Isaac served his first mass as altar-boy at the 6.30am mass two Saturdays ago. KH and I got up early just to attend mass to watch him make his debut. We were not alone. There was another eager-beaver parent there armed with video cam and camera to capture the moment for his son too. KH initially wanted to do the same except that I managed to persuade him that being ‘subtle’ was more important to his son’s very fragile ego. Yet despite the ‘subtle’ use of the iPhone camera, Isaac later muttered that he could see us grinning and snapping away – “so much for being ‘subtle’ mom and dad!”

But honestly, he was just too cute in his white cassock and red vestments, hands folded demurely in prayerful position. Too angelic! I was seized with the really unholy urge to burst into loud laughter when he first came out from the sacristy with the priests and the other altar-boys. After that I have to say that I didn’t really concentrate on mass, but just watching him with an eagle eye for any boo-boos. But God was with him that morning and it all went without a hitch – except from the occasional nudges and meaningful looks from the senior altar-boy serving alongside!

He’s served a couple more times since then and he seems to enjoy it. I’m happy for him that he’s found something meaningful where he can contribute in church. And being the oldest ‘trainee’ altar-boy there, he has somewhat got a sense of being the ‘older brother’ there that the kiddies look up to.

He’s growing up to be a little man. I find that I depend on him more and more these days.

Last week was Owain’s birthday. Because I was too ill with a bad viral infection to go to his school to distribute the goody-bags, Isaac went instead. There’s something very heart-warming and sweet about this as the big ‘kor-kor’ plays birthday santa to his little brother’s P1 classmates. I could just imagine the two brothers happily giving out the goody-bags!

When his father was not around last week and I was sick, it was Isaac who volunteered to put the eye-drops in for me – something KH had done. It was also Isaac who gave feedback on Owain’s goody-bags, offering ideas on how to improve the bag’s contents and brainstorming with me on how best to get this done. And it was he who offered to stay with Cait until her class started when I could not. And when Cait was acting like the diva, it was he who offered his opinion and bluntly told her off.

Things like these help to build responsibility, and a sense of usefulness, belonging and commitment to the family and the community. When he contributes like this, he grows as a young man too. The appreciation he gets from me, his younger siblings, fellow and senior altar-boys contributes to his self-esteem and peels away the layers of self-centredness and self-absorption. It will not happen overnight of course and in many ways, having Aspergers Syndrome makes it harder for him, than the average kid out there, to appreciate the social payback. But we’ll get there and these little things are the building blocks that will pave the way.

Cait too, is adjusting to the hectic training in the national squad and she’s finding that hard work pays off.

On Friday she came home with the two leotards worn by the girls in the national training squad – one dark blue with sparkles and another the red leotard with the Singapore flag on the front. This is the crown jewel that she has been eyeing since she got into the selection trials for the training squad. On certain days, the other gymnasts all wear national colours to train. For her and the others whose places in the team have not been confirmed, they wear their own leotards. So she has always looked upon these leotards with a certain sense of longing. Seems like her dream came true when she came home on Friday with the two 'national' leotards. We wondered if this means she has made the final cut to be part of the squad? Or not? Seems like a bit of a fait accompli to me.

On Sunday she took part in the 2nd Singapore National Individual Championships. She came away with silver medals in the floor exercise, uneven bars and vault events in her category. She was 4th in the balance beam event. Her total scores gave her the bronze medal in the Individual All-Around category. While there were competitors from other schools and other gym clubs, Cait and her group-mates in the national training squad were the ones constantly on the podium, hogging the top three places in every event.

The first time her name was announced, KH and I thought we heard wrongly and so there was some fumbling for the camera to get a picture of her on the podium. We both thought that was the first and the last and never expected her name to be called so often. It was really something to see her going up the podium to be garlanded with medal after medal. She was grinning from ear to ear with delight. And for me, I thought my heart was going to stop from sheer pride! We are so very proud of her.

I think all this has given her a boost in terms of self-esteem, in her determination to keep on training no matter how tough, how boring the drills may be. Hopefully in the days and months to come, as training gets tougher and the hours longer, she will look back on this day and find the willpower and inspiration to keep going. As she told me jubilantly after the competition, “This makes the hard work all worthwhile!” Let’s hope it lasts.

We had murals done on the exterior walls when Trin decided to exercise some creative license one day.

Big googly eyes, a wobbly grin and pockets of teeth. A self-portrait. Thankfully she used blue colour pencils and not ink. There was ONE on the back wall where she did use a permanent marker, so it remains till this day.

I was more horrified and angry but decided that the best thing to do was to tell her not to do that again and to reinforce the message by asking her to clean the walls. We used detergent and water. She had a lot of fun so I'm not sure that the 'punishment' was a true deterrent.

However, she has not done done this again so I think the message stuck.

Thought I'd update on the gym training situation with Caitlin.


I was feeling lost and conflicted about this. On one hand, did not want to be pushy mom but on the other, feeling like this was such a complete waste of talent and opportunity! Prayed about it and in the bus, I told God I'd just leave it to Him to show me the answers. And He did!


He gave me the opportunity to speak to two friendly moms whose girls are also on the national training squad. One of them has a girl who is in the same school, same class as Cait and who's also on the school team. She is highly talented and very advanced in gym.


Listening and talking to these two moms, thinking deeply about my own situation, being advised by the comments of friends etc led to several conclusions:


1) We have the wider perspective as adults so we owe it to the child to give them the perspective they lack. Cait just wants to be a kid. She is reacting like a kid. She wants friends, craves approval and friendship and affirmation, hates boring drillwork, prefers to stick to the tried and true comfort zone. But as her mom, there will be times when I just have to put my foot down and steer her in the direction she may not want to go. That, according to one gym mom's earnest explanation, is NOT pushing. If given enough time and perspective and experience, the child still decides that this is not for her, then yes, time to call it a day. But until then, we have to give them every opportunity to discover and to stick with stuff they may not like. That's our job as parents.


2) Some hard stuff are worth sticking it out. The hard lessons you learn about sticking to stuff you don't like, doing the boring drillwork and seemingly elementary details, will pay off in the long run. I was given lesson after lesson in gym in those two long afternoons I spent at the gym watching them train and for that, I am grateful to these mums for explaining and sharing their time, experience and perspective.

In competition, when we see those fabulous leaps and turns and flips, our jaws drop. But the reality is harder. Judges keep an eagle eye out for the slightest imperfection in those turns and points are deducted for every little deviation. Gymnasts who do not have the fundamentals firmly in place may have a hard time teaching their bodies to 'un-learn' the incorrect moves and conditioning them again appropriately. So everytime Cait yawns about doing "the easy stuff" I remind her to be patient - it will pay off in the long run.

Similarly, sticking it out in training will teach her about tenacity, responsibility, commitment. In life there are hard lessons all the time that we need not like what we have to do, but we just have to do it. We just pray for patience and grace in these times.

I explained to Cait seriously about the opportunities she would forgo if she quit now. So many kids will want the place she has in the training squad. If she leaves the squad, where will she get such training opportunities and with these coaches? I learned that several of them had a hand in training the Chinese Olympic squad. What a valuable experience. How to pass this up? And if she does, what then? The next best club that trains the better gymnasts (and several of her school team-mates are training here) is Prime. But Prime costs an arm and a leg. I told her that I could not afford thousand-dollar training fees. I had to also consider her siblings' other needs and money needs to be stretched very carefully.

So the best thing for her would be to stick with training here. For now at least. Who knows what will happen in 3 months? Perhaps she might not even make the cut to the final team selection. But for now, she just has to not only stick it out, but give her best and learn all she can.

Drama on Saturday morning. I arrived at the bowling alley to watch Gillian in action during a bowling tournament when I was told by the teacher in charge that she was "injured". Turned out that her left knee cap gave way and she could no longer put any weight on it, much less bowl.

She later described what happened. It was the fifth frame and just as she released the ball, her right leg slipped, slamming her left knee onto the lane. She said it hurt but she could still get up and hobble back. She could even bowl the next time it came to her turn. But at that point, she heard a crack sound coming from her knee and the whole thing gave way. She crashed onto the lane, clutching her knee and that was when she was declared out of action.

I arrived to find her in tears and the parent volunteer present calling a physiotherapist for some advice. We managed to get her down from the bowling alley to the lobby and into a cab. The teacher in charge came with us. I decided on Mt Alvernia because of insurance issues.

They took an x-ray of the knee and the doctor pronounced it as acute subluxation of the patella. In layman's terms, it just means dislocation of the kneecap. The force, he surmised, must have knocked the kneecap off its position. Pain relief was given via injection to which my squeamish daughter protested because it was a male nurse giving the jab! The ortho specialist was called in and after palpating (with Gillian gritting teeth and semi-screaming), thinks that 80% it's a meniscal tear which requires surgery. An MRI would confirm it, he said. Meanwhile, she has to stay in hospital.

Long and short of it is, the MRI showed no meniscal tear but bone contusions and ligament sprains on the outer knee. However, she is still in considerable pain when he palpates the inner knee. He's not sure what it is and is a little bugged that the MRI may have missed something. One possibility might be a scaping of the bone or cartilage due to trauma - and this will only be more clearly defined over time.

So she's home now, or more accurately, in her grandmother's home where she will receive much pampering and cooing over. She's also exempt from school for a week and she's learning to navigate with crutches since she can't put her full weight on her left leg. Looks like no bowling for several months ahead at least!

One week into centralised national training and Caitlin now says she wants to quit. I could see this coming. I know that this has been brewing over the past few days. She’s been going for daily training from 4pm to 8pm practically everyday except Saturday and on Sundays, she goes for school training – also at CCAB – for three hours. Her national coach has recommended that she completely stop school training to avoid confusion in coaching techniques and instructions. The school coach concurs. But I wanted her to keep in touch with the school squad at least once a week to keep a sense of loyalty to the school and to the coach. But perhaps, this is not quite a good idea after all as you will see when you read on.

Okay, I know her daily routine is rigorous. By the time she gets home from school, at 2pm, there’s barely enough time for her to have her lunch, get a bit of rest, and finish her homework etc before granddad comes to pick her up at 3.30pm. By the time we pick her up from training at 8pm, she gets a late dinner at 8.30pm, showers, does a bit of reading and then its bedtime at 10pm. So yes, it’s very hard. It’s tough work.

But the tough routine is not the reason why she’s caving.

When we pick her up from gym, KH and I always go a bit earlier so that we can watch her train. We’ve made some observations of our own. Firstly, it’s very clear that everyone is there to train. The gymnasts are very independent and disciplined. They train on their own most of the time, going through drills and routines over and over. Sometimes their peers will give comments and suggestions but the coaches seem to have a very light hand. It’s just plain hard work and everyone seems very single-minded on this point. There was once we saw a gymnast attempt a somersault but fail to land on the balance beam. She fell hard, hitting her head on the beam. There was a loud bang followed by a keening cry of pain, audible throughout the gymnasium and all of us parents there watching froze in horror. I was asking KH anxiously: should I call an ambulance?

But what really surprised me was that none of the other gymnasts went over to see how the girl was. She lay there for a quite a while. Only one coach walked over. The others paused for a moment to watch a bit and then went back to their drills. It seemed quite cold to me.

So I infer that the bottom line is – no one is there to make friends or be buddies. Everyone there is purposeful and serious about training. At the end of the day, everyone there is a competitor. They compete to be in the first team, they compete for spots to represent the nation in competition, they compete for medals.

For Ms Popular Caitlin, who is used to a great deal of camaraderie among her team-mates in school, this is quite a sea change. The girls she’s training with had entered the training squad a year before and so they were familiar with the coaches and with each other. So she feels a bit left out and excluded. Plus her Mandarin is not very good and so understanding instructions from the coaches, who are all Chinese nationals, becomes challenging – so much so that her training mates have had to translate once in a while. She’s also had to get used to other coaching techniques. Luckily, she still has her former school coach with her.

So the duck out of water feeling is what Cait is struggling with now. In addition, now that she’s training in the national squad, everyone there is as good as or even better than she is. For someone who hates to feel inferior, this is a real come-down. She’s got her work cut out to catch up and keep up. There is pressure not to lag behind.

For the first time, she’s been making excuses to not go for gym training so I knew that the storm was coming.

Yesterday we had a talk and she blurted out that girls in her school team (she still goes back for occasional training with her school) also call her “Traitor!” for training apart from them. She was in tears when she told me about this. I know how hard it is for someone like her, who wants to be liked, to be a partial persona non grata now.

It is painful and I feel for her. I also know that this is what the path is like. It can be very lonely. Look at our table tennis world champions. Damn if you do and damn if you don’t. Win and Chinese nationals call you traitor for not playing for China. Win and Singaporeans scoff and say you’re not true blue Singaporean but imported talent.

People are going to throw names at you all the time, I told Cait. Yes, it hurts. On the flip side, there are also lots of people who are very proud of you – our family, our friends, your school, your teachers, your coaches. We’re proud that she’s come so far. But more than just the name-calling, it's knowing that you are not going to fit in that well anymore. Like it or not, you're different (or better) and the opportunity cost of training elsewhere means you will not feel like you belong in either places - not at CCAB (because of the competitive nature of the place and the people) and not in school (because you lose the momentum of friendship made through shared hard work).

Still, it’s bitter knowledge to learn at this age. And I think this is only the beginning. Learning to move beyond the comfort zone, learning to be adaptable, learning the new rules of a different jungle, learning to develop rhino hide, to sift out comments that are constructive and valuable versus plain name-calling, to learn about envy, loneliness and being strong enough to take it all, wanting the big brass ring badly enough to take it all. This is what she has to learn. She has to ask herself how badly she wants it.

I feel for her and I can understand why she wants to throw in the towel. But I also feel that this is such a waste of talent. I am also angry that she is giving up. Why can’t she take it? Why can’t she WANT to take it? As an adult with access to a wider vista, I can see so clearly all the opportunities she would be forgoing and I'm getting an ulcer just realizing it.

But more than just anger at the loss of opportunity, I worry that she will grow into someone who just gives up easily without a fight. Is she becoming someone who will just take the easy way out? Yet what is really the easy way out? Everyone has choices in life – the fork in the road – so who is to say which one is the easy way out?

As a mother, I feel sad that she’s also got to learn hard lessons at this stage in her life. I also wonder, looking at the older gymnasts training, if this is what I want my daughter to become – this coolly indifferent, single-minded person who does not really care when others fall.

I feel conflicted myself.

“Why can’t I just do gym? Why can’t I just train with my school team?” she asked plaintively.

I think I was being a practical and ambitious mom when I replied, “To what purpose? You train and then for what? What is your goal? People want to move ahead – to represent school and then maybe, represent nation. But you don’t! So what’s the point of training so hard? Just do recreational gym then. Tell Mr Lim to downgrade you from competitive gym to just recreational gym. Then you can still do the stuff you love –but without the pressure of training, without the stress of competition!”

She just looked at me stricken because hard-nosed as that might sound, it’s also true. She has enough of a competitive streak in her for that alternative to sound unpalatable.

Do I push her? Or leave her? Am I pushing her for myself or for her? The lines are so blur. As a mom, do I accept my child for who she is, or do I push her to accomplish the ‘more’ that I think she is capable of? Do I let her make decisions which I think are bad for her in the long run, and then rue the day when it happens? Or do I steer her in the direction that I think is best? As an adult, I have perspective that she does not. Do I do the “this is what’s best for you” routine? Or allow her to make mistakes? I can explain the consequences and the opportunities lost till the cows come home but she may not have the maturity to grasp this. So do I just grit my teeth and let it happen?

Like dental hygiene – you know too many sweets are bad for the kid but you can explain it till you’re blue in the face and the kid will still bug you for more sweets. Do you let it happen and say, well, you’ll realize what a big mistake this is when your teeth start decaying? Or stand firm and say nope, no more sweets because mummy knows best?

I had a grim angst-ridden night last night. But before she went to bed, the funny girl left a hand-written contract – yes contract - on my pillow. It read:

“I, Caitlin Chong, agree to go for CCAB training on ONE condition – that you will allow me to go for Sunday training with school.” It came with blank spaces for me and for her to sign, with my full name in one corner.

I could not help but laugh. But as KH pointed out – it really sounds as if we are pushing her to do this. If she really wanted CCAB training, there should be no need for conditions. Sigh. Maybe its not a good idea to let her stay with school training until she's more comfortable at CCAB.

What are we going to do? I don’t know.

Well the maid is home so I should be pleased right? Except that I do regret giving back my space in the kitchen. My new knife, so springy and responsive in my hand, will now be hers. My new grill pan will be hers to use. My system of cleaning the dining table will now take one step back. I have to get used to relinquishing control over domestic space.

Why give up, you may argue, since I am her boss and the lady of the house after all? But I know too well that when you work and you are out of the house for any amount of time, you have to let go. If I have to keep my hold on the nitty-gritty in the house and still keep my mind on stuff happening in the office, and keep tabs of the kids' lives, I know something will give. Likely, it will just be me going loco loco.

I don't think I am cut out to be superwoman. So much as I like the state of my knives and the organisation of my larder and my fridge, I will give it all back to the maid and go back to work. It starts tomorrow and already as if in transition, my mind drifts in the wee hours of the morning to pending issues at work, dreading the inevitable sandstorm of emails that I will be buried under and the headaches accompanying a major upcoming event that I am in charge of.

As if the make the transition even harder, its as if part of me is still floating in the turquoise waters of Tioman. Perhaps it takes the soul a little longer to reach home. I'm still out there slowly drifting my way back to reality.

Lolita is off on holiday and so we will be maid-less for a couple of weeks. From tomorrow onwards, I will be a stay-at-home-mom, God help me.

For the past two days, my mum has held the fort, coming in early to cook and to manage the kids until we got home from work. So far, although the kids have kitty litter duty, they have been relatively chore-less. All that will change in the next couple of days.

KH and I work as a team in the mornings. We don't discuss our 'duties' - we just do them. In the mornings, I make the bed - easily done in 1min, get dressed and ready for work. Meanwhile, KH has taken the laundry and started the washing machine and watered the plants. Once downstairs, I make simple sandwiches for the kids who want them, feed the cat and then we're off.

Once home at the end of the day, we get dinner on the table. He clears the table, I wash the dishes (which takes me about half an hour! There has to be a better way to do this!) and bring the trash out. KH brings in the dry clothes and sorts - makes the kids put away their own clothes. Then he bathes Owain while I bathe Trin. Before we retire for the night for the usual bed-time routine, I do a quick 'round' of the living area to just pick up the cushions, neaten up the edges, put things away etc so even if the place has not really been 'cleaned', it looks clean!

The past few days have given me an idea of how full-time WOHMs (work-outside-home-moms) feel, particularly those with no live-in help. It's just exhausting to get home after a full day's work to be faced with kids who are clamouring for attention and with housework.

To be honest, I don't know how I am going to get through the next couple of days but will just get on with it. I think my mantra will be - don't be too ambitious. To do what is necessary and still give the kids and myself some down-time. Perfection will have to take a backseat.

It's the holidays so I will also have to plan some activity for the children or we will all go stark raving mad at home. So for a start tomorrow, I plan to bring them to the Children's Season at the Singapore Art Museum. The day after, maybe a hike in the southern ridges? Luge at Sentosa? Keep them busy and wear 'em out. That's my philosophy for sanity in the next couple of days.

I am also quite happy planning what to cook for the coming days. The shishamo experiment turned out well with my new grill pan and the kids are now fans. Looking forward to simple one-dish meals (experiments) too - seafood fried rice, crockpot beef stew, sesame seed chicken, chicken tempra?

I'll also have to give the older kids more chores eg mopping/sweeping - not on a daily basis but every alternate day?

The next few weeks are starting to look interesting... Will the kids and I make it out alive or will I prove myself to be the complete disaster of a domestic diva? Stay tuned.

A local politician recently urged the government to allow Medisave to be used for vaccinations against cervical cancer. Along with the news story were quotes from gynecologists who felt that vaccination should be made mandatory for young girls.

Before they do that, maybe it’s just a better idea to allow Medisave to be used for routine health screening for women in general – specifically, one that includes PAP smears, pelvic ultrasounds and mammography. These costs of these screening tools (with the exception of the inexpensive PAP smear) are high and are a deterrent to many women from making regular screening a part of their lives.

The fact is, vaccination does not offer 100% protection. Cervical cancer is generally known to be a slow-growing cancer whose cure rates are high with early detection via the simple PAP smear. All it takes is awareness and education. Not mandatory vaccination. Lowering the risk of cervical cancer is not difficult – practice safe sex, avoid multiple partners. It’s a simple enough message that just needs to be shared more widely. The same message goes for HIV prevention, STD prevention, pregnancy prevention etc. In other words, the rare hereditary genetic element aside, cervical cancer can be largely prevented through lifestyle changes.

Right now, 3% of Singaporean women are vaccinated against cervical cancer. There are 200 cases of cervical cancer discovered yearly. Out of this, 100 women do not make it.

While I agree that even one death from a preventable cancer like cervical cancer is one death too many, I disagree that a blunt instrument like mandatory vaccination is the answer. In fact, vaccination might well lull one into a false sense of complacency that may lead to more permissive sexual attitudes.

We already have so many vaccinations in the childhood vaccination schedule – with growing calls to add vaccines for the rotavirus, the meningoccal virus and now, the human papilloma virus – where will it end? Above all, while everyone is quick to tout the benefits of vaccination, no one is in any hurry to examine the risks. Parents and women who consider these vaccinations need to be given a fairer and fuller picture – one that includes the efficacy rate of these vaccines, the ingredients that go into the vaccines, the adverse reactions that have occurred and the risk of developing these reactions. Doctors need to discuss these actively with their patients and not just brush off the risks involved just to sell patients a series of shots. Anything less than that is really just pure advertising and that would be a real disservice to those who are considering vaccination as an option.

Call me a cynic but I always throw in a shovelful of salt on anything publicly endorsed by politicians and doctors. In my book, the issue of vaccination has grown to be very big money to many pharma firms today. The stakes are high for everyone – governments, pharma firms, the medical community and not least, parents and children who will be the recipients of these enthusiastically recommended vaccines. More so than ever before, it’s caveat emptor for anyone contemplating these new ‘recommended’ vaccines.

And while we're on the topic of honesty, sometimes I wonder why we mothers or parents in general, tend to wear this cloak of modesty when it comes to our pride and ambition for our children.

Is it so wrong to take pride in your child's accomplishments? Will we be judged arrogant and even if so, would that be so important to us what others think?

I find that whenever someone compliments me on my kids, my instant reaction is to brush it off. For example, someone says: "Your kids are very well behaved!" and I go "Oh you should see them at home - they're little monsters!"

Now why can't I just say something like "Thanks! I think they're behaving well today too!"

Is this because we're Asians and we grow up in a culture telling us that pride is immodest? That humility is the key to success?

Then things get to the point of being ridiculous. Let me cite this example. I was at Gillian's bowling tournament and sat next to a mom whose son was from a very well-known boys school. We started chatting about bowling in general and our children's respective schools. She told me that she was paying upwards of $800 a year just for her son to take bowling as a CCA in this school - apparently this well-to-do school does not subsidise bowling as much as it did for their other niche CCAs. On top of that, she paid for extra private coaching which comes up to about $55 per session - just so that her son could improve his scores since, according to her, he used to be a dismal bowler. In a month, she easily spends about $400 to $500 just on private coaching fees alone. That does not include the ball and the other bowling paraphernalia.

Then she adds the clincher at the end of it all, a modest, apologetic tinge to her tone: "Well, its really just to give him some exposure."

Did I roll my eyes at that line? No. I worked to keep my eyeballs in place but I think my eyebrows did rise a notch.

I don't know. Spending so much just for 'exposure'? Why not call it what it is - ambition? A desire for her son to do better, be in the school team, win medals, attain glory? Why is that so bad? Why not be honest about ambition? About wanting better for her son?

In my opinion, nothing to be embarrassed about.

In Gillian's case, we spend about $250 a year for school-subsidised coaching. Her grandparents fork out about $300 for a ball and we paid about $300 too for a ball and a pair of shoes which has lasted for the past 3 years or so. No private coaching. By chance she is on the school team. She is not a fabulous player. She may have the advantage of being a leftie in bowling but she still does not have what it takes to be another Remy Ong. I have no illusions about her talent. I don't want to spend money on private coaching. Now THAT is 'exposure'.

I don't know about the rest but I will work on being more upfront. Next time someone compliments my kids, I'll say thank you. Next time someone asks me about Cait and gym, I'll say: "Yeah we want her to be the Singaporean version of Shawn Johnson and if we could send her to gym bootcamp in China, we would!"

Come out of the closet O Naked Ambition!

While housekeeping my inbox this morning, I find this email from KH circa 2004:

A love note to my wife:-
"During yr turbulent time, u will see 2 footprints on the beach sand. One is GOD carrying u and the other a step behind, ready to catch u when GOD hands over u to me."

I don't think he came up with it, but the thought is very sweet. Finding this little gem again after a few years warms the heart once more too. And makes you fall in love that little bit more.

Just finished chuckling my way through Ayelet Waldman’s "Bad Mother". She’s pinned it down so well for me – what I am like as a mother. And I sure am glad, reading her account of her motherhood adventures, that I am not alone in my klutzy, kiasu, angsty, self-centred version of motherhood. Hers is the honest, no-holds-barred, warts and all version of what mothers are really like. And when I was reading it, I was largely laughing, sometimes sniffling but always nodding.


She writes about unrealistic expectations that we have of ourselves, and about others. What struck me most was what she said about other women being each other's worst enemies. I think its true. We mothers are our own worst critics. We tend to judge each other's parenting styles - often swiftly and harshly - with a critical eye, by our own personal yardsticks, often failing to acknowledge that each woman and each parent-child dyad is different. And often, we judge ourselves the harshest.


I know this is true because everytime I read about how well other parents' childrens behave or perform in school, I wonder if I might be selling my kids short, if I might be a better mother. And terribly, I wonder why my kids cannot be like those other kids. Yes I love my kids to bits but that does not stop me from wistfully yearning for perfection - in them and in me. Can't be healthy right?

Yet imperfect mother that I know I am, I still try to put up a good appearance. I try to belong. I want to belong. Hey, I’m Libran. It’s important to Librans to want to be liked. So I try - though often I feel like a troll wearing the haute-couture togs of perfection, unable to live up to the standards of others.


I never felt like I fit in with the other moms - hence my avoidance of any PTA activities for all my kids' schools. And yet. Reminiscent of secondary school cliques all over again, the need to belong, for validation, is still strong. This is the same for any group I suppose - even virtual parenting groups. Whether it is about breastfeeding, birth, schools etc, we go in to parenting groups to get information and to find validation. We need to be told that we are moving in the right direction, that other (read better) mothers think and feel the same as we do. I don't have to extoll the virtues of belonging in a group.

But a sharp knife cuts both ways. Just as we seek affirmation, definition in a group, the process can also be alienating and potentially damaging.


So maybe the best therapy for me is to avoid extended contact in these situations. Avoid the PTAs. Avoid the competitive mommy circles of school sports. Avoid online parenting groups. Avoid parenting magazines.

Its the same reason why I stopped reading women’s magazines (which basically make money out of telling women how they can do better/look better because they’re just not good enough). Why bother?

So like those glass bell domes that Ms Universe contenders stand under while the Q & A on world peace is going on, I choose to stand under my own soundproof glass dome. Call it denial if you like, for the sake of my sanity (and vanity). I still go into parenting forums from time to time, but I write less. And I skip more posts. And bad mother that I am, I now avoid the glowing testimonials like the plague! Life is short and there are already guilt trips aplenty, the less I compare, the happier I will be.

Warning: lots of proud-mummy bragging coming up. So if you cannot stomach the glee and the gloat, skip this post.

We had a meeting with Gillian’s co-form teacher yesterday on her first term progress report.

I am VERY happy (no, ‘happy’ does not even begin to cover this. Over the moon more like!) to report that she is now 2nd in class, up from her usual seat at the 6th position. She has not left the top 10 for more than a year now, but she is moving on!

Out of the 5 subjects she took, she scored straight As for 4 subjects and a B for English. Even her B was 3 marks behind the maximum in class, giving her 3rd place in class for the subject. More importantly, it was far better than her previous grades in English, which had been steadily slipping for some time. So it came as a nice surprise that she was improving.

In all the subjects where she scored As, she was never beyond the 5th placing in class, except for Science where she took 10th place.

However, the biggest surprise came in Maths. She, who always, for as long as I can remember, struggled in Maths, failing most of the time, actually scored a brilliant 91/100, making her 3rd in class for the subject! Yes, I had to scrape my jaw off the floor when I saw that. KH was grinning from ear to ear!

So we are all very very proud of her. She has come a long way from those unhappy early primary and EM3 days when she was failing, feeling lousy and being sneered at by her peers. She is in a good place in her life now. She's hitting her stride, growing in confidence and maturity (her teacher says she's level-headed, staying far away from the trouble-makers in class, hangs out with a good crowd, is always polite and greets her teachers), finding her own unique niche in life. While we have the opportunity to push her up to the Normal (Acad) stream, we’re happy to keep her in Normal (Tech). I believe in the big-fish/small-pond concept. So better for her to do well in this stream and build her sense of confidence and self-respect.

The teacher shared about one of Gillian's classmates who had gone over to the Normal (Acad) stream in Sec 1 mid-year after doing very well. She could not cope with the higher acad level and had to return to Normal (Tech). But the net result was that she was so demoralised by her return, seeing it as a failure, that she reacted very badly, changing from the hardworking girl she was to one who made a series of rash, bad decisions in her behavior. That is sad to see and I am determined for that cautionary tale not to become Gillian's.

No, we will stick to Normal (Tech). I have learned the very hard way that certain kids just do better in a different academic flow. As I posted before, Normal (Tech) is not a 'bad' stream and certainly, the kids there are not 'stupid' or 'hopeless' as society would like to think they are. They are just a different bunch with different strengths and who can find their own interpretations of success. My child is not a label and I am happy for Gillian, that her successes have allowed her to re-define what she wants, opening new vistas of opportunities she would otherwise not have had.

Its early days yet but we have begun looking at ITE courses together already. With these excellent results, she can have her pick of any ITE course instead of being trundled to the bargain basement courses. And being in a better course means you are surrounded by like-minded kids who have also done well, this means a more motivated,driven cohort and less opportunity for mischief overall.

But I am getting ahead of myself. It’s only the first term so she’s got to show that she can maintain these results for the rest of the year. Still, it’s a great start and if she stays on the momentum that her triumphs have given her, she should have no difficulty in staying on course.

The Lord's Prayer: Owain's version:
“…give us today our deadly breath,
Forgive us our sins…”

“…pray for us enough, now and at the hour of our death, amen.” (The Hail Mary according to Owain)

“…as it was in the beginning and now it shall be, world without men, amen.” (The Glory Be)

“I will continue, O my God to do all the actions for the love of you.” Er, what actions?

Yes, all these gems came from Owain. I cracked up especially at the 'deadly breath'! He was proudly reciting all the prayers he had learned in school and rattling them off like he was catching a train. And I was trying to keep a straight face. He was so proud of being able to say all his prayers.

What a contrast this was to what happened a week ago.

The other day he called me sobbing and crying over the phone. The fellow was panicking over not knowing his Chinese hanyu pinyin spelling. He had procrastinated over the weekend, dawdled until it was too late to get any help in terms of the pronunciation, the tonal sounds etc. So on the phone that day, he sobbed hysterically - I could not get a word in edgewise and in any case, he was not really listening, just busy sobbing.

I told him to calm down and take deep breaths so that he could hear what I was saying and how I could help him. I tried to tell him that all was not lost - that he knew the tones enough and as long as he knew how to match those with the consonants and vowels, he would be fine. I also tried reminding him how I had gone through spelling with him the week before, testing him on unfamiliar words and he had no problem matching the tones with the vowels etc. But he was having none of that and working himself into a real cry-fest.

Nothing was getting through but I kept my cool and my sympathy remained intact until he said: "Its your fault. YOU knew I needed help and YOU didn't ask me to study!"

Wow that really made me see red.

When will he begin to learn that he has to take responsibility for his own learning? I read him a stern lecture, reminding him that I did tell him to revise over the weekend and even the night before, but it had fallen on deaf ears. He had chosen to ignore what I said and now he would pay the price. It was nobody's fault but his. I was really angry and did not realise I was getting louder and louder.

By the end of the phonecall, I realised that my whole office had fallen silent. Working in an open-concept office just meant everyone was privy to all the goss that would go around, and eavesdropping is not intentional but a given. Some gave me sympathetic looks and quite a few said, "Oh he's so young, be less hard on him!"

But I stuck to my guns: he needed to learn and he might as well learn, starting now that he would get no sympathy from me if he was not more responsible for his work. My colleagues clucked and said I was too strict and too hard on Owain.

By the day's end, they again reminded me as we said our goodbyes for the day: don't be so hard, use a softer tone, be more forgiving, etc. Truth be told, I was already reflecting if I could have done it in a different way. Yes, the message needed to get across, but perhaps it could have been more gently put. I felt sad too, over the phone, even as I spoke so harshly, that he was afraid and sobbing away and I did not offer any comfort. My anger had once again over-ridden my better instinct as a mother. More than that, I was sad that he had to learn this hard lesson right now - that he would not do well in this test. What would that do to his sense of confidence? And being so strong and distant in my anger that morning surely could not have helped him learn. So I was feeling regretful enough to be especially loving, resolving to comfort him for getting 0 upon 8.I was ready to reassure him that it was okay, he could try again and this time, we would do it together.

But then back home, he breezed through the door, saying slyly, eyes downcast: "I got zero upon eight! I'm sure you won't want to sign my paper!" Then he waved it at me and shouted gleefully: "Tricked you! 8 upon 8! Hahaha! Wahooo!"

I glared at him but was still quite pleased. I reminded him that he had done it all by himself, he hadn't needed my help after all, and he obviously knew his work enough to mix and match the sounds of hanyu pinyin despite not studying for it. That is what hanyu pinyin is about after all - not memorising the words for spelling, but being familiar enough with the tones and letter sounds to combine them successfully. It felt good to be responsible for his success on his own terms.

His perfectionist behaviour in P1 reminded me of Cait's early days in P1 too. The same desire for perfection, and the angst and anxiety when he might not achieve that. In certain ways, he is still very playful, still likes to suss out the better deal, the shorter route etc. But he has had a taste of good grades and success and he obviously likes it. For now at least, he seems more driven to achieve this.

I had my own internal struggles and even today, still trying to accept it. You know Cait was in dance and in gym and I had written before about the struggle - to keep on with dance/gym etc. We found out that she had been skipping dance rehearsals for the flimsiest of reasons and actually outright lied to her dance instructor about leaving early during rehearsals because her "mummy says she has to go for tuition!" Even going as far to elaborate the lie: "Tuition in maths, science and english cos mummy says that is very important and i have to concentrate on that!"

Of course we had a major blow-up. Very major. Spoke to her gym coach, spoke to her principal, spoke to dance teacher etc. Hours of discussion, angst and anger, threats and cajoling, tears. Long and short of it was she decided to quit dance.

And THAT made me sad. I think secretly, I was thrilled to have a girl like her - someone so smart, so talented, that I was harbouring ambitious dreams of having an over-achiever kid. You know the sort - the ones who juggle three CCAs, win medals, are head prefects and score all A-stars and who are also kind, well-adjusted, articulate kids.

Yep - fell into the ol honey trap called over-ambition. I wanted all the accolades for her. I wanted her to keep on with dance, widen her horizons. I wanted a DSA in the SOTA on offer. I wanted Distinctions in ballet and medals in gym and A-stars in everything else. I wanted to bask in reflected glory.

I want, I want, I want.

I forgot all about what SHE wanted. And the answer was plain as day - she didn't want dance. She was so totally clued into gym that she does not want anything else. Could she be making a mistake in dropping dance? Perhaps. We won't know until all this recedes in the back mirror of history. Does she have talent in dance? Oh sure. Spades of it. Do I feel like its a big waste? Yep. But the little fact still remains at the end of it - she did not want it. And without that, what did everything else matter?

So I struggled with this - holding her up to my mirror, to society's definitions of success - and being able to walk away and say, okay, never mind. Do what you really enjoy and have my blessings while you do it. You know, I never knew that it takes a certain of strength to pry my death grip from Ambition.

I think KH is a better person and probably a better parent who is far more accepting. I didn't feel that he angsted over this as much as I did. In fact, we had a sharp and nasty blow-up between us about this which ended with me turning heel and walking out in the middle of a sushi lunch. I apologised later of course so we're good but you see the tension in all our lives at the point in time?

So she's quit dance. I think everyone is relieved that we've made a clear decision. The dance teacher is relieved - now the choreography won't be screwed up. The gym coach is happy - full speed ahead for the nationals! The principal is relieved - problem solved, irate mother appeased. Most of all, Cait is pleased and relieved - the lying has lessened (we think) and she seems happier.

From this point on, we can only look ahead.

I thought I'd do the lazy way out of my blog by reproducing here what I posted on AP.

Education always elicits a passionate response from parents whenever a thread on streaming, academic success, The Education System (which almost always gets a bashing) is started on the parents forum. Once upon a time, I would find myself among the ranks of the bashers - bitter and upset. But call me mellow or resigned - but I tend to be more reflective these days.

A system is just a system - blind, deaf and dumb. It is the students, the teachers and we the parents who define it. I just get a bit ticked when we don't recognise the part that we play in The System and in making it what it is. I also get ticked that parents don't realise that they CAN choose to NOT participate in the rat race and instead of defining their children by other yardsticks, to learn to define the kids by their own. Mind you, I don't love the system and I am not a govt mouthpiece either but I think I'd like to offer a different perspective. So this was my spontaneous, off-the-cuff response to the usual system-bashing that goes on.

I agree that children should not be seen as mere digits or products to be churned through a system as efficiently as possible. But the reality often boils down to funding (always limited) and the appropriate/ efficient/ productive use of funds, down to staffing issues, facilities etc. Like it or not, it is TRUE that laggers are resource-intensive. Sorry to be so blunt.

Inevitably and unfortunately, school is a really just a factory to churn out workers for the economy. This was how the concept of 'school' started in the first place, back in the days of the Industrial Revolution.

And Singapore being Singapore, we have to do this in the most 'productive' and 'cost-efficient' way possible. Even if that means the majority gets through and a minority gets channelled down the 'reject' conveyor belt, its 'okay' because the 'greater good' wins.

Like it or not, all education systems share the same fundamental pitfall - it cannot be tailored individually because it is for the masses - unfortunately though, every child is different. So we just have to live/work within it. Or homeschool. The Aussie Int'l School example Tracey gave - possible for them, why not for us? Simple - pay for it. These guys are paying upwards of $40,000 per year. Look at the teacher-student ratios etc. With that kind of money, its not impossible to have unique curriculum, small class sizes, different pedagogy etc.

But I have said before - stigma is in the eye of the beholder. So a kid has to do Foundation work, is that really so bad? Why is that bad? Or a kid makes it to Normal Tech - okay. After that, the ITE. And so? There is nothing wrong with the ITE. To me, it is just an alternative path for a different kind of kid. Just like poly. Or JC or Uni. Not the end of the world. Just a different world.

And while we lament the loss of self-esteem etc that these kids get tagged with, and blame it on the system, in all fairness, it is really NOT the system that perpetuates this but people - parents, relatives, teachers, peers, friends etc. My daughter got the hard brunt of it too, she had her share of name-calling and stigmatising. But looking at her today, I don't think her self-esteem suffered too much. Why? Because there were people around her who supported her and who believed in her, because she was lucky to have patient supportive teachers. I can't say the same for all the rest of her peers in NT.

If you read all the 'success stories' of kids who bucked the system - its not that they got a lucky break, or the system was kinder to them. It's because they were surrounded by people who believed in them and did not stigmatise them.

We argue for slow learners to be given time to catch up in the system, instead of being pushed up when they are not ready and perpetuating a vicious cycle of just lagging behind etc. I for one, also called for this once. But then sometimes, it is not about slower learners needing more time to learn the same things. That just presumes that everyone is created equal and everyone's ability is the same, just that some take longer.

But I disagree. I think every child has different abilities and different skills/talents. Some kids, no matter how long you give, just cannot make it through academia and perhaps they need a different path.

Not so long ago, and indeed in several parts of the world today, many kids learn tradecraft via apprenticeship at a young age. In our case, its the ITE at a not-so-young age.

Not easy for parents to accept that their kids might walk a different path. Everyone has their own idea of success and the thought that their kids might veer off this path is frustrating, disappointing, maddening. Unthinkable. So we lash out at the system. Certainly took ME a while to come to terms and work this out for myself. And even today, for all my different kids, I still struggle with MY own notion of sucess, society's idea of success and THEIR own ideas of success.

I don't know... I guess I've moved past the stage of denial, and I guess my anger at the system has pretty much been doused (for now at least). System is not perfect but I think its not easy tweaking it to please everyone. We all know our kids best and what they are capable of and with that knowledge, we just have to work within the system and do the best we can.

Donations and sacrifices.

I guess that's the theme for this post.


Chinese New Year is the time for giving - and the school thinks so too, hence the boys all had to bring home a donation card to raise funds for their schools. They probably thought the usual rounds of visits would be very fruitful for fund-raising.


I would have thought my usually cheerful fishball would have no problem charming a few dollars from the many relatives and friends we would meet over the new year. But it was not so. He shrank behind his daddy and I, refusing to say even a word for his cause, leaving it to us to do the usual fund-raising speeches. Most people, in the spirit of the time, after failing to coax a word out of him, would just laugh, pull out their wallets and donate but both KH and I did not want to do Owain's job for him.


Finally in exasperation, Caitlin came up with this placard.

I think we have the makings of a street performing troupe. Isaac could clang the cymbals, Gillian call for attention, Owain walk one round with his placard, Cait perform some acrobatic tricks and Trin would make the rounds with a metal bowl for donations! Very useful to have five kids indeed - we won't starve!


Spring and renewal go hand in hand, so it was also timely that Lent started right after the first few days of Chinese New Year.


This is the first year that Owain is attending catechism in church and one of his assignments is to keep a Lenten calendar where he writes everyday (preferably!) the sacrifices he would make for the day in Lenten spirit.


At first, the crafty little guy offered to 'sacrifice' his computer time for Thursday - until I pointed out that he didn't get any computer on weekdays in the first place! So what was there to sacrifice? Sacrifice means giving up something he would value and offering it to God.


He's pretty serious about this. He's the only kid I know who sits and ponders what he could sacrifice. In his own human way, he tries to sacrifice something that does not give him too much pain, but the fact remains, he still tries. The fact that he even bothers to think about this really moves me - humbles me too, because I know I don't do this and I should.


So for today, being Saturday, he has agreed to sacrifice "fighting with Trin over the scooter" and
agreed to "give up computer time". Have to say, the last is very generous of him because his 15 minutes on the computer only comes during the weekends so to give up his computer time on Saturday is really hard!


Of course in the spirit of Chinese New Year there are many other people making donations and sacrifices too - to the new casino, at the mahjong table and over friendly games of blackjack in homes all over the island. I, on the other hand, stayed away. Uncharacteristically, did not even go near a mahjong table this year.


The best night I had during the Chinese New Year was when everyone went to my ILs and left me home alone and in peace to just marathon my night away with my K-drama du jour and a box of pineapple tarts. Bliss! Here's hoping for many other similar days in the rest of the year!

For more than a year, I have been putting up with pain in the arch of the foot. This is a throbbing ache that is centred right in the curve of the arch. For most of last year I ignored it. I had other health issues – the uterine issues etc. But over the last few months, it got steadily worse. I put up with it during the Japan trip and during the Malaysian trip. But over December and January, it got so bad that I was limping some days, and even when I was sitting and not putting any weight on the foot, I still got a burning throbbing localised pain. The spot was about the size of a 10-cent coin but gosh, it burned!

Google told me that very likely this was a case of plantar fasciitis. I guess this means orthotics – feet support via insoles etc. And ugly granny shoes for life. Though to be honest, I had not been wearing pretty heels for the longest time already since my feet are a cross between elephant legs and pig trotters. Pig trotters do not go well with kitten heels and stilettos. So I have been content to live in my Crocs for many years until recently when I ditched them for sensible but a tad more fashionable Hush Puppies sandals and shoes.

My parents were concerned about the huge ginormous stumps I have for calves. And to be honest, I was growing pretty obsessed (and depressed!) with comparing my legs with the legs of other women. It seemed that even the most obese people I see on the streets have thinner calves than mine! Everyone who has a look at my legs usually has a reaction of horror, sympathy and fascination. Most ask if they can poke it. So it must be bad. But no, its not water retention either. They are just incredibly bulky and heavy.

It could be due to:

a) hypothyroidism (which fits my symptoms)
b) medication (one of the known side-effects of my hypertension meds is to have swollen legs) or
c) I’m just fat.

The internist that I see in the hospital just raised his brows, measured my calves (these are body stats I would be better off not knowing) and wrote it in my notes. A colleague said: maybe the chi is not moving through your legs. Acupuncture might help.

While that kinda makes sense, I still do not have enough confidence in TCM, so no acupuncture (hate needles) and I opted to put my faith in mainstream meds and see an orthopaedic surgeon instead, figuring that maybe the guy can tell me what’s wrong with the cankles and fix the pain in the arch as well.

So last week, I went off to the consultant. And what a nightmare that was!

Before I could tell him more, he had flexed my foot, knuckled the arch which made me wince and yelp, and then swivelled his chair, plucked a model of skeleton foot and told me what’s wrong with my foot. Plantar fasciitis, he said breezily and added the words that ran my blood cold: “I need to give you and injection.” Note how he phrased it: “I. Need.” Nothing in there about me, the patient but everything about him the doctor.

“What? Now?” Panic set in.

“Yes. Now.” I could have sworn he had an evil glint in his eye.

I was caught off guard. I had heard about such injections but thought they were meant as a last resort. Clearly not for this guy. He was literally hurrying me to lie down so he can stick the needle in.

Did I have second thoughts? You bet! Third and fourth even. Everything in me screamed no. But like a rabbit caught in the cross-hairs of a gun, I just stayed helpless. Every question I feebly asked was heartily tossed aside in the ‘pshaw-I-know-best-cos-I’m-the-doctor’ tone I hate so much.

“Er, would this be painful?” Pathetic, stupid question, I know.

“No, of course not,” went he. “You went though childbirth, this is nothing.” Liar.

“Shouldn’t I see a podiatrist? Get an insole done first?” I blabbered in desperation.

“No need. This one, plus physio, will cure it. 95% are cured in three months!” Is it me or does he sound like a used-car salesman trying to push a lemon sale? And what happens to the other 5%? I never found out.

At no time did he tell me what exactly he would be injecting into me, explain the pros and cons etc. My thoughts were flying all over the place and I felt railroaded into the examination table. Mostly, I think I was just paralysed by fear.

“Wait. Have a look at my legs. Why are the ankles so swollen?” I blurted.

“I don’t know. I can’t tell you why. Could be due to your medication,” brushed off the doc. Huh? My numero uno reason in seeing this guy was just answered, just like that. What a waste of time. He barely looked at my pig-elephant legs.

I lay down reluctantly, terrified. I wanted to sit up to watch but he said no. “Otherwise I might have to stick you twice, haha!” Evil laughter.

Let me tell you now, for the record, having gone through childbirth five times, the last two of which were drug-free, that childbirth is officially NOT the worst sort of pain in the world. Having a needle stuck in your foot and cortisone (he finally told me at the end, after it was all over) slowly injected in – is really right up there in the torture stakes.

That sort of stupid myth is perpetuated by doctors like him (who has never gone through childbirth by the way, so what does he know?) who tell cowering patients like me, that sort of lie. As he stuck the needle in and slowly pressed the plunger, I lay wide-eyed, in shock and in so much pain that I uttered strangled cries through gritted teeth, breathing fast and shallowly. It seemed to go on forever. At one point the nurse who stood beside me and gripped my hands (bless her) asked in concern: You’re not allergic to anything right?

Allergic to what? I didn’t even know what was going in! Maybe I looked like I was going into anaphylactic shock? Towards the end, I remember telling the doctor a bit hysterically: You’ve got to be kidding me! Oh you’re joking. This is bad. This is so bad. This is worse than childbirth!

Tears were in my eyes and after he had finished, I just lay there, in semi-shock. I couldn’t seem to bring myself to sit up and function. I think I was in a daze, can’t remember what I blabbered about. I went on auto-pilot mode after that, feeling a bit blank and wondering what the heck did I just put myself through?

For the first five minutes, I could gingerly walk. But after half an hour, the sole and the arch area had swelled up and was so tender I could not put any weight on it. I was supposed to take the train to pick Cait up from school. But I didn’t think I could make it and had to ask my mom to do this instead while I took a cab home.

For the rest of the night, and the next day, I hobbled. I could not walk upstairs but literally crawled up. The kids thought it was a hoot to see mummy on all-fours. Today, it’s much better. The swelling has gone down. The old pain is mostly gone but it does come back in twinges and this morning, the burning sensation was back too.

Looks like I went though all that for nothing after all.

Well, there’s always… acupuncture. After that horror story I lived through, how much worse can it get? Right?

Third week of January and things are really getting back into the old busy rhythm. Training for the kids have started in earnest so we’re back to Saturdays being super-packed.

8.30am Send Cait to gym training in school
9.05am Owain has Berries class
10am Gillian has bowling practice in Chinese Swimming Club
11am Pick Owain from Berries
12pm Pick Caitlin from gym
12.30pm Pick Gillian from bowling
1pm Lunch
2pm Gillian, Cait and Owain have catechism class in church.
3.30pm Isaac has catechism class in church
4pm Swimming lessons for Cait and Owain
5pm Isaac ends Catechism class and takes a bus home by himself
6pm Finally everyone is home!

This weekend I’ll have to practise splicing myself into two or three. Cloning would also be a good option. Or does anyone have a teleportation device to lend me?

KH would be away on his ‘company cohesion’ trip in Bintan, officially paid for by the company and touted to promote bonding among employees, but what really is just a thinly veiled excuse for lots of wine, golf, karaoke and pool time! I am left to hold the fort. I will have to sit down and carefully work out the details on who goes where and where I have to be at what time etc. It will be a finely tuned plan of precision and balance but I think I can pull it off!

So our days can be crazy busy but I don’t mind this. Or more accurately put, I like it. I like the buzz and the energy. I like the pockets of downtime I get when I am in transit between picking up x and sending y to z class. It used to hurt my head to think about who goes where and when but now, it’s a cinch. By the end of the day, we’re all running on very flat batteries as the adrenalin winds down but we feel like it’s been very productive and that’s a nice feeling to have.

But you know, I really would not have it any other way. While there are days when I just want to tear my hair out and fervently wish (or yell!) for some peace and quiet, I know I would miss the constant swirl of activity that surrounds me now. I know I would feel a sense of loss when it goes – when the kids grow up, prefer the company of friends and leave home for families of their own. I guess I’ll have plenty of peace and quiet then but how lonely it will be!

Already I get a taste of this – on weekdays from 10.30am to 1.30am, the kids are off to school, the cat takes a siesta and the house becomes still and quiet. So quiet I can even hear cricket sounds, when the very air feels drowsy and slow. At first, I am gleeful: so quiet! No fights to referee! I can go online without anyone looking over my shoulder and bugging me to go on Facebook to farm! I can laze on the couch and read! I can even snooze without someone flinging herself on me and shocking me out of my sleep! Bliss!

But then, after the first 30minutes, the stillness gets to me. Like the princess on her bed of mattresses with a pea far beneath, I get a vague, indescribable sense that something is not quite right. A sense of restlessness that I am missing something. By 1.30pm, I am listening expectantly for the sounds coming round the corner – the high-pitched excited chatter that tells me the Holy Terror Trinity is home. Then the noise level slowly builds back to normal as one by one, the kids come home, the school bags are flung carelessly on the ground, my nagging starts and by evening, its full-blown chaos once again. And what is that I feel? That warm fuzzy feeling? It can only be… contentment.

They say that after 17 years of marriage that there is little that should surprise us about our spouses. Yet KH still manages to surprise me once in a while.

When you look at him, with his salt and pepper hair, his stern demeanor, his loud voice and Neanderthal ways, you’d never guess that underneath all that thick crust is really… a marshmallow!

Let me cite these two examples.

One Saturday last year, KH brought the kids to Catechism class. Usually he would just drop them off and go but that day he decided to hang around to wait for the kids to finish their class. An old woman came by and asked him where she could “collect money”. He asked her what she needed. Turned out that she always comes by faithfully every month to collect the monthly sum allocated to her by the folks at St Vincent de Paul but that month, she’d missed the collection date for some reason. Every month, the Society of St Vincent de Paul gives a sum of money to really needy households and families. It’s not a lot, about $70 per household. My mother volunteers for SVDP and she tells me how heartbreaking some of these lives are. For only $70 per person (slightly more for a whole family), it’s really not a lot but these folks really need every cent they can get. The money goes a long way to covering meals, groceries, utilities, transport, medical care and so on.

So this little old lady wanted to know where she could go to claim her monthly ‘allowance’. KH asked how much she usually got. He directed her to the church’s administrative office but just before she went in, he stopped her and fished out his wallet. “In case you missed the deadline and really can’t collect your allowance,” he told her, giving her $100, “Here’s something to tide you over till next month.”

She was surprised and grateful and thanked him profusely. When I told him how proud I was of him, he just brushed it off (though I could have sworn I saw a blush!) and told me simply, “What is $70 to us? But it means so much to her and she obviously needed it a lot. It was such a hot day and she was so old, yet she walked all the way to church just to collect $70.” As it turned out, the church was happy to give the old lady her allowance for the month and with KH’s contribution, it was more than decent for her for the month.

The second incident took place recently.

At the dinner table couple of nights ago Gillian was chattering away full of excitement for her upcoming trip to Malaysia with her class. But not all her classmates were going, even though this Sec 3 camp was compulsory.

One them was her classmate, whom I shall call Alice. Alice is from a single-parent family and her mom struggles to work to put food on the table and keep the family together. She’s not a close friend of Gillian’s but from time to time we hear stuff about her and we know the family has their share of problems. This time, Gillian said, Alice can’t go on the class trip because she could not get her passport renewed. Her mom says she cannot afford it.

KH was silent at first then asked: “How much does it cost to renew the passport?”

I said it was probably about $70 to $80 but might take a while and it might be too late since the girls were leaving next week already. KH said, “Look it up on the internet and let’s be sure. But if it’s not too late, I don’t mind sponsoring her renewal.”

Gillian looked at her father incredulously and I swore she saw him through new eyes. Dad, she said, you mean you’d actually pay for it? Pay for Alice to go? Really?

Turned out that it was not too late – just a bit of a touch and go, since both Alice and her mom had to do the paperwork by the very next day in order to meet the deadline. Both KH and Gillian spoke to Alice and her mom. Amid much excited squealing from both Gillian and Alice. Both Alice and her mom were very grateful and very touched. Apparently, Alice’s mom said she had made an appeal via the school’s parent-support group for financial assistance to renew the passport but no one came forward. We never got the appeal and had it not been for dinnertime conversation, we would never have known.

So KH sponsored the renewal fees and the passport photography which roughly came up to about $100 or thereabouts. He said pretty much the same thing he did before: “It’s just $100 – what is $100 really? We think nothing of $100 these days, spending it so easily. But just for the lack of $100 and no passport, a girl could not go to camp and enjoy her time with her classmates, what is that? It’s such a pity!”

Ah that man, he warms the very cockles of my heart sometimes. Okay, most times.

The next day, Gillian accompanied Alice to see the teacher, who was also amazed and touched that someone had stepped forward to do this for Alice. Alice and her mom got the paperwork done. And next week, she’ll be on that bus with the rest of her classmates.

So what is a hundred bucks after all? A sushi meal, a dress, a concert ticket? Yes all those but so much more. A girl’s happiness at being included, my daughter’s new sense of love and respect for her dad, an old woman’s meals for a month...

What can $100 buy?

To me, plenty.

Beginning of the new school year and we’re back to the harried life of waking at 5.30am, school runs, missing books, incomplete stationery, form-filling and orientation.

Owain started off on his first few days looking stoic and bored, grimacing everytime his trigger-happy camera-toting mother got in his face to take the umpteenth shot of him – well, he DOES look very cute in his new school uniform! Other than that, he seems enthusiastic and eager, having made a grand total of ONE friend (whose name he does not know) and pestering us to (a) send him to school on time (b) pack his bag for him and sign his forms and (c) choose the right storybook for him – he wanted to bring the bible at first, only for the reason that it was thick and impressive but I put my foot down. I wonder how long all this enthusiasm will last!

On the other hand, Isaac did not have a good start because both KH and I had refused to sign his report card for last year. He got an earful from me when I did sign and we agreed that there should be less slacking and more effort made in his studies for this year with the target of raising one grade at least this year. He can do much better, I am confident of that. I just need to find the right motivational trigger.

Caitlin got off to a good start, with gym training from the 1st day of school. Mr Lim has already warned us that this will only get more intense as training is ramped up over the weeks in preparation for the Nationals. We’ll have to make a decision soon re dance training too. On the academic side, the P3 girls were streamed into their new ability-based classes. They had ended P2 not knowing which class they would go to in the new year and when I asked last November, I was told the teachers had to meet to deliberate over this.

So on the first day of school, the girls were seated in the hall and names were called for the girls to join their classes. I was told that they did this in order of “the best to the worst” and Cait’s name being the 4th to be called, had been selected for Ixora, the best class. While I’m pleased and proud of her, I can’t help feeling that there’s got to be a better way of doing this. If Cait is right, and I have my doubts on whether she had exaggerated or not, then it must be quite morale-lowering to be told that you were in the bottom class. As mom to a kid like Gillian who struggled all through primary school and was clearly scraping rock bottom all the way, I can understand how painful this can feel – for the girls and their parents – to be told that your daughter was not among the brightest or the best. And to be told like this – in front of everyone? Ugh.

Gillian also started off well with being made science rep and environment rep for the class. The latter she protested that she did not sign up for and was arrowed to do it when she happened to raise her hand to open the window. The teacher pounced and said: “You have a pleasant and helpful face! You’ll do it then!” When I beamed in congratulations, she moaned, “But no one wants the environment rep job mom! I’ll have to lug down all the trash, all the heavy bottles, recycle them and so on you know!” Thankfully her good friend was also roped in as environment rep so the two girls will chatter while they recycle! Being in Sec 3, the school is kicking off the year with an overseas camp in Malaysia and she’s looking forward to that too. She’ll be back just in time to celebrate turning 15! So I’d say school started out on a bright note for her. Plus being in Sec 3 means she gets to lord it over the blur freshie Sec 1 girls!

On my end, I have moved office to a smaller space, a less private space. After five years of being in a room with a coveted window space, with a roomie who is so nice and accommodating, it’s going to take time to get used to this. I have been a bit depressed over this for a while but I’ve just got to learn to adjust, let go and move on. God always knows best and He’s given me this for a reason so I will learn to make the best of it and to move on.

Still, I can’t shake it but my gut feel senses rough seas ahead and I’m bracing myself for this. But I also try to be mindful and live in the moment and not worry too much over what has not happened yet. Even as I see dark clouds, there is also a lot to look forward to – bright patchwork pieces in life, such as my children’s gym and floorball competitions, bowling tournaments, lazy Saturday breakfasts with KH in the park, more of my favourite frothy K-dramas, sussing out new places to eat, meeting with old friends, travelling closer to home, hanging out more with my parents, perhaps a wedding(?) and just watching my children grow. I will hold these bright spots in my life and be thankful for all I have.

2009 has taught me these lessons (1) life can flip on its end overnight. Case in point – dad’s sudden but long illness with pancreatitis, (2) life means letting go and carving out a new path, leaving your crutches behind – my hysterectomy and my inner struggle with identity as a woman and a mother, letting go of any more babies that might have come my way and changing the way I see myself. Sometimes resisting only makes it harder. But if you let go and let God, maybe you’d have a different life, not a bad life, just one that is different.