halloween

To my great surprise, Halloween has become an occasion in the average Singapore kid’s diary.

My time, it was but a concept I read about in books.

My kids, however, are being feted with Halloween goodies left right and centre.

The chocolates from the music teacher, more chocolates from Day’s music class friend (lovingly presented in a home-made orange box with a haunted house print-out stuck on it) and the School Halloween Party.

Why?

I don’t particularly know. TV?

Do I care?

Mildly. I don’t see why Halloween should be a deal at all, when it has nothing to do with our culture and especially not when it takes on a virulent form of Sugar and Scare overload.

Today, at school, the kids were scared. Not all, of course. The older ones were thrilled to bits. But cries from the younger kids intermittently permeated the morning.

Three rooms in the school were converted into Dracula’s castle, a graveyard and something else. Black garbage bags turned the rooms pitch dark, rope cobwebs, black spiders, snakes, tombs were liberally strewn all over.

Scarier were the life-size witches, ghouls, skeletons, some of which had eyes that lit up, and issued wheezy death rattles as doomsday music played in the background.

Sweets were liberally strewn all over the floor and tables as the kids ventured into the rooms to fill their baskets.

Some of them were seriously scared and cried the entire morning.

Mine?

Jo was terrified. At first.

Dressed as a ballerina fairy (she de-winged after a while), she screamed and refused to enter the rooms. Until she saw her brother emerge from one with a cup of sweets. Then she had a mission which made her forget everything.

She ventured into every single room, grabbing sweets by the handful. Searching specifically for a tube of strawberry Mentos, she didn’t even care that a ghoul (which moved its arms) was on top of her. (without the camera flash the room is actually pitch dark with only the ghoul's eyes lit up)



Later on she even let herself by carried by a ghoul (who's really Teacher Anna).



Day was terrified too. But not because of the rooms.

Dressed as Dracula (I painted the blood in the morning and draped a bedsheet for a cape. He went as a ghost last time) his usual awkwardness kicked in the moment he stepped into school and he hid his face in my tummy.

When I sternly ordered him to follow his friends, however, and once he went into the first room, he was his usual self.


With Transformer Ian, Surgeon Zachary and Devil Edric.

I suspect he thoroughly enjoyed the scares. I think all the older kids did.

Which, I think is why the teachers bother to put up the Halloween show. To let the kids enjoy themselves.

It took an incredible amount of effort. Days of planning, then putting up all the decorations the night before.

The children were also involved for weeks, making pumpkins, tissue ghosts and invitation cards for their folks.

Loving thought also went into the food. Auntie Doris churned out green worm-like bee tai mak...



... dyed the buns red (to look like internal organs? I don’t quite know!) and filled the fruit punch with jelly tadpoles. The skull cake was strewn with gummy worms and covered with bloody streaks. Principal Alexis (Morticia Addams) is cutting the cake.



For all my wet blanket comments about Halloween, I could not help but fully appreciate all the sweat and blood which went into the organization.

I found it incredible. And thankful, again, for the school’s teachers, who'd do so much just to create an entirely non-academic experience for the kids.


Jo and Sophie

love

Sometime tonight I am out with Lu for a walk.

She has just catapulted from the table and hit the floor head-first and KK is giving me the evil eye along with dire warnings of “You better not let her sleep straight away” so that’s why I am out.

She is in my sarong. She places her soft smelly head on my chest as I walk along the road, prattling on about the moon and the sky and the bus and the cars, and suddenly I feel a great rush of love, like a warm river.

Of course we all love our kids. But in the steady-state course of our daily routine lives we don’t often feel it in an ecstatic “Eh I love them!” kind of way.

In that moment I feel deliriously happy. So happy I have little people to love and nurture. So full of tenderness particularly, in that moment, for the injured one.

It is a touching walk we have, tonight. Perhaps it’s because the monsoon is pending, the air is balmy and cool and the temperature is right for sentimentality.

She feels the love, I feel the love.

She later clambers onto my back – her favourite position, I hitch her tiny buttock into the sling and carry her like a backpack. She rests her head on my back.

* The accident-prone one is fine.

yo!

She's the kid who:

Everyone (still) thinks is the wrong gender.
Will say Hi and Bye to anyone and everyone.
Will peep into a strange person's house and flirt.
Will lose herself in the crowd without a care for where her parents are.
Will merrily play with all sorts of children without reservation.
Thinks she is the same age as her siblings.
Will barrel down a slide and yell "wheeeeeeeee!"
Will try to go down a slide backwards, frontwards, on the back, on the front.
Breaks into song willy nilly.
Can't say F. ("I winished!" for finished. "Wish" for fish.)
Demands to know this and that ("WADDAT?? WADDAT?? WADDAT??")
Likes to act stupid (It's a fish, Lu. "HAH?" Fish, Lu. "HAH??" Fish. "HAHHHH??!")

She's terrifically happy with life.

drawing the trio

I love drawing my kids.

While I used to doodle flowers and women and curlicues in boredom, now I doodle my kids.

And they’re everywhere.

In my Black Book (the doodle pad), they appear a few times.

In a ludicrous comic story I told them and which I eventually drew out, to their delight.



They’re on the kitchen glass door, tumbling down a rainbow Jo drew. (only Lu sort of rubbed out parts of Jo)



Now they’re on KK’s laptop. He cut it out of a picture I drew for Jo which she coloured, and stuck it with scotch tape next to the keyboard.



They are dead easy to draw.

Day is defined by the big eyes.

Jo by the round face, wispy bits of hair framing her face which all turn inwards and chunky limbs.

Lu by the spiky standing straight-up “botak” hairs.

meet the teachers

We had a little do for the kids’ teachers over the weekend.

They’re a mighty fun-loving bunch of gals!

Here’s Lu with a sweet potato, looking morosely for me. Behind her is Auntie Doris, who whips up brown rice MSG-free meals for the kids.



The four lovelies: Teacher Anna (the only teacher who can carry and take over Jo from me every morning), Teacher Ezra, Teacher Zura and Teacher Shikin (who does Maths with Day).



And the rest of the core team: Teacher Kelly (Jo’s Chinese teacher), Yun Yun Lao Shi (Day’s Chinese teacher), Teacher Nat (Jo’s all-time favourite teacher), me and Jo, Teacher Alexis (the principal, who does English with Day), my dad, Uncle Jerry (Alexis’ husband and the one who does odd jobs around school) and Auntie Doris.

kitchen critique

Choon the Healthy Cook visits.


* It's a very familiar picture.

(Healthy because he’s a dietitian who cooks healthy, healthy because he cycles 26km a day to and from work, healthy because... he finishes work at 430pm every day in Darwin?)

Laden with a grater, baking tray, muffin pans, Boronia liquor, macademia nuts and all sorts of baking goodies, my brother made a beeline for our new kitchen soon after touchdown.

I switched on the light, he looked around, and said: “Huh? Where’s the workspace?” I say: There isn’t one. I do all my chopping on the edge of the sink.

He opened and closed cabinets, saw what I had (or did not have), and muttered: “Where do I begin?”

Other kitchen critiques:

He asks if I have carrots. I say yes. When it’s time to grate them, I hand it over and he yelps. “It’s soft”. So? It’s been in the fridge for weeks and weeks, but it’s still a carrot. He laughs. “See, when I grate carrots, they are supposed to be stiff and easy to grate. This one is so soft.” Then he adds: You know if you keep your vegetables for very long it loses its nutrients?

He asks if I have a peeler. I say yes. He takes it up and attempts to peel off the skin of the carrots. “Er, where did you buy this?” he asks. “Bedok market,” I say. “It doesn’t work at all”. Well I wouldn’t know, I have never used it. “Then how did you peel your carrots?” I tell him: “I never did. I included the skin”.

I think I take perverse delight in making myself look like the biggest kitchen idiot around.

By now, the kids probably workship Choon as some sort of Kitchen God who descends from Darwin every once in a while.

In one day today, he makes us tiramisu, banana / chocolate chip / macademia nut cake and dinner.

When he revealed his culinary plans I thought he was nuts. I tell him it’d take all of me to make just one of the above. I tell him sometimes, I prepare all my ingredients the night before to cook the next day, because it’s so crazy trying to cook with the kids around.

But he does in a minute what takes me ten.

So for remembrance, our Culinary Day plus details.

TIRAMISU

Straight after the kid’s school, we pick up a cup of good black coffee and head for home.

I can’t believe how ridiculously easy it is to make restaurant-like tiramisu. It’s CRAZY. It’s like art and craft, just mix and arrange. No need to cook! (I think that delights me more than anything else, the fact that no heat is involved)



All Choon does is take a box. Layer the bottom with biscuits called “Lady Fingers” which are soaked in coffee and liquor. Then pour over a mixture of (whisked) mascarpone cheese, cream and caster sugar.



He does another layer, shakes on some cocoa powder, chucks it in the fridge and a few hours later, there’s my tiramisu!

I have resolved that if there be another pot luck party I am invited to, I will FINALLY have something home-made to bring that is yummy.

BANANA / CHOC CHIP / NUT CAKE

After popping the tiramisu in the fridge, Choon goes to the computer, scribbles down a cake recipe and comes back to the kitchen. “Now we’re going to make cake!”

It’s the usual flour/egg/milk/sugar etc mixture.

Jo, however, has warmed up by this time, demanding that Choon let her pour this and stir that, and even though her fingers get dirty, she cheerfully wipes them on the back of my shorts.



The cake is a 1-cm thick biscuit-cake (the tray was too large) which was very light and did not have the slightest “jelat” aftertaste. “Because there are no preservatives and I used very little butter” Choon said.



DINNER

This was a challenge.

I told Choon, the kids’ preferences are severely limiting to any cook. Their favourite: Plain macaroni. Plain rice. Plain peas. Plain corn.

But he gave it a shot.

He churned out a yummy cod fish stewed in tomatoes, onions, peppers, celery and parsley. (parents will know the last five ingredients are the sort that most kids pick out of anything they eat)



And a Japanese-style omelette with cabbage, (expired) carrots and a bit of flour.

How did it go down?

Jo took one look at her steaming bowl of food and whined: “I dont’ like the red. The green. The onions. The carrots. I don’t like it.”

(Actually it’s not so much that they don’t like veg. They do. But as I told Choon, they hate complicated dishes. Give them plain carrots and they will go at it.)

To their credit, they ate it all up, grudgingly.

While me, KK and Choon enjoyed our gourmet meal!

the ear people

Since we’re on music.

One of the finest SSO violinists once asked me if my kids were in music class. I said Yamaha. He said, to my surprise: “That’s great, you know. Too many classically-trained musicians can’t play by ear.”

Broadly, you have musicians who play by Score, and those who play by Ear.

(Of course everyone falls somewhere in-between, but they’re usually more of one than the other.)

Those who play by Score are those classically-trained, who likely start and end up on the ABRSM syllabus, take examinations, are technically brilliant, can read a new piece of music like they’ve played it all their lives, join orchestras.

But. Ask them to improvise or play along to a new piece of music they’ve never heard before, and they are lost in the forest.

They (generally) need scores. So if I had to play a new piece with classical musicians, I would write out every single note for every single instrument. (Which brings to mind a recent string quartet transcription of Coldplay’s Viva La Vida and Clocks, me sitting down on Youtube and listening to the damn pieces on repeat as I write down Every. Single. Note.)

Those who play by Ear might be self-taught, or went down the jazz / improv route. They may not have great credentials, may not have great technique and are generally less well-regarded in Singapore than the classically-trained musicians.

But. They can play anything they listen to. And play along with anything they hear.

I started out as a Score musician and I still am, more of a Score musician. There is a comfort in reading notes.

But I’ve had the luck to play with some amazing Ear musicians.

Where all they need is a few lines of alphabet chords to effortlessly flesh out a song. These gigs stress me out somewhat as I, well, have no score. But I manage!

Day’s music school teacher told us parents recently: The best kind of music training, really, is to give your child Score and Ear skills.

I could not agree more.

It is these musicians who will have the greatest currency and relevance.

music class update

It’s been 14 months since Day started his music classes.

Just some random thoughts, I can’t get them in any sort of coherent order.

ONE. I don’t suffer fools (music-wise). If left to me, I would scream any love for music he has, right out of his ears. Why I know is because a week ago, like so many other weeks before, I ask him to try and get his notes in order and this time, something breaks when he is characteristically lackadaisical and forced. I scream.

Jo and Lu wisely scuttle to the safety of their room as I yell at Day, NDP parade commander-style, punctuated by a lot of hissing and loud exasperated exhalations. “AGAIN! AND AGAIN! AND AGAIN! THIS IS WHAT REAL PRACTICE IS ABOUT! PLAY IT 10 TIMES! 1! 2! 3!... WHAT IS THIS? IS YOUR BRAIN MISSING? YOU CAN’T EVEN PUT YOUR HAND IN THE RIGHT POSITION? PUT YOUR LEGS DOWN!”

Ooopsy. That’s why I always tell friends who ask me to teach, that even if it’s not my own kid, it’s not wise.

But I must pat myself for restraining myself for 14 months.

TWO. Enthusiasm comes in waves. On for a few weeks, then off again. Does he like the song? Is he distracted by something else? Did he have his nap?

Disinterest may not be permanent. More than once I have wanted to stop the class. But he veers right back. Kids. They don’t like it now doesn’t mean they don’t like forever. Which makes it so bloody hard because we could all be merrily wasting our time here.

THREE. Shopping envy. After 14 months Day is getting mighty pissed off that whenever he has class his sisters get to window-shop at toy and book stores and eat goodies.

FOUR. It’s getting hard. He’s breezed through the past year by simply turning up once a week, learning how to listen and having fun. Now he truly has to practise. Both hands carry individual melodic lines, it’s not just chords. Loads of co-ordination and practise needed. It’s work.

The hard part – for me - is convincing him that it’s fun. Shiver.

Or I could stop class! (But work = quit also seems a bit salah)

concubines

oh. my.

The craziest things happen, for all the precautions we as parents take.

Few videos make me feel, but this one did because it's so horrifically normal. I felt sick, amazed, relieved.

Thank God for the happy ending.

auntie theresa

My kids have an adult friend, and her name is Theresa. Well she always says she’s their friend!

My ex-colleague, she somehow always finds time in a crazy working schedule to visit the kids and ham it up.

The other day when she visited, she sang a song about strawberry tea and all sorts of crazy tea which cracked them up.



And they (Day and Jo at least) know her and associate her with many things.

Day still asks if she is going to bring him back to the art shop (when they went it was two years ago) only the space has been closed down.

Jo now, whenever I say Auntie Theresa is visiting, asks if she is going to bring roast chicken. The one time Theresa brought over a yummy Cold Storage roast chicken, it made a huge impression on Jo.

Jo also keeps thinking about birthday cake when she hears "Theresa", because Theresa brought the kids out to the Underwater World on her birthday in August.



Jo was dying for cake that day only we didn’t get one. But now she sort of associates Theresa with birthday cake.


* Theresa and the kids at Sentosa

Anyhow Theresa remains one of the most consistent adults (outside of family and neighbours) in the kid’s lives. And for someone who's so busy, that's pretty cool.

crowded house

More visitors!

Big deal for us, we’ve always been doing the visiting (kids and me) and not been visited.

So it’s nice when folks drop in to say Hi.

Yesterday we had seven kids in the house.

Zoe, Benz (belonging to Janet), Kaining, Kaiqin (belonging to a old colleague from my internship days, PK).

Here we are munching on the Sweet Secrets cakes PK brought over.



Jo then accidentally broke my bowl. That’s the fourth of my six precious Ikea ceramic bowls smashed (three by Lu). But that’s not the point.

The boys stayed cocooned with their tracks, safely away from the seven females cavorting in the living room.

Jo found a playmate in Kaining, who is her age but a head taller.

And Zoe once again thought I was a tasty treat. Arms open wide, she begged for me to pick her up, her mama said she looked like she was worshipping me, and I would. Whenever Lulu wasn’t looking.

photo copy

Day, 14 months



Lu, 16 months

psle maths

Some problems with my photos, no pics, no inspiration.

In any case, Ondine blogged about that PSLE maths question. (she is a school teacher who famously – to those who read her blog! - dreads sending her children to local school)

Jim bought some chocolates and gave half of it to Ken. Ken bought some sweets and gave half of it to Jim. Jim ate 12 sweets and Ken ate 18 chocolates. The ratio of Jim’s sweets to chocolates became 1:7 and the ratio of Ken’s sweets to chocolates became 1:4. How many sweets did Ken buy?

I can’t do it. I actually tried on a piece of paper with a pencil. But I can’t.

And even after knowing the answer is 68, I couldn't even work backwards to find out how many chocolates Jim bought.

Which is not shocking, really. I’m quite stupid.

Plus I happily left Maths forever 16 years ago.

This post is just reference for when my kids take their PSLE.

bus

Nobody approved when I said I wanted to bus the kids to school.

My mother went: “Please, don’t be so stinko.” (Stinko being her word for stingy)

KK said: “It’s dangerous. Don’t.”

Well there are good reasons why I want to take the bus:

One, we’re not having the car for three weeks.

Two, the bus stop of origin is just opposite the road from our home and the destination stop is just outside the school, less than ten minutes ride away.

Three, we won’t have the borrowed car forever. One day we will have to permanently return the Vitara and then what?

Four, 30 per cent peak hour surcharge for a taxi. Plus there are NO cabs to be found at the time, unless I call (booking fee) for one. $10 versus $1.55. Enough said.

Five, the kids insist on taking the bus. It’s the novelty. And maybe the chiller aircon which feels so good after the trek (morning sun in our faces) to the bus stop.

So what actually happens is, I ready the kids, strap on their haversacks, I carry Lu in the sling, we all walk downstairs, cross one traffic light, walk along the pavement to the bus stop.

The bus comes, they board, they run along and sit down while I pay the fare, I sit down, they enjoy the aircon, Lu says hi to fellow passengers, Jo presses the bell, the bus stops, we all stand up and get down, we walk the 20 metres to school.

Danger? Yes. When the bus driver moves off before the kids and I are seated. Singapore bus drivers are idiotic that way.

The novelty will wear thin, doubtless. We waited 20 minutes this morning for the bus. It was torturous. Of course I wanted to give up and take the cab but there were none.

Going back? It’s so damn hot I always get a cab! (but there isn’t a peak hour surcharge so it’s OK)

pick up shit

KK is very big on consequences and accountability.

The other day I was out for a gig. And he truly, seriously, taught Jo a lesson.

She’s developed the habit of shitting in her pants. Not the whole thing, but partial release.

She did that quietly in one of the rooms.

Day scampered out sideways like a crab, gesturing to KK before disappearing into the clean safety of our room to surf the Internet.

KK made her wipe up the shit from the floor (where it had spilled), wash her own pants and then clean her own butt in the shower.

Mind you, she’s three.

Bottomline: He refused to have anything to do with the mess she had left behind. And my God, he did not follow up. (meaning, to make SURE the floor is clean and to make SURE the pants were clean).

Even now I am certain there is a little patch of not very well-cleaned shitty floor somewhere in the room and I have no idea where.

It’s extreme.

I would probably have talked to her nicely before cleaning up her messes.

But then again, this is the man who’s trained the kids to put themselves to bed (read books, switch off lights), wear their own safety belts etc.

And I am ever so grateful that she doesn’t seem to have shit in her pants since then. (all my talking never made a dent)

the z kids

Benz and Zoe!

Kids of a very old friend from JC, Benz (2) and Zoe (10 months) have the honour of being the first kids other than my own to step into this house, hang out and play.

One afternoon together, what happened was this:



Benz and Day spent the whole three hours fussing over train tracks, plastic and wooden, coupling trains together and generally leaving us mums alone. (which led us to remark that in this case, boys are ever so much better than clingy girls)



Jo spend the entire time hunting down Zoe, patting her, kissing her, hugging her and generally terrorizing the baby. “I like Zoe so much!” she trilled repeatedly.



Zoe tried to avoid Jo and for some odd reason kept wanting to cling to me, preferring me to her mother. I’ve said before I am not a kid-friendly person and to mind, Zoe (soft chubby dimply sweet-smelling Zoe!) remains the first baby to ever WANT me. Actually WANT me! Over her own mummy! For making me feel like I am a natural mother, the girl will always have a special place in my heart.



Lu spent the entire time hunting me down and whining, arms wrapped around my legs, whenever I carried Zoe, which was often.

That said, I feel an affinity with the Z kids’ mum Janet, whom I've known for nearly 20 years and who looks after her kids 24/7. We studied for our A levels together, our paths diverged, and now we're walking a similar route!

mummy mummy i love you

She warms the cockles of my heart.

children's day

Children’s day is weird.

It makes sense in places where a child’s wellbeing and welfare is compromised, but these kids of mine really don’t need another day to be reminded how lucky they are.

And predictably, they were miserable even though they were being pampered.

Their school had a pretty spectacular Children’s Day party for the kids on Sunday.

It was free and it should have been great.

There was a huge bouncy castle on the lawn. Day bounced a grand total of a minute on the bouncy castle – “It’s too hot, mummy!” - Jo for about 10 seconds.



Around the three tubs which were lovingly put together for the kids to net fish, Day and Jo cursorily netted their quota of four fish (oh wait Jo didn’t even want to touch the net) and left it forever.



They went around the games stations, specially rented by the school principal, solely to get their packets of sweets, crisps and lollies.



Jo was a very unwilling participant but she wanted her goodies.



Then both sat sullenly in a corner to munch and scratch away.

Both complained incessantly: “It’s so hot, mummy! We want aircon!”



Is deprivation necessary for appreciation?

Maybe I should make them suffer on Children’s Day every year (no food, no aircon, no fun) and tell them: “This is for all the deprived children in the world.”

(What I did do on the actual day, was bring them to a air-conditioned indoor playground at the Kallang Leisure Park. Wimp!)