complex one day cheering another son on!
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Breakfast in jalan besar
In an alley next to a patch of green. Lots of old men gathering for their morning cuppa. Dim sum. Food not great but setting is authentic and atmospheric.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Some light on the horizon
1) Owain's listlessness re school. I've called several Montessori schools that came highly recommended and the one thing they all have in common is - they're pricey! Per term, you're really looking at anything from $1000 and upwards. So far, I've ruled out P&J (too far and they don't have a bus service that goes as far as Braddell), Bridges (full house, too expensive and a bus service which charges about $200 a month!!), Genevieve's at Newton (too expensive) and Montessori Children House at Newton (definitely waaay too expensive).
For the umpteenth time, I wished we had the Baby Bonus. That would have helped a great deal in defraying costs. Sigh. I also wished that Montessori schools just didn't charge so much. I can understand why though - equipment costs and the need for highly trained staff. These are not so much teachers but facilitators and they must be sensitive to understand each child's learning styles, current rate/interest and direct him to appropriate activities, observe and facilitate. Because this is so, the ratio of facilitator to children must be kept appropriately low.
If only Montessori would be adopted as THE way to teach young preschoolers and then go 'mainstream' in that it would be commonly adopted as pedagogy, then more schools would go the full Monty (!) and govt funding given and costs go down... and oh yes, just another pipe dream.
So I was about to give up when I saw Lumiere Montessori House just a few streets from Riang. Aha! I was a bit wary that this would be another Monty scam job - one of those schools who claim to be Monte but then only offer Monte 'enrichment' or do partial Monte with worksheets, class teaching etc (how can?? It goes entirely against the spirit and philosophy of Montessori!)
But I called them anyway and was pleasantly surprised - they offer a full Monte curriculum! Yes, learning is not teacher-directed but child-directed, yes the children are carefully observed, activities introduced in line with interest/age etc, ratio is 1 teacher to 10 children etc, right down to a 'managed' mixed-age grouping (there is no hard and fast K1 strictly for 5yos, but instead, the K1s and K2s are grouped together). I probably need to find out more when I visit them with Mr Fishball in tow next week, but what I hear sounds promising. They charge $1050 a term. BUT I would not need to pay for bus service (which can be astronomical!) and this gives me room to negotiate with KH - maybe I can foot the Monte bill partially every month? Two sushi meals less a month ought to cover it.
So there is light ahead at the end of the tunnel!
2) Caitlin's crying re remedial class. Its been very very hard getting this girl to go to school without crying. She cries when its time to change into her school uniform, she cries when its time to board the bus, on days when I'm in the office, she cries over multiple phone calls to me in the morning! I've tried reasoning, comforting, being loving, exasperated etc. I just can't figure it out - why is she crying?? And then the weirdes thing is, when she comes home from school, she says "school was fun!" Its like she's a bit schizoid! When I ask why she cries, she gives a whole range of reasons:
"My friends bully me."
"The girls on the bus calls me names."
"They always tell Lao Shi I do something wrong but I don't! Its not my fault!"
"Lao Shi makes me sit in front but its not my fault!"
"I don't understand what Lao Shi says!"
"When I speak Chinese, my friends all laugh at me!"
Sigh!
Yesterday I had to grapple with sending her to school for remedial since dad and mum are now in KL. As usual, she dragged her feet, crying, dripping tears all over the uniform. I was frustrated - because I don't know why and I can't make head or tail out of the reasons she always gives. After a big scolding, she dolefully got her bag, put on her shoes and we walked out silently. Got into a cab and I started thinking: why is she so miserable?
And then instead of thinking: why on earth can't she get her act together and make things easy, I found myself thinking: how can I make this easier for her? So I decided to call the school and left a message for the teacher to call me. Then I called KH and briefly discussed the issue, concluding that if she was so unhappy, so stressed and depressed, we would take her out of remedial. No sense keeping her on because if this carries on, she will just feel even more disspirited and no longer have any interest in learning - which would be a pity since she's actually not too bad at it!
I've gone through her work with her and its not as bad as I thought - she's certainly loads better than Isaac! Chinese spelling usually sees her scoring about 8/10 if not full marks. She tries hard and she picks things up quickly (we can revise spelling just the night before, but she picks up on the words very quickly and retains them - same for English spelling). So it would be a real pity if she developed an aversion, then all would be lost.
I think I also felt better (no longer angry or frustrated) because I was no longer putzing around in the dark about this. I was in control of the situation and I'd made a decision.
So with that intention, I waited for the teacher to call. Lao Shi, in very rapid Beijing-accented Mandarin, told me that Caitlin cries in class, usually at the start of the lesson. But when asked to go and wash her face, she would be better. In class, Cait could even be a bit bossy and 'check on' her classmates, telling them to behave etc. But otherwise, she was okay in class. So we were both stumped as to why she cries and seems so miserable. But either way, before I could request for Cait to be taken off the programme, Lao Shi suggested it herself. She said Cait could do the worksheets reasonably well, speaks the language relatively well, just needed more confidence in her language ability, so she thought Cait did not need to attend remedial anymore. Hallelujah!!
Later that afternoon, I got a call from Cait: "Mummy, I don't feel well. I feel a bit sick."
Uh-oh. But I said matter-of-factly: "No wonder, the way you've been crying in the morning!"
Before she could say anything more, I went on: "Anyway, I have good news. Lao Shi says you don't need remedial anymore."
Silence.
"You happy? Still feel sick?"
"No-ooo. Really I don't have remedial anymore?" Then she perks up. "Okay mummy, I feel better now! See you tonight!"
I'm glad for her. And I'm glad for me! Hopefully the good vibes with her last for good!
1) Owain's listlessness re school. I've called several Montessori schools that came highly recommended and the one thing they all have in common is - they're pricey! Per term, you're really looking at anything from $1000 and upwards. So far, I've ruled out P&J (too far and they don't have a bus service that goes as far as Braddell), Bridges (full house, too expensive and a bus service which charges about $200 a month!!), Genevieve's at Newton (too expensive) and Montessori Children House at Newton (definitely waaay too expensive).
For the umpteenth time, I wished we had the Baby Bonus. That would have helped a great deal in defraying costs. Sigh. I also wished that Montessori schools just didn't charge so much. I can understand why though - equipment costs and the need for highly trained staff. These are not so much teachers but facilitators and they must be sensitive to understand each child's learning styles, current rate/interest and direct him to appropriate activities, observe and facilitate. Because this is so, the ratio of facilitator to children must be kept appropriately low.
If only Montessori would be adopted as THE way to teach young preschoolers and then go 'mainstream' in that it would be commonly adopted as pedagogy, then more schools would go the full Monty (!) and govt funding given and costs go down... and oh yes, just another pipe dream.
So I was about to give up when I saw Lumiere Montessori House just a few streets from Riang. Aha! I was a bit wary that this would be another Monty scam job - one of those schools who claim to be Monte but then only offer Monte 'enrichment' or do partial Monte with worksheets, class teaching etc (how can?? It goes entirely against the spirit and philosophy of Montessori!)
But I called them anyway and was pleasantly surprised - they offer a full Monte curriculum! Yes, learning is not teacher-directed but child-directed, yes the children are carefully observed, activities introduced in line with interest/age etc, ratio is 1 teacher to 10 children etc, right down to a 'managed' mixed-age grouping (there is no hard and fast K1 strictly for 5yos, but instead, the K1s and K2s are grouped together). I probably need to find out more when I visit them with Mr Fishball in tow next week, but what I hear sounds promising. They charge $1050 a term. BUT I would not need to pay for bus service (which can be astronomical!) and this gives me room to negotiate with KH - maybe I can foot the Monte bill partially every month? Two sushi meals less a month ought to cover it.
So there is light ahead at the end of the tunnel!
2) Caitlin's crying re remedial class. Its been very very hard getting this girl to go to school without crying. She cries when its time to change into her school uniform, she cries when its time to board the bus, on days when I'm in the office, she cries over multiple phone calls to me in the morning! I've tried reasoning, comforting, being loving, exasperated etc. I just can't figure it out - why is she crying?? And then the weirdes thing is, when she comes home from school, she says "school was fun!" Its like she's a bit schizoid! When I ask why she cries, she gives a whole range of reasons:
"My friends bully me."
"The girls on the bus calls me names."
"They always tell Lao Shi I do something wrong but I don't! Its not my fault!"
"Lao Shi makes me sit in front but its not my fault!"
"I don't understand what Lao Shi says!"
"When I speak Chinese, my friends all laugh at me!"
Sigh!
Yesterday I had to grapple with sending her to school for remedial since dad and mum are now in KL. As usual, she dragged her feet, crying, dripping tears all over the uniform. I was frustrated - because I don't know why and I can't make head or tail out of the reasons she always gives. After a big scolding, she dolefully got her bag, put on her shoes and we walked out silently. Got into a cab and I started thinking: why is she so miserable?
And then instead of thinking: why on earth can't she get her act together and make things easy, I found myself thinking: how can I make this easier for her? So I decided to call the school and left a message for the teacher to call me. Then I called KH and briefly discussed the issue, concluding that if she was so unhappy, so stressed and depressed, we would take her out of remedial. No sense keeping her on because if this carries on, she will just feel even more disspirited and no longer have any interest in learning - which would be a pity since she's actually not too bad at it!
I've gone through her work with her and its not as bad as I thought - she's certainly loads better than Isaac! Chinese spelling usually sees her scoring about 8/10 if not full marks. She tries hard and she picks things up quickly (we can revise spelling just the night before, but she picks up on the words very quickly and retains them - same for English spelling). So it would be a real pity if she developed an aversion, then all would be lost.
I think I also felt better (no longer angry or frustrated) because I was no longer putzing around in the dark about this. I was in control of the situation and I'd made a decision.
So with that intention, I waited for the teacher to call. Lao Shi, in very rapid Beijing-accented Mandarin, told me that Caitlin cries in class, usually at the start of the lesson. But when asked to go and wash her face, she would be better. In class, Cait could even be a bit bossy and 'check on' her classmates, telling them to behave etc. But otherwise, she was okay in class. So we were both stumped as to why she cries and seems so miserable. But either way, before I could request for Cait to be taken off the programme, Lao Shi suggested it herself. She said Cait could do the worksheets reasonably well, speaks the language relatively well, just needed more confidence in her language ability, so she thought Cait did not need to attend remedial anymore. Hallelujah!!
Later that afternoon, I got a call from Cait: "Mummy, I don't feel well. I feel a bit sick."
Uh-oh. But I said matter-of-factly: "No wonder, the way you've been crying in the morning!"
Before she could say anything more, I went on: "Anyway, I have good news. Lao Shi says you don't need remedial anymore."
Silence.
"You happy? Still feel sick?"
"No-ooo. Really I don't have remedial anymore?" Then she perks up. "Okay mummy, I feel better now! See you tonight!"
I'm glad for her. And I'm glad for me! Hopefully the good vibes with her last for good!
Spa day out!
Friday morning saw mum, Vi and I getting an all-girls day at the spa, leaving behind the ol dad, the hubby and the kids. Mum's treat. She'd booked us a package at the Tea Tree Spa on Batam which included ferry rides to and from Batam, one massage and one scrub all for S$100 each.
Waterfront City was nothing much to speak of - it looked deserted and run-down. Apart from the Holiday Inn resort where the spa was, there was nothing else to do or see in the vicinity. The resort itself was nothing spectacular - looked like any condominium in Malaysia.
But we did not come to admire the resort.
It was 11am by the time we arrived so we had an early lunch before heading for our spa treat. The food at the cafe was awful. There's no other way to say it. Bleah. Pricey in Singapore dollars but just absolutely not worth it. The only decent thing was the keropok on the table!
But we did not come to taste-test the food either.
Over at the spa, set like a Balinese complex, we met the very nice manager Desi. The package covered one massage (choose either the Balinese or the Javanese - mum and I both immediately said "the softer one!!" and chose the Javanese) and one scrub (I opted for the tumeric scrub while Vi went for the avocado). Vi piled on the extras - she had enough stuff to last for 4hours in the spa. Mum, being circumspect as usual, just added one pedicure. I added a luxury rose milk bath and a mandi kepala (hair spa).
Because Vi's list of treatments now looked longer than the Olympic flame route, she was whisked off immediately. Mum and I, having more time to spare, hit the steam room and the jacuzzi. The steam room looked and sounded like some Nazi torture chamber - dimly lit, tiled from ceiling to floor, everytime the steam hit, it was accompanied by a massive groaning of the pipes behind the walls and a slow drip-drip of condensation from the ceiling and the walls. Very spooky atmospheric if you like that sort of thing. Mum, clearly more expert at all this than me, sat back, closed her eyes and let herself be cooked. I, as usual had too busy a brain, kept trying to peer through the foggy steam, wondering about the mechanism etc. It was not as punishingly hot as I thought it would be, but I just could not relax in that room.
I was more at ease in the jacuzzi. Set in an outdoor bale, we soaked ourselves in the bubbly until our therapists came to get us. Mine was called Heny with the Magic Hands. She led me to the treatment room. And gosh, when I saw it I thought - this is how I want a birth centre to be!! This is how it should look and feel - like a posh Balinese spa. We stepped through wooden doors in a wall and came to an open room, facing a small outdoor garden. A bathtub sat in one corner. In the raised room area, there were low treatment beds, armchairs, an ensuite shower and toilet and vanity. A ceiling fan whirred under the thatched pitch roof.
Okay, I have to admit here that I was a wee bit uncomfortable when Heny chirped: Now take off all your clothes and wear this towel. Disposable panties are over here. Gulp. Mum later said I was a bit goondu for heavens sake - after five births and being a birth educator and now I'm feeling icky about stripping down in a spa??
But strip I obediently did. Then what, the busy mind asked again. Do I keep my eyes open? Closed? Half open? Look at the fan? Heny, oblivious to my awkwardness just kept slathering on the scrub and gosh really scrubbing hard! After a while, the busy brain shut itself up and gave over to the feeling of having every last ounce of skin scrubbed out. The dead skin had no chance.
Scrub over, it was time for the luxury milk bath. Mum, Vi and I had an amiable argument about this earlier. Mum, disapproving of any excess said: "So wasted! Bathe in milk! People drink milk for heavens sake and now you just want to bathe in it??" Vi went: "Why not? Cleopatra did!" As usual, I wavered: I suppose mum is right - kinda decadent to bathe in MILK! Rose milk - I guess I'll smell like bandung after that! So I did let the manager know that I decided to change this to a simple floral bath (to which mum had to say: "Har?? Isn't it better to save this sort of bath to share with your husband instead? Like all those romantic shows on tv?? One person where got fun??" sigh - there is no pleasing this woman!)
But nonetheless, confronted by the bubbles in the bathtub, I suppose the manager must have forgotten about my change in request because Heny indicated a dish of powder and petals and said, as I stepped gingerly into the tub, "Milk bath yes?" and scattered the contents into the bath! Milk powder!! And the busy brain wondered: Nespray or what brand??
Still it was nice soaking in the tub. I noticed that Heny had scrubbed with such strength that my chest, boobs and upper arms were all red and spotty. To add to the experience, Heny brought me a long ice-cool drink of kunyit-assam (tumeric-tamarind). Gorgeously refreshing and said to be slimming too (so I bought extra packets for home - haha! In case you're wondering, I did check the ingredient list and it had nothing manufactured in it - just extracts of rhizome and ginger! Safe for breastfeeding!).
After the bath, came a quick shower, change of disposables and then it was time to lie face down and get pummelled. Javanese massage, I found, comprised of long slow deep pressure strokes which was really soothing. Lying face down in the massage bed, my face in the circular opening, I breathed in the fumes from a bowl of water scented with essential oil, with sticks of cinnamon floating in it. Nice touch I thought. The massage was so good I think I actually fell asleep.
Massage over it was time for the hair spa. Geez, I really felt like I was sitting in the lap of luxury. My hair covered in a thick avocado masque, under a steamer, listening to just soft piano spa muzak and the occasional bird call from the trees - it was so peaceful.
When everything was over, I took a quick shower and went back to the spa reception area where I found mum, sitting comfortably there and chatting with the manager. She had bought several packets of the ginger tea and the kunyit assam. I did the same - they were lovely.
The day ended soon because we had to take the last ferry at 4.30pm back to Singapore. Vi and mum dozed while I plugged into my music player and watched the islands and ships bob past in the 1.5hr journey back to Singapore. Waiting outside Customs and Immigration at Harbourfront was KH and Gillian. He had called earlier from the bowling alley where he had picked Gillian up, offering to pick us up. But because the timing was off, I'd told him to go home and not pick us up. But there he was - so it was a nice surprise. Vi's eyebrows went up and she whispered: Why is he suddenly being so nice hmm? What did you do to him? He's been quite sweet lately.
Haha - I don't know. But I'm not complaining!
To top everything off, he willingly and patiently bore the evening rush hour city traffic to bring us all to Marutama at Central. Even when the queue seemed to stretch for more than half an hour, he did not complain. So we had a very agreeable dinner.
And I, had a very agreeable day out.
Friday morning saw mum, Vi and I getting an all-girls day at the spa, leaving behind the ol dad, the hubby and the kids. Mum's treat. She'd booked us a package at the Tea Tree Spa on Batam which included ferry rides to and from Batam, one massage and one scrub all for S$100 each.
Waterfront City was nothing much to speak of - it looked deserted and run-down. Apart from the Holiday Inn resort where the spa was, there was nothing else to do or see in the vicinity. The resort itself was nothing spectacular - looked like any condominium in Malaysia.
But we did not come to admire the resort.
It was 11am by the time we arrived so we had an early lunch before heading for our spa treat. The food at the cafe was awful. There's no other way to say it. Bleah. Pricey in Singapore dollars but just absolutely not worth it. The only decent thing was the keropok on the table!
But we did not come to taste-test the food either.
Over at the spa, set like a Balinese complex, we met the very nice manager Desi. The package covered one massage (choose either the Balinese or the Javanese - mum and I both immediately said "the softer one!!" and chose the Javanese) and one scrub (I opted for the tumeric scrub while Vi went for the avocado). Vi piled on the extras - she had enough stuff to last for 4hours in the spa. Mum, being circumspect as usual, just added one pedicure. I added a luxury rose milk bath and a mandi kepala (hair spa).
Because Vi's list of treatments now looked longer than the Olympic flame route, she was whisked off immediately. Mum and I, having more time to spare, hit the steam room and the jacuzzi. The steam room looked and sounded like some Nazi torture chamber - dimly lit, tiled from ceiling to floor, everytime the steam hit, it was accompanied by a massive groaning of the pipes behind the walls and a slow drip-drip of condensation from the ceiling and the walls. Very spooky atmospheric if you like that sort of thing. Mum, clearly more expert at all this than me, sat back, closed her eyes and let herself be cooked. I, as usual had too busy a brain, kept trying to peer through the foggy steam, wondering about the mechanism etc. It was not as punishingly hot as I thought it would be, but I just could not relax in that room.
I was more at ease in the jacuzzi. Set in an outdoor bale, we soaked ourselves in the bubbly until our therapists came to get us. Mine was called Heny with the Magic Hands. She led me to the treatment room. And gosh, when I saw it I thought - this is how I want a birth centre to be!! This is how it should look and feel - like a posh Balinese spa. We stepped through wooden doors in a wall and came to an open room, facing a small outdoor garden. A bathtub sat in one corner. In the raised room area, there were low treatment beds, armchairs, an ensuite shower and toilet and vanity. A ceiling fan whirred under the thatched pitch roof.
Okay, I have to admit here that I was a wee bit uncomfortable when Heny chirped: Now take off all your clothes and wear this towel. Disposable panties are over here. Gulp. Mum later said I was a bit goondu for heavens sake - after five births and being a birth educator and now I'm feeling icky about stripping down in a spa??
But strip I obediently did. Then what, the busy mind asked again. Do I keep my eyes open? Closed? Half open? Look at the fan? Heny, oblivious to my awkwardness just kept slathering on the scrub and gosh really scrubbing hard! After a while, the busy brain shut itself up and gave over to the feeling of having every last ounce of skin scrubbed out. The dead skin had no chance.
Scrub over, it was time for the luxury milk bath. Mum, Vi and I had an amiable argument about this earlier. Mum, disapproving of any excess said: "So wasted! Bathe in milk! People drink milk for heavens sake and now you just want to bathe in it??" Vi went: "Why not? Cleopatra did!" As usual, I wavered: I suppose mum is right - kinda decadent to bathe in MILK! Rose milk - I guess I'll smell like bandung after that! So I did let the manager know that I decided to change this to a simple floral bath (to which mum had to say: "Har?? Isn't it better to save this sort of bath to share with your husband instead? Like all those
But nonetheless, confronted by the bubbles in the bathtub, I suppose the manager must have forgotten about my change in request because Heny indicated a dish of powder and petals and said, as I stepped gingerly into the tub, "Milk bath yes?" and scattered the contents into the bath! Milk powder!! And the busy brain wondered: Nespray or what brand??
Still it was nice soaking in the tub. I noticed that Heny had scrubbed with such strength that my chest, boobs and upper arms were all red and spotty. To add to the experience, Heny brought me a long ice-cool drink of kunyit-assam (tumeric-tamarind). Gorgeously refreshing and said to be slimming too (so I bought extra packets for home - haha! In case you're wondering, I did check the ingredient list and it had nothing manufactured in it - just extracts of rhizome and ginger! Safe for breastfeeding!).
After the bath, came a quick shower, change of disposables and then it was time to lie face down and get pummelled. Javanese massage, I found, comprised of long slow deep pressure strokes which was really soothing. Lying face down in the massage bed, my face in the circular opening, I breathed in the fumes from a bowl of water scented with essential oil, with sticks of cinnamon floating in it. Nice touch I thought. The massage was so good I think I actually fell asleep.
Massage over it was time for the hair spa. Geez, I really felt like I was sitting in the lap of luxury. My hair covered in a thick avocado masque, under a steamer, listening to just soft piano spa muzak and the occasional bird call from the trees - it was so peaceful.
When everything was over, I took a quick shower and went back to the spa reception area where I found mum, sitting comfortably there and chatting with the manager. She had bought several packets of the ginger tea and the kunyit assam. I did the same - they were lovely.
The day ended soon because we had to take the last ferry at 4.30pm back to Singapore. Vi and mum dozed while I plugged into my music player and watched the islands and ships bob past in the 1.5hr journey back to Singapore. Waiting outside Customs and Immigration at Harbourfront was KH and Gillian. He had called earlier from the bowling alley where he had picked Gillian up, offering to pick us up. But because the timing was off, I'd told him to go home and not pick us up. But there he was - so it was a nice surprise. Vi's eyebrows went up and she whispered: Why is he suddenly being so nice hmm? What did you do to him? He's been quite sweet lately.
Haha - I don't know. But I'm not complaining!
To top everything off, he willingly and patiently bore the evening rush hour city traffic to bring us all to Marutama at Central. Even when the queue seemed to stretch for more than half an hour, he did not complain. So we had a very agreeable dinner.
And I, had a very agreeable day out.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Wrong school?
I began the previous post about Owain not wanting to go to school.
At first, we think its the long bus ride. He has to wake up at 6.45am to get ready for a bus that comes at 7.20am, then endure a 50-min long ride to arrive at school at 8.10am. So I suggested that we try sending him to school. It means making one big round - we have to give Gillian a lift to Marine Parade first, then go for breakfast, then back to Aljunied Road to send him to school and then its another u-turn to Tampines to drop me off before KH can go to work.
The first time we tried it, he was chirpy and happy. But it didn't make sense. By the time we arrived at his school, so did the bus. So that meant it was around the same amount of travelling time for him and coming with us meant he would have to get up earlier in the morning. So I didn't think this made good sense, but he seemed happy.
Now that he knew we could do this, he started wheedling us to do this everyday. I counter-bargained by allowing him to take his new Masked Rider mask to school if he took the bus - which he did today. Still, I thought something else was not quite right. So I wrote in the communication notebook and asked the teacher to call me.
The Chinese teacher called me the other day. She seemd a bit defensive when I asked if he was happy in school. That was my only question - I only wanted to know if he was unhappy or happy from her observations, just her opinion. But I never got a straight answer from her. She seemed to think I was implying she was not doing her job. So instead of answering my question, she said: Owain's penmanship is very weak. He can't hold the pencil well and most of the time, I've got to hold it for him. He writes in very faint lines. The work you see in his worksheets are often just me holding his hand and guiding him. He can't even colour well. Compared with his peers, he is much weaker. Mummy must do more at home with him to boost his hand strength - let him play with sand etc. (Yet last night when I let him cut paper with scissors, there was nothing wrong with his hand strength, he could cut in very firm, even strokes)
Okay, I didn't ask for specifics and I wasn't bothered - I think a 4yo kid should be given some leeway and its not the end of the world if my son can't hold a pencil well. I should think that by the age of 21 he would have mastered this essential life skill.
I tried explaining that he had never been to school before unlike his peers who would have gone through Pre-Nursery, Nursery 1 and Nursery 2 etc. I also told her what I knew - that Owain is very bright and might not find seatwork very interesting or stimulating. Colouring to him, was not very fun - doing complex puzzles was more fun. But she didn't even seem to hear me. She just went on about how bad his handwriting was.
By then I was getting a bit irritated. But I continued asking what I asked from the beginning, is he happy in school? Does he participate? Have any friends?
And then the telling bit came in. She said well, he does not like to mix very well. Every morning when the bus comes and before assembly starts, all the kids would play together. I would encourage him to go and play with them but he wouldn't. He would only stand aside watching them play. He does not seem unhappy, but he just does not join in. This is the generally the same throughout the school day. He will participate when asked, but will not voluntarily do so.
What about the work - does he seem to enjoy it? The teacher paused and said, he will do the work but he does not take extra effort, he just gets it done at acceptable levels. He is not disruptive, he is not restless and is generally a good boy.
I just get the idea of one word to sum up everything: BLAH!
It bothers me, because I know him to be a cheeky mischievous kid who has no problem joining in play with his brothers and sisters. I also know him to be above average bright from that last IQ test. He is capable of insightful comments and observations that cut right to the core of the issue sometimes. So what the teacher described does not sound like the boy I know.
When I asked Owain, and I had to ask a few times. Most times he would just grin, groan as if it were a joke and not answer. But finally one day he said, school is so long... and I got to sit down and do work, do work, do work!!
So I think my gut feel was right - he is not cut out for a mainstream kindy where seatwork, penmanship etc are valued. I think he will do better in a one-to-one environment which allows him choice, allows him to learn through his own experiences - Montessori? Or Waldorf-Steiner?
It is so expensive though, but is there any other way? I can't bear letting him go through school, thinking that learning is boring and a chore - the system does this to most kids in time. But for someone like Owain, I think he deserves more and I think his gifts need to be cultivated. A mainstream system damps this down. But on the other hand, gosh, it is so expensive...
Looks like I have to start looking again.
I began the previous post about Owain not wanting to go to school.
At first, we think its the long bus ride. He has to wake up at 6.45am to get ready for a bus that comes at 7.20am, then endure a 50-min long ride to arrive at school at 8.10am. So I suggested that we try sending him to school. It means making one big round - we have to give Gillian a lift to Marine Parade first, then go for breakfast, then back to Aljunied Road to send him to school and then its another u-turn to Tampines to drop me off before KH can go to work.
The first time we tried it, he was chirpy and happy. But it didn't make sense. By the time we arrived at his school, so did the bus. So that meant it was around the same amount of travelling time for him and coming with us meant he would have to get up earlier in the morning. So I didn't think this made good sense, but he seemed happy.
Now that he knew we could do this, he started wheedling us to do this everyday. I counter-bargained by allowing him to take his new Masked Rider mask to school if he took the bus - which he did today. Still, I thought something else was not quite right. So I wrote in the communication notebook and asked the teacher to call me.
The Chinese teacher called me the other day. She seemd a bit defensive when I asked if he was happy in school. That was my only question - I only wanted to know if he was unhappy or happy from her observations, just her opinion. But I never got a straight answer from her. She seemed to think I was implying she was not doing her job. So instead of answering my question, she said: Owain's penmanship is very weak. He can't hold the pencil well and most of the time, I've got to hold it for him. He writes in very faint lines. The work you see in his worksheets are often just me holding his hand and guiding him. He can't even colour well. Compared with his peers, he is much weaker. Mummy must do more at home with him to boost his hand strength - let him play with sand etc. (Yet last night when I let him cut paper with scissors, there was nothing wrong with his hand strength, he could cut in very firm, even strokes)
Okay, I didn't ask for specifics and I wasn't bothered - I think a 4yo kid should be given some leeway and its not the end of the world if my son can't hold a pencil well. I should think that by the age of 21 he would have mastered this essential life skill.
I tried explaining that he had never been to school before unlike his peers who would have gone through Pre-Nursery, Nursery 1 and Nursery 2 etc. I also told her what I knew - that Owain is very bright and might not find seatwork very interesting or stimulating. Colouring to him, was not very fun - doing complex puzzles was more fun. But she didn't even seem to hear me. She just went on about how bad his handwriting was.
By then I was getting a bit irritated. But I continued asking what I asked from the beginning, is he happy in school? Does he participate? Have any friends?
And then the telling bit came in. She said well, he does not like to mix very well. Every morning when the bus comes and before assembly starts, all the kids would play together. I would encourage him to go and play with them but he wouldn't. He would only stand aside watching them play. He does not seem unhappy, but he just does not join in. This is the generally the same throughout the school day. He will participate when asked, but will not voluntarily do so.
What about the work - does he seem to enjoy it? The teacher paused and said, he will do the work but he does not take extra effort, he just gets it done at acceptable levels. He is not disruptive, he is not restless and is generally a good boy.
I just get the idea of one word to sum up everything: BLAH!
It bothers me, because I know him to be a cheeky mischievous kid who has no problem joining in play with his brothers and sisters. I also know him to be above average bright from that last IQ test. He is capable of insightful comments and observations that cut right to the core of the issue sometimes. So what the teacher described does not sound like the boy I know.
When I asked Owain, and I had to ask a few times. Most times he would just grin, groan as if it were a joke and not answer. But finally one day he said, school is so long... and I got to sit down and do work, do work, do work!!
So I think my gut feel was right - he is not cut out for a mainstream kindy where seatwork, penmanship etc are valued. I think he will do better in a one-to-one environment which allows him choice, allows him to learn through his own experiences - Montessori? Or Waldorf-Steiner?
It is so expensive though, but is there any other way? I can't bear letting him go through school, thinking that learning is boring and a chore - the system does this to most kids in time. But for someone like Owain, I think he deserves more and I think his gifts need to be cultivated. A mainstream system damps this down. But on the other hand, gosh, it is so expensive...
Looks like I have to start looking again.
Parenting - a personal reflection
Owain is getting to be a handful - literally.
Now that the initial excitement has worn off, Owain is showing clear signs of not wanting to go to school. Actually, he told me point blank that he does not want to go to school. Mornings are hellish since the boy has to wake up at 6.45am to get ready for school. It's so hard to get him to co-operate - he cries, scratches, pulls, punches etc. I have had many calls at 7am in the car from a hapless Lolita who hands the phone over to a sobbing kid.
What do I do? First I revert to type (ie how I was parented, how I used to parent - unconsciously without thinking): I try bribing ("I'll buy you cream puffs when I get home.") or cajoling ("Come on, be a good boy...") or scolding ("You're in serious trouble with me!") and then finally, threatening ("If you don't go to school I'll come home and cane you!") - Yep, not my proudest moment.
For a while, one or the other methods worked. But sometime last week, there finally came a time when nothing worked. Nothing. What was I to do? How to reach out? Beyond the dreaded 'cane' word, I was running out of tricks. Is this all I know?
At the same time, happening elsewhere in my life, I was asked to be co-leader to set up an attachment parenting group. What an honour! I was excited, all for it, had lots of ideas. Then it home - what a sham! I, set up an attachment parenting group? I, who threatened to cane at the first opportunity? I felt disturbed - this is not right. If I was going to do this, I'd better walk the talk. Or don't do this at all.
I started thinking deeper about this whole issue of discipline. Owain had started being very aggressive physically, hitting, scratching, kicking etc whenever he got angry. And no one was spared when he lost his temper - not me, not his dad, not even baby Trinity (but he does try to control himself a bit better when I remind him that she's only a baby!).
The other day right in Orchard Road, he pummelled, kicked and hit his dad until his dad got him into the car (an hour later, still growling and punching all the way) and his dad lost it and smacked him. By the time I got there, his little arm was pink and sore and he was perspiring and sobbing. The daddy also looked vexed and troubled, his palm throbbing and red. And all this drama happened why? Because he didn't want to walk and daddy didn't want to carry him.
All this rage. Not the first time it happened. The minute he was angry or felt wronged or unjust, there it would start - the hitting. Note though, that he was never like this in school with his peers - just with us, the people he knew well.
What could be happening? And how to manage this?
I tried the aggressive approach - didn't work. He just looked at me with those eyes - and yes I could see they were full of hurt that I would yell at him, try caning him etc. Seeing that look really made me ashamed. What was I doing? What was I thinking? This was the baby who had a gentle quiet birth - why did I bother doing all that for him when I was now entertaining thoughts of giving him good smacks with the cane? The look in his eyes - anger, hurt and betrayal, as if he never thought I would do this to him, really shook me.
But oh yes, I was angry and that kind of behavior set me off very easily. I found that that was my first response all the time. So I reverted to what I knew best that worked and had immediate results - violence. I wanted immediate compliance. I was not interested in seeking out the why behind the behavior. People use the cane to dominate, for power, for instant action. After a while, it got easier to do this and parents get lazier. And when parents get lazier, they stop asking, probing, they lose the patience to wait out a kid. They get impatient. I know, I went down this road.
All this dawned on me slowly as I started thinking harder about how I was acting to 'solve' the problem. Maybe, it occured to me, the problem had no immediate solution. Maybe parents should not 'solve' problems, not be there to provide quick instant answers, maybe there wasn't any. Maybe we just work through the process. Just be with the child, not do or fix.
Try listening. Try asking. Try being patient. All these little inner voices nagged.
So I tried. One night last week we were playing aeroplane chess. The game was down to just Owain and Cait. I commented (unwisely as it turned out): Wah, if Cait throws a six, she'll win the game!
And true enough, she did. Yay, went she! Bash! went he as he launched himself like a little rocket at me, knocking me to the ground, pulling at my shirt, his face ablaze with anger, hitting and kicking and growling (yes, growling). I was laughing because of the sheer silliness of the situation - it was a sheer coincidence and bad timing that I said that and now here this boy was, trying to knock the breath out of me.
After a while though, it got less funny and I started to get angry. But this time, I was aware of how I was feeling. And being aware meant that I could be in control. So instead of lashing out, I held him tight. Gosh it was hard to hold a squirmy kid!
His fingers were grasping for a grip, to pinch, to scratch and I was grateful that his fingernails were short! We sat like this for a long time, in a mutual vise - him struggling to get free, me struggling to hold him without hurting him, but not allowing him to hurt me. And cutely, Trin came over, yelled at him and pummelled him with her fists to get him to let go of me. I had to tell her it was okay.
Throughout all this, he did not cry, just kept growling angrily in a low tone. I kept talking to him. I was holding him such that he could look at me. So I kept my tone even and calm and just talked. I said it was not my fault, I didn't throw the dice, it was fair that the game turned out like this. I asked why he wanted to hurt me like this. I reminded him that I had no special power to influence the throw of the dice. I said I know he's angry that Cait won, but I had nothing to do with this. I kept repeating this again and again, over and over until I know he calmed down and his grip slackened.
By then, it was really late - 11pm and I was tired after a full day's work, but I offered to give him a bath and help him with his PJs. We just sat there, a bit tired from the wrestling, but he nodded eventually. We hugged and I kissed him and that was that. But it was exhausting.
KH says he has a really bad temper. My parents say this is due to breastfeeding (hah!) and my dad shook his head and said I have been too lax and I spoil him.
I am not sure, but I think he is hitting a new stage in his life (what stage this is, I don't know!) and the change, the leap across the chasm, is always hard and unsettling. I think he's not bad, just needs to know how to manage his anger. I think he is asking me for something but I'm not sure what. Time? Attention? Mothering? Patience? Space? Listening? I'm still feeling my way around...
The incident with the game was not the end. On Sunday in church, he did the same thing, got so angry with me (and this time I honestly have no idea why!) he started pushing me in the pew. Not funny when we're in church and I'm trying to pay attention to mass while nursing Trin as well.
Same thing - I got mad. Really angry. My instinct was to smack him immediately. But I knew I was angry and since I could not hold him since I was nursing Trin, I just gripped his hand hard to stop him from pushing me. It took about 20 to 30min before he stopped. By the end of mass, he was sitting quietly next to me, my arm around him in a semi-hug.
I think the general idea is: if adults can't even control themselves, if adults too can lash out, can hit, can denigrate, then why get upset if kids do this? Children model themselves on adult behavior. If I expect him to control himself, I've got to show him how. Not cane, smack or hit.
Still, I like to think that if I can parent always in the way that I parented Owain recently, I think the bigger transgressions will not happen. After all, I think most serious 'crimes' like stealing come about because of a loud inner cry for understanding and attention and respect. I like to think that if I give my child that from the beginning, if I can establish and demonstrate the boundaries of a respectful relationship, that they would not go astray like this. Is this wishful thinking? Am I naive? I know I am fallible - extremely so, and I am so wary of sounding like I am perfect parent with the answers since I know firsthand just how often I can make the same mistakes over and over again.
I think the key, for me at least, is awareness. Knowing what the triggers are, knowing when the buttons are being pushed and then setting in place, with the awareness, a different set of actions. Conscious parenting. It's hard and it will be so hard to struggle against type, against all that I am conditioned to be as a parent, against instinct to react instead of wait. And I am sure there will be times when I do lapse. Many I'm sure! But maybe it counts just to want to work at it, just to keep trying all the time.
Owain is getting to be a handful - literally.
Now that the initial excitement has worn off, Owain is showing clear signs of not wanting to go to school. Actually, he told me point blank that he does not want to go to school. Mornings are hellish since the boy has to wake up at 6.45am to get ready for school. It's so hard to get him to co-operate - he cries, scratches, pulls, punches etc. I have had many calls at 7am in the car from a hapless Lolita who hands the phone over to a sobbing kid.
What do I do? First I revert to type (ie how I was parented, how I used to parent - unconsciously without thinking): I try bribing ("I'll buy you cream puffs when I get home.") or cajoling ("Come on, be a good boy...") or scolding ("You're in serious trouble with me!") and then finally, threatening ("If you don't go to school I'll come home and cane you!") - Yep, not my proudest moment.
For a while, one or the other methods worked. But sometime last week, there finally came a time when nothing worked. Nothing. What was I to do? How to reach out? Beyond the dreaded 'cane' word, I was running out of tricks. Is this all I know?
At the same time, happening elsewhere in my life, I was asked to be co-leader to set up an attachment parenting group. What an honour! I was excited, all for it, had lots of ideas. Then it home - what a sham! I, set up an attachment parenting group? I, who threatened to cane at the first opportunity? I felt disturbed - this is not right. If I was going to do this, I'd better walk the talk. Or don't do this at all.
I started thinking deeper about this whole issue of discipline. Owain had started being very aggressive physically, hitting, scratching, kicking etc whenever he got angry. And no one was spared when he lost his temper - not me, not his dad, not even baby Trinity (but he does try to control himself a bit better when I remind him that she's only a baby!).
The other day right in Orchard Road, he pummelled, kicked and hit his dad until his dad got him into the car (an hour later, still growling and punching all the way) and his dad lost it and smacked him. By the time I got there, his little arm was pink and sore and he was perspiring and sobbing. The daddy also looked vexed and troubled, his palm throbbing and red. And all this drama happened why? Because he didn't want to walk and daddy didn't want to carry him.
All this rage. Not the first time it happened. The minute he was angry or felt wronged or unjust, there it would start - the hitting. Note though, that he was never like this in school with his peers - just with us, the people he knew well.
What could be happening? And how to manage this?
I tried the aggressive approach - didn't work. He just looked at me with those eyes - and yes I could see they were full of hurt that I would yell at him, try caning him etc. Seeing that look really made me ashamed. What was I doing? What was I thinking? This was the baby who had a gentle quiet birth - why did I bother doing all that for him when I was now entertaining thoughts of giving him good smacks with the cane? The look in his eyes - anger, hurt and betrayal, as if he never thought I would do this to him, really shook me.
But oh yes, I was angry and that kind of behavior set me off very easily. I found that that was my first response all the time. So I reverted to what I knew best that worked and had immediate results - violence. I wanted immediate compliance. I was not interested in seeking out the why behind the behavior. People use the cane to dominate, for power, for instant action. After a while, it got easier to do this and parents get lazier. And when parents get lazier, they stop asking, probing, they lose the patience to wait out a kid. They get impatient. I know, I went down this road.
All this dawned on me slowly as I started thinking harder about how I was acting to 'solve' the problem. Maybe, it occured to me, the problem had no immediate solution. Maybe parents should not 'solve' problems, not be there to provide quick instant answers, maybe there wasn't any. Maybe we just work through the process. Just be with the child, not do or fix.
Try listening. Try asking. Try being patient. All these little inner voices nagged.
So I tried. One night last week we were playing aeroplane chess. The game was down to just Owain and Cait. I commented (unwisely as it turned out): Wah, if Cait throws a six, she'll win the game!
And true enough, she did. Yay, went she! Bash! went he as he launched himself like a little rocket at me, knocking me to the ground, pulling at my shirt, his face ablaze with anger, hitting and kicking and growling (yes, growling). I was laughing because of the sheer silliness of the situation - it was a sheer coincidence and bad timing that I said that and now here this boy was, trying to knock the breath out of me.
After a while though, it got less funny and I started to get angry. But this time, I was aware of how I was feeling. And being aware meant that I could be in control. So instead of lashing out, I held him tight. Gosh it was hard to hold a squirmy kid!
His fingers were grasping for a grip, to pinch, to scratch and I was grateful that his fingernails were short! We sat like this for a long time, in a mutual vise - him struggling to get free, me struggling to hold him without hurting him, but not allowing him to hurt me. And cutely, Trin came over, yelled at him and pummelled him with her fists to get him to let go of me. I had to tell her it was okay.
Throughout all this, he did not cry, just kept growling angrily in a low tone. I kept talking to him. I was holding him such that he could look at me. So I kept my tone even and calm and just talked. I said it was not my fault, I didn't throw the dice, it was fair that the game turned out like this. I asked why he wanted to hurt me like this. I reminded him that I had no special power to influence the throw of the dice. I said I know he's angry that Cait won, but I had nothing to do with this. I kept repeating this again and again, over and over until I know he calmed down and his grip slackened.
By then, it was really late - 11pm and I was tired after a full day's work, but I offered to give him a bath and help him with his PJs. We just sat there, a bit tired from the wrestling, but he nodded eventually. We hugged and I kissed him and that was that. But it was exhausting.
KH says he has a really bad temper. My parents say this is due to breastfeeding (hah!) and my dad shook his head and said I have been too lax and I spoil him.
I am not sure, but I think he is hitting a new stage in his life (what stage this is, I don't know!) and the change, the leap across the chasm, is always hard and unsettling. I think he's not bad, just needs to know how to manage his anger. I think he is asking me for something but I'm not sure what. Time? Attention? Mothering? Patience? Space? Listening? I'm still feeling my way around...
The incident with the game was not the end. On Sunday in church, he did the same thing, got so angry with me (and this time I honestly have no idea why!) he started pushing me in the pew. Not funny when we're in church and I'm trying to pay attention to mass while nursing Trin as well.
Same thing - I got mad. Really angry. My instinct was to smack him immediately. But I knew I was angry and since I could not hold him since I was nursing Trin, I just gripped his hand hard to stop him from pushing me. It took about 20 to 30min before he stopped. By the end of mass, he was sitting quietly next to me, my arm around him in a semi-hug.
I think the general idea is: if adults can't even control themselves, if adults too can lash out, can hit, can denigrate, then why get upset if kids do this? Children model themselves on adult behavior. If I expect him to control himself, I've got to show him how. Not cane, smack or hit.
Still, I like to think that if I can parent always in the way that I parented Owain recently, I think the bigger transgressions will not happen. After all, I think most serious 'crimes' like stealing come about because of a loud inner cry for understanding and attention and respect. I like to think that if I give my child that from the beginning, if I can establish and demonstrate the boundaries of a respectful relationship, that they would not go astray like this. Is this wishful thinking? Am I naive? I know I am fallible - extremely so, and I am so wary of sounding like I am perfect parent with the answers since I know firsthand just how often I can make the same mistakes over and over again.
I think the key, for me at least, is awareness. Knowing what the triggers are, knowing when the buttons are being pushed and then setting in place, with the awareness, a different set of actions. Conscious parenting. It's hard and it will be so hard to struggle against type, against all that I am conditioned to be as a parent, against instinct to react instead of wait. And I am sure there will be times when I do lapse. Many I'm sure! But maybe it counts just to want to work at it, just to keep trying all the time.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Isaac - circa 1998
The debate on AP on vax and autism has brought back some sad memories. Joshua's note on AP made me think about the time when Isaac was first diagnosed by Dr Opitz so many years ago.
After mum had highlighted her fears - right at the chicken riceball place in Malacca (till today I cannot eat at the place without recalling that moment) - it was as if a light came on in my mind. I knew almost instinctively that was what was wrong with him. We all knew something was not right but could not put our finger on it. His temper tantrums were fierce and frightening and bewildering at times and he was exhibiting behavior we could not understand - we chalked it down to quirky but we were always uneasy. The word autism never occured to me. Apart from Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man, I'd never seen anyone who was autistic - and even then, Hoffman is just an actor. But once the words were out of mum's mouth, I knew that was it. It explained a lot.
I went home and did research on the web. What I read was sobering, terrifying and depressing. I saw Isaac in all those descriptions. He fit the profile. KH and I talked about it. Everything I read and knew about autism pointed to it being a life sentence, requiring lots of care. How would we do this? How could we afford this? What will happen to him next time when he got older? I felt angry that this happened to me, to my son, guilty because I thought I did not spend enough time with him, so maybe it was my fault. I felt sad for him and for us. I worried a lot. It seemed so insurmountable, so hopeless and so permanent. I never wanted to have another child - what if s/he turned out to be the same? It was not until Isaac was 5 and it was clear that the tide was turning that I felt optimistic enough to try for another child.
We were clear on one thing back then - we could not sit and wait and do nothing. So we called the Autism Association, we called special schools and everywhere the queue for diagnosis was so depressingly long. It was a lady at the Association who finally pointed us to Dr Vera Opitz at the BICC (Behavioural Intervention Centre for Children) at NUS. She agreed to see us, give us a preliminary diagnosis so that we could decide what to do from there while waiting on the KKH queue for a formal diagnosis.
I remember bringing Isaac and Gillian to the observation centre, a nondescript room in the Arts Faculty. Isaac and Gillian played with the toys scattered around while Dr Opitz observed him, tried interacting with him, watched him play, talked to us. I felt hopeful one minute and despairing the next, thinking sometimes: oh he doesn't look too bad - see he's not lining up cars now! And then my optimism would plummet the next when I saw that he was not even looking at Dr Opitz.
When the session was over, I remember feeling very tense as Dr Opitz spoke. Yes, she said, confirming our worst fears, he does display many signs of autism. Autistic tendencies, she called it, since it was too early at the age of 2 to say conclusively that it was autism. The good news is, one can do a lot with early intervention. She told me to read about Behavioral Therapy - Dr Ivar Lovaas' work. And she told me to read Catherine Maurice's book "Let Me Hear Your Voice". Maurice is the mother of two autistic children - who regressed into autism but who later 'recovered'. She had used a lot of BT and other therapies in her quest to help her children.
I went home, went online and ordered the books from Amazon immediately. Reading Maurice's experience, I could identify with her so well - the fears, the sadness, the bewilderness, the determination... but her story also gave me hope - her children recovered. Impossible though it was, they did.
But reading was not enough. We had to do something more concrete and that was behavioral therapy. Reading Lovaas convinced me then that BT would be the way to go since he had published a study which claimed that BT showed results. But who could do it? How much would this cost? How long? Maurice did BT practically everyday. But she was well-off compared by our standards and she had trained therapists coming everyday to do this. The research from Lovaas was also clear - doing BT everyday gave the best results. But for us, this would be a real drain on our finances. We honestly didn't know where to go and who to seek help from. So I called Dr Opitz.
And she sent me Melissa.
Quiet and observant, Melissa was there in the room interacting with Isaac during the observation. But I never noticed her. I was too busy listening to Dr Opitz and working out my emotions and thoughts that I never even registered her being there. But Dr Opitz recommended her, and she was trained in the principles of BT. (Years later, last year to be precise, when looking through our old photos taken during Isaac's observation session with Dr Opitz, I saw Melissa there! I showed it to her and we both marvelled at how things were back then!)
When KH and I first saw her, she was this young, thin, lanky girl with long hair with freckles, in jeans and t-shirt and a very teen-like demeanour. She looked like someone so young, so fresh out of school and so (sorry Melissa if you're reading this!) inexperienced. We wondered how she would do this, could she do this? Still, she came highly recommended by Dr Opitz, and the lines elsewhere for therapy and diagnosis were still as long as ever. There was nothing to lose, so we took her on.
I remember the first session - she would sit in the room with Isaac, door shut. I waited outside and listened to Isaac screaming his way through the session. Listening to him from the other side of the door, I think that was the first time I cried since the beginning when mum first hesitantly told me her opinion in Malacca.
Melissa first worked on trying to get Isaac to sit down and look at her. Because if he can't even sit, no work can be done. BT involves the use of behavioral 'drills'. Rewards are given for appropriate and desired behavior and adversives for non-compliant behavior. If this sounds very robot-like and mechanical, I suppose it is. It's not about reasoning or understanding, it's about getting the desired behavior (eg eye contact or appropriate social behavior) and eradicating the undesired behavior (eg stimming or echolalia). I don't like the use of adversives and I have read of therapists who use physical adversives on children. I am happy to say that we never got there because Melissa found adversives just as distasteful as I did!
She was incredibly patient with him despite his tantrums. She saw him twice a week initially. We could not afford more. She would write reports about the session (we still have files full of these!) and on our own, KH and I would try to practise the drills with Isaac.
Still, the tantrums and screaming continued for many sessions. Then one day, it just stopped. And change slowly began to happen.
Meanwhile, we also looked at other ways - Glenn Doman's Institute for brain-injured children in the US (a very costly option that included travelling there and going through therapy, learning what to do and applying it upon return - we could not afford this), diet therapy (tried the GFCF for a while but it did not seem to do much for him) and so on. So many ideas were coming out of the woods we didn't even know what was quack and what was kosher.
Isaac went on to have BT with Melissa for many years - all the way until he was in P2. By the age of 5 or 6, he had lost a great deal of autistic behavior. That was when we finally got to see the psychologist in KKH - gosh what a long wait! - and by then, the psychologist could not say conclusively that he was autistic anymore - he was reading well, slightly above his peer group, he had some eye contact, he seemed more social... but at the same time, the psychologist also could not say for sure that he was NOT autistic. Simply because there is no 'getting out' of autism. Once autistic, always autistic. And it was obvious from the notes that Isaac had many of the signs. Early intervention can do a lot - raise the functioning of many an autistic child to a higher level. But the understanding is, one never gets free of this.
We were euphoric then. We were, are, so grateful to Melissa. Till today she insists it was not her work, that he was just 'understimulated', but also admits that he did show a great deal of the signs of autism. She can't explain it and we can't explain it. But by the grace of God, Isaac has done very well.
Today, looking at him, I see a kid who is as 'normal' as they come. Everyone who meets him cannot see him as autistic, maybe will not believe me that he ever was. But being his mother, and knowing what came before, having seen him the way he was... I can only be thankful and say he's pretty much okay today and far better than he ever was.
There are still faint shades of old behaviour that I see - he still stims with his fingers, he still echoes faintly once in a while, he still appears aloof, not able to read social cues well, he still speaks in a monotone from time to time, his eye contact is still not voluntary (we have to remind him) and he generally comes across as 'eccentric' but not overly so. He's normal enough to gain acceptance in school, to make friends etc. But spend enough time observing him and you'll know what I mean. His teachers do. After a while, they all ask me if there's something not quite right with him. I say today that I think he is still 'autistic' but on a very high-functioning end. He certainly fits the definition of a high-functioning Asperger's boy.
I've talked to Isaac about his past, shown him pictures, Melissa still gets together with our family once in a while. I tell him he is one special kid. But I don't think I can forget how I felt back in those dark days.
So what caused it? Was it a genetic disorder? The fact that I didn't breastfeed? Was it the early cord clamping (which Morley associates with autism)?
I don't know. Could be all of the above? None of the above? But in terms of vaccines, I dare not say it was not and then blithely go ahead and give my other children all the jabs in the schedule. To me, that is tempting fate that lightning would not strike a third or fourth time in the same spot. Knowing what I know now, there are too many doubts about vaccine safety issues. My time with Isaac was frightening enough, I don't want to take the risk.
I think all parents must consider all the pros and cons well before they make such decisions. I say this on hindsight because as a first-time clueless mom, I never knew I had the right or power or the information to make such choices. As I posted in AP, if a child does get adversely affected, the ones living with the condition are the parents, the family, the child himself. NOT the government, not WHO, not the CDC or FDA in the US, not the vaccine manufacturers, not the doctors and nurses and paediatricians who would be so quick otherwise to condemn a non-vaxing mother.
Where I am in control and I can make the decisions, I will. If it is a genetic thing, then this is out of my hands.
I know vaccines do not stand alone - there may be other plausible environmental causes. But given the huge amount of information now coming out on vaccinations, knowing full well via my work in breastfeeding and birth, about how money and politics can subvert medicine and corrupt good intentions, I can't help but be sceptical. Until and unless I see a randomised controlled double-blind long-term study that proves vaccines are safe (there aren't any now and there very likely will not be any in the near future either), I guess my mindset will continue to stay this way. Ultimately, my main aim is to protect my child's well-being and if that means being kiasi or kiasu or anti-social... well that's just the way it is.
The debate on AP on vax and autism has brought back some sad memories. Joshua's note on AP made me think about the time when Isaac was first diagnosed by Dr Opitz so many years ago.
After mum had highlighted her fears - right at the chicken riceball place in Malacca (till today I cannot eat at the place without recalling that moment) - it was as if a light came on in my mind. I knew almost instinctively that was what was wrong with him. We all knew something was not right but could not put our finger on it. His temper tantrums were fierce and frightening and bewildering at times and he was exhibiting behavior we could not understand - we chalked it down to quirky but we were always uneasy. The word autism never occured to me. Apart from Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man, I'd never seen anyone who was autistic - and even then, Hoffman is just an actor. But once the words were out of mum's mouth, I knew that was it. It explained a lot.
I went home and did research on the web. What I read was sobering, terrifying and depressing. I saw Isaac in all those descriptions. He fit the profile. KH and I talked about it. Everything I read and knew about autism pointed to it being a life sentence, requiring lots of care. How would we do this? How could we afford this? What will happen to him next time when he got older? I felt angry that this happened to me, to my son, guilty because I thought I did not spend enough time with him, so maybe it was my fault. I felt sad for him and for us. I worried a lot. It seemed so insurmountable, so hopeless and so permanent. I never wanted to have another child - what if s/he turned out to be the same? It was not until Isaac was 5 and it was clear that the tide was turning that I felt optimistic enough to try for another child.
We were clear on one thing back then - we could not sit and wait and do nothing. So we called the Autism Association, we called special schools and everywhere the queue for diagnosis was so depressingly long. It was a lady at the Association who finally pointed us to Dr Vera Opitz at the BICC (Behavioural Intervention Centre for Children) at NUS. She agreed to see us, give us a preliminary diagnosis so that we could decide what to do from there while waiting on the KKH queue for a formal diagnosis.
I remember bringing Isaac and Gillian to the observation centre, a nondescript room in the Arts Faculty. Isaac and Gillian played with the toys scattered around while Dr Opitz observed him, tried interacting with him, watched him play, talked to us. I felt hopeful one minute and despairing the next, thinking sometimes: oh he doesn't look too bad - see he's not lining up cars now! And then my optimism would plummet the next when I saw that he was not even looking at Dr Opitz.
When the session was over, I remember feeling very tense as Dr Opitz spoke. Yes, she said, confirming our worst fears, he does display many signs of autism. Autistic tendencies, she called it, since it was too early at the age of 2 to say conclusively that it was autism. The good news is, one can do a lot with early intervention. She told me to read about Behavioral Therapy - Dr Ivar Lovaas' work. And she told me to read Catherine Maurice's book "Let Me Hear Your Voice". Maurice is the mother of two autistic children - who regressed into autism but who later 'recovered'. She had used a lot of BT and other therapies in her quest to help her children.
I went home, went online and ordered the books from Amazon immediately. Reading Maurice's experience, I could identify with her so well - the fears, the sadness, the bewilderness, the determination... but her story also gave me hope - her children recovered. Impossible though it was, they did.
But reading was not enough. We had to do something more concrete and that was behavioral therapy. Reading Lovaas convinced me then that BT would be the way to go since he had published a study which claimed that BT showed results. But who could do it? How much would this cost? How long? Maurice did BT practically everyday. But she was well-off compared by our standards and she had trained therapists coming everyday to do this. The research from Lovaas was also clear - doing BT everyday gave the best results. But for us, this would be a real drain on our finances. We honestly didn't know where to go and who to seek help from. So I called Dr Opitz.
And she sent me Melissa.
Quiet and observant, Melissa was there in the room interacting with Isaac during the observation. But I never noticed her. I was too busy listening to Dr Opitz and working out my emotions and thoughts that I never even registered her being there. But Dr Opitz recommended her, and she was trained in the principles of BT. (Years later, last year to be precise, when looking through our old photos taken during Isaac's observation session with Dr Opitz, I saw Melissa there! I showed it to her and we both marvelled at how things were back then!)
When KH and I first saw her, she was this young, thin, lanky girl with long hair with freckles, in jeans and t-shirt and a very teen-like demeanour. She looked like someone so young, so fresh out of school and so (sorry Melissa if you're reading this!) inexperienced. We wondered how she would do this, could she do this? Still, she came highly recommended by Dr Opitz, and the lines elsewhere for therapy and diagnosis were still as long as ever. There was nothing to lose, so we took her on.
I remember the first session - she would sit in the room with Isaac, door shut. I waited outside and listened to Isaac screaming his way through the session. Listening to him from the other side of the door, I think that was the first time I cried since the beginning when mum first hesitantly told me her opinion in Malacca.
Melissa first worked on trying to get Isaac to sit down and look at her. Because if he can't even sit, no work can be done. BT involves the use of behavioral 'drills'. Rewards are given for appropriate and desired behavior and adversives for non-compliant behavior. If this sounds very robot-like and mechanical, I suppose it is. It's not about reasoning or understanding, it's about getting the desired behavior (eg eye contact or appropriate social behavior) and eradicating the undesired behavior (eg stimming or echolalia). I don't like the use of adversives and I have read of therapists who use physical adversives on children. I am happy to say that we never got there because Melissa found adversives just as distasteful as I did!
She was incredibly patient with him despite his tantrums. She saw him twice a week initially. We could not afford more. She would write reports about the session (we still have files full of these!) and on our own, KH and I would try to practise the drills with Isaac.
Still, the tantrums and screaming continued for many sessions. Then one day, it just stopped. And change slowly began to happen.
Meanwhile, we also looked at other ways - Glenn Doman's Institute for brain-injured children in the US (a very costly option that included travelling there and going through therapy, learning what to do and applying it upon return - we could not afford this), diet therapy (tried the GFCF for a while but it did not seem to do much for him) and so on. So many ideas were coming out of the woods we didn't even know what was quack and what was kosher.
Isaac went on to have BT with Melissa for many years - all the way until he was in P2. By the age of 5 or 6, he had lost a great deal of autistic behavior. That was when we finally got to see the psychologist in KKH - gosh what a long wait! - and by then, the psychologist could not say conclusively that he was autistic anymore - he was reading well, slightly above his peer group, he had some eye contact, he seemed more social... but at the same time, the psychologist also could not say for sure that he was NOT autistic. Simply because there is no 'getting out' of autism. Once autistic, always autistic. And it was obvious from the notes that Isaac had many of the signs. Early intervention can do a lot - raise the functioning of many an autistic child to a higher level. But the understanding is, one never gets free of this.
We were euphoric then. We were, are, so grateful to Melissa. Till today she insists it was not her work, that he was just 'understimulated', but also admits that he did show a great deal of the signs of autism. She can't explain it and we can't explain it. But by the grace of God, Isaac has done very well.
Today, looking at him, I see a kid who is as 'normal' as they come. Everyone who meets him cannot see him as autistic, maybe will not believe me that he ever was. But being his mother, and knowing what came before, having seen him the way he was... I can only be thankful and say he's pretty much okay today and far better than he ever was.
There are still faint shades of old behaviour that I see - he still stims with his fingers, he still echoes faintly once in a while, he still appears aloof, not able to read social cues well, he still speaks in a monotone from time to time, his eye contact is still not voluntary (we have to remind him) and he generally comes across as 'eccentric' but not overly so. He's normal enough to gain acceptance in school, to make friends etc. But spend enough time observing him and you'll know what I mean. His teachers do. After a while, they all ask me if there's something not quite right with him. I say today that I think he is still 'autistic' but on a very high-functioning end. He certainly fits the definition of a high-functioning Asperger's boy.
I've talked to Isaac about his past, shown him pictures, Melissa still gets together with our family once in a while. I tell him he is one special kid. But I don't think I can forget how I felt back in those dark days.
So what caused it? Was it a genetic disorder? The fact that I didn't breastfeed? Was it the early cord clamping (which Morley associates with autism)?
I don't know. Could be all of the above? None of the above? But in terms of vaccines, I dare not say it was not and then blithely go ahead and give my other children all the jabs in the schedule. To me, that is tempting fate that lightning would not strike a third or fourth time in the same spot. Knowing what I know now, there are too many doubts about vaccine safety issues. My time with Isaac was frightening enough, I don't want to take the risk.
I think all parents must consider all the pros and cons well before they make such decisions. I say this on hindsight because as a first-time clueless mom, I never knew I had the right or power or the information to make such choices. As I posted in AP, if a child does get adversely affected, the ones living with the condition are the parents, the family, the child himself. NOT the government, not WHO, not the CDC or FDA in the US, not the vaccine manufacturers, not the doctors and nurses and paediatricians who would be so quick otherwise to condemn a non-vaxing mother.
Where I am in control and I can make the decisions, I will. If it is a genetic thing, then this is out of my hands.
I know vaccines do not stand alone - there may be other plausible environmental causes. But given the huge amount of information now coming out on vaccinations, knowing full well via my work in breastfeeding and birth, about how money and politics can subvert medicine and corrupt good intentions, I can't help but be sceptical. Until and unless I see a randomised controlled double-blind long-term study that proves vaccines are safe (there aren't any now and there very likely will not be any in the near future either), I guess my mindset will continue to stay this way. Ultimately, my main aim is to protect my child's well-being and if that means being kiasi or kiasu or anti-social... well that's just the way it is.
Bali in November
I've booked my ticket.
So come Nov 9 I will be heading to Bali on a solo trip for some quiet time. It will not be a long trip. Still can't bear to be away from the kids too long. (But still longing for the day when I can finally go on longer trips and not feel the guilt!)
Right now, I think I will spend the first two nights at the Grand Bali Hyatt at Nusa Dua. Nothing but beach, spa treatments and indulging in the stuff I like - leisurely swims, walks on the beach, reading a good book, listening to the music I like and just thinking/reflecting. Then I will move to Ubud for a spa relaxation package for the next two nights. I am fluid on this and things may change. But for now this sounds good!
The spa package in Ubud will include body treatments, massages, short tours and a bike ride (heavens! have not ridden a bike in years!) from the lip of the volcano back down to Ubud!
I am nervous, excited, fearful and guilty all at once at the thought of going alone. I am tempted to ask someone to go with me - my mum, my sister, or a friend, or even KH and the kids - but no, what would be the point? Why do I keep feeling like I need a crutch or to be around people in order to be happy? What's there to be afraid of?
No, tempted though I may be to drag someone along, I should do this alone - there are lessons waiting to be discovered.
I suspect that I might actually like being alone in travel so much that coming home might be a bit sad for me!
I've booked my ticket.
So come Nov 9 I will be heading to Bali on a solo trip for some quiet time. It will not be a long trip. Still can't bear to be away from the kids too long. (But still longing for the day when I can finally go on longer trips and not feel the guilt!)
Right now, I think I will spend the first two nights at the Grand Bali Hyatt at Nusa Dua. Nothing but beach, spa treatments and indulging in the stuff I like - leisurely swims, walks on the beach, reading a good book, listening to the music I like and just thinking/reflecting. Then I will move to Ubud for a spa relaxation package for the next two nights. I am fluid on this and things may change. But for now this sounds good!
The spa package in Ubud will include body treatments, massages, short tours and a bike ride (heavens! have not ridden a bike in years!) from the lip of the volcano back down to Ubud!
I am nervous, excited, fearful and guilty all at once at the thought of going alone. I am tempted to ask someone to go with me - my mum, my sister, or a friend, or even KH and the kids - but no, what would be the point? Why do I keep feeling like I need a crutch or to be around people in order to be happy? What's there to be afraid of?
No, tempted though I may be to drag someone along, I should do this alone - there are lessons waiting to be discovered.
I suspect that I might actually like being alone in travel so much that coming home might be a bit sad for me!
Thursday, April 03, 2008
A taste of full-time work
These past few days, since last Fri, I have been working full-time in the office, and will likely continue until middle of next week at least.
Couple of reasons: (1) we have the ISO audit coming up and I am the document controller, which means lots of prep needed to ensure the documents are in order. (2) I have one ad campaign to 'pitch' for internally - that means working on concept, copy, reach etc. (3) I am sitting on a key committee here that works on marketing, branding and promo work. And suddenly this committee has burst to life for the year - meaning new projects, new events to plan for etc. (4) I have been roped in to be the corporate 'frontroom' for a key design centre here ie being responsible for publicity, arranging visits etc. (5) I have been asked to try writing a paper on design for a conference - new territory which is both terrifying and exciting! (6) MIL is in the house for the week, so better to stay holed up in the office than feeling angsty and resentful about too much TV use at home - haha!
MIL aside, these are all very exciting projects that I am now working on. I have not felt so excited and keyed up about work since I can't remember when.
So for the past few days I am off to work at 6.45am, back home at 7pm and after the whirlwind of dinner, nursing, showering, reading to children, listening to complaints and experiences of the day from 5 kids, checking out the school work/homework etc, I am in bed earliest at 11pm if not past midnight.
I feel quite conked to be honest. Last night Gillian's classmate came to our house for dinner. We sent her home after that at 8pm. By 8.30pm I was nodding off in the car. At 9 when we arrived home, I picked up Trin, hit the bed, nursed to sleep and was out like a light until this morning. I did not even remember waking up once to go to the toilet, nor giving Gillian a lecture about treating Cait with more love/respect etc. But apparently, I did. KH noted that I did slur my words towards the end but said I got my point across quite well despite the zombie mode. I must have been on auto-pilot then!
I was musing to him this morning that with this schedule, I found it hard paying attention to all 5 kids. Cait has been quietly and dolefully commenting that she hardly saw me, we hardly go out together anymore. When I reminded her that we go out on Sats and Suns, she said: yeah but that's with everybody, not just you and me! I think she feels her voice is getting a bit lost in the crowd. With my current schedule (and this is how it would be if I worked full-time), she goes even more unheard sometimes.
I think we can't have it either way. If the family is so large, maybe it helps to work part-time. That way, one gets to spend enough time with each child - not in terms of academic work, but in just being there to listen, to just be.
And then there are also my parents. Honestly, I think I've never felt closer to my dad than now. Since the bypass, he has stopped smoking, put on some weight and overall seems to have mellowed and softened. I see him with greater affection now than before. Since my mom also stopped working to care for him, the two of them have been going around town trying new food, cooking up a storm, ferrying my kids to and from school etc. On my days off, I've been having brekkie with them, hanging out at their place some days etc. With full-time work, this past week, this has not been possible.
But then on a professional note, I've never felt more keyed up and excited about work in such a long time. I do miss the buzz. Its different when you work part-time - the momentum is often broken and I find myself coming back to office the day after a break feeling sluggish and unmotivated. It takes a while before I 'warm' up and then before I know it, its the end of the day and I can't pursue the leads I want. Not very satisfying.
I just finished my appraisal and my big boss told me: "I'm kinda getting used to you being on a permanent part-time. I don't think you'll ever come back to full-time work. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying this in a sarcastic manner. I think this works out for all of us - you and for me. Yes in the beginning there were teething problems but now I think this arrangement is now working out very well."
Well enough to give me a decent performance bonus, a Growth bonus and to approve my half-time application for one more year.
So what more do I want? I told him: "Boss, it will not be a permanent part-time situation lah. I will be back. Maybe next year."
Maybe next year indeed. Full-time or half-time? Gives me one more year to think about it.
These past few days, since last Fri, I have been working full-time in the office, and will likely continue until middle of next week at least.
Couple of reasons: (1) we have the ISO audit coming up and I am the document controller, which means lots of prep needed to ensure the documents are in order. (2) I have one ad campaign to 'pitch' for internally - that means working on concept, copy, reach etc. (3) I am sitting on a key committee here that works on marketing, branding and promo work. And suddenly this committee has burst to life for the year - meaning new projects, new events to plan for etc. (4) I have been roped in to be the corporate 'frontroom' for a key design centre here ie being responsible for publicity, arranging visits etc. (5) I have been asked to try writing a paper on design for a conference - new territory which is both terrifying and exciting! (6) MIL is in the house for the week, so better to stay holed up in the office than feeling angsty and resentful about too much TV use at home - haha!
MIL aside, these are all very exciting projects that I am now working on. I have not felt so excited and keyed up about work since I can't remember when.
So for the past few days I am off to work at 6.45am, back home at 7pm and after the whirlwind of dinner, nursing, showering, reading to children, listening to complaints and experiences of the day from 5 kids, checking out the school work/homework etc, I am in bed earliest at 11pm if not past midnight.
I feel quite conked to be honest. Last night Gillian's classmate came to our house for dinner. We sent her home after that at 8pm. By 8.30pm I was nodding off in the car. At 9 when we arrived home, I picked up Trin, hit the bed, nursed to sleep and was out like a light until this morning. I did not even remember waking up once to go to the toilet, nor giving Gillian a lecture about treating Cait with more love/respect etc. But apparently, I did. KH noted that I did slur my words towards the end but said I got my point across quite well despite the zombie mode. I must have been on auto-pilot then!
I was musing to him this morning that with this schedule, I found it hard paying attention to all 5 kids. Cait has been quietly and dolefully commenting that she hardly saw me, we hardly go out together anymore. When I reminded her that we go out on Sats and Suns, she said: yeah but that's with everybody, not just you and me! I think she feels her voice is getting a bit lost in the crowd. With my current schedule (and this is how it would be if I worked full-time), she goes even more unheard sometimes.
I think we can't have it either way. If the family is so large, maybe it helps to work part-time. That way, one gets to spend enough time with each child - not in terms of academic work, but in just being there to listen, to just be.
And then there are also my parents. Honestly, I think I've never felt closer to my dad than now. Since the bypass, he has stopped smoking, put on some weight and overall seems to have mellowed and softened. I see him with greater affection now than before. Since my mom also stopped working to care for him, the two of them have been going around town trying new food, cooking up a storm, ferrying my kids to and from school etc. On my days off, I've been having brekkie with them, hanging out at their place some days etc. With full-time work, this past week, this has not been possible.
But then on a professional note, I've never felt more keyed up and excited about work in such a long time. I do miss the buzz. Its different when you work part-time - the momentum is often broken and I find myself coming back to office the day after a break feeling sluggish and unmotivated. It takes a while before I 'warm' up and then before I know it, its the end of the day and I can't pursue the leads I want. Not very satisfying.
I just finished my appraisal and my big boss told me: "I'm kinda getting used to you being on a permanent part-time. I don't think you'll ever come back to full-time work. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying this in a sarcastic manner. I think this works out for all of us - you and for me. Yes in the beginning there were teething problems but now I think this arrangement is now working out very well."
Well enough to give me a decent performance bonus, a Growth bonus and to approve my half-time application for one more year.
So what more do I want? I told him: "Boss, it will not be a permanent part-time situation lah. I will be back. Maybe next year."
Maybe next year indeed. Full-time or half-time? Gives me one more year to think about it.
Going green really works!
KH came in excitedly the other day waving the electricity bill. "See!" he said smugly. "Told you we would save money!"
Turns out the bill was reduced by $90 since we've stopped using airconditioning at night. KH thinks it can probably go down further since the sum only reflects the full month's usage, but the kids only stopped using airconditioning about two weeks of the month.
I'm pretty impressed I have to say. $90 or say $100 saved a month means $1200 saved a year! Enough to pay for at least two trips up to Malaysia in one year!
For houses in the same category as ours ie landed property/condominiums, we have always been slightly below the national average. But this month, we've dropped by almost 40% in the bar chart comparison!
Suffice to say we're pretty inspired and more enthusiastic than ever in keeping up these non-aircon efforts. If the govt would reward people for going green eg recycling above a certain level (by weight) a month by giving rebates (regardless of housing size!) then our efforts to go green might see larger and more enthusiastic response from the public. Same for not using plastic bags. If stores would be willing to give a discount for not using plastic bags, perhaps you'd see greater success in the population in this area. Come to think about it, perhaps rebates should also be given if households can limit their energy consumption to below a certain level? That would encourage more people to conserve energy.
Yes, it's all linked to money incentives and material rewards, but I'm practical and Singaporean enough to say that in this land at least, money speaks louder than any inspiring green speech or campaign to 'encourage' or even fearsome images of what life might be like, from a global warming projection, if we kept on with our current lifestyles.
KH came in excitedly the other day waving the electricity bill. "See!" he said smugly. "Told you we would save money!"
Turns out the bill was reduced by $90 since we've stopped using airconditioning at night. KH thinks it can probably go down further since the sum only reflects the full month's usage, but the kids only stopped using airconditioning about two weeks of the month.
I'm pretty impressed I have to say. $90 or say $100 saved a month means $1200 saved a year! Enough to pay for at least two trips up to Malaysia in one year!
For houses in the same category as ours ie landed property/condominiums, we have always been slightly below the national average. But this month, we've dropped by almost 40% in the bar chart comparison!
Suffice to say we're pretty inspired and more enthusiastic than ever in keeping up these non-aircon efforts. If the govt would reward people for going green eg recycling above a certain level (by weight) a month by giving rebates (regardless of housing size!) then our efforts to go green might see larger and more enthusiastic response from the public. Same for not using plastic bags. If stores would be willing to give a discount for not using plastic bags, perhaps you'd see greater success in the population in this area. Come to think about it, perhaps rebates should also be given if households can limit their energy consumption to below a certain level? That would encourage more people to conserve energy.
Yes, it's all linked to money incentives and material rewards, but I'm practical and Singaporean enough to say that in this land at least, money speaks louder than any inspiring green speech or campaign to 'encourage' or even fearsome images of what life might be like, from a global warming projection, if we kept on with our current lifestyles.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Fat CatWhile out for lunch across the road from the poly this afternoon, Ron and I spotted this fat cat. She was a lovely grey striped tabby with grey eyes and so FAT. We saw that she had been sterilised already from the clipped ear. She was so tame too, obviously very used to human interaction.
I had to go very near to snap these shots of her on my handphone but she didn't seem to mind. She had a short stumpy tail which she would wag - yes, wag like a dog! It was so cute to watch!
After posing in a sitting position for a while, she decided to lie down like the sphinx for another photo op.
Next time I walk across the road for lunch, I'll try to spot her again.
I just love fat cats. I know cats are supposed to be sleek and elegant but I love them plump and cuddly too. The other fat cat in my neighbourhood, Jinxy, or what my kids and I call it (in a loving shout-out to De Niro's Persian in Meet the Parents), has moved away - the family renting the house across the road has moved out. So we're quite sad - never to see the fat one sitting on the stone slab outside my door, or see him pooing in our garden, or lying beneath our car...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)