bye, 2007

It seems fitting that at the stroke of midnight, as revelers at my neighbours are raucously drunkenly counting down the seconds to the new year, and as my brother’s gang of eight or so 22-year-old young men friends are downstairs swishing vodka and Canadian pizza, I am pumping a shot of Dhamol into my fever-stricken son.

For one moment, we entertained the possibility of bringing both kids to the beach to watch the ships spewing up their celebratory midnight flares, but no. After a few mad seconds I decided that pushing their bedtimes that far was too much of a nightmare.

So all that reminds me that 2008 is upon us is Gurmit Singh and Michelle Chia hamming it up on TV.

How I miss the Coogee Beach fireworks! Enjoyed from a personal tent with plenty of walking space all around, plenty of cool dry air and twinkling lights in the trees!

2007 was about getting back to status quo and comfort zones, mostly. Back to Singapore, back to family, back to income.

2008 will be another 2006: Mountainous change. A new baby, a new home, a new lifestyle.

Amidst all that, our family hang on to each other for dear lives and try to stay calm.

dee says

Nasally, gravelly and throaty, what cracks us up is not the quality of Dee’s flat little speaking voice which we have been hearing a lot of late, but what she says.

She has been saying some mighty weird things which tell us so much more about what goes on in that cheeky head of hers, things which we would never have concluded if she had not started verbalizing.

CONCLUSION 1: She is cheeky

(Whenever we change, she barges her way in to witness us shedding our clothes)

Dee: Yeee!!!! Yeee!!!! Yeee!!!!! (and so on until we are clothed once more)

CONCLUSION 2: She is cheeky

(Hugging her soft toy elephant and lifting up its tail to see its crotch)

Dee: “Air-phant boot-boot. Air-phant boot-boot.”

CONCLUSION 3: She is cheeky

Dee, leaning on the sofa behind her, is shoving her foot into Day’s groin.

Me: “Don’t’ kick Gor-gor’s balls!”
Dee: “Kick the balls, kick the balls.”

(touching Day’s backside)
Dee: “Big balls, big balls.”

christmas

Ah my two beautiful snowflakes on Christmas Day.



He with his beloved Lemon, her with her beloved Winnie; the only reason they are both dressed like they are going to a wake is because Day insisted on being a PAP man on Christmas Day. His underwear is white, too.

I thought Dee might as well go along with the theme.

It’s Christmas.

Amongst all the religious festivals in Singapore, Christmas is probably the one that has been the best marketed: I, for one, know somewhat about Bethlehem and the three wise men and Jesus’ birth (thanks to Enid Blyton and church kindergarten) but I don’t know a whit about every other festival.

So Day has been asking questions.

He thinks God is a man living in the sky and he’s been running out on the car porch, climbing up onto the fence separating our house and the neighbour’s and shouting out very loudly skyward: “Hello, GOD! GOD! GOD!” Dee follows suit.

I duck down when neighbours passing by wonder at these two religious nuts.

He has a vague idea that God has a son Jesus who is born on Christmas Day. I say: God is Jesus’ papa. He asks me: “Then who is God’s papa?” and I, with a faint sense that I am failing in my duty as educator, have to tell him: “I don’t know.”

Anyway here’s Dee on Christmas morning.



That is what she does when you tell her to “smile”.

Parties? None.



Except for one on Christmas Day, at my uncle’s place, complete with turkey and Christmas log cake and scrumptious home-made food from my mum (kueh pie tee) and Aunt Margaret (baked mashed potato with cheese).



There’s Uncle Ling at the head of the table, who always brings us back to the meaning of Christmas, beyond being just a gorge-fest.

This Christmas, he said that apart from tears of joy, he’s never shed a sad tear for what most others - if they were paralysed from the neck down because of a freak accident - would consider doom, because of his faith.

We have a lot to be grateful for.

holiday

We didn’t go overseas.

The closest thing we’ll have to a holiday is when KK took a couple of days off last week so we had him – and the car - to ourselves from Wednesday to Sunday.

Kids had a glorious time: Going out, pigging out, vegging out the entire time.

KK, he got in a game of golf and more than several trips to the golfing range.

Me, I spent the time recovering from my slavish fortnight and devouring 23 epidoes of TV series Heroes (Season 1) in two nights and a day (hence the quiet on the blogging front).

Our holiday dairy.

WERNER’S OVEN

I had not yet started on my sleep-robbing Heroes marathon and was thus feeling perky and up to adventure, and public transport, with both kids.

The morning KK vamoosed for his golf game, I dragged them up the Number 14 bus to nearby Siglap for a Big Breakfast at Werner’s Oven, that German restaurant that is quite the icon in the East.

One of those (rare) days where I was consumed with joy and brimming with energy because I was a stay-home mum with two beautiful kids, I splurged on the biggest Breakfast they had, fruit juice for the kids (instead of water) and (gasp!) a choc fudge cake for #3. Pinch: $20.



Highlight: The incredible ham (not your supermarket ham, this ham was a real thick slice of fatty pork which I desperately ate as fast as possible as Dee was fighting with me for it) and the bun (I hate bread but this warm crispy one was different).

So scrumptious was the meal, I nearly managed to find the energy in me to drag the kids back on another bus in the sweltering (it wasn’t raining for once) 11am sun.

I say NEARLY. I caved in and flagged a cab. I sternly tell myself, if I were not pregnant I’d bus.

TROPICAL FISH FARM

This place is one of those perfect places where kids are happy, adults are happy and it’s free (even the parking).



We’ve been to the Mainland Tropical Fish Farm nearly 2 years before with my bro, but forgot all about it until now. It’s just loads of ponds with all sorts of fish which kids can admire and pay $1 for a packet of fish pellets which they can use to throw the fish into a feeding frenzy.



It’s got a couple of swing sets, low tables and chairs for the adults to chat while the kids do their thing and a garden behind with several chickens. Very kampong.



Best thing is, there is NO food (unlike so many other places in Singapore where food must feature somewhere).

So you can’t possibly splurge on food even if you wanted to.

I love that at this place, it was literally a dollar for a ton of fun.

CHANGI BEACH

Where the kids saw a rainbow



And watched the boats go by.



On a side note – and I hope I am not being offensive here – I do think, generally speaking, that it’s the Malays who’ve got it spot on: Who can be bothered to prepare and bring scrumptious home-cooked food to the beach where they hang out for hours in a tent just shooting the breeze with a portable radio close by, whilst the Chinese are furiously frittering away their money eating out in expensive restaurants with unhealthy food and hanging out in silly shopping centres.

Which brings me to…

VIVOCITY

Where we spent a bomb. Again. Including this Fila shirt which I, in a supremely stupid act, pulled over Dee’s head to see how it would look and she refused to take it off and hence we bought it.



And where we realized how thin Day is. Not because he doesn’t eat, although his appetite is not as magnificent as his sister’s, but it could be his age. Or maybe he’s just meant to be skinny.



Anyway, nice break.

trampoline

Chong, our friend and insurance agent, gave the kids a trampoline.

Day does star jumps on it, Dee is practising her jumping, which is still in a very awkward - "Do I raise one leg or both? How do I spring both legs together" - sort of phase.

Sometimes they tumble on it like a spring bed.

At the moment, though, their folks enjoy it more than they do: KK loves it as a dynamic exercise tool, I imagine myself bouncing away for dear life. (I never do because I'm afraid #3 will drop out of me)

#3's music

* The recording of Lover's Tears is from a concert I took part in on Sunday. For those who didn't go!

All of my kids have been subject to (or have had the priviledge of enjoying!) a huge dose of music sometime around their 6th month in utero.

It’s the year-end concerts. Night after night after night, for hours, their mummy plays violin music.

For Day, it was Puccini’s Madame Butterfly (opera).

For Dee, it was Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite (ballet).

For #3, it’s Standards.

What? Standards.

Completely different from the classical heavies Day and Dee got to hear with their new ears, #3 heard lots of Shanghai jazz, Beatles and Nat King Cole – as played by a string chamber group.

Re:mix is a tremendously dedicated group of full and part-time musicians who play out of sheer love and not a cent, led by the incredibly amazingly humongously talented (hyperboles fall flat at the foot of his musical stature) Foo Say Ming, who plays all the violin solos.

Oh my God what a violinist. By day, he’s with the Singapore Symphony Orchestra.

Over in 45 minutes, and all played standing up (in heels!), I will remember this concert as the one where the audience were moved to tears.

I don’t think I have ever played in a concert where people were moved to tears – perhaps due to the inaccessibility of the music – but on Sunday at the Esplanade’s Recital Studio, sobs were distinctly heard during our two shows.

On a side note, the sobs came on during the songs which we most HATE playing: The slow soppy Lover’s Tears (now playing)/ Yue Liang Dai Biao Wo De Xin / Mona Lisa. Dreadfully tiring, dreadfully boring, dreadfully so NOT fun to play. But they seriously pull at the audience’s heart strings.

This concert is also the one where we all had to tailor-make uniforms - translucent kebaya-like shifts - which thankfully suited pregnant me to a tee.



#3? Say Ming kept asking me if she was kicking in rhythm.

I had to say, truthfully, no. In fact she, in her usual docile form, hardly moved during the music.

Haiya.

#3 at 26 weeks

Now is the time when if she wants to emerge, she will have a chance of survival, even if it means weeks and weeks in ICU. It’s a milestone of sorts, gives me some relief.

The pregnancy is, like with Day and Dee, unremarkable: No back pains, no cramps, no heaviness, no bloatedness, no itchiness, no headaches, no nothing. Life is perfectly normal except for the bump. Seriously great.

I am more tired. But I think that's more work than the pregnancy.

Nothing much different with her, except she weighs a kilo now, which is normal as can be, and she's moving around more. Doctor tells me today that the "hamburger" - what radiologists apparently call the vagina - is still very clearly a hamburger. She is SHE for sure.

Another tiny little thing: I’m now at my ideal weight of 49kg. My ideal UNPREGNANT weight.

Sigh.

I can’t believe I have to be six months pregnant to reach my desired weight. I can't believe the weighing scale needle didn't even creep past 50.

I know some women would kill to be in my shoes but I think there are some health issues here.

For one, I eat like a horse. When I eat out, I finish my portion and then I eat my friend’s. Where is all that food going?

OK maybe it’s high metabolism.

But then why am I LOSING weight? I suspect that as I painstakingly put on one kilogram after another, more is going to the belly and I – as in me sans baby – am losing weight. Am I losing bone mass? Muscle mass? Not good at all.

I know for certain the situation will worsen when #3 emerges and I breastfeed. Breastfeeding really shrinks me.

Then I eat and I eat and I eat but nothing happens and everyone who sees me will go – Aiyoh! WHY have you lost weight? Why do you look so TIRED? What’s happened to you?

I have nothing to say. I have no explanation. I wish people would stop asking why I always look so sick and tired.

I wish I were like my roly poly mother. A little well-toned flesh (not too much) goes a long way in keeping one youthful. I’m a haggard frail little woman.

shopping centre show

Around his time of the year the malls are infested with toy fests and shows by imported artistes who come in to sell toys via song and dance.

My kids fell victim today.

They’ve never seen a show in their lives.

Today as I brought them for lunch with their grandparents at the Raffles City, we stumbled across the Barbie fair and their show, The Island Princess.



Honestly I tried to escape.

Day insisted. He pointed, dragged me by the hand, said “Mummy there’s a show starting!”

At that moment the curtains opened – yes our timing was that good – the ushers shooed us into the roped-in enclosure and there they sat for a good 20 (could have been 30) minutes.

I was flummoxed. I fully expected them to get fidgety and escape after 5 minutes, especially during the slow Disney-like love songs.

But no. The blonde Barbie look-alike onstage got them, hook, line and sinker.

Including Dee, who was cranky as hell (having missed her nap) but stayed put, craning her fat neck this way and that trying to see the stage, and clapping at all the right (and wrong) moments.



When the show ended she refused to leave until she finally realized that she was alone. Everyone else around her had gone.

Day, though he was the original enthusiast, was quite ready to leave and scrambled off.

Filing out, I realized there were hordes of kids picking up the Island Princess dolls, who were dressed exactly like the woman they just saw.

Shudder.

his piano ditty

It’s happened.

Suddenly today, Day sat himself at the piano and picked out Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.



As we all pat him on the head and flap our hands together like performing seals – it’s a bit of a surprise - I now wonder: Does this mean I should send him for music lessons?

I really don’t think his picking out the tune is that big a deal, but when it comes to my kids and music, I have always been crystal clear:

Till the day they pick out something on the piano by ear (showing a modicum of talent) OR the day they actually ask me to send them for music class (showing a modicum of interest), I have absolutely no intention of doing so.

Now in Day’s case, both have occurred.

He has picked out that baby ditty AND he says he wants to go for music class, albeit in a very by-the-way manner. (which is more than I can say for swimming, which I am pushing in a big way – hey survival skills – but which he absolutely refuses to go for)

I am still reluctant to send him (for music).

For a whole wide range of reasons, chiefly financial.

And that I can help nurture his music interest in the meantime, on a very informal piecemeal basis which, well, seems to have had an effect to date.

No it doesn’t involve my sitting on the piano stool holding his hands and playing the piano, or outrightly teaching him.

To be precise, when I play, he doesn’t, and when he wants to plonk, I leave him alone and I don’t correct him.

To be even more precise, I hate teaching, I don’t have the patience for it.

To make the point even sharper, Day hates it when anyone – me or his por-por, who is a piano teacher – tries to “teach” him. He scoots off the stool. He prefers to make his own mistakes.

But I did tell him two things in passing:

a) Where the C note can be found (at the left foot of the two black mountains), which is where he should start his song.
b) And to listen hard. To sing under his breath together with the note and that if it sounds wrong, to try another note.

Apart from Twinkle, he’s picked out the opening three bars of Veggie Tales, it’s something he’s been trying out for weeks but he hasn’t got to Bar 4.

Maybe it’s a passing fancy. We’ll wait and see if he picks out anything else!

* To my surprise, I found him playing the tune with his LEFT hand. He writes with his right, although he draws all the loops of the alphabet letters, like O, clockwise – like a left-hander would.

vivocity

Isn’t it a bit hard to step into Vivocity without spending a lot of money?

Therefore we’re not planning on going again, at least not in a long long time.

As much as I hate to say it, though, the kids enjoyed it more than they would enjoy, say, the beach or the park.

Kids – and even adults I suppose - just naturally (regretfully) take to shopping malls more than they would to places of nature. Something about the aircon and the constant flow of distractions and being able to spend pa and ma’s money.

A visual summary of our day.

Nice playgrounds.



Ultra-nice huge tracts of wading pools on the roof – if the sun isn’t shining, that is.


* The sibs have been into this pelvis-bumping thing. Yes it looks obscene, especially when they do it in the bath, sans clothes, which they do.
* Yes she disrobed again. We didn’t expect to find a wading pool.



As their own clothes were dripping, and as we ventured into the aircon blast with naked kids, we had to buy them new clothes pronto. No time to search for bargains.

So we had to purchase $60 pants for Day (luckily there was a 50% discount but even that hurts) and a $15 T for Dee. Which they promptly dirtied.



Before we ended up at Ben and Jerry’s. As KK paid (I refused to), he looked me in the eye: “Aiya how often do we come here anyway?”

snapshot

11pm. I’m just back from an orchestra rehearsal, the second this week.

End-year is when everyone has holidays; at this time, I don’t think I have ever felt so drained (not since the time I left full-time employment three years ago anyway).

My eyes hurt, my head is throbbing, I am so tired I have no appetite. All I want to do is sleep. I can’t.

This week, I have two three-hour long night rehearsals (unpaid), three long music gigs (one of which involved a night meeting with a client in town) and a ton of articles on my plate; the result of a lot of writers going away on leave and a lot of people getting married.

Five nights this week, I am out. Back at 11pm, I start work on the articles. I conk at 1 if I am lucky or if I give up, so tired I fall asleep seconds after my head hits the pillow.

I even eschew my bath and go for two days wearing the same clothes. Seven-ish, Dee slaps my face yelling at me to “Eek up!” and give her her Milo (her equivalent of formula milk).

All of which would be fine if I didn’t have my bundles of joy to run after in the day, trying desperately to squeeze in a call here, a call there.

Help? Hardly. As long as I’m home, they’re all mine. My folk’s helper is, unfortunately, a very industrious housekeeper sort who prefers ironing bedsheets to childcare anytime.

I’m at a point where I am a stay-home zombie (OK it’s probably just this very bad week).

Work drains me. (Don’t I sound Singaporean?)

Truth be told, I am happy for it. Work means money. Work doesn’t always come in. When it comes, I grab. I do have three kids to support. Well, to help support.

These few weeks, I’m so drained (I swear even though my tummy is bigger, my face and arms are skinnier) I’ve had to bite my lip and turn down jobs. It’s so hard to turn down jobs.

KK remarks: “I think your commitments are taking a toll on me.” For five nights this week, he comes home, bathes them, brushes their teeth, plays with them, reads books to them and then puts both to sleep one after the other.

I think he’s a champion. Though we barely do any husband-wife things together nowadays, I’m eternally glad he’s my partner for life.

OK I’m still in my outside clothes. Time to change, time to get cracking on that 600-word piece and oh, I completely forget to eat my preggie multivits. I hope to finish by 1. Or 2.

Next week should be a different story. A more relaxed one.

dee at the club

What Dee did at One15 Marina, as we were waiting for her brother’s concert to start (we had to go two hours earlier so the kids could have their dress rehearsal):

She ate and ate and ate. Specifically, she set eyes on KK’s brown sugar stick stirrer - which he was trying to stir into his coffee - fell in love with it, grabbed it and proceeded to stir it in the accompanying milk. Then she chomped it all down: Milk-coated brown sugar. The entire big stick.



After which she grabbed the sweetish milk and gulped it all.



She had a rolling good time in the very new, very clean and very empty kiddie playroom.



Enjoyed the wading pool with mummy.



Started to hop and skip, getting her skirts all wet.



She disrobed. We disrobed her. Only one dress.



Put it back on. Took a quick snap with bro. She doesn’t know what the fuss is about.

the overwhelming school concert

Day’s first school concert. So different from the humble kindergarten concerts I took part in. And so memorable in so many ways. I shall list the ways.

THE VENUE

Not a school hall or a community centre, this pre-school graduation concert, for 2-6 years olds to bounce around on stage in front of their adoring parents, was held at the newly-opened very swanky yachting One15 Marina club at Sentosa.

If I am not wrong, Day’s school is the first to hold its graduation concert there.

Beautiful place. Plenty of luxury yachts to ogle, horizon pools aplenty, truly stellar service from the buffet wait staff.

It’s seriously more upmarket than a wedding dinner but really over-the-top for a kiddy event.



And while I have always thought of the school as a nice warm place nearby for Day to hang out at – and it has reasonable school fees - the kind of school concert it organizes sort of indicates what sort of parents send their kids there: Parents who own cars and have lots of money.

It’s overwhelming when KK in T-shirt and me in my ratty pants walk into the ballroom to see Day’s friend’s mum - a glamorous Tatler-type tai-tai with some serious boobs - at my table.

Speaking of which, isn’t it odd how a bunch of very similar-looking kids (sweaty little boys) who have such rambunctious fun, can have parents who don’t look like they would EVER get along?

I suppose differences on parenting styles and family economic background don’t really show up in the kids until later.

THE HOLLYWOOD SET-UP

The theme was Hollywood.

And the teachers (and even their spouses!) put in an unbelievable amount of effort to make the whole event a major exercise. I do mean Unbelievable.



There were movie poster montages adorning the entire function room – which someone clearly had to generate – celluloid strip streamers hanging from the ceilings which one teacher’s hubby had to put up manually at 7am in the morning.



Every kid and their parent were given Oscar trophys (so we got 2. Ours for being such, er, sacrificial parents and Day’s for his graduation. He was so proud of it, he clung onto it and refused to let go)



The welcome placemat, like those at wedding dinners, was in line with the whole theme, as was the programme book.



We had individualized place settings with our names all written out.



The kids all got individualized 20-page yearbooks with loads of photos of them in school, which Day was perusing ad nauseum.

And when the kids came in, dressed in their adorable penguin-suit tuxedoes and red cummerbands, they strode in on a red carpet WAVING to the parents like celebrities. Obviously the flashing lightbulbs from the paparazzi parents fit right in.



THE FOOD

It was a sit-down high-tea.

Parents were not sitting on a row of chairs, we were sitting at round tables, dining after the concert was over.

God, the food was good.



There was a little buffet line of mini pizzas, chicken pies, satay, Movenpick ice cream for the kids while the adults had what I can only say I wished I had more time to enjoy. Man, the gourmet sausages!

THE COST

Near $250 for all the above, his costumes, his food, our food. Eyes boggling when I got the letter from the school a month or two ago, I remember seriously asking the principal: Er, can David not take part?

And she, of course, said yes. But that it would be nicer for him if he were included in what the rest of the school were doing. I didn’t want him to be left out.

… AND THE WHOLE POINT



Day would have been crying like this if he had seen us.

Seriously, he is not the sort of boy who can perform proudly in front of his parents as we wave and give him the thumbs up. We have to hide. We left him bawling as we handed him over to his teachers and kept our heads low.

Without seeing us, he was a real trooper.

Came out in his tuxedo giving his shy little wave, sang the “Do-re-mi” song hidden behind two girls.

Completely aced the Twist when it came to his turn. He was clearly exhilarated, very high, very giggly and very, very happy to be performing. He’s in purple.



Ended with a flourish, took his little bow and screamed in delight when he was finally returned to his parents.

Thereafter, he was supposed to go on stage for one more finale song.

After I once again dumped him bawling with the teachers, however, he emerged on stage howling and he had to sit it out. Silly boy.

I remember last year, when I read on some mum’s blogs about their kid’s school concerts, that I really wanted to see Day in a school concert and I ended up feeling very sorry for myself.

Now he’s gone through his first.

Honestly, KK is not inclined for Day to do another school concert. It involved – honestly – hours and hours of rehearsal. Day had to stay back in school until 4pm, skipping his afternoon nap (I usually pick him up at 1pm) on four occasions.

In KK’s words: “They’re just kids. Why the hell are they being put through so much stress? The mistakes are what makes these concerts memorable anyway.”

Me, this is one of those things where I have no opinion. Rehearsal and hard work, well, it’s part of life. Day has no complaints.

I only wish it were a simpler, cheaper, more humble sort of school concert than this glitzy extravaganza, though honestly, I take my hats off to the teachers.

And yes, I am oh-so-proud of Day. When I saw him in his grown-up tux waving, I thought I would cry.

* Oh I do love the fact that the kids were hardly made-up. No clown faces here. Apart from some gel in his hair, Day’s face was untouched. That, is some truly enlightened thinking from the principal.