anti-bottle

Lu is waging a bottle rebellion.

She is refusing to accept any form of liquid through any form of artificial teat.

My fault.

Since the pumping failure, I have hardly fed her any milk from the bottle because every bit I have – as it turns out, I get milk once out of every three or four times I pump - is religiously stored up for work emergencies.

In the past two weeks, I have taken out precious milk from the freezer twice.

Both times, I came back. Milk: Untouched.

As long as five hours (the longest I have gone for), she’d rather go without milk and wait for The Real Thing.

Clearly, she is of sufficient size with sufficient reserves to stand by milk-less.



I never expected this to happen, though.

With both Day and Dee, I thought I had waited too long to introduce the bottle, hence the refusal to accept it.

With Lu, she had already accepted the bottle. But after just a fortnight of no bottle, to my chagrin, she’s apparently gone off it.

Too bad.

I suppose she’ll have to take it if she is super hungry or I’m still not back after six hours or so.

But in the days to come, I am going to try to get her to embrace the bottle (Friend! Not foe!) once more, by pumping from one side as she is feeding from the other, and then getting the helper to feed her the pumped out milk immediately after. I hope it works.

On the side, I have been trying to dispose of those thawed (and therefore cannot be stored away again) bottles of milk by secreting it into the kids’ Milo.

It’s been terribly disappointing.

Day (after taking one sip of his Milo and screwing up his face): Eh. What’s this? What did you put inside?

Me: Er…

Day: Did you put in baby Lulu’s milk?

Me: Er (giggle) yes.

Day: TSK! PLEASE STOP PUTTING BABY LULU’S MILK INTO MY MILO!!! IT TASTES FUNNY AND IT GIVES ME A TUMMY ACHE!!!

I try with Dee. I pass her Day’s Milo.

Dee (after taking one sip and screwing up her face): Eeeeeh, yucky yucky!

I try with KK. I pass him the Milo.

KK (with a sidelong glance): Don’t even think about it.

peeing out

At what age should kids stop peeing outdoors?

I do not think kids should pee outdoors AT ALL unless absolutely necessary.

KK, however, thinks differently. Even if there were a toilet within walking distance – say 50m – if he deems that Day were urgent, he would encourage the boy to stand against a tree or over a drain and let loose.

“He’s a kid,” says the man. “He can’t control his pee so well.”

Me, I’d command Day to hold it in until we get to the loo. I say he has to learn to control those muscles. Hey he's four.



Dee is a different matter. She really can't hold it in very well.

That’s her holding her crotch and going “shh-shh, shh-shh!”

Once again, she had, against my wishes and all manner of physical restraint, forcibly peeled off her diaper.

Would I wait to bring her to the loo?

Not if there isn’t one within 10 steps. By the time she makes the announcement, the pee is just about dribbling out.



She also has an unfortunate tendency to stick out her pelvis and attempt to pee standing up – just like her brother. Then the pee flows down her leg and that’s when the screaming starts.

I hope accidents like this don't happen. I can't quite bag her pee.

kallang bambini

Nice nice.

Chucked Lu at home and brought the two big ones out to Go-go Bambini at Kallang, the old Leisure Drome, next to Kallang Theatre.

Why nice?

The shopping centre is desolate. We didn’t see a soul. Kids had the run of the corridors.



A dream playground (four levels of PVC-clad obstacles, slides, steps) in air-conditioned comfort. Enough said. I think it was $8 per kid per hour. Not bad at all, and cheaper than Go-go Bambini at Dempsey which we went to last time.



As I have attempted bringing all three out alone before, I realize how nice, easy, unhampered and unencumbered I am, to just take care of the two. I can actually clamber around with them, an impossibility if Lu were hanging around my neck.

(I suppose if I had four kids I will think bringing three out is a piece of cake)



Dee was happy. Which makes us all happy. All she wants to do mostly is stick around the ball pit and throws balls around.

a choice

I came to a fork in the road and I chose.

The choice culminated in my just clicking “Send” on an email to say No Thank You to a prospective employer.

They are great folks, certainly better than my last employer.

I had approached them to give me freelance writing jobs a year ago.

They came back to me with a job offer after I gave birth to Luanne, saying: Do you think you can join us as a staff now that the baby is born and your schedule is more fixed?

The kind of organization that wins Family-Friendly awards, they offered me a part-time working arrangement: Five mornings a week, 830am to 12.

I was torn.

I liked the job description: Launching and taking care of a new magazine.

I liked the people whom I would be working with, as I knew them from years ago while I was a reporter.

I liked the thought of getting a fixed salary, CPF, being able to put on nice clothes and hang around in an office to bitch, sans kids, for just half a day.

But in the end I chose to stay home.

The primary reasons all sound lame: Lu needs me. Day needs me. Dee needs me.

Lame because if I really wanted to, of course I can go to work, and figure out alternative arrangements for the kids.

The secondary reason – but the far more logical one – is that the part-timing salary (a pittance) is probably equal or not much more or even less than what I get as a freelancing writer and gig musician.

And as a free agent, I am spared transport costs, employment contracts, X number of days leave a year etc etc.

So kids, mummy’s still gonna be around for a long time more!

* KK very actively encouraged me to take on the job. Did I say he really wants me to go back to work?

in the news

What's the news then?

The boy holding up the newspaper is the same boy inside the big belly.

Every so often, my ex-employer likes to trot out pictures taken of my bump over four years ago, to accompany any story which relates to pregnancy.

Today, it was about American girls getting pregnant for fun.

Every time the photo appears, KK or my folks turn to me and say (it's always the same): “It’s your picture again!" Then they turn to Day: "Come and look, Day! That's you inside!”

I groan. And wish I get a fee every time that photo is published. Or that they’d just get on with it and take fresh photos of pregnant staff.

battle royale

Since we’re on the topic, the Queen and her battles. Just so she’ll know when she grows up.

I hope this doesn’t put anyone off having kids.

Disclaimer: She is quite lovely otherwise and an angel if I am out of the picture. It's only when I am around. And when I am around, she isn't always like that. Maybe every other day.

Battleground: The bed


* While taking this photo Dee was screaming at me not to take a photo

Strategy:
Refuse to sleep. If forced into bed, insist that mummy lies down to play dead.
If mummy refuses, make a hell of a lot of noise.
If mummy consents, command mummy not to face the wall and order mummy to place arm around waist.
If gor-gor is nearby, kick him, roll over him, sing songs very loudly and generally prevent him from sleeping too.
If mummy removes gor-gor, scream even louder for over an hour so even gor-gor who is trying to sleep next door has his hands over his ears.

Battleground: The meal table


* With mummy’s cheese toast

Strategy:
Never finish food.
Ask for bread with jam, take one bite, throw it away and grab mummy’s cheese toast instead.
Take forever to finish the food. Chew very slowly. Play while eating. Use breakfast as a delaying tactic to be late for school.
Grab papa’s chopsticks at dinner and attempt to use it, throwing food all over the table and floor.
Never touch the rice. Let mummy eat all the remainders.
When eating fruits, eat only the flesh and throw away the skin – including for apples, pears and sometimes grapes.

Battleground: Toileting

Strategy:
Refuse to bath.
If persuaded after a long time, will step into the shower.
Come tooth-brushing time, deliberately swallow all the toothpaste and water, even though mummy goes through lots of spitting drills and repeatedly says to spit out the toothpaste.

Peel off diapers. Even though diapers are dry.
Lousy stickers mean diapers cannot be re-stuck.
Mummy is furious at the waste, which goes up to 2-3 clean diapers thrown away a day.
Keep telling mummy “shh-shh” numerous times to go to toilet to sit on the toilet bowl.
Nothing comes out.
Five minutes later, proceed to deposit a puddle of pee on the carpet.

Battleground: The wardrobe


* Wearing her brother’s shirt, my last-ditch attempt to get her to wear something

Strategy:
Refuse to wear the clothes that are laid out.
Insist on raiding the wardrobe, messing up the clothes.
Occasionally reject everything – after say 15 or 20 minutes of selecting – and then scream when ordered not to be naked.

Battleground: Gor-gor

Strategy:
Want everything and grab everything which gor-gor is using, from pens to books to food.
Crumple up gor-gor's drawings, step on his train tracks, mangle up his Lego constructions.

Battleground: Rules

Strategy:
Routinely break the rules. Push the chair – which leaves scratches – on the marble floor. Dump the Milo on the furniture. Throw cornflakes on the sofa. Put on the slippers and trudge into the house. Take mummy’s handphone. Take mummy’s wallet.

Tra la la la…



I like to think of it this way: The worse she is now, the better she is in future. It's like all the demons have been exorcised and dealt with from young. I hope anyway.

In any case, we did say we wanted a Strong Girl. We've got her alright.

fearsome dee

I need help.

It’s Dee.

How do I say? To date, she is the severest trial I have ever had to endure, in my four-year stint as a mother. (I am sure there will be many more to come)

I say this again: Dee, now, aged 27 months, is the worst I have had to endure.

It may be her Terrible Twos. But Day never even came close.

All my patience, my love, my reserves, are being tested to the max. Many times, the words “get away” and “hate” flash across my mind.

Brought to the brink, I am making every parenting mistake in the book. I hate myself for it and – I have to be frank – in a very juvenile manner, I hate her for it.

I threaten, I smack, I ignore, I complain about all her transgressions at length in front of her – she is well aware that I am doing so – I am inconsistent, I am guilty, I am unhappy (about my lack of parenting technique).

Sure I have my book strategies. Start the day on a clean slate and give her lots of love and attention. Praise her when she does something good. Stand firm on things which matter but never fly into a rage.

But she always manages to bring on those little frown lines between my eyebrows by mid-morning, no matter how positive I try to trick myself into feeling.

It’s got nothing to do with whether I am a working or stay-home mum. Even if I were working, I am sure I will come home to her and want to run back to the office 10 minutes later.

She monopolizes me, she abuses me, she suffocates me.

She tires me, she makes me sick (literally. I get headaches), she gives me stress-related tummy pains.

She makes me so ill-tempered I am hard-pressed to bestow any good-will on anyone else. And so, Day, Lu and KK get glassy-eyed stares and monosyllabic answers from me. I don’t think I have hugged Day in days.

Every few hours I try to take stock, be grateful that I even have a daughter, try to think of her as a sweet little thing who is just crying out for attention and be Loving and Firm. But it’s just so damned hard.

DEE TALES

Tale 1

KK suggests: Why don’t we pass her – just Dee – to my mother-in-law to look after for a week? Punish her a bit?
My sister-in-law, who stays with my mother-in-law, responds: Why are you punishing us?

Tale 2

KK is carrying Lu.
Dee starts screaming for something.
Instead of attending to Dee, Gina – our helper – beckons to KK: “Let me have the baby” and points him to the Screaming One.

Tale 3

Six adults and 3 children squeeze into my folk’s saloon car. It’s Tight.
Dee insists on transferring from one lap to another. She inadvertently sheds her slippers in the process, which are caught between thighs.
She screams and screams.
In the moving car, five adults who can barely move try their conscientious best to locate the errant slippers.

That’s Dee now. Everyone is afraid.

mystery flipper

18 June. Lu is three months now.

Still sweet as honey.

No proper routine though: Her waking and sleeping hours are not exactly fixed and she has anything from two to four naps a day at various times. Not good.

Reason: She can see things. And if she catches sight of something different, which happens all the time, her eyes flick open, head goes up, there goes sleepy time.

But nobody minds when she is so sweet.

Smiles at most people. Complains – screws up her face and goes “Aye! Aye! Aye!” when she catches sight of me and recognizes me after a few seconds. What does she want? I’m not sure.

Her mouth has found her fists, and the shadow boxing she was doing for a few weeks (fists land up on her eye, her nose) has culminated in some serious thumb-sucking.



She’s been confounding us, though.

She’s apparently been flipping but only in privacy.

And it’s always – very strangely – from front to back. We put her on her tummy and when we go back to her a while later, she’s on her back.

I can’t quite imagine how she turns over from her front to land up on her back (usually it’s back to front), given how limited her motion is.

But oooh, what a gentle sweetie!

ptm

Or parent-teacher meet.

Monday I was summoned to the kid’s school to meet the teachers and read their Progress Reports.



Remarkable. That school is closed for a day so parents can take leave and troop down to school for 30 minutes of being told how bright their kids are.

For after all, what else can be said of two to four-year-olds?

Surely there are no areas they are academically WEAK in which the parents have to WORK on?

It was a bit of a waste of time for me especially, since I fetch them to and from school every day and have a pretty good idea of how they are faring.

But anyway. Here goes.

JODY

The report card:
Jody has settled well in class. She is participative and shows great interest in learning. It is a joy to teach her and she is a co-operative girl. Well done! Keep it up!

Other observations:
She could well be the class prefect. She helps the teacher to take out materials for class, sits on teacher’s lap, sits down quietly when she is told to and finishes all her tasks without reminder. (I often wonder at who is this girl the teacher is describing. She is so unlike my terrorist daughter)
She is very diligent and conscientiously sings / learns / repeats everything which is taught to her.
She has a good memory.
The other kids in the school are rather fond of her. Sort of like the school pet.

DAY

The report card:
David is able to work independently with the Montessori activities. He enjoys working with his friends during the Reggio projects as seen through our documentation. He understands the material covered in class and is able to complete his tasks.

Other observations:
He loves reading. Every free moment in school, he goes to the library to read quietly.
His forte is English, the boy is keenly interested in Chinese and is getting there in Maths. (Teacher says: “Maybe he’ll be a journalist like you.” I say: “What?!? There’s no money there! I want him to be a stockbroker!”)
He is very attentive in class and has excellent concentration.

But what really makes me sit up is this little notice from the school: "Unfortunately, at our school, a number of our younger students are down with HFMD. The Management has decided to close the school from 17 June to 20 June.”

Three kids all day for a week. Hooray.

no letdown

A horrible horrible thing has happened: I cannot pump breast milk.

Four nights in a row now, my midnight pumps have elicited not even a teaspoon of milk.

Oh, the milk is there. The letdown reflex is just not working.

Not for the pump anyway: When baby drinks, the milk spurts out fine.

It's never happened to me or anyone I know before and I'm not sure how to fix it. It's just something in my system that's screwed up. Maybe because I was sick. (I missed pumping for two nights last week as I had slept at 830pm)

I have horrible visions of not being able to leave Lu for more than two hours at a time for the next 1 1/2 years. (Which actually was what happened with Dee. She has NEVER been on the bottle in her life)

What about my music gigs?

What about my writing interviews?

What about ... just getting away?

I blog in the hope that sometimes - like what has happened before - the opposite of what I write takes place.

Please, let the milk flow.

this father

What Day would say about his pa
Papa always lets me know I am special because he says we are the only two men in the family plus we share the same birthday.
He tells me he likes me a lot.
I can’t wait for him to come home every day because he always laughs until we cannot see his eyes, and sweeps me up for big hugs. He is my rough-and-tumble man.
He also always does fun things with me. Bringing me to Esso to buy sour bear sweets or cold drinks. Mummy is always scolding us.

What Dee would say about her pa
I don’t like papa.
He never lets me have my way. I cannot bully him.
Every time I scream, he walks away and leaves me alone and ignores me. Sometimes he smacks me on my hand.
He always tries to hug me and play rough but I don't like it. I scream at him to “Go away! Go away!” and I always call him “Naughty papa”.
He thinks I am very funny. Sometimes he thinks I am mad.

What Lu would say about her pa
I hate mummy to carry me because she is so impatient. I love papa to carry me.
Every day I wait until 630 or 7pm until he comes home before I am content to snuggle and sleep in his arms. Mummy tries to put me to sleep the whole afternoon but she cannot make it.
Papa is always making funny faces at me and laughing and saying “Awww Lulu is so sweet, so sweet!” and I love to talk back too.

What the man himself says
They are all so funny! Give me a dozen children and I’ll love them all the same. Can we have another one?

NO WAY, MAN!!!
THREE IS ALL YOU’RE GETTING FOR THREE IS ALL YOU CAN AFFORD!!!

Happy Father’s Day!

to bugis with purpose

Two reasons why we headed down to Bugis – a place we have never been to with the kids - today.



ONE: There is a particular photo in a particular coffeetable book which caught Day’s imagination: It’s a photo by my ex-colleague Seng Kim of rainbow-coloured spiral stairs, from the book Positive Negatives.

Day fancies himself climbing up all those stairs, going up up up to Somewhere Nice.

I said I’d bring him there one day.

Today we did.

Packed into a cab (the car is back with KK’s friend for another month, so we are car-less till then) and headed down to Bugis.

From the Bugis Junction taxi stand, KK spied the magical flights of stairs on our right, at Bugis Village.

Was Day all agog?

No.

For one, he couldn’t get near the steps. They are behind walls and closed doors.

For another, kids never quite react the way you think they would. When I expect ecstasy, when I plan incessantly in the hope that they will be happy, they are bored or afraid.

When I expect nothing from a nothing expedition – like a boring walk around the neighbourhood - they are in fits of joy. I should stop planning.

Anyway. Day – even though he had ASKED for this - scarcely glanced at the stairs and turned his back on them before yelling to move on.



We, of course, know better than to be offended or disappointed and ooh and ah at the pasar malam ourselves.

TWO: Day – yes it’s him again – saw an 8 Days food review of a chip shop called “Yella Fellas” at Bugis Junction, accompanied by photos of scrumptious fat fries and a row of sauces one can pick to go with it.

For months he’s been bugging me to bring him to Bugis Junction to eat the damn fries. He had already picked out his sauce – Herb Mayo – based on what he could read of the labels in the photo.

So after viewing the stairs, we headed to the shopping centre basement and bought him (for $3) a cupful of fresh-fried fries with a big squirt of herb mayo sauce.



At first, the 2 chased each other round the basement, screaming and yelling for the fries.

Later, I had to force Day to eat it. Maybe the fries got soggy. But he definitely didn’t like it anymore.



All in all, I think he’s learnt that sometimes pictures don’t tell the whole story.

What the kids really enjoyed though – for some strange reason – was the cab ride. To and fro, they sang. And sang. And sang. The cab drivers laughed. And laughed. And laughed.



* Vid contents: Dee is once again making up her own lyrics, this time to “Skip to my Lu”. Day is characteristically diplomatic. And Dee, once again, mimics Day.

sick

Without warning, I suddenly got a sniffle attack.

My defences collapsed thereabouts 2pm yesterday – thanks to a virus which came floating my way via KK the night before - and I found myself sneezing. And sneezing. And sneezing.

The sinuses were all irritated, a stream of clear mucus started streaming out my red nose, my eyes were all teary, my throat was itchy, my head hurt.

I have never tried looking after 3 kids, sick.

Interesting experience: Carrying Lu the entire afternoon in her sling (no one else to help) and trying my darndest not to get any of my facial discharges into her face while mediating between the older two – who are also sick-ish.

The highlight came when I desperately needed a nap.

I lay down, stuffed my breast into Lu’s mouth, stuffed rolled up tissue into both nostrils, closed my eyes and prayed. I got deep sleep for three minutes. Before Dee starts screaming.

I half-open my eyes, issue half-hearted instructions, give a mighty sneeze (poor Lu!), state weakly: “Mummy is sick, please behave yourselves,” and seek sleep refuge, letting the two battle it out.

A few minutes later, more screaming. And so on and so forth.

Come night, after miserably bathing the two (my eyes are red and swollen), I crash into bed with them at 830pm.

hello lu!

Nearly 3 months now, and getting sweeter by the day. We (even Dee now) love her to bits.

Lu, she looks like a boy but is a girly girl.

To quote KK, in an uncharacteristically over-the-top moment while he was carrying Lu: "I want to squeeze her so hard until something comes out."

Huh? Don't ask.

What we love love love about Lu:

* She sleeps from about 8pm until 8am. In-between: One feed at 6am. Dream come true.
* She coos and says "Aye!" when she sees us.
* She is (still) an any-person girl. Anyone can carry her and whisk her away and she wouldn't mind.
* She is relatively quiet. Neighbours ask: Where is the baby? We haven't heard her at all. But why is her sister (Jody) always screaming?
* She lies in her cot for quite long (maybe 15 minutes now) making eyes at her animal mobile.

The marvellous (or not so marvellous) thing about three-month maternity leaves, is that at the point mummy is getting ready to go back to work, baby is at her cutest.

The only not-so-nice thing about Lu? She wants carrying every time she is awake.

locked in

Dee’s nightmare tonight:



Her brother depressed the lock on the study room door, quietly walked out of the room and closed the door.

Dee was alone inside.

PANIC!!!!!!!!!!

I don’t know who panicked more: Me, Dee or Day.

The moment I heard Dee screaming, I ambled over with a sigh, wondering what it was about this time.

When I realized she was alone in a locked room, traumatic childhood memories of being accidentally locked into a room and fearing I would starve to death inside came flooding back. I knew how scared she was and I was scared for her.

The moment Day saw me freaking out, frantically turning the knob and yelling for my mum: “Mummy mummy where are the keys!??” he freaked out. He couldn’t get out his waterfall of “Sorry Mummy” fast enough and started stuttering.

All the while, Dee, who is still not tall enough to reach the door knobs, was screaming inside.

I prayed that the room keys were available, that we will not have to wait endlessly for a locksmith to come during which time Dee would be hysterical.

Thankfully, they were.

Right after Dee emerged, Day went into the study room, shut it and locked it, resolutely refusing to let anyone in.

A short while later, he started screaming and wailing.

Very puzzled KK used the key to unlock the door. Day, red-faced, teary and screaming, tears out of the room.

He mumbles something about how his just-moisturized hand is too slippery to unlock the door.

I'm not sure if he's for real. Or whether that's his attempt at eliciting our sympathy. Or a distraction ploy.

fajar overnighter

Owing to an early morning round of golf for KK at Kranji and no car for a week (the Suzuki’s owner is back home for a visit), we packed our bags for an overnighter at my in-law's place at Fajar.

Pathetically, I was as buzzed up about Fajar as I would be about flying overseas for holiday.

Not having gone on holiday a year – since we got back from Sydney – and not planning on any holidays for some time more, the prospect of packing a bag and sleeping somewhere different held enormous appeal.

Happily the night went rather well.

The kids were delighted. The novelty sustained them – and us – through the night.

They did their usual favourites: Colouring and drawing.



Probably enjoyed themselves even more than when at home, when they were plyed with all sorts of after-dinner treats from French fries to Toblerone chocs.



Lu – my little night angel – went down without a whimper at 830pm, despite the change of environment, and slept right until 6am. She stuck to her usual schedule. (which means, Jun, I can seriously consider bringing her camping)



But what was most memorable was attending our first getai show.



Dee clapped right along to the Fei Yu Qing favourites.

Day with Nene.



I was at first entranced, and later not so amused when trying to put the kids to bed at 10pm the singers were still yodeling away on the ridiculous sound system.

honey tussle

Ridiculous. But true.

Dee snatches Day's morning drink of honey.

"I want this honey," she states.

She thinks she is entitled to everything her brother eats / drinks / uses. Same reason why she never calls him "kor kor" but "Da-wid"; she considers him her peer or below her.

Me, stress hormones start flooding my system and I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up as I brace myself for another morning battle.

I think: Yes, the kids are late for school. But how can I possibly let her get away with this again? She has to learn. She cannot snatch. She has to ask.

I say: "Mei-mei, this is gor-gor's honey. If you drink it, he has nothing to drink. Give it back to gor-gor. Come, let's go to the kitchen and mummy will make you another cup."

Dee, claws around the cup, screams: "No, I want this one, I want this one!"

Her wails escalate in volume and intensity. Her back arches. In her mind, she is dead set on this particular cup of honey. It's not about the honey, it's power play.

Against the screaming backdrop is my droning the same tired refrain: "Mummy will make you another cup. Give gor-gor his honey. You cannot snatch."

I peel her fingers from the cup and put it in front of Day. She screams even louder and grabs it back. We go back and forth. I am still trying to stay calm, firm and reasonable.

But very quickly, I see red because I am completely out of control. In my mind, while tussling, I run through all my options. From two months worth of battles, I know nothing works. I do not scare her. Full stop.

I take out my last card: The Smack. (bear in mind I do not like smacking and have probably smacked Day less than five times in his life. Dee, quite a bit more although I really try not to do it, it's only when I am raging at my loss of control that I do)

I tell her: "Mei-mei, if you take gor-gor's honey I will smack you." She does.

I swing my arm up and smack her - hard - on her hand. So hard my hand hurts.

She screams and makes another pass for the cup.

I smack her hard again.

She still makes a pass for the cup. I am livid.

In my mind I visualize myself flogging her with a big thick cane.

I grab her arm and stomp off to the kitchen so she can see that I am making her a new cup. She struggles and lifts her feet off the ground so she is dangling by one arm. I drop her in the kitchen and she runs back out to grab her brother's honey.

Day now enters the fray. Slightly upset when Dee first grabbed his honey, he is now frantic and in tears. Hands over his ears to block out Dee's screams, he suddenly yells: "I don't want the honey! I want to give it to mei-mei! I don't want the honey!"

Day, he is upset. Upset at how his sister was smacked. Upset at how angry his mother is. Upset at how violent the entire morning has turned out.

And he decides the best thing to do to restore harmony is to give up the honey.

At the moment, me, I get even more livid. Because now, brother and sister are in harmony against me. Day is even angry with me for withholding the honey from Dee. "GIVE IT TO HER!" he screams at me while pointing at her.

It would be entirely too easy to say OK, forget it, Mei-mei take David's honey and let's all be happy. But I have to stand firm on the moral basis that it isn't fair to Day and that Dee cannot be thinking that she can get her way with everything by screaming.

At this point, I can't quite recall what happened.

It's like a car accident where everything just blanks out because it's so unpleasant.

I think what happened in the end is I just managed to get Dee to ask nicely for the honey and of course, Day was all ready to throw it to her. So she ended up drinking his honey.

I was also caught in the incredulous situation of making a far longer explaination to Day why he cannot just let his sister snatch his things, than of telling Dee off.

For right after these battles, I find it hard to look Dee in the eye because I am so furious.

These Dee battles, into which Day is usually embroiled, occur many, many times a day.

Little wonder I usually end up with splitting headaches by mid-afternoon and all I want to do is sleep, so I can escape.

men in briefs

Day did up a montage the other day, a hodge-podge of scraps of recycled paper and pictures from 8 Days magazine stuck on with scotchtape.

It’s a train (what else?).

What strikes is two things:

One, for the first time he dedicated his piece not only to mummy but to papa. (Hurray!)



Two, on one of his cargo trucks, amidst the muffins and drinks, rests a Mr Singapore hopeful clad in briefs.



I spied him carefully sticking the man on a truck on which he had carefully wrote “1 Man” and "Jody" (presumably the man is for her) and because I found it a bit odd, asked him: “Why the man?”

He never answered. Instead he started giggling and before I could do anything, he ran off squealing with his montage. I swear he looked embarrassed.

At what point and how did he start becoming aware?

I can’t say.

But I can say for sure Dee is far more aware of social norms. A long, long time ago she was already going “Eeeeeee!” when she saw men in briefs.

project priscilla

Project Priscilla in question, is the wedding of my very good friend (of 16 years and university room-mate) which I dead refuse to miss just because I have three kids, including one breastfeeding baby.

I had to get away Friday morning.

I had to get away Saturday. The ENTIRE Saturday from morning till near midnight.

For weeks I planned and plotted and worried over two key questions: Will the milk be sufficient? Will KK / whoever is at home be able to cope with all three?

So here’s the report. What they did and (for my own gratification) what I did.

FRIDAY May 30

WHAT THEY DID

Cling on to me like leeches and refuse to let their grandfather bring them to school.

Me, already late, all togged up and ready to leave with breast pump in tow, packed them into the cab, threw them in school and zipped off.

Lu, in the capable hands of our domestic helper, literally slept all morning until I came home, no problems there.

Two kids, grandfather picked them up from school and they obediently followed, no problems there.

Verdict: Life goes on without me.

WHAT I DID

Play bridesmaid. Become Pris’ shadow, follow her everywhere and tape her dress – the pattern of which she got herself and tailored in Hong Kong where she works - onto her body. It’s an art, sticking that dress on. But once on, it’s brilliant.



Try to bully a groom in black suit and white tennis shoes to no effect. Perhaps we are getting too old for such tomfoolery.



Become a very stressed-out last-minute photographer with my little idiot-proof Ixus for the very important in-home tea ceremonies, as Priscilla’s photographer did not turn up.

Marvel at the gorgeous decades-old cheongsam which Pris’ mother-in-law got married in, which she changed into.



And the heavy gold chains she was bestowed with which weighed down her neck! Pris and her sisters.



SATURDAY May 31

WHAT THEY DID

KK brought the two for a swim followed by a shopping centre jaunt and pasta lunch before heading home for a nap.

The helper takes care of Lu while KK is not around.

When KK is around, he does all three.

Come bath time, mum carries Lu while he bathes the two.

Sleep time, KK puts Lu to bed then Dee then Day. Superman.

He tells me he had a good day when I return at 1130pm and that they were all obedient. I pick my jaw off the floor.

I believe him. The entire day, there wasn’t a SINGLE call from home. Me, I didn’t even dare to call back in case I was recalled.

Moment of truth: I open the fridge to see how much milk Lu has consumed.

Of the six bottles I leave behind, she has drunk five.

What I pump while I am outside almost replaces what she consumed, and my chest swells with pride when I arrange four bottles of fresh milk in the freezer.

Suddenly, the possibilities are endless. I can leave home for TWELVE hours at a stretch!

Verdict: Life goes on without me.

WHAT I DID

Pump, pump, pump. Every three hours. Even in the hotel toilet, where I spilled milk on the floor and screamed (at the wastage).

Take more photos of Pris’ dress.



Play the piano as fellow bridesmaid Josephine sings “Perhaps Love” at Priscilla’s Conrad Centennial hotel family lunch. Feel all misty-eyed as Priscilla cries for the first and only time (as far as I can see) throughout the bridal proceedings.



Stuff myself silly at the fabulous dessert buffet.

Sink into the hotel’s beds and watch HBO, marveling, marveling and marveling again at how free and decadent I feel.

Make off for Priscilla’s dinner for the beautiful people (she and new hubby’s advertising friends) at House, at Dempsey. Feel very old amongst the advertising butterflies. Shout to hear myself above the DJ.

Marvel at the fact that all that old friends can say when they see me is: “Oh I heard you have three kids!” And that about sums me up. The incredible mother who dares to have not two but THREE!

Start yawning at 9pm and start chomping at the bit to get home: Not because I miss the kids but because I’m worried about KK.

Home at 11pm: Everyone is asleep. Did I miss the kids? Er, no.

OVERALL VERDICT: I AM DISPENSABLE! Cooeey!