lump and bump

Five years of kiddy lumps and bumps later, what happened to Lu today probably takes the cake.

I have never yet had a streamer, but this time, the blood liberally streamed down Lu’s face, filling up the little square holes in our car mat.

All that flashed through my head: See lah! This is God’s strike for all your complacency! Stupid lazy woman, your baby is going to be brain-damaged! And scarred for life on her forehead so she must forever keep a fringe!

It was entirely my fault.

I drove with Lu in the back seat, untethered, without a car seat, without another adult.

The (now unfathomable) reason for my idiocy was that we are returning the car to KK’s friend tomorrow, and having just spent $150 on polishing inside and outside, I did not wish to chuck the sticky ant-ridden crumb-strewn car seat on the newly-polished leather for a five-minute ride. Yes, idiocy.

As I was just rolling off, the baby stood up and somehow lurched head-first onto the ground, smashing her face into the car mat just beneath the front seat.

Following the dull thud was a terrifying moment of silence before she reassuringly bawled.

When I stopped the car and ran around to pick her up, I saw the blood drip on the car mat and my heart lurched.

I expected a run-of-the-mill bump. Not the bloody Niagara.

Jo was very distressed and for a while cried as much as Lu. "I don't like blood!" she whimpered. Day was predictably scientific: "Mummy the blood clots really fast."

I staunched, I soothed, I calmed myself down. The baby cried and cried and cried.

The cut clotted, a larger second bump rose majestically next to the first, we assidiously applied Zambuk, it appeared an hour later that it was much less serious than it looked.

But that doesn’t make me feel less of an idiot.

transformations

Major personality upheavals in the last few months, major.

Is it all supposed to happen at the same time?

In a snap what’s happened is this: Jo has become the good one. The GOOD one.

If there were a behavioural “make-parents-happy” sort of chart, her line has shot up whilst Day’s and Lu’s have nosedived.

Well I mean some things are static: Day still has his moments (helping me with bags, opening doors, washing dishes). Jo still has her moments (asking me for her pink strawberry bag 20 times in 10 minutes as I tell her 20 times that it’s not at home). Lu still has her moments (kisses me on the lips and all).

DAY



He now has a certain cockiness in his demeanour.

He says “KEWL!” (cool), makes know-it-all pronouncements in a slight American twang (“I TOLD you to take my water bottle, how come you didn’t dew it??”) and has a pronounced sense of indignance.

No longer very tolerant or nice, he yowls bloody murder when he has been slighted. He growls at his sisters and is no longer the angelic big brother.

I order him to switch off the tube for his bath, he marches up to me, rips off his shirt and throws it in my face with a thuggish chin jab.

He knows exactly what he wants to, and often says no to the simple outings I plan. (“Not the beach AGAIN! It's too HOT!”)

I think he now thinks he is very cool.

JO



Sweet, chubby Jo.

So eager to please, she's gotten sweeter, all she wants to do nowadays is to make us happy.

Even if it’s tough, the key thing is, she TRIES. (forces herself to finish dinner even if she doesn’t like it, stays in bed tossing and turning for hours trying to sleep after we tuck her in)

She lectures her siblings (“David you cannot speak to mummy so rudely!”), tries so hard to obey all the rules and regulations we set in place (she’s learnt to put on her own safety belt in the car and she does so, relentlessly, even if it’s just a five-minute drive) and oh my, just the other day she put her arms around my neck after I washed up the dinner dishes and said: “Mummy I love you so much because you did so many things for me.”

Oh, Jo!

(She also went up to the washing machine to say: “Thank you for washing my clothes)

LU


* Trying to remove her clothes

Nooty Lu!

The girl-who-still-looks-like-a-boy has gotten progressively naughtier.

She has gotten round to beating me, snatching toys from her siblings and running away with it, and throwing full-on floor tantrums. Most days, she is the one I have to Handle.

The drama! As she wriggles down my body and carefully arrays her body on the hard floor before looking up at me with an expectant frown.

Of course the minute I walk away the wailing starts.

Kids are such magical, metamorphosizing creatures!

the fourth child

No of course I’m not.

I mean the house. It’s like a fourth child.

As a bona fide housewife with a new owned abode - unlike our rented pad in Sydney which was, well, really just a shell – I am compelled to care for the house.

Though its needs are never urgent, time-wise, it is like caring for a child. In some ways I felt like I gave birth two months ago.

And again, I use the word “compelled”.

As much as I would like to (like KK) not give a hoot, I cannot bear to have pieces of clothing thrown all over the house helter-skelter, toys underfoot, floors sticky with grape juice, milk spilled on the sofa, oily dishes left unwashed in the sink overnight, TV screen and glass doors stained with finger track marks.

Spare moments, I cannot help but dedicate to the house. I live for the thrill of choring. At night after the kids sleep I chore. In the mornings if I am free without interviews, I chore. I chore I chore I chore. And there is a lot to chore about because of the kids messes.

More than several times, in the past two months I have told myself to just Heck It. And I do.

But I am, to a certain extent, House Proud and anyone who has done a bit of housework will know, even putting things in their right place takes some time.

Now everytime I grump about it, KK dangles the ultimate solution: Why not we get a MAID?

(And I have to state here: It’s not him, it’s me who is anti-maid)

All the other issues notwithstanding (money – actually I doubt we can afford one! - privacy, maid management, no room etc), I am still fundamentally against the idea.

I, WE, have to get used to it to picking up after ourselves.

For some reason it is important to me that the kids grow up without a maid. We are a blessedly healthy and strong quintet without any special needs.

One of the most shudder-worthy things I hear on a frequent basis is Day's friend going: "Get your maid to pack the toys lah! My maid will pick it up. Where's my maid?"

I'm not saying my three will be like that with a helper around, but nevertheless. I have all sorts of visions of making housework charts for the kids but I haven’t gotten round to it.

As it is, we have a cleaner coming in once a week and I think that’s good enough support.

I think my frustration bears from the fact that KK is not on the same plate!

Washing dishes is about the only thing he will do, once in a blue moon, but I married a local man and that’s what I have to live with.

He is also justifiably very tired after a day’s work, though I am certain that if I were working full-time, I would still chore upon reaching home.

OK enough. I’m rambling.

the dolls

It was an experiment: Give the girly a doll and see what happens.

To date Jo has not shown the slightest bit of interest in any toy resembling a human.

She is showing a fervent passion for live babies, yes. But not baby dolls and certainly not Barbies.

Her birthday dolly has disappeared somewhere in the heap.

Are girls supposed to like dolls? Seriously? I think I did hanker after dolls for a while but luckily my parents only got me one.

Anyway Jo mentioned recently that she wanted a dolly. I suspect it’s peer influence.

I decided to take her seriously. But not too seriously.

I got her a pair of crappy Disney rip-off dolls for $12 from a market kiosk in Bukit Panjang.

The day I got them, the pink box never left her hands. She carried it all the way back to her grandparent’s place, an extra spring in her step as she bounced way ahead of me and Day. (Usually she drags her feet behind us.)



It took a good 30 minutes of box-caressing before she unveiled the dolls, carefully experimented with taking off their heels.



Like a good bo-liao mummy, I asked her what their names were. She looked at me like I was an idiot, but said Orange Gown was “Fokasan” and Red Leather Pants was “Auntie”.

Day studiously avoided looking at the dolls but soon gave in to temptation, removing Fokasan’s gown and pulling down Auntie’s pants.

Jo shrieked. He hurriedly put their clothes back on.

Jo and Day – “I like Fokasan!” - later got engrossed in removing the rubber bands from the dolls’ hair and trying to comb out the tangles.





They fell asleep with the dolls.

And since that day, they haven’t touched the dolls once!

I was anticipating the day the dolls’ clothes, arms, legs and head would come off, just like neighbour Sophia’s mutilated battalion of dolls, but they never did! (Not yet anyway)

home alone

Milestone of sorts: Saturday, 19 September 2009: The three kids are left alone at home.

For 30 minutes between 10pm and 11pm, KK takes off to the pizza place down the road to pick up 2 pizzas while Day stays at home, keeping an eye on his two sleeping sisters.

In that time, KK makes three phone calls to Day.

Day tells me later: "I didn't do anything when papa went out. I just walked around at home."

I am out for a gig. I am naturally slightly nauseous when I find out, while driving home, that my 1, 3 and 5-year-old are HOME ALONE.

Intrinsically - if I think I know my kids - I know they will be fine on their own.

I have just never done it and did not intend to until the kids are, say, 10, 12, 14?

Visions of newspaper headlines, if something bad does happen, swim in my head: "Irresponsible parents leave three toddlers home alone!" "What kind of stupid mother would leave three young children alone?" "Unattended five-year-old falls three storeys!"

So on and so forth.

Even when I leave the three alone at home for quick trips downstairs to the car, my heart beats a little faster, fearing what they would be up to when I'm absent in that minute.

When I return from the gig, Day opens the door. KK has returned and the two have eaten pizza.

The boy is GLOWING. GLOATING with happiness. FULL OF HIMSELF. For having held the fort.

I hope it never happens again.

Under my watch, at least, I would not leave the three of them alone ever again, not for the next few years.

kite flying

It was under the most intense conditions that the kids had their maiden attempt at kite-flying.

The wind was stiff, skies were grey, the buildings were wreathed in clouds, the rain was drizzling, the sodden fields were empty and the police later told us to clear off because of lightning threats.

But before we did, Day (and Jo for a short while) had the most exhilarating tug-of-war with the wind.

Thanks to KK.

He determined that the morning would be dedicated to kite-flying, and even though it was pouring we ventured to the Marina Barrage.

Everyone, students, old ladies on field trips and wedding couples, were hiding under shelter.

The rain slowed to a drizzle. But the air was still cold and the wind was still blowing.

Then KK said: "OK let's go."

Under normal circumstances I would have danced in the rain with the kids. This time, my eyes popped as all three kids (and I) have been sick for a week (sore throat, horrible hacking cough, phlegm, runny nose) with a virus which their father (thanks) passed on.

We went.



Merrily, merrily, merrily, KK, Day and Lu went running in the puddles before running up the swath of green, in the drizzle, up to the rooftop.

I tried to pretend I had nothing to do with these crazy people as the old ladies clucked tongues and wagged heads.

I was compelled to stay with Jo, who does not like getting wet and was, like the old ladies, very miserably and disapprovingly looking at her gleeful siblings.

I carried the heavy one in one arm, held up an umbrella in the other hand (because Jo's cough is chronic and she really cannot get chilled), trudged up the green, and saw the kite, riding on the strong wind, soar straight up into the gray sky.



Day ran helter skelter, letting out the 40-metre line.



Lu, in her bare feet, ran delightedly on the sodden grass even as yellow puddles dripped from her nose. There was no one else there with us, no one else was as stupid.

Ten minutes later, the police came a-calling.

Man, we had fun!

Now we wait and pay the price (Sick? Oh we're all sick already. Even more sick?).

tt & nn

The complete opposite of Gong Gong and Por Por, KK’s folks – the kid’s Tata and Nene – are unrelentingly salt of the earth.

Simple, humble and unpretentious to a fault, their idea of life’s ultimate fulfilment, the fruition of years of labour, is a day with their grandchildren.

These old folks love their grandchildren to death.

The key reason why KK wants to remain in Singapore is because “my parents will miss the kids so much”.

Full Sundays at Tata and Nene’s place notwithstanding, ever sinced we moved into our own home, the old couple have made it a point to come to our place every Saturday so they can spend even more time with the trio.

Travelling sum: Four buses over three hours. By the time they arrive home at night, it’s usually about 10pm.

TATA

The official “going-out” man, he is the one who heads out to buy the kids their breakfasts, their Yakults, their juices, brings Lu out.



He’s recently also scored with Jo, who has suddenly discovered that here is a man who is always willing to treat her like the princess she thinks she is.

Hence, he happily carries her – sometimes even within the house, spoon-feeds her and obligingly fans her to sleep with a newspaper.

He even serves Day. Even I don't serve Day.



NENE

Lu is still the apple of her eye.



Like with Day and Jo when they were younger, she brings Lu out for long trips, hitched on her back piggy-back style, showing her off to her neighbours.

Despite all this, the irony is not lost on me: For all the love that they shower on the kids, the kids (especially as they get older) do not like Tata and Nene.

Oh they all do when they are small. But once awareness sets in, it's a different story. Like Day used to love Tata. Now he ignores his grandfather.

Time spent, in this case, is not of the essence. What is of greater import is which grandparent speaks English, has the car, has more money, offers nicer food, travels more and is generally more happening.

They complain, incessantly: Tata and Nene’s house is dirty, the toilet is icky, they smell, they are so boring.

My blood boils when the old folk’s attempts to speak basic English to the kids are ignored, when their offers to bring them to the playground downstairs are repudiated.

Even Lu has taken to spinning around and running away screaming when Nene comes to try and pick her up.

But Tata and Nene never mind. They always tell me, sagely: They're still young. They will change when they are older.

I sure hope so.

gg & pp

I haven’t written anything about the Fab Four since five years back. Time for an update!

These kids, lucky lucky kids, are blessed to still have all four grandparents, hale and hearty, around them.

In the five years since, my parents – their Gong Gong and Por Por – have seemingly grown backwards. That is, they are younger than ever, body and soul.

They embody the new-age grandparent: The Active Ageing Senior who is so busy living life they really don’t spend very much time with their grandchildren. They probably consider it boring and tiresome.

(I completely have no issue with that, I aspire to do the same when I am old. I refuse to service Day, Jo and Lu’s kids if they have any)

Coincidentally, my folks were recently featured in two different magazines on their activities. I’m putting up excerpts.

GONG GONG

From spending most of his waking hours doting on his first grandson, their 73-year-old Gong Gong – particularly when we were in Sydney and he had to find ways to occupy himself – has found a whole suite of leisure pursuits.

He cycles everywhere (mainly to the market in the morning), tends to his orchid fantasy in the backyard, meets lots of (younger) friends for chats, does a whole lot of meditation and goes to the temple for activities where he is also doing their accounts.

The kids hardly see him. He flies so often (once every one or two months, for meditation sessions overseas). These days he is out of the house early in the morning and returns late at night.

They might bump into each other for a while in the day, when he returns home for a break between meditation sessions and the kids are back from school. I command them to “Call Gong Gong!” and he asks if they want food, but that’s about it.

This article on him appeared in the Central CDC’s Voices magazine, Sept/Oct 2009 issue.





“Mr Joe Wong also advocates healthy living as the first step to being happy and fulfilled in later years. The 73-year-old meditates regularly, cycles for half an hour and spends a couple of hours tending to his orchid garden every day, before heading to his temple to help out or meet old friends. The retired accountant has 700 pots of orchids and six fruit trees.

He said: “When I tend to my garden, my heart is still and quiet. I feel focused. When I was working, my health was not very good and I was a dead man walking. I went to work at 630am and got home at 9 or 1030pm. I hardly saw the sun. But now, I have time to see the sun, breathe in the fresh air outdoors and to eat more healthily.”

Mr Wong goes vegetarian twice a month, avoids fried foods, red meat and soft drinks and only eats till he is 70 per cent full. He proudly reveals that he has the same body shape as when he was 18, and possesses a 32-inch waist.

Mr Wong also emphasized the need for spiritual development, saying: “When you retire, you should put every thing down. You can’t be too stubborn or get too angry or upset. Try to see through things and keep peace and happiness in your heart. Money is the root of evil. You just need enough to eat and sleep. When you have money, you blow it on feasts and go clubbing and drinking. What you get in exchange are health problems.”
The grandfather of three added that being with loved ones reminds how much enjoyment can be found in the simple things in life.

He said of his wife Leng Poh Lan, 62, an administrator with the Singapore National Youth Orchestra: “We’re happy people. I tell jokes and I tease her and she does the same to me. She’s my good friend.”

POR POR (who of course just turned 63

From the start till now, she’s still the two-minute Por Por.

Two minutes of interaction and then “My show is starting!” or “I have to go to the gym!” or “I have to go to the concert”.

She’s always going.

Her pursuits: Cantonese TV serials, gym, tennis, beautification (pretty clothes, manicures, pedicures etc).

The kids don’t really like Por Por very much. But she doesn’t mind.

This article (a rambling Q&A) on her appeared in the Singapore National Youth Orchestra’s in-house magazine, where she’s manager. The SNYO kids love Mrs Wong!





If you were to describe yourself in words, what would they be?

* Patient
* Kind (don’t think I’m wicked la)
* Persevering (when I don’t succeed I won’t give up, I’ll just go on)

If you could be a superhero, what would you want your powers to be?

I hope that this world would be a healthier place without diseases, no H1N1, SARS, all those. I want powers that can make the world a healthier place.

If given a choice between wearing fishnet stockings and bright yellow tights, which would you choose and why?

(Laughs) Can I choose neither?

No no no!

Fishnet stockings and bright yellow tights… uhhh ok. Fishnet stockings lor. Don’t want to be so outstanding wearing bright-coloured tights.

What is your favourite dish ever?

I like a lot of things you know. I like dimsum. Dimsum is a variety, so can’t say it’s a dish. Spicy dishes are also good, I like. I don’t think I have a favourite one. But if you give me, say, a Chinese restaurant or an Italian one, I would definitely walk into the Chinese one. I definitely go more for Chinese than Western dishes.

If given a choice between a lifetime supply of dimsum and $2 million plus a free hug from Jackie Chan, which would you choose?

(Laughs) Free hug ah, who wants a free hug, no thank you! Wouldn’t mind $2 million though (laughs). You mean if I choose $2 million then cannot eat dimsum? Then I won’t choose the money… $2 million for what?

Mrs Wong, what is your food philosophy? If you could use one sentence to describe your views on food and eating in general, what would it be?

Live to eat! I won’t eat to live.

Mrs Wong, how long have you been with the SNYO and WHYYY ARE YOU LEAVING? We love you!

How long have I been there? Since 1993! Actually officially retired last year but office has retained me on contract.

Do you love us?

Ya of course! I love the job and I love the people. That’s what made me stay so long.

What made you join CCAB instead of becoming a teacher?

A change in environment. I was a teacher last time – taught English, Maths and Music in primary school.

Which one?

Oh, demolished already. Beng Wang Primary School, along Serangoon Road.

What is your biggest satisfaction having been with SNYO?

Of course, it’s to be amongst the members and I feel that everybody appreciates what I do, so I’m very grateful.

What’s the most interesting / unique reason anyone of us has ever given for being late or not being able to make rehearsal?

Mostly they will tell me they have lessons that finished late, that’s why they are late, or because of a traffic jam, but that’s not a good reason because Bukit Timah Road jams every day!

Which part of your time in SNYO, be it a person, a period of your work, an object etc, will you hold dearest to your heart and remember for years?

I remember receiving a card not too long ago. In the card there were a lot of interesting comments, and a lot of appreciative remarks from members. I won’t throw it away, definitely.

You have never failed to memorise everyone’s name in SNYO, something no one has and / or will accomplish. How do you manage to do it? (PS we need such tips for examinations!)

They have been under me for so long, even if they leave the orchestra… that evening I went for a concert and met someone I haven’t seen in 16 years but still could remember him. How do I manage it? I’m a teacher, I’ll be able to remember everybody’s names lor, how can you not remember? Unless the member joins for only 3-4 months then leaves… these are the ones I won’t remember if I see them on the road. But if for a few years, how can I forget? I don’t have dementia yet!

What do you intend to do after retirement? Any plans to go bungee jumping or sky diving?

Of course not! Oh dear, I still want to preserve myself in 1 piece. What do I want to do… I still want to teach. My friends say that teaching is not the same as before, but I like the children, I like to talk to them. Maybe I’ll do some relief teaching.

Thinking of travelling anywhere specific?

I definitely want to go on some tours lah. But I don’t like long trips, hate the 13-14 hours on the plane, so I still prefer Asian countries.

So you had a hard time on the Italy tour?

(Laughs) I don’t like the food but whenever I don’t, I’ll go to my room to eat instant noodles. I usually bring a travelling pot so that I can cook some veggie with instant noodles.

When on holiday, which do you do more? Shopping? Or sightseeing?

Both! Shopping as well as sightseeing. And of course eat lah.

What? Instant noodles?

No lah! Not instant noodles when I’m travelling on my own!

por por's 63

Their por-por is not slowing down.

One year post-retirement, she goes to the gym daily, regularly visits the nail people for flowery finger and toe nails and has a packed schedule.

So packed it is a challenge to find a slot in her diary to treat her to a meal.

But a meal she must have, as I, the housewife representing her offspring, indulge her.

At the Seafood Centre. Long Beach.



Altogether more enjoyable than last year’s do, it was a lovely Tuesday night where people were scarce, the wind was breezy, the meal was fast and the kids could run around.





Lu is self-feeding now so that made it a little easier for me though I had to hold a roving bowl under her chin throughout the dinner to follow her spoon.



The kids and their por-por.





And then for the first time EVER in his life, the still-studying baby of our family, Teng, decides to treat us all. To dessert.

My father applauds and my mother laughs in delight.

In true Teng style, he intones: “My budget is $10” as we adjourn to the very lovely Tian Mi Mi Cafe (around the Beach Road Prawn Mee place) for sweets. “It’s cheap” he says in answer to why this particular cafe.


* Teng and mum

We bust $10 by a bit.

But the desserts are so good I say I should have just treated them all to a dessert buffet instead of going to the Seafood Centre, and we can all have century egg porridge for a main, which is about the only main they have.

hard-headed

Lu has a habit of rearing up in her sleep, head down, buttock up, bull about to charge.

That’s fine.

But what she does next is, well, charge.

She swings her head up and rams it down on me. Almost always she goes for my face, although how she knows where my face is in the dark is beyond me.

Many a night I have suffered bumps and bruises on my head, my cheekbones, the corners of my eyes.

The other night she gave me another one, as what felt like a sledgehammer landed on my right cheek even as I was blissfully snoring away.

Oh the peril!

Tears streamed from my eyes, I tried not to make any noise but I screamed inside: “What the F*&K was THAT??!??”

When I told the husband, he said: “But was her head OK?”

The blue-green is not huge, but has gotten more prominent over the week.



And for good measure, the aggressor.



Children are dangerous things to rear.

toilet training jo

Long, long overdue post. It’s been stewing in my mind for probably a year now. I feel compelled to document Jo’s toilet-training journey, as it is details are already very hazy.

What sticks is this: The girl has sphincters of STEEL. And I mean STEEL.

STAGE 1
1 ½ years old, we make half-hearted attempts to put her on the potty. As with most things we gently try to cajole her to do, we fail.

STAGE 2
2 years old, we attempt to put her on the potty. Fail. (we end up never putting her on the potty)

But she gets the idea that people don’t wear diapers.

STAGE 3
2 ½ years old. We remove her diaper in stages, in the day then at night. She has loads of accidents. Pee dribbles down her leg in the day, the bed starts to smell of pee (even now it’s a pee bed) But when she gets it, I put her on the toilet bowl and cheer very loudly.

I put her in her first pair of Princess panties and I squeal at how wonderfully she fills it out.



She however develops a real aversion to poo-ing. She has constipation. Every episode is a trial. She huffs and puffs until her face is all red before the turd thuds into the bowl.

She also develops an aversion to poo-ing in the toilet bowl. Almost as if she is terrified of seeing a snake emerge. She poos all over. In her pants, in the living room, and for a while, on newspapers.

STAGE 4
Almost 3 years old. We still have poo-ing issues.
And then this is the part I will never forget: She deliberately WITHHELD her pee and poo.

She would poo once every two, three, up to four days.

In the interim, a few times every day she’d screw up her face because her body was trying to eject the shit but she’d hold it in. Desperately, with a fervent fist-clenching intensity, she’d stand or sit in a corner just focusing on holding it in and sucking in her pelvic floor. It always went back in.

When it eventually all came out (with a great deal of difficulty, a lot of hand-holding and some blood) the bowl would be full of very dark compacted turds. Or she might have shit in her pants.

We coaxed, tried a star chart, give her sweets post-deed, scolded, threatened. I even got a paediatrician to speak to her on the issue on one of her visits. No use. She is stubborn to a fault.

We also fed her prune juice, orange juice, water. She was still constipated and still fearful.

The same went for the pee. She would withhold her pee.

The act was somewhat different: She would dance from one leg to another and after a while she would stop. The pee always went back in.

At its worst she was maybe peeing once in the morning and once in the evening.

Again, we coaxed, got the paediatrician to speak to her.

No use.

STAGE 5: !!!

It’s only of late (in the last month or two) that suddenly, it all clicked into place.

She pees and poos (no more constipation) beautifully.

Why?

One, she likes our new house and the toilets in it. Yes, THAT WAS THE ISSUE. She didn’t like the toilets in my folk’s house even though it was spanking clean. Straight after we moved in I noticed that she was pee-ing and poo-ing with much greater frequency and happiness, and nobody actually pays any more attention to her toilet rituals. It's been normalized.

* Jo on her throne


Two, she just takes a l-o-n-g time to adapt to everything. It took her eight months to adjust to the school toilets. She used to pee in the morning, at home (830), then wait for me to fetch her home at 130 to come to me, dancing and screaming: “Mummy I need to shh-shh!”

Needless to say the teachers were all ecstatic. That Jody has finally gone to toilet.

* In this regard she takes after her father (again). The man refuses to poo in public and will hold it all in until he reaches home. Sometimes I find it hard to believe he was a commando. Or maybe it was commando trauma which has made him so.

snapshot

Another lonely night.

All 3 kids and their papa went down at 830pm.

Day and Jo are with KK.

Behind me is Lu sleeping on my mattress, the huge windows are closed, insulation against the roar of double-decker buses and the modified cars and motorcycles which squeal past.

But the room is cool as the ceiling fan whirrs away. We have never turned on the aircon since we moved in and we’re still not quite sure if it works (it was left over from the owners): The house is literally cool.

Next to me is a small pack of Macdonalds fries with curry sauce.

I have just returned from my nightly solo jaunt down the road.

And like every time, it always gives me a thrill. To pass by the beauty salon which is open till 2am (each time I think: Should I go and do a facial this time?), the Indonesian massage parlour which is also open (massage?) the 4D outlet (should I buy?), the Malay restaurant which serves incredible Milo dinosaurs and teh tarik which keeps me up until 4am (do I need to burn the midnight oil?), the pubs with loud thumping music beer-bellied uncles and tiny foreign-looking long-haired ladies in mini skirts coming and going (is the pub screening football matches?).

Within 200 metres of our home we have all this, four clinics (but not a single 24-hour one!), eating places where I have eaten alongside politicians and celebrities.

It’s incredibly happening (well compared to where we were living before where the nearest anything was an Esso) but here I am sitting alone at home.

It’s all a bit... wasted on a shackled mum of 3.

But I think if we were still here 15 years later, how the kids, young and carefree and in their prime of life, would be able to stay out as late as they want and I CAN STILL SEE THEM FROM MY BEDROOM WINDOW.

an organized outing

I wasn’t sure if we would survive it: The Organized Outing.

One of those guided tours where you are sheperded from one place to another on a chartered bus, this was a RC (Lucky Heights) tour which would take us on a 4 ½ hour trip on the Duck Tour then on to the Singapore Flyer then a Chinese restaurant eight-course dinner.

There is good reason why we have never been on a guided tour: KK (like most men, I think) hates Following. He likes to do what he wants to do, when he wants to do it.

But I pushed for it. Because our neighbours and the kid’s good friends, Matthew and Sophia, were going.

* Matthew and Sophia with their folks, Richard and Caddina.


Because it cost a very reasonable $50 (per adult) for everything inclusive. Because I thought the kids might enjoy it.

And I thought that with kids, sometimes, having someone tell you what to do and organize things for you might be nice.

So we took a deep breath, took Lulu along (she’s the tough one) and dived in.

DUCK TOUR

I’m glad we went on it, for I would never pay the usual $33 fee to get on this frankly boring hour-long introduction to the sights and sounds of Singapore.



Apart from the part when the amphibious Duck entered the Kallang River and some water-gazing, Day and Jo promptly fell asleep.





Lu (the only one who napped prior to the trip) was happy.



SINGAPORE FLYER

The organizers surreptitiously sneaked gummies, M&Ms and Crunch bars onto the capsule and the 30-minute circular trip became a sweet fest for the kids, who, perhaps from the sugar high, started bounding and chasing each other around the capsule (who cares about the view?), giving one of the old acrophobic ladies a heart attack.



DINNER

At a faraway (seemed so) Bukit Merah restaurant called Kia Hiang, this was Day’s favourite part of the trip when we tucked into a surprisingly good (considering what we paid) meal.



POST-MORTEM

I am ever-so-grateful KK did not complain.

I came down with a bug. Could not stop sneezing.

We all felt slightly sick and wrung out when we returned home at 9pm.

Did we enjoy it? Erm...

Did the kids enjoy it? I'm not sure either!

It was good company, though.

teacher jo

My child made me truly honestly unreservedly guffaw out loud today. It doesn’t happen very often. I don't know why I laughed this time but I just did.

I was chatting with Jo. I wanted to ask about her new teacher.

Me: “Jo, you have a new teacher, is her name Teacher Joanna?”

Jo: “Not Joanna, it’s Teacher Joanne.”

Me: “What does Teacher Joanne do with you?”

Jo: “Erm. Jigsaw puzzles.”

Me: “Did Teacher Joanne talk to you?”

Jo: “Yes.”

Me: “What did she say to you?”

Jo: (leaning closer conspiratorially, eyes wide open, in a whisper) “Take another puzzle”.

baby cavities

How does a five-year-old develop cavities so severe the tooth is half eaten away in a morass of brown gunk?

And it’s not just one, but two big molars.

One of Day’s friends was put under yesterday on the operating table where the two rotting stumps were torn from his gums and six – SIX! – other teeth in peril were patched.

The poor boy had been in agony since March, when the huge filling a dentist earlier did on one of the cavities came off. In the five months since, another hole developed.

The pain would come on and off, and each time, his folks would somehow manage with painkillers, antibiotics and giving him cooling drinks like barley in case the festering was caused by heatiness.

Why it dragged on so long was because in a conscious state, he refused to let the dentist pull out the teeth. Two or three visits to the dentist, numbing injections were given, but once the dentist attempted to yank out the teeth, he scooted out the chair in panic.

General anaesthesia was his parent’s last unwilling resort. ($700 bill by the way)

I thought this was agonizing, but the boy’s cousin had eight – EIGHT! – teeth extracted when he was a toddler.

I know baby teeth decay is an issue: More kids have it. But to see and smell (rotten!) the two still slightly moist teeth is another thing altogether.

What Day’s friend’s mum told me is that baby decay is so prevalent, the appointment lists are FULL, these kids come in fast and furious. Youngest: Not even two years old. These kids would have like, 12 teeth? And already it has to be yanked?

I am not surprised Day’s friend has tooth decay. He drank milk, ate sweets copiously, and I think he was allowed to brush his own teeth which did not happen every day.

But I am surprised at the extent of the decay.

I showed the teeth to the kids. Jo was neutral, Day was very excited in a scientist sort of way, over the roots and the blood etc.

I was chastened. And convinced we really have to take dental hygiene very very seriously. So far the kids have been clear, apart from a tiny patch for Day.

Which, reminds me that we really have to start brushing for Lu. We’ve been lazy buggers.

box play

Always so good.

Lu with pimply forehead and snotty nose. And the gay pants!



5-year-old Day in a box circa 18-month-old Day in a box. Time DOES fly.



The girls liked their box a lot more though. I put in a pillow and they ended up all curled up for a good part of the afternoon like little puppies. Nice. (because I managed to cut up all my dinner food in the time they were distracted)

while walking

We’re on one of our nightly jaunts along the busy thoroughfare outside our home, Day and Jo are holding hands.

Suddenly they stop. Jo lifts up her skirt. Day peers under for a moment before she drops her skirt and they continue.

Day sees my expression.

He quickly launches into an explanation: “Mummy I am checking to see if she wore her panties.”

I hope he doesn’t feel compelled to keep making panty checks into adulthood.