coogee dolphins playgroup

One of the nicest things I have discovered about Sydney (or Australia) is their mum-run playgroups.

Essentially, a few mums get together and volunteer to organize a playgroup where anyone can drop in with their kids for a nominal fee.

A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to spot a handwritten banner hanging from a fence, that the Coogee Dolphins Playgroup was open for all and sundry.

My heart quickened: It could be the closest thing to “school” that Day has around here.

When I dropped in with him, it turned out to be all that I wanted and more.

COST

It only costs A$4 each time I go (on Tuesday and Thursday), each session lasts from 10am to 12pm. That is bloody cheap, considering I had to pay $500 a month for Day to go to playgroup in Singapore.

Of course, in Singapore, I don’t have to accompany him, he gets two meals and everything is very structured by the teachers, but essentially, what I want – interaction with other kids and adults and the chance to try out new activities – is there.

If I miss a session, I don’t pay. Simple.

(What I’m told is that A$4 is actually rather pricey. Some other playgroups only cost A$2.)

GROUNDS

Leafy trees which the kids can climb on, cool air and golden sunshine. Enough said.


FACILITIES

Contrary to what it sounds like, the playgroup is not just a bunch of mums bringing their kids together to mix in an open space or an empty hall.

There are facilities: Lots of it. (I think that’s what our money is used for)

Kept in a shed at the side of the hall, are heaps and heaps of toys. At any one session, only part of the toys are taken out and there is more than enough to go round.


Kiddie cars, skate scooters, slides and seesaws, trampolines, tricycles, doll houses, giant kid-sized balls, plasticine sets, I don’t think I have seen it all yet.


There is also a sand pit at the side where Day hangs around most of the time.

And two indoor halls for singing and book-reading sessions or where the babies can hang out.


Dee's on the mat in the middle of the picture. See her?

All it lacks is a swimming pool.

ACTIVITIES

I also found to my surprise that there are activities organized for the kids, I think by some of the volunteer mums who are also the playgroup committee members.


In the times we have been there, Day has quite happily participated in singing sessions, painting sessions, made a paper “tie” for his papa using glue, glitter and paper cut-outs and had his face painted (like a tiger).


The playgroup is also proving to be a real boon for me, in meeting other mums, a few nannies, dads and grandparents.

When we go, Day runs off on his own, I usually don’t know where he is. I know he is safe because the gate is child-proof and all the parents keep an eye out for kids, even if the kid is not their own.

I then enjoy my two hours talking to ADULTS. Precious time indeed.

FOOD

Food isn’t actually provided (though I have heard some other playgroups give sandwiches to the kids). Each parent who comes brings along a fruit, all the fruits are cut up and served to the kids.


It’s just fruit cocktail, but Day loves it. He’s always the first at the table, sometimes helping to pull out the chairs and place the plates and cups around the table, and often the last to leave because he wants to finish up everything.

DISTANCE

Where the playgroup is organized, at the Coogee Scouts Hall, is very near us. Even with Day traipsing besides me, we get there within 10 minutes.

Australia takes playgroups so seriously (apparently there are 145,000 kids involved in 8,500 playgroup sessions every week), there’s even an umbrella body (ah! A word I used so often when I was a journalist) for all the playgroups in Australia, the Playgroup Association of Australia, and 24 October has been marked as National Playgroup Day. Unbelievable.

I think we will miss the Coogee Dolphins playgroup when we return.

No such groups in Singapore and I don’t think there will ever be. Too many reasons why and I don't want to get cynical, but main one being that most mums work.

chicken arms

I think we've been eating one too many chicken drumsticks.

As I was pulling on a T-shirt for Dee, it suddenly occured to me that her chubby forearm, from elbow to wrist, felt exactly like a succulent chicken drumstick.

One of those big fat Australian chicken drumsticks which I have been endlessly massaging marinades into. Here's her forearm:


I hope this is the first and last time I think of my daughter as a dish.

* It's not clear in the photo, but her nose is running and her eyes are red. I snapped this after the sleepy bub had screamed the house down for over an hour, until we finally gave up and picked her up.

in or out

I’m always wanting to go out.

My husband is always wanting to stay in.

Clearly, there is more than one occasion when one of us has to sigh, give up and give in.

To him, he maintains each and every time he begs to stay in: “I’m here as a student. I want to study hard, finish fast, finish good and go back home to Singapore pronto. Anyway, going out is expensive and with the kids around, I’m not very adventurous.”

Here he is (in the back, looking very stressed) hitting the books.


His golf bag, which he lugged along with him to try out Sydney’s famed golf courses, is gathering dust as he hasn’t played a single game since he came.

To me, however, I clearly have no books, homework assignments or study timetables to hold me back.

Staying home, I see the stacks of unwashed plates, clothes and crumb-strewn carpet and I need to get away from it all, or the whole day spirals into an endless cycle of sickening housework.

Most of all, I’m in Sydney. A place which friends who come on holiday rave about. How can I cocoon myself in our little apartment?

So I go out.

Sometimes alone (if KK is at home to look after the kids), sometimes with the two kids in tow. Dee in her sarong sling, and Day walking or running besides me.

There is a fair bit of experimentation on my outings because I never know where exactly I am going, how to go or what it’s going to be like. Usually I go to the bus stop and ask my way around.

I can’t be as gungho as I want to be as I have to think about how far Day can walk without whinging, how long I can carry Dee without aching, whether there is any entertainment for Day and if everyone will have the energy to take a bus and walk back home.

The other day, while KK was in school, I took the kids out to try and find a nice spot in a nice park to sit down, munch corn and feed the birds. But I didn’t really know how to go.

We took a bus, got down at some strange Godforsaken spot, tried to walk to a nicer-looking spot and ended up having a bus driver stop the bus and open the door to shout at us to get up because we were illegally walking on a traffic-only lane. He added very crossly that many pedestrians had died walking along that lane.

Eventually, we did sit down to munch corn, but it wasn’t what I was looking for.


I’m still trying to persuade KK to go for a BBQ this Sunday, which requires taking a bus into the city, navigating an apparently very chaotic train station and traveling for 30 minutes before walking to the venue.

Of course, there is the return journey to think about but I’m ever the optimist.

chicken rice!

Oh my oh my oh my.

A taste of home!

After a month of mostly home-based culinary adventures and some fish and chips on occasion, Day got to eat Chicken Rice.

He didn't like it as much as the ice kacang though, which he guzzled, and it wasn't his dessert to begin with.

None of the chicken rice was wasted though; after I polished off my (gasp!) Penang Laksa, I mopped up all his remainder rice and chicken.

All thanks to Uncle Alan, a friend's friend whom we have never seen before, but who very kindly popped by in his car and took us out on a Sunday afternoon for a gastronomic treat at this Malaysian food and Nonya food restaurant, Alice's, which is half an hour away and which we would never have gone to on our own.

As someone who's been working here for two years and studying here even before that, Alan is a Sydney old-hand and he's probably the closest we have come to knowing a Sydney "native", so to speak.

* Mousie, thanks a million for the introduction!

geotechnical gibberish

We are all here because my husband's studying.

But precisely WHAT is he studying? Aha. I don't think I've mentioned this.

He's not a man of airy-fairy words, ideas and debate. Neither is he a man of numbers, business or accounts.

Nope. He's a man who is down-to-earth and grounded in more ways that one.


He studies soil, rocks and structures.

As boring as it may sound to others, he finds it tremendously interesting. What he says is: Everything starts from the ground.

True, true.

This past week, a particular module he is studying has brought him on field trips to rather interesting sites. He goes to school, and like an excursion, a bus takes him and his classmates on hour-long journeys to the sites. This is a pit which goes down for a hundred metres.


Problem is, Australia's rocks are very different from Singapore's rock, he's never seen any of it before, and he's struggling with that. A couple of days, he came back from school with his head in his hands, rather depressed and stressed that he won't make the grade within the year for his Masters in Geotechnical Engineering.

I'm sure he will.

3-dimensional cooking

This is my theory: Everyone can cook if they are forced to. But some people will always be better cooks than others, no matter what.

It's like music. Either you have a gift, or you don't.

Me, after a month, I have come to the sad conclusion that I clearly don't have it (not music lah, cooking).

I would call myself a two-dimensional cook. To me, a chicken is a chicken. I can make it taste a little nicer if I had instructions, but I will never be able to take a pinch of this or a pinch of that and turn it into a chicken cordon bleu. On my own, I would probably boil it and eat it plain with rice.

A 2D cook is also someone who follows cooking instructions to the book. I'm the sort who cooks rice by measuring the amount of rice and water very carefully.

My brother, on the other hand, ah...

We had a taste of what I call his 3D cooking when he came over and I think what we miss most are the dishes which he would concoct.


He is someone who can think beyond the ingredient, to envision all the endless possibilities which can be exploited to make something taste and look nicer.

Adding mayonnaise to tuna, for instance. Insisting that we drizzle fresh cheese and parsley into pasta. Turning out a hearty butter tandoori chicken stew.


Putting an omelette into the grill after pan frying it so the aesthetically round flatness of the omelette won't be compromised by having to flip it over.


Frying a slab of beef to perfection, no doubt due to his time working as a kitchen helper at Hog's Breath in Australia.


Adding mushrooms to a packaged sauce to give it that restaurant finish.

During his visit, my kitchen was significantly expanded so it doesn't just have salt, soya sauce, oyster sauce and sugar. Now it's got sesame oil, barbeque sauce, mayonnaise - none of which I really know how to use.

After he left, thinking that he had imparted some cooking skills to me, I set about cooking with renewed enthusiasm.

My attempts were, well not disastrous. I only forgot to wash the chicken, so everyone ended up with a bit of an upset tummy, and added too much water so what was supposed to be a thick flavour-some stew became a watery soup.

KK, in his usual straightforward fashion, remarked: "I'll do the cooking again. But I don't think we can live up to your brother's standards."

Touche.

* A man who cooks is a man to marry. So why is my brother still single? I have no idea. Anyone keen on a 29-year-old sports dietitian who cooks?

missing uncle choon

Leaving is a lot easier than being left behind.

Choon left us today and we miss him.

It's not just that in the last two weeks, he was our tour guide, cook and child minder; it's that he was more or less with us all the time. He hardly went out on his own (and when he did go shopping, he came back with stuff for us).

We had gotten used to a routine of waking up to Choon pottering around in the kitchen, fixing up tuna-mayonnaise toast, eating lunch cooked by Choon, having our groceries done by Choon, eating dinner cooked by Choon, KK watching TV with Choon, Choon rolling out his sleeping bag on our living room floor to turn in by midnight, Choon cleaning the toilet bowl, cleaning the dishes.

OK I know he sounds like a maid but that's not why we miss him. Really.

His visit is the best thing that's happened to us since we came here.

And we have learnt a little more about how to Survive in Australia on a Budget.

Like how we should always scrutinise junk mail (Choon discovered large pizzas which were selling for A$5) and how meat that is near expiry is much cheaper, amongst other precious nuggets of info.

locked out

Of all the dirty, rotten luck, this one little key cost us A$77 today. That's at least two days worth of food.

What happened was this: Choon went out. Before going out, he tried the keys in the locks and he took what he thought was the relevant keys. Turns out he was mistaken. The key for the door knob was left in the apartment.

He came looking for me, with bags of groceries, at Day's playgroup. Said he was locked out. I said huh? Took me a while to register.

I had wild notions of breaking in or taking a ladder and trying to climb in through our second-floor window. Of course, none of that would work and I would be very concerned if I DID manage to break into my own apartment.

No choice. We had to call a locksmith.

And as with everything else in Australia, if you need to call someone to come to your DOORSTEP, it'll cost you the sun and the moon.

Here he is, the trusty locksmith, Damien, picking away at our stubborn door.



And us, waiting and watching.



We actually got his contact while walking past a plumber. While going to get lunch at Coogee and mull over what to do, I saw this huge van filled with pipes and similar odds and ends and said to Choon (KK was in school): "These guys look like they can pick a lock."

Turns out they know leaky pipes better than locks, but they did happen to have the contact of a locksmith who works in the Coogee area.

Calling a locksmith from somewhere else (I enquired) would have cost us at least A$90. Jeez.

What an expensive lesson. I've never even had to call a locksmith in Singapore. My first experience had to be here of all places.

hermits

It's a bit odd, this feeling of our little family being completely encapsulated in our own world.

We are hermits.

No more walking down the street to the neighbour's for the kids to play, no more meeting up with friends outside for a coffee or a movie, and most incredibly, my mobile phone is silent all day. No phone calls, no more punching SMS messages every other minute - it's a reality which is furthest removed from a time when I had to put newsmakers on hold.

Which actually is not a bad thing. My fantasty has always been to throw away my mobile phone.

It's just plain weird.

I've always called my husband a hermit, he's the sort that needs to be dragged out by friends for an outing, has to be cajoled into meeting up with my friends and (here's the clincher) plays golf alone.

I'm not. Even though my social life took a beating when I quit my job and stayed home, I was always still keeping tabs, playing gigs, bringing Day to play dates.

So I was a little surprised when I thought about the past month we have been here, and realized that We Are Alone.

Contrary to what I expected, we have not tuned into a network of families, we are not going out with anyone, and apart from some superficial conversation with playgroup mums (me) or fellow university students (him), we are not making any friends whatsoever.

KK has always maintained from the start that we are on our own here and we cannot expect to rely on anyone or anything, except ourselves. He's been proven right.

Not that I'm complaining! Frankly I didn't even notice until recently, when the mobile phone rang at home and I jumped up as it sounded alien.

And I must say, I don't think many women get to enjoy their family as fully as I do now.

cookie monster

For my in-laws, who so enjoyed watching Dee in action.

beautiful bondi

Bondi (Bond-eye) is chiefly known as a Beach but what made me sit up more was the art. Art that is so much a part of the beach, art that is free for appreciation, most people might not even notice.

Take this, for instance, something which KK didn’t see until I showed him the photos. (he claims in retrospect that he was too busy carrying Dee)



I might not like these mosaic murals so much if they were hung in a museum - only to be viewed after I pay an admission fee - but I like the fact that bums grace these arts pieces every day. And that you can take a bite of your sandwich, breath in the sea air, and then enjoy looking at what you are sitting on.



All the benches at this “touristy” part of Bondi feature different pictures. One showed surfers on a beach, another showed lamp posts on a dark night, others just featured random patterns.



But to me at least, they were all captivating.

As for the rest of Bondi, it’s like a more glamourous, noisier, bigger version of Coogee, the beach-at-our-doorstep. You know it is when the beachside cafes are way more expensive, when women who strut along the streets are in boots and boob-spilling tops (at Coogee, it’s usually housewives pushing prams) and topless nubile sunbathers are everywhere.

What I’m told is that Coogee is more a local’s beach, while Bondi is a tourist beach where people go to flaunt.

In any case, KK pronounced quite adamantly after our trip that he prefers Coogee because it’s a nice, simple, quiet place to relax and the beach is equally nice.

I don’t know. I find Bondi quite seductive. More happening.



I found this dessert shop particularly temping. What caught my eye were the sinful cups in the top row. I didn’t get any, however. I can only fantasise about it.



More pictures.

day's shades

Cool as a cucumber, ain't he?

Got him his first pair of shades. Haven't seen many kids around here wear shades, but seems a bit odd when the adults are all busy whipping out their sunglasses at every hint of sun and the kids are going around squinting in the harsh sunlight.



He doesn't like keeping them on, though. It probably feels like a barrier.

first food

That magical time is upon her: Her first taste of solid food.

After nearly five months of breast milk, breast milk and more breast milk, she wants to do more than just drink.

We would have popped the champagne if we had any, we were hopping excited about the whole thing. Me too, since with Day, it was the maid who had introduced him to rice cereal and I didn't have a part to play. This time, I'm the one doing the honours.

So here's her first food.



Three rather unhealthy-looking bananas, the poorer cousins of Del Monte, but which cost us an unbelievable A$2.50 which works out to Sing$3 or $1 for each one. (I hate to keep mentioning prices but it is remarkably expensive) No thanks to typhoons which wiped out the banana plantations in Darwin, which apparently supply bananas to the rest of Australia.

Anyway. Day ate two, I cut one up and froze the sections as I'm certainly not planning to buy another banana here for a while.

She did beautifully. The perfect feed-ee.

Expectedly, she spit out three-quarters of whatever went in (it's called a tongue thrust reflex) but we did beautifully too, in catching and scooping it back in. So on average, each dollop comes back out, progressively smaller, six times.

Now she's onto rice cereal and she's learnt to swallow nicely.



On a side note, she's sitting on her New High Chair, which we got for a bargain at A$55, from a couple here who were moving house and were desperate to get rid of it, and who pasted up a note at the local supermarket. It's just six months old and good as new.

Why we say it's a bargain: It's super-groovy and like nothing we saw in Singapore.

* It's got four rollers
* The height of the chair can be adjusted up and down
* The angle of inclination of the chair can be adjusted
* The table screws on and off
* The chair has a PVC cover which is dead easy to remove and wash

It doesn't even look like a high chair.

moving the mouse

Because Day has to entertain himself a lot of the time, because he spent most of our first two cold and rainy weeks in Sydney indoors, because we now have two laptops, because he has a very limited supply of toys, he has learnt to use the (computer) mouse.

Both kinds; the mouse-on-a-wire and the touch pad.



That’s not a bad thing, though I do think that children should learn to write before they learn to push a mouse around. And at the back of my mind, I am secretly horrified that my two-year-old son is already sitting hunched in front of a computer, eyes stuck to the screen.

I have visions of him turning out like my youngest brother, a true bespectacled eccentric in the spirit of Bill Gates, plastered hair and all. But that’s moving too far ahead.

I suppose it started in March when we first got the Mac, and KK would entertain Day on it.

Quite suddenly, Day started moving the mouse with the touch pad and making the clicks himself.

It became distressingly convenient, to plop him in front of the laptop where he can sit for a good hour, intently surfing his favourite websites at starfall and Thomas the Tank Engine.



Then when Choon brought the second laptop with him a couple of days ago, and it had no touch pad, Day learnt to use the mouse-on-a-wire, which he found harder (because his hand is too small and keeps twitching) but he got it anyway.

Sometimes I find him pressing keys with functions that I, I’m ashamed to say, never knew existed or bothered to find out about.

Clearly, he’s going to be rather computer-literate. Good. It’s always useful to have an IT helpdesk around the house.

being tourists

Ah, what a shame it would be, if we came all the way to Sydney, stayed here a year and never even had a sniff of the Opera House or the Harbour Bridge.

So we made full use of Choon while he was here (an extra pair of hands), KK took half a day off studying, and we ventured into the city to see the sights.

Apart from KK, who had to carry The Rock (that’s what we call her now) for a good five hours, it was pretty enjoyable for the rest of us. Day behaved himself, sitting in his pram, and we did a fair bit of walking.

I’m really glad I got to see the carparks which cost A$55 to park at for 4-5 hours, taste Vietnamese beef noodles at Chinatown - where the beef doesn’t come in slices but is an entire steak parked on top of the noodles - and listen to the fat old buskers at the harbour.



KK the engineer was predictably fascinated with the Sydney Harbour Bridge, though this was the closest we got to it and I doubt we will ever get any closer in the time we're here. I must say though, that if I ever came back to Sydney as a tourist with my pockets well-lined with cash, I will pay the A$200 to climb that bridge. And I will strive to stay at the Hyatt Hotel, which sits just in front of the harbour next to the bridge (that's the hotel in the photo).



Day with Uncle Choon at some sort of pirate ship.



The funnest part of the day for Day, however, was at the end while we were waiting to catch the 374 back.

He went chasing birds at a park behind the bus stop. (I must say that everywhere I turned my head, I saw lush green parks. Real ones, with big trees and large spaces and honest-to-goodness big flocks of birds and not patchwork-sized greens like the one outside Raffles MRT)

Two old men there were feeding bread to the pigeons, which numbered in the hundreds, and which had all flown down from the trees where they were roosting to feed.



One of them got very cross with Day and shouted at him rather rudely. But Day didn't care! He had a glorious time walking amongst the fat pigeons and jumping up and down so they would take off in one glorious flock, fluttering furiously all around him.

uncle choon visits

Friday night, none of us could sleep.

We were expecting our first visitor from home: My bro. It was all too exciting for words. Finally, after three weeks of solitude, a familiar face.

KK paced around the apartment with Dee in arms, I jumped around with Day, who knew that his Uncle Choon was coming but we frankly weren't sure how he would respond, given that he hasn't seen his uncle in nearly a month.

Every car that drove into the driveway, we peered outside the window. Finally, just after 10pm, a cab came in and stopped outside for rather a long time.

And then someone pressed the buzzer. I lifted the handset and heard: "Eh, I'm here."

Opening the door - and leaving it open - we all raced downstairs, I didn't even wear my shoes.

When Day, who was in KK's arms, saw his uncle, he couldn't stop laughing.

Choon was equally thrilled. Bounding after Day, he shouted "I'm coming!" - a game of chase-and-catch the two used to play back home - and Day squealed.

We were glad to see Choon, but even gladder to see the big box of goodies he carted along with him on his flight. Ahahaha.

Printer cartridges (which we were not allowed to pack into the DHL box and which were removed from the printer), dried mango, herbs for herbal soup, dried mango, pens and paper, loads of Day's toys and VCDs.



What a night, enjoying all these goodies from home. Day didn't sleep till near 12, he was so busy fooling around with his Bob the Builder toys and eating dried mango, while KK was obssessing over the laptop Choon brought over. (we now have two which is great)

Choon will be staying with us for two weeks.

It's good having him around, as Australia is sort of his second home. He had been in Australia over four years studying and working before coming back to Singapore early last year (2005).

"i want food!"

Six months. That is the magical weaning milestone, the time when baby can sit upright and when (I am told) her intestines are mature enough to handle solid food.

My bubby, however, has different ideas.

In the last week or so, she has been eagle-eyeing our food, insisting that we carry her at every mealtime so she can observe our spoons as it swoops up the food and dumps it into our mouths. At the same time, she greedily licks her lips.

KK, the more adventurous parent, has given her little crumbs of bread and biscuits to lick. Just to lick, I don't allow actual swallowing.

Her reaction has left me feeling rather put out: Never has she displayed such single-minded intention in wanting something. She grabs his hand with her chubby claws so the tasty morsel is right in front of her mouth while she licks determinedly away. If he tries to remove his hand, she cries.



Which has led KK to the logical conclusion that clearly, she is ready for solids. While I look at Her Chubby Highness crossly and say: Hasn't my milk been enough for you?

I do agree though, I think she is ready. And frankly, I have been counting down to this day since she (like every other infant) screamed continuously throughout the day for an endless supply of breast milk.

sibling love

These two are really fond of each other.

It may the proximity (all sleeping together), it may be that there is no one else to play with, it may be that this may have happened even back in Singapore, but Day really has a soft spot for his little sis.

He insists on kissing Dee in the morning when he wakes up and before he falls asleep at night. He loves singing songs to her and chuckling in her face to make her laugh. He tries to read books to and share his toys with her.

Many times, I leave Day with the instructions to "Look after mei mei" for a short while, secure in the knowledge that he will never deliberately hurt her.

As for Dee, she only has eyes for her brother, who she regards with adoration and hero-worships.



As has always been the case, she never minds what he does to her. Whether he throws a pillow over her face, lies across her tummy or shouts in her face, her tolerance level for her brother's antics is ridiculously high.

And he's the only one who can make her chuckle like this.

adapting

Children are masters of adaptation. They are usually far more adaptable than adults and will have an easier time settling into a new country than their parents.

I believed it. Amongst all the worries I had, the least of it was how my children would adjust.

I had faith that they would embrace life in Australia wholeheartedly and instantly, that they would not be afraid of what life has to offer than in their new home, that they would emerge stronger, hardier and more adaptable after their Australian sojourn.

True?

The process was markedly different for Dee and Day.

DEE



My poppet took one whiff of Australian air, seemed to say: "Ah, I like it here!" and promptly fell into the deepest most comfortable sleep she's had since she was born.

OK I'm exaggerating. She still cries no end (to be carried). But for sure, the heat issues which used to plague her back home have dissipated.

In Singapore, she, sweaty and bothered, would always jerk awake after sleeping for a while and wail. Here, she easily beds down for 3-hour naps and wakes up smiling.

The heat rash she's always had on her face has gone and in its place is a rosy flush.

She is seldom cold (her hands and feet are usually warm), I reckon because she's got so much fat.

And at her age, she hardly misses anything from Singapore. Definitely not the food, nor the people. In a nutshell, she's fine and good and will probably have a harder time adjusting back to Singapore when we return.

DAY



Different story here.

In the first week, there were times when we regretted plucking him from the comfort of the home he's known all his life to, what probably feels like, a whole new planet.

He was bored, he was lonely, he seldom smiled. Most of the time he went round whining and being naughty.

A couple of times, when he wailed pitifully "I want to go home", what could I say? Swallowing the lump in my throat, I could only tell him: "We will go home when papa finishes studying but now home is here in Australia." And he would thankfully keep quiet at that.

Another time, when he got it into his head that his gong gong was knocking on the door (but it was actually the DHL man), he cried when he realized it wasn't, and kept asking me frantically to open the door because gong gong was going away.

I think it took him about two weeks to accept his new home.

Now he's much better.

He's learnt the new rules (lots of them, since I'm the one doing the house cleaning), he knows that his papa and mummy's word is law (no one else to turn to), he knows his way around outside - he can walk to Coogee Beach without directions.

Still, we worry more about him than Dee, in particular the lack of friends his age.

Peers bring out a side of his character that we never see and we are fairly certain he misses his friends, though he never says so. Which is why my eyes sting when I see other kids - who he doggedly follows around trying to play with - throw sand at him, laugh and tell him in no uncertain terms to buzz off.

But we don't do anything. No point protecting him, all we can do is to tell him how to cope. Being bullied, after all, is part and parcel of growing up.

For the record, he sat there as the boys threw sand at him, staring, as if confused that anyone could be so mean. KK very sombrely told him later that if he doesn't like it, he should just walk off.

missing national day

* Another whingy post. Apologies but sometimes I have to vent to feel better.

It's National Day and we missed it.

It's the first time we've actually been away from Singapore on National Day, we've always been around to enjoy the public holiday.

Instead, we are far away, in a land which is not home and which, is increasingly clear to us at the moment, can never be.

A land where my son, a friendly little boy by all accounts who has been starved of fellow company for last three weeks, tries to make friends at the beach by following two boys around and instead gets sand thrown in his face; boys whose mothers witness the sand-throwing but who continue chatting away as if it's perfectly normal for their kids to do something like this.

A land where everytime we venture beyond the place we stay and try to return home, loaded with bags and two young children, every taxi we desperately try to flag down passes us by because they have no capsules for Dee and we have to end up trudging to the bus stop and taking a bus back, and we have to make a long trek home carrying kids and bags. (Strangely enough, till now we have NEVER seen a bloody capsule in Sydney - all the taxis we have sat in belonged to drivers who presumably broke the rules - which says to me that if you have a infant here, you DIE without a car)

A land where when I thought I had finally met one friendly person - in the form of a cashier from Malaysia - resulted in my being told off for being rude because I asked her if she was a PR here, and then feeling even lower when she said only people from Singapore and Malaysia ask such personal questions and that she hopes I have learnt my lesson. Indeed I have.

All the above, that's what happened just today.

Sydney is supposed to be one of the top five cities to live in. Really?

At the moment we'd take Singapore anytime.

For all the folks back home, Happy National Day. And don't complain.

bubby dee

In Australia, she's a Bubby.

Everywhere I go, people ask: "Oooh! How's the Bub?"

Cute. Certainly sounds better than Babe.

She's really changed these last three weeks since we've been here.

And finally, I have fallen in love with my daughter.

Finally, I have gotten to the stage where my heart melts when I look at her, when I can gaze at her for ages in adoration, when I think: Baby I'll do anything for you. When I will actually prefer to be with her than with Day.

It took some time for me to fall in love with Day too.

I'm not a Newborn sort of mom, I have decided that I hate newborns. I hate breastfeeding newborns (all over the place, always insecure if they are getting enough), I hate looking after newborns (so afraid I'll drop and break them).

But at three, four months, well, it's a different story!

Why?

* She's visually so much more appealing. Instead of twiggy arms and legs, she's all chubby and tubby, the kind where it's difficult to put a diaper on her because I have to squeeze the diaper between her fleshy thighs. And her face has changed so much. She still looks like a boy, but she's somewhat cuter.

* She's significantly sturdier, so I can play with her and toss her in the air without worrying that I'll hurt her.

* She is so much more aware of what is going on around her, bobbing her head around to look at this and that, and as KK said, she's so much more Human. As compared to being like a noisy pet.

* Her beautiful hands come alive. No more mere curling and uncurling, she actively grasps my shirt when I feed her, my finger when I carry her, "plays the piano" on the dining table when we carry her at dinnertime.

* Her endless stream of smiles! Her best smile: The first one in the morning when she wakes up, when I go to check on her and find that she is awake and looking around her, when she turns to find it's me and flashes me a slitty-eyed dimpled smile of recognition. Sometimes she gurgles. My reply: "Morning, Glory!"

winter tan

While floating in the bathtub recently, KK looked down at himself and realized to his horror that he was fair.

No wonder. Those (usually) tanned arms, legs and torso have been kept under wraps for the last three weeks. Instead of bronze, his limbs looked beige, even a little gray from the fuzzy layer of dried flaky skin. (By nature, unlike sallow brown me, KK is actually rather fair)

He wasn't having any of it.

On a sunny day, as the sun was streaming into our apartment, he got ready to get his first winter tan.

He stripped down to his underwear, popped a pair of sunglasses on his nose and reclined on Dee's playmat, all the while coolly reading off the trusty laptop in front of him to justify his "student" label.

I just couldn't help myself. I snapped pictures.

And against his dire warnings, issued while I was snapping away, I am going to blog about it anyway because he looked so silly.

leeton avenue

This is home. Our A$340 a week abode at Leeton Avenue.

Externally speaking, the two-bedroom apartment is ugly as ugly can be. Just like a HDB flat only its red brick.

Internally, well. The first freezing night we stepped into it, last Wednesday, my first thought was: This is FURNISHED? (I had not seen the place at all, only KK did. This was only the second place he looked at but we decided to go for it as it was one of very few furnished apartments available)

Apart from the rusty, mouldy bar fridge, the only furniture to be found in there were a dining table and chairs, two stained sofas (without covers), a TV cabinet with a TV from the 70s with a convex screen (complete with an iffy volume control, the kind that you move a bit and the volume suddenly booms out at you) and two beds with no pillows, no sheets and no blankets. And no heater.

Our first night (all the shops were closed already, no time to buy anything), we all spent teeth chattering (except Dee who has no teeth), shivering on the beds, huddling up for warmth. I dug up all the clothes in the suitcases to throw over the kids while I wore five of KK's shirts underneath my fleece and jacket, and two pairs of long pants.

But I was happy. That at last, I could take out everything from the suitcases and pack them into the wardrobes (oh yes, the wardrobes. Also seemingly from the 70s), that at last we had a place which we could make Home.

And so we have. The heater, the bedsheets, the pillows, the blankets, the standing lamps, the Internet broadband connection, the telephone line.

In the living room, we draped the sofas with the (rather dubious) bedsheets provided by the landlord.


On one side of the living room is the dining area. KK's study spot is at the dining table. Day loves the spot too, that's where he watches his DVDs and surfs the Internet.


Day even has a playroom all to himself, one whole room where his toys are all placed and where he can make war if he wants to. I don't care. As long as it happens inside.

The whole family sleeps in one room, we moved both beds together. I wanted Day to sleep in his playrooom, but KK didn't feel secure with him being away from us, and besides we only have one heater for one bedroom at night. It's not an arrangement I particularly favour - I don't think kids should sleep with their parents - but well, this is a time when the family feels closer than ever!

And in the week since, we have discovered what makes this place so expensive to rent: Location, location, location.

The apartment is in a cul-de-sac, at the end of a road sloping upwards which is flanked by gorgeous million-dollar single-storey houses owned by presumably very rich people, hence it's safe and very quiet.


Every day, we hardly hear anything and at night, it's very conducive for KK to study because of the total silence.

But it's not ulu. Just 10 minutes away, across a wide green field, a croquet court, tennis court and a rugby field - a distance that even Day can walk - is the Coogee Beach, which he loves.



That's where we find our supermarket, post office, DVD rental shops, cafes and eating places (though we have yet to frequent any apart from Macs, too expensive), and a bus stop with lots of buses that take us to most places including the city (though we have yet to try that too).

KK can walk to school too. It's about 30 minutes away, which means he has to set out at 815am every morning to make it for 9am class. It's good exercise and it's free.

Most important thing is, it will be pleasant staying here for the next 12 months.

surprise

In the tomb-like silence of our apartment today, as Day busied himself in the playroom and Dee slept in the bedroom, the door bell suddenly buzzed.

Day, freaking out, ran screaming out of the playroom into my arms.

His screams, however, soon turned to squeals when I opened the door and found out that it was a delivery man, clad only in shorts (it's freezing!), who came with package in hand. A beautifully wrapped hamper filled with.... (I still find it hard to believe) CHOCOLATES! Addressed to me!


At a time when a simple bar of Cadbury would send us into seventh heaven, this bag of dear, luxury chocs sent us to the edge of infinity and beyond. And as I'm someone who hardly gets to receive packages, this proved highly exciting. Who in the world would know where I am?

For a while, I was kept on the edge of my seat, as I wanted to wait for KK to come home to view the package in all its finery before I unwrapped it. Day danced around it, stroking the plastic and looking at me, imploring me to tear it open, but I refused to until KK was back.


And when he did, ah, the mystery was solved. The chocs came from my primary and secondary school friend, someone whom I regrettably haven't spoken to in 15 years ever since we left for separate JCs, but we now keep tabs on each other's lives through our blogs.

She happened to be in Sydney for work, read my doubtful post and sent heartfelt sympathies my way as well as this wonderful care package.

"Thank you Auntie Charmaine!"


That said, we're eternally grateful to everyone who have kept us in their thoughts and tried to help us with the adjustment, from sending us e-mails and Bible verses to bringing packet seasonings and planning to visit.

unsw

Big day: Tuesday 25 July 2006.

That’s the Day KK re-starts his academic career, a decade after graduating from NTU. That’s what we are all here for.

A short 10 minute walk from the Avoca Lodge, we, wife and kids, all trailed along to have a look at the University of New South Wales.

It’s more NUS than NTU, old, crumbly, slightly mouldy rather than sterile, state-of-the-art, brand-new.

The requisite jewel green lawn, the kind which university brochures love to showcase of students lounging on and studying in the bright sunshine, was present.

Unfortunately, it was raining – again – when we visited. I hid with Day and Dee under shelter whilst KK popped by the bank to check on our finances.

I bought Day five packs of chocolate to keep him occupied whilst students streamed past, occasionally giving us a quizzical stare. I think campus is generally baby and toddler-free.