The trouble with maids...

A week ago, I sent the maid packing. Immediately, that same day.

We already had plans to let her go and she knew that. I'd given her notice already so she had been sourcing for an employer but finally decided to go home so we'd bought a ticket for her to leave in December.

But last week, the crazy woman with more than one screw loose tried to pull one over us by pitching a 'fainting fit' when we said she could not go off that Sunday. For the record in case you're some diehard human rights activist reading this, we're not unreasonable ogres who keep our maids in chains. First, she was entitled to two days off. I had already given her THREE days off in the span of two weeks, as well as an advance on her salary. Second, she did not bother to ask us or inform us that she was going off that Sunday. I thought that was basic courtesy at the least.

So we said no. And immediately she started fake-hyperventilating loudly and then fell -  rather gracefully I might add - into a faint.

Both KH and I stared at her for a second before I started laughing. I couldn't help it. It was sheer bad acting. I was also furious that she dared pull this stunt to hold us to ransom. To take the cake, while I was laughing and telling her off, she actually opened her eyes and looked at me before closing her eyes again. Less than five minutes later, she got up, went into her room and started messaging on her phone. So much for 'fainting'. Fastest recovery ever.

Bad acting or not, it proved that she was clearly not right in the head and quite unstable. It would not be safe or wise to leave the kids with her in the house. So there and then, I told her to pack up and we shipped her off to the agent, changing her ticket to a flight that left the same day. I was so glad to be rid of her. She took with her 7 pieces of luggage including five mobile phones, and almost left her room full of garbage, waste paper, sweet wrappers, dustballs, three pairs of shoes and an unmade bed. Had I not seen all the gunk, I would have been left to clear all that. As it was, I made her do it before we took her to the agent.

Still, I thought she got off lightly. I was so angry that I wished murder was legal.

For all the trouble, the lackadaiscial quality of work she gave, I felt really short-changed as an employer. We housed her, fed her, paid her and followed all the terms of her employment contract. She started off blur for someone who claimed to have three years experience (I later found out it was three years with four employers), and eventually added insolence and entitlement into the mix. Towards the end, it became so frustrating to deal with her, to instruct her and to supervise that I'd rather just do the work myself instead of asking her to do it. She was just slothful and incompetent. All I wanted was fair work and I didn't even get that from her.

So right now, I'm quite bitter about my experiences and really not feeling very charitable to any domestic worker or even to any human rights activist who dare champion these so-called 'rights'. These people should spend time in my shoes, spending the sort of money I've had to spend on lemon maids, have them enter their homes, wreck their possessions, put their children in danger through thoughtless behavior and still try to pull off irresponsible stupid stunts like that.

Not all maids are like that, true. Neither are all employers the Simon LeGree activists seem to love to paint. Before anyone starts to champion these causes, maybe they should walk a mile in the shoes of employers first. The maids have recourse to their embassies, to the activists and shelters. To hear the activists talk, employers often look like slave-driving, sick, sadistic, power-hungry opportunists. Okay, maybe some are. But what of the majority? What recourse do employers have when their maids turn out to be nightmares? Who speaks up for the employer who got scammed into hiring someone unfit and unsuitable?

I'm not even talking about the ones who completely go off the rails, but just the ones who are incompetent or lazy or both. Has any activist tried training someone like this? Especially if you believe the bullsh*t on the CVs they give out. It's annoying and frustrating enough to give you a coronary! Activists may think that maids are given the short end of the stick here, but there are maids who come here and think it is a stepping stone to freedom, a swinging social life etc, happy to do the bare minimum and demanding more from their employers.

This is the second one I've had to change in less than a year. I'm not a demanding employer, in fact I've been accused of being blind to their faults to the point of laxity. I don't make unreasonable demands like some employers who dictate everything from hairlength to mobile phone usage. I've given previous helpers a great deal of leeway and freedom - just ask any who've worked with me. Yet even this was not enough. For the record, I changed the one before this because she was busy moonlighting as a mamasan for other maids, matching them on their off days, with men. My neighbour complained after she'd persisted in offering her services to his maid.

These horror stories are more common than activists like to think.

To ship someone off, find someone new, get used to them, train them all over again is an expensive, exhausting, painful process with no guarantee of success. Each domestic disaster just makes you angry, more wary and less trusting. Its a vicious cycle that bodes no good for anyone - employer or maid.

We all have choices to make and nothing is ever a "no choice" situation. I put up with this because I acknowledge that I am not a superwoman. I've tried juggling housework, chores, cooking with a full day at the office, attention for kids etc and I just end up exhausted at the end of a very long day that starts at 5.30am and ends at midnight. I've come to the conclusion that we just can't have it all.If I want to keep my day job and even consider to increase my work hours, I'll just have to learn to close both eyes, grit my teeth and bear it - shoddy work, poor attitude and sometimes, psycho behavior.

I'll be a fair employer and give her what is due, what we agreed on in terms of pay, off days, sufficient rest, privacy etc (note, dear activists - what WE agreed on, not what YOU think is 'fair') I just won't be someone who treats the maid as 'part of the family'. She isn't and will never be part of our 'family'. She is an employee and I am an employer. Let's be professional about this. Compassion, love, and other warm fuzzy feelings are extra and not included in the package.

Any bleeding-heart activist who gives me drivel about this can just go stuff a sock in it.

Behind that prickly exterior...

... is a girl who's a bit lost I think. But like all porcupines, its hard to get past the sharp spines. I speak of Caitlin of course.

This girl's got the face for poker. Inscrutable. Tears may fall when we talk but I never know - are they tears of sadness or anger? Is she upset with me? Upset with the situation? Upset with herself?

She never reveals her hand. Whatever is in her mind and heart remains known only to her. It's so very difficult to reach her. I never know if I am getting through. I never know if I am effective in my methods of reaching out. And I know it's only going to get harder as she grows older.

Gut feel tells me she needs help. I need to pay attention to her. She may seem like the most independent, the one who learns the fastest, and possibly the most streetsmart of the siblings. But I sense a vulnerable desperate core. It's there in her eyes, in her voice when she tells me a joke, a story, what happened at school, at gym training.

But perhaps the problem lies with me.

I feel disconnected. When she speaks, I find it hard to listen and horrible as this sounds, I feel a sense of impatience: get to the point. I tell myself that there is NO getting to the point with kids. That with kids, it is all about just listening, giving the time, the attention. No matter how repetitious, how boring, how silly, how tiresome, no matter how busy, how hungry, how distracted I get. I admire mothers who can do this - give total absolute attention to their children. Because everytime I can't, I feel less of a mother. A sham of a mother. How un-maternal it is to feel impatient.

I have to keep trying. I cannot give up. I can be angry and I can be frustrated and I can feel like talking to her is like bashing my head against a brick wall - pointless and painful. But I cannot give up. There is something there. I just need one breakthrough. I need to find that connection.

Random thoughts

Have not been actively blogging for the longest time on the Riang blog so thought I'd just check in and post some random thoughts.

Life is crazy busy these days.

Trin has stayed away from school for the past  two days, down with a persistently high fever that refused to go away since Friday. She's really all skin and bones now so I'm ditching nutrition for just weight gain which means I'm happy to offer fries, ice-cream and lots of milk if she's happy to finish those. I tried to treat her at home over the weekend but was just fighting a losing battle with the fever. The doctor listened to her lungs for an awfully long time on Monday before saying that she hears a barely audible crackle in the right lung. Could be bronchitis. Could be lung infection. I was told to bring her back by Wed if the fever persists.

It's Tuesday night now and I just gave her a dose of brufen. The fever reads as 38. Not as bad as the 39.7 reading I got on Sunday but it's not going away.

Weirdly of all the kids, she's the only one who hates the taste of meds. So each dose has to be accompanied with lots of coaxing and praise, something I never had to do with the others who would just happily slurp the meds as they would an ice-cream cone.

She's not the only kid on meds. Gillian is now wearing a brace which has to stay on for the next four weeks thanks to knee surgery she had less than a week ago. We'd put it off for as long as we could but the knee was increasingly unstable so it works for the better to get it done now. She faces intensive physio once the brace comes off and the ligament repair work more or less heals but by this time next year, she'd be walking and running with lots more confidence.

I am also grappling with maid changes. This one just is not working out and we're changing - and happy that Lolita will be returning to our household in a week or so. Good and bad. She runs the place so efficiently I don't have to step into the kitchen. But  that means I lose my domain once again, having just found my footing and confidence again in the kitchen.

The days are flying by and we're heading for the end of the year again. I mark our lives by school terms, parent-teacher meets, year-end concerts, birthday parties, family holidays.

And all too soon, it will be Christmas. Which always makes me feel pensive. Must be the schmaltzy carols. Or the kitschy Orchard Road decor - which is already up but not lit.

Or maybe its the 80s music I keep on shuffle repeat these days. My favourite du jour - Amy Grant and Vince Hill: House of Love. Happy song.

These days are such dark days. I really did not feel like writing. Everything feels so raw. But I think it would help a bit and it would also document the days we are going through now.

Tigerlily, who walked into our lives two years ago, has left us as suddenly as she came. Just like on that bright sunny day when she strolled across the street and lay down at my feet, allowing me to stroke and pet her, she lay down on a cushion in my living room, her life slowly ebbing away with every inaudible gasp.

She had been wasting away for months. Just before Chinese New Year we brought her to the vet because her fur was falling off and she was off her food. The vet thought it was hormonal and prescribed some hormones plus antibiotics just in case. Nothing worked and Tiger just continued her decline.

In her last weeks and months, she did not go out as often, preferring to hang around at home. Her favourite place to be was on the seat on our porch, watching the world go by in our garden and beyond our gates. Or she would be perched on our glass table content to snooze in the sun. Already a quiet cat, I guess she became quieter.

She was so off her food that we finally decided to bring her back to the vet on Saturday. Immediately she was hospitalised, put on a drip and forcefed, blood samples taken. We were taken aback at how ill she was because apart from her weight loss and lack of appetite, it never seemed that serious.

Things went downhill very quickly from then. We saw her in hospital, making it a point to visit her about twice a day. She could recognise KH and and I, trying a tiny meow when we greeted her. But on Monday, I got the call in the office. It was not working out and she was sliding fast. The bloodwork showed last-stage kidney failure and they thought she would not last out the night. The vet said it was likely the kidneys were not developed and could not support an adult cat - common in cats and dogs. It was nothing she caught or ate, nothing we could have done. It was congenital. The words just washed right over me.

KH and I took urgent leave, pulled the kids out of school and brought Tiger home for the last time.

We took turns sitting by her just to stroke her, talk to her and tell her it was okay, not to be scared, she was going to a better place where she could chase all the birds she wanted and what a pretty dance they would give her. She wagged her tail feebly a couple of times as we stroked her and talked.

Yes we cried. Cait, who was so attached to her, Owain and I. It was hard to say goodbye.

By 3.35pm. I was with her when she tried to get off the cushion. She stood for the last time in her life and took three shaky steps before collapsing, splayed out on the floor. KH scrambled over and we both held her. She spasmed twice and then it was over.

We called the pet cremation service. The kids were adamant that they did not want her ashes scattered in the sea with unknown other animals. So it would be a private cremation and she would be returned to us in an urn.

Isaac did not make it back in time to see her and to talk to her. He was in school and could not access the messages I left him on his phone. By the time he got to our gate and saw Owain in tears, he knew. And my big son, unabashedly wept.

She's home today, we received her in a tiny wooden box. And now she sits on our altar, flanked by the Holy Family and the Divine Mercy, her worn collar sitting atop the urn. She feels lighter than we expect. For all intents and purposes, Tigerlily is now officially an indoor cat. But I think once in a while, I will take her out into the garden and let her sit a while. Am I mad? Silly perhaps?

But then, she did so love the big earthen jar with the tempting guppies always taunting her as she stared in frustration at not being able to swipe one - I would always call out to her before she could. She also loved the lizards and the birds. They did not love her but she would enjoy sitting there eyeing them and trying to pounce.

In her last days, tired as she was, she managed to kill a sparrow and then tried to bury the carcass in her kitty litter!

She was an outdoor cat all the way.

We would never know why she chose us as her family. I'm sure there was a reason.

But we loved her till the end and for two years, we gave her a good home, food, shelter, love and lots of cuddles. I'm so glad we were with her till the end. I think she was glad to be home too - she must have smelt it in the air and in the light. I think for anyone, a beloved animal or human member of the family, this is what we can and should humanely do - bring her home to live out her last moments with the people she loved around her.

I never knew that losing a pet could hurt this much. And I always thought that cats, being less needy, less affectionate than dogs, would make far less of an imprint in our lives. But in two years, Tiger has left an imprint that would be difficult to erase.

Mornings will never be the same again without her usual greeting and then curling round our legs for a morning cuddle and stroking session. And she'd do this to all of us every morning. No more would she perch at the top of our gatepost surveying the neighbours, the cars, the children, like the empress of her domain, regal and elegant, complete with kohl-rimmed eyes. My bathroom window can now be left unlocked - no more fear that Tigerlily would escape our house at night. We tried to keep her in at night after that terrible time when she was caught in a trap at our neighbour's house. But we later realised that she had learned to unlatch the window so it was a nightly ritual that KH would call out "Is the cat in the house?" and if she was, we would close all windows and doors - including the bathroom door AND window. No more of that too now.

I will miss her sauntering into the house, leaving a warm patch on our beds when she naps for the afternoon. I will miss her eager pattering when she keeps to our heels as we hurry to fill her bowl with food. I will miss her elegant profile as she sits on the cushioned seat on our porch. I will miss calling her home at night - and she would come when I called. Only Cait and I had that privilege initially but later, she grew to include KH in her circle of trust.

My favourite memory of her? I guess it would be the day she came into our lives, when I first realised that we were adopted, and how I chose the name Tigerlily for her.

I will miss so many things. How can she be a mere cat? How can people say "its only an animal?" She was family. IS and always will be family.

And Cait. Poor thing. She looked lost in her bed, reading just a few minutes ago. Her eyes were red-rimmed. I know how she felt - there is something missing from her life that was once filled by a soft warm furry body lying next to her every night.

I tell myself that all animals go to heaven for they are created by God and as long as we loved them, we would surely see them once more. My sister agrees. She says that when I am ready to go Up There, I'd see Tigerlily there and there would be her fur all over my bed once more, ready to exasperate me again. Looks like I have to die with the lint roller in hand!

I tell myself that St Francis, the quintessential animal-lover, will take good care of her Up There. I told her that too, as she lay dying. I believe it, but it does not make me feel better. I guess I will, over time. But right now, my life is one big empty ache that only a tiny cat can fill. Right now, I will never want to get another cat. No one can take her place and the process of losing them again one day is just too painful. Once is enough. We've put away her things but I stop short of making plans to give them away. I can't. I can't bear to.

I will end with this description of how Isaac said goodbye. He had to leave to serve mass in the evening before the animal cremation people came. He stood for a moment next to her, then he bent and stroked her once, twice. Then straightened and said to her, in his usual, bright and cheery, casual way, as he always does whenever he leaves the house, as if she was still there: "Bye Cat!"

And I guess, that is the best way to say goodbye isn't it?

We have had a new helper in the house since Lolita left after being with us for more than 5 years. We thought Trin would have a hard time adjusting but surprisingly, she's shown herself to be more resilient than we give her credit for. I think kids generally are a tougher bunch than we think.

So now we have somebody new and she's literally driving me up the wall. Perhaps it is early days and I am impatient by nature but this new person is really exasperating me quite a bit. On the good side, I guess it has forced me to be less complacent, less lazy and more hands-on in the home and in the kitchen. When you have a competent, efficient helper, it's always tempting to just give in and let her handle everything, run the kitchen etc. But these days, I find myself more involved and that can't be a bad thing right?

For one thing, I know what is actually in my fridge. For another, this is the first time in years, many years, that I have cooked as much as I have over the new year period. In previous years, we opted to eat out during the New Year or freeload off my mother's dinner table. But this year, I guess I went on overdrive. This is what I cooked over the four-day period:

Day 1 - steamed radish cake served panfried

Day 2 - chicken curry

Day 3 - fried beehoon with shredded chicken

Day 4 - chicken soup with abalone, fish head curry and giant panfried prawns in tamarind and chilli

It feels really good to be back in the kitchen experimenting. I experimented with the radish cake for the first time about two days before the New Year and it turned out too salty and too hard. On New Year's Eve I tried again with different composition of water to flour and it turned out a tad loose after steaming. I chucked it in the fridge and by the next day when I took it out to panfry this in the morning, it was just right - a nice soft, melt-in-your-mouth texture. Perhaps still a tad too salty even though I'd cut back on the salt by quite a lot. Next time, this will just be a pinch.

Best compliment - the kids and KH liked it. For a picky eater like KH, this was a real compliment. I'm planning to do this again but still experimenting - this time, I'd add shallot oil and chicken stock instead of water to the flour.

I am documenting this for my own memory (which has become rather leaky in recent years), and not because this is a great recipe to follow. I picked elements from other radish cake recipes on the net but in terms of proportions, I really just relied on my own gut feel estimates.

I used chinese sausages (laap cheong), dried scallops (the small ones), fresh shitake mushrooms and dried shrimps (hae bi). I soaked the scallops and the hae bi in hot water. Grated about 1 and a half radishes. Boiled the radishes using same hot water I used for soaking. Then I chopped up the soaked, now soft, scallops and hae bi. Meanwhile, I chopped up the laap cheong, panfried it without adding oil. When the oil from the laap cheong has come out, I add the scallops and hae bi, then the diced mushrooms.

Meanwhile I add rice flour and a little bit of wheat starch flour. I know now that the trick is to keep the proportion of flour very low. I got a bit nervous when I saw the loose watery texture and added more flour the first time I did it - big mistake. The flour is really there to just adhere the radish strips together and not really form the base. I seasoned the mix with salt and pepper and a dash of soya sauce. Keep the dash very very light. Then I added the ingredients in the pan, dropped the whole thing into a shallow disposable foil pan and steamed on high heat. Voila. Have to say, it turned out very very well!

Like I said, next round, I would try panfrying the cake with shallot oil and use chicken stock instead of just water when adding to the flour/radish mix.

Its 5am in the morning and I am fresh from a dream. So fresh that my tears are still running, my hands are shaking and wads of tissues have come and gone.

The dream so vivid, has me in its grips and perhaps the only way to exorcise it is to write about it and then later read it in the cold clear light of day. I don't know if I will regret this later, writing about it while I am so raw but right now it feels like the right thing to do. It gives me a strange sort of solace.

I dreamed that KH died. Slumped on the ground, in my arms with the children around me, telling me he loved me. Even in my dream I kept willing him to come back and not leave but he did. The anguish. I still feel it. I dreamed of snatches of life after he passed - going to the supermarket, a child's wedding, and the terrible anguish still followed. Because I would see him everywhere but know he would not be real. I could still hear him giving me all his usual irritating sardonic asides. In my dream Gillian sat with me as I wept and asked, "He's not real and you don't see him right? Its just me." Weirdly enough the dream seemed to be narrated by someone and this line jumped out at me: KH giving tweets from the grave.

I woke, or rather the real KH woke me up because I was crying. Even Trin woke up. Perhaps I've dreamed of his passing before but it never hit me this intensely. He held me and comforted me for quite some time after but it was very hard to leave the dream and ease down on the tears. It occurs to me that he is getting a preview of my grief and comforting me for something which he would be unable to in the future.

Where do dreams like this come from? Is this what it will really be like? I don't know how or when life will pan out and if it will indeed come to this. But this dream has called forth a very deep fear in me - that of being left alone to soldier on in life without my partner, my best friend and my lover and the intense loneliness, pain and grief that accompanies this. In the throes of my pain just minutes after he woke me, I told him: "You cannot do this. You cannot leave before me. I won't allow you to. You go get it checked out. Every part of you."

I have this irrational fear of deja vu. His father passed at the age of 51, leaving a helpless wife and five kids. KH is turning out to look more and more like his dad did at that age. 47 is not far from 51. I know that it does not make sense and I worry for empty superstition but I will not be comfortable until he passes 51. We have so many things to do, so many plans. But I also know that these are empty - just plans. And rather than just plan, we should just live our lives, do the best with what we have now, because those plans might never ever happen. The reality is we never know when we're going to go and perhaps it is this lack of control that I fear. As a Catholic, I should have more faith in God, trusting His will and whatever He gives. But yet. I feel very small, scared and vulnerable as a human today.

We can only do the things we can and not worry about what has not come or the inevitable when it does. The day is starting now and the kids have to wake up for school. But before the busy-ness of everyday life seeps in and the dream is totally gone, I will try to remember just this one thing - to love as much while I can, not be afraid to put myself out there and while its hard to be in the moment every single moment, I can at least try.

While the pain of the dream is still fresh, I must also remember to appreciate everything about him - even the things I dislike. I never know when all these will really be taken from me. He may drive me nuts sometimes but even those, after he's gone, will look like lovely idiosyncrasies later and I know I will miss even these annoying habits.

I am taking a good deep whiff of fresh cool morning air. The dream is over. I am back in real life. I am letting go of the terrible pain and fear of the dream. Good morning life.

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.