spelling

It comes as a bit of surprise to me that all K2 kids have spelling tests every week.

And I think I’m in for a ride come Primary school. Well, as long as they can cope.

Day just had his first spelling test. Words: Durian, mango, tropical, fruit, papaya.

eczema update

All clear.

I brought her to a clinic in Ghim Moh, as two blog readers separately recommended in response to this post. (well the blog is finally useful and thank you all!)

Popped her into the car one afternoon and zoomed up the ECP from Bedok, down the AYE to Buona Vista.

Long trip. Big bill ($200). No matter: The rashes cleared up on Day 3.

Her skin is now silken tofu-soft. She no longer scratches. She no longer screams when she is in the shower.

She looks, for want of a better word, cleaner. And much happier.

Easy? No.

It is a rigorous tiresome regimen of creaming and moisturizing, four times a day, with up to 4 different applications (two requiring mixing) each time.

It might be cut down in future, but the regimen won’t ever stop.

Eczema is chronic, it is possibly lifelong, I have to watch her, hound-like. The slightest redness or rash and I have to up the applications.

In fact I let my guard down a bit. Applying three times a day instead of four. Applying less.

The pink rashes re-appeared on her hand. I was quick to diligently slather it back on.

What’s the magic?

I think it’s in the potions. It’s not any of the usual steroid creams I encounter, whether from the paed or the GP or the National Skin Centre. None of your Fusicort, Efficort, Cortisone, Dermovate.



And the very personable doctor was quick to assure me right at the start that whatever he is going to give me is very safe, but because it’s mild, I have to up the frequency of application.

Whatever works, man, whatever works.

graffiti

I wanted to draw something on a wall in our house.

But what?

One day I figured the Chinese character for home (Jia1) would be perfect. KK was in full approval. The character is part of his name.

But how to find the perfect Jia?

I went online. Googled for images. Nothing.

I turned to Josephine. She, the Internet extraordinaire with the Beijing working experience, churned out some stellar calligraphic representations.

We chose one, printed it out.

I popped into the stationary shop, printed the paper print-out onto a transparency, borrowed an OHP from the kid’s school (oh my God are these ancient relics still used?) and projected it onto the wall.



Quickly penciled the outline of the word, returned the OHP.



Took another two hours to fill it in while watching American Idol and America’s Next Top Model.

Coloured it black, with the remainders of the glossy Nippon paint we had used to paint the sofa frame.

KK played cheerleader: Come on, it’s just a little bit left! Wait, your edges are not defined.

And here it is! My graffiti!



Cost: $1 for the transparency and two hours of my time (to paint. But probably another hour or so for thinking about how to go about it and logistics)

Good thing is, I think the kids will forever know how to write the word Jia. It’s a giant unmoving flash card.

work thoughts

I don’t blog about work.

But in this case it relates to kids and how I think about my own.

It’s a story involving kids from lower-income households.

While I used to meet these sort of kids every other week, I haven’t since I had my own kids and quit the job.

Meeting them again, as a mother, well, it’s different.

ONE

I interview a single mother, missing husband, single-handedly raising eight kids in a rented two-room flat. The four boys sleep outside on the living room linoleum floor, the four girls and her sleep on the double-bed in the room.

Ages: 12, 10, 9, 8, 7 (twins), 5 and 2.

The 36-year-old is slim (no tummy. She says: Maybe because I’m running after them all the time?), looks like a student and is cheery to the max with a wide Cheshire grin.

When I step into her house she jokes: “These kids all come from me OK! And from the same man too!”

I head to her flat because, while a telephone interview might have sufficed, I am inordinately curious.

Predictably, I come away chastened.

Adversity makes martyrs, and she is a heroine.

She cooks, cleans (and does a far better job than me and how I know is because during the interview, two of her kids spill their cups of Milo and apart from several gos with a mop she is thorough to the point of scrubbing the walls to make sure there are no stray droplets), checks homework, disciplines and makes curry puffs late into the night to make some money. She even manages to put on some lipstick before walking her four kids to school.

Her kids are independent, the way kids should be but which is so rare nowadays. She literally only has to care for the two-year-old. The five-year-old takes care of himself, from bathing to getting himself ready for school. The seven-year-olds take the MRT to school by themselves and the rest are almost-adults.

Me time? She has none. Friends? She never meets them, only talks to them over the phone.

To everything she says: “I have to lah. I have no choice lah. I need to do my best for them.”

I don’t want to be her. But I am in awe.

And it makes me think my kids, and I, would benefit from some toughening.

TWO

I attend a workshop where smart rich kids mentor poor kids. In PC speak, a workshop where accomplished young children help those from socially-disadvantaged backgrounds.

The rich ones come first, their law professor, entrepreneur, successful parents driving them in.

The poor ones come late, bussed in (the IC whispers to me: Their parents are quite bo-chup), and they all sit at the back of the class.

Teacher starts talking. Hands shoot up, voices chirp, some with posh accents, all from the front row. They are precocious, very very clever and completely unafraid to sidetrack the teacher.

The back row, their faces are closed, some sit with their backs curved in a C, some prop their faces in their hands. They look sullen and cowed and remain silent even when prompted.

I can’t stand it, the whole picture. I don’t quite know why but I can’t stand it, and my eyes roll heavenward.

Even though they are later split up into buddy pairs – rich boy with poor boy - there is little interaction. Maybe it’s just making new friends which is awkard, I don’t know.

At the end of the class, I see their worksheets. It is immediately apparent which group did which worksheet.

The rich kids’ worksheets are full of tiny neat handwriting. They take the topic seriously, draw with rulers.

The poor kid’s worksheets are bare, with a sparse word here and there.

That day, I didn’t like the kids at the front very much.

And I reckon my kids, if ever in that sort of situation, would probably, more likely, be at the front than at the back.

Because I am hearing the same sort of arrogance in Day’s voice, as I heard in the front row kids that day.

The kind of intellectual arrogance which is underscored by: I know everything. Why don’t you know better? Let me show you.

Everytime Day, sweet boy that he is, makes these "I never fail" statements (and he does) I cringe.

bike madness

This was the weekend where we bought two bikes, Day found his legs on a two-wheeler and Jo started exercising.



It all started when Jo suddenly said she wanted a bicycle several weeks ago.

I hemmed, I hawed, I waited to see if she would keep asking. She did, very nicely and sweetly too. “Mummy,” she cooed, “can I have a pink Barbie bicycle please?”

To make doubly sure I wasn’t going on a fool’s errand, I let her cycle other kiddie bikes. She cruised, going faster and faster and clearly relishing in the physical activity.

KK was thrilled: “Finally she wants to do some exercise! Let’s buy her a bike now!”

Still I held on.

I brought the girls shopping at the Salvation Army at Upper Serangoon. Just in case other people were throwing out their kiddy bikes and I could get one on the cheap.



There were bikes. But they were all too big, rusty beyond belief or had stiff pedals which Jo could not move.

KK was triumphant: “OK we’ve tried that. Now can we get her the bike at Toys R Us?”

I agreed. But I wanted to go to Giant first. (kids being kids, there is no time or space for price comparison. Whatever they see first, they will get. And knowing KK will have to buy a bike for Day too, I figured a cheap Giant bike trumps an overpriced Toys R Us one)

Jo hopped onto a red bike at Giant and started cycling in the aisles.

Day hopped onto a blue bike and chased Jo. It’d be his second bicycle after the one I lost at the beach over a year ago.

Bill: $120 for two bikes.

That was Friday afternoon.

Saturday morning they spent the entire time cycling at the beach in the hot, hot sun. Jo whined a bit but ended up cycling for ages.

Saturday afternoon KK removed Day’s training wheels and the boy got into proper cycling on two wheels in 30 minutes, going over kerbs and making turns.

KK was suitably puffed up. I was plain surprised.

I guess when a kid’s ready, he’s ready.

Made me kind of sorry I didn’t get him another bike sooner.

Saturday night the kids cycled some more in the carpark.

Sunday they spent the whole day cycling at the void deck of their grandparent’s place.



They also cycled out with me to the nearby shopping centre for lunch.

Once home, they cycled again in the carpark.

Bottomline: Cycling’s all the rage. For now.

We are just incredibly happy that they are finally doing something sweaty.

little boy magnet

There that’s him.


* In his well-worn holey "Eat rice don't wash dishes" shirt

He warily circled my camera and it's blur but I got him: The little boy magnet.

Teng my brother the Gamer was and is the real reason why my mother’s two young piano students (brothers James and Andrew) come for class – they plod through their piano pieces then run over to his computer to pounce on his games.

The next generation of little boys he has ensnared is my son and neighbour Matthew.

For Day it started way back. This is just a natural progression.

What enterprising Teng did, since we moved out, was to turn the kids’ old bedroom into a Games Boudoir.

The famously thrifty one invested in a giant 48-inch TV set, plonked it right in-between the beds and got a PS3 player to open the gateway to gaming heaven.



How not to be seduced by the prospect of lying on a bed in air-conditioned comfort playing games on a big screen?

Day plays once a week, for about 90 minutes.

His favourite game to date: Little big planet and Rock Band 2.

Rock Band 2, while Teng and me rotate on the drums or guitar or bass, Day sings lustily.

And learns all the R lyrics:

He came into her apartment, he left the bloodstains on the carpet (“Smooth Criminal” by Alien Ant Farm)
'Cause you make me feel so good, so good, so good, so fine, so fine, it's all mine, well I feel all right (“Mony Mony” by Billy Idol)



It’s great fun, though!

And if there’s anything academically good to come out of all this (Say it with me: Books good! Games bad!), can I say it improves his reading ability? (those lyrics really fly across the top of the screen)

The girls? They enjoy the aircon, watch and learn.


* Lu and The Screen

Hilarious moment of the week: I hum Red Hot Chilli Pepper’s “Give it away, give it away, give it away” under my breath as I bath Jo.

When I stop she chirps with a fleshy little wiggle: “What I’ve got you’ve got to give it to your mama.”

day's piggy bank

Funny how we never argue about money, but it’s when we try to teach the idea of money management to our kids that all the fault lines emerge.

Day got his first piggy bank at the start of the year. He said he wanted an allowance.

We grabbed a cool chicken coin bank from our store of things-we-don’t-know-what-to-do-with, and shoved it to him.

I started things nice and formal and proper.

Very seriously, I sat the boy down, looked him in the eye and said all the right things.

I would give him 20 cents a day, no more no less. He would save it up and do what he wants with it.

How to apportion it, amount to save up etc, I left those things out.

These first few weeks, I just wanted him to learn the math and how much a dollar is worth.

I gave Day his 20 cents. Then I told KK.

KK looks over gleefully at Day: “Come, Day, papa will give you 50 cents to put in your bank.”

That got to me.

There and then we raised our voices.

Bottomline: To me, Day gets a fixed sum, he learns how to multiply, he learns how to project, he learns his limits. Like he’d have to wait four days to get that Mentos. It’s how we all live with our salaries. (And I think 50 cents a day for a little boy just starting out on the road to money management is ridiculous.)

To KK, I’m being ridiculous. (And I hope I’m accurately putting across his perspective because clearly I don’t agree.)

As and when KK has spare change and whenever he feels like gifting Day with some loose change, he will offer it and he expects his son to accept it, because he doesn’t want his son to grow up so rigid and stick-in-the-mud as to think that he can only accept 20 cents a day. To quote KK: “He must learn that if he is offered something, he should take it.”

The result: For a while Day kept going to KK for those 50 cents. He would take KK’s coin pouch, riffle around for coins and ask KK if he can take it. And KK would say yes.

The good thing (to me) is, KK being the working parent, I am clearly the one who can follow-through on the daily routine.

I am the one who remembers to give the boy his 20 cents every morning and I am the one who reminds him in the evening (when he asks for his allowance) that I have given it.

In other words, I am the enforcer.

Back to the beginning. Like I said, me and KK, we never argue about how we personally manage our money because mine is mine and his is his.

I keep a tight leash on my finances. He is laissez-faire. He doesn't care what I do with my money, vice versa.

But when it comes to the kids, our worlds collide.

Or maybe it’s just a man-woman thing. Is it?

jo blooms

In another of her sudden personality about-turns, Jo bloomed in 2010.

In more ways than one.

Yes, she became fatter and juicier. (isn’t she supposed to get skinnier?)

But what made us swoon was that suddenly, she became a bright happy child. (except when she is sleep-deprived)

Even MORE so than the last transformation.

How did that happen?

We have no idea.

Thereabout the week of 4th Jan, she suddenly became the most agreeable, obedient, pro-active child.

I know I have used the word suddenly too many times but really it was sudden and all-encompassing.

From pee-ing to shitting to eating to sleeping to playing, the swing swept away the last vestiges of negativity.

She doesn’t mind getting wet (oh my GOD!).

She wakes up smiling with nary a whine (FINALLY!).

She screams with joy and not disapproval when KK tickles and plays with her.

She listens to me and doesn’t scream forever when I tell her no.

And she tries to do housework! She picks up the cloth and wipes the table when Lu spills water! She puts her clothes in the laundry basket!

I have been saying how she's been getting better, and I can't quite explain what the difference is this time round, but there IS a difference. It is tangible. Perhaps she is positive 100% of the time rather than 80%. I don't quite know.

But it's all a bit of a shock to me.

And to everyone eles around her. Her teachers remarked, with raised eyebrows: “Jo is much smile-ier this year.”

Ah yes. The world turns.

My perfect little girl.



* The black spot remains Lu. While Jo is increasingly loving to her little sister, she is still prone to episodes of mean-ness.

rashy lu

* This is her arm on a very good day.

Lu has the worst eczema.

It burst into malignant life after I stopped breasfteeding her and spread from spots on her arms all over. Only her face, tummy, back and crotch is spared.

Does the itchy rash affect her?

Hell, yeah.

It severely compromises her quality of life.

She scratches, scratches, scratches every where every day. It keeps her up in bed, is her past-time in the car seat, she just scratches all the time.

The eczema has gone onto her ears as well.

Causes?

Sickness. I know before she is going to get sick because she starts scratching furiously.

Weather. Hot weather makes her sweat which makes her itch.

But even without the above, she scratches.

Severity?

It’s not only widespread it is deep. She scratches till her skin is raw and bloody. Not every where, but at any one time, there is one to two severe patches on her body.

Worst parts: The arms.

Reactions?

She scratches like a madwoman and then holds out her arms, telling whoever is interested: “Skwech. I skwech.”

She loves moisturizer. She knows how to press the lever and apply the cream (“kweem”) to her embattled parts.

She hates bathing. Every time the water touches the raw skin she screams. (“Pain! Ouch! Pain!”)

Cure?

There isn’t one.

All we can do is to alleviate symptoms.

We moisturize her, 4, 5, 6 times a day.

We bath her in Cetaphil.

We apply steroid cream (Hydrocortisone if it’s not too bad, stronger Fusicort if it’s raw).

We put her in long-sleeved cotton shirts at night to cover her cream-slicked limbs.

And we feel for her.

Poor little girl.

KK admonishes her: “Don’t scratch Lulu!” That, of course, is useless.

She will scratch.

Perhaps the marks will stay on her arms even when she grows up.

Day’s eczema spot, while better, is still very apparent. It is a blight on his ankle.

But as all the old ones would say, Lulu is a GIRL! Rashy arms? No no!

I do believe that Chinese medicine could work, the way it did for Jo (she hasn’t been on a nebulizer since finishing that $10 bottle of Chinese medicine).

But one spoon of the foul black stuff and Lu regurgitated it all.

Like the doctors say, it all comes down to management. We have to learn to live with it.

snapshot

It’s 1.20am, the chalk residue is in my mouth, from the two calcium pills I just popped.

I had done the sleep-at-9, wake-up-at-1 thing. So did KK.

We are facing each other, mutually rumpled from four hours of sleep at the wrong time, lost in the wild wild Web.

He’s got his 3-in-1 coffee, I have got my teh halia.

Occasionally I look at him, he looks at me and we talk. About how the stupid useless lady at his workplace has finally quit, how I just turned down a four-figure gig on Chinese New Year day (no way!), how Day has done his first overnighter at his grandparent’s place and how we miss him, about how sweet and sensible Jo has suddenly become.

We need to buy a car, he says, because Vitara’s owner is going to be a new daddy and is coming back for good in April.

We're so happy for Joey, but damn! All good things must come to an end!

Exact quote as KK eyes me over his laptop: “I am eyeing a Honda, a small one, 1.5 litre. It’s a new MPV for urban families. It’s got the same engine as the Jazz, they tweak it a little bit and call it a MUV.”

We go on to hair.

Exact quote: “My hair is weighing me down literally. I need to take leave to cut my hair.”

I say I need to cut mine too. I want to lop it off again. He agrees. “Ya long hair makes you look dowdy. You are not the kind who will do it up with curls, volume, colour.”

a nice day

prettification of lu

Fine. It’s all in the hair.

Few mistake her for a boy now.

The turning point: When her fringe got long enough to sweep to the side, and when the sides covered her ears.



Was the shaving worth the mistaken gender?

I’m not sure.

Her hair is springy, coarse (with a tendency to dryness) and voluminous. And volume was really what I was after.

But that could just be her taking after her papa’s hair.

Another gu-niang shot.

daddy's girls

Have I mentioned she doesn’t look like me?



And neither does she?



Lu in particular, is looking more and more like KK each day, apart from that her eyelashes are long.

That little nugget about girls resembling their dads and boys resembling their mums, sure applies to us.

day-less

"We'll miss you!"

Biggest change this year: Day starts full-day school.

It sounds so awfully blah, but oh, when his principal first told me that I will have to pick him up at 430pm every day instead of 130pm, my heart fell.

"But I'll miss him!" I wailed, as principal rolled her eyes and said "Aiyoh, please!"

"He's a household asset!" I went on, as she started laughing.

The reason is apparently that there's too much learning for the kids to do. That his afternoons will be devoted to Chinese.

I don't know. I trust the school. The kids have been there long enough for me to know that the principal treats them like her own.

But oh, I WILL MISS HIM!

I feel like I did when I first packed him off to Columbus.

There is something about the firsts which a first child goes through, which are remarkably heart-rending. Thereafter, it's been there, done that. (Honestly)

So the thought of having him away from me the entire day, it HURT. For a while. I hugged him and I said I'd miss him and I teared a little.

Then I figured I would finally have the chance to get the girls to love each other a little more. And overseeing two is always easier than three, even if Day is independent.

This year, more of Day's strings are cut off.

midnights with lu

Roundabouts midnight or 1am, a little round face peeps in from outside our bedroom doorway.

Hair rumpled Einstein-ish, cheeks flushed, breathing heavily, Lu pads into our room. She flops on our bed.

She woke up silently and has not made a sound.

KK, sitting across me from our study table, sternly wags his finger at her and points in the direction of the bedroom where her two sibs are snoring away: “Lulu, go back to sleep. Go!”

Neither of us have stirred from our seats.

She intones: “No.”

KK, trying not to laugh behind his frown, tells her: “OK then you can sleep on papa and mummy’s bed. But you must go to sleep.”

Sometimes she does. She rolls and rams around, we still doing our work ignoring her, until she is still.

Other times, she waltzes around our bed, fashioning a heap of bolsters and pillows. She plonks herself on them dowager-like and puts her feet up on a bolster.

She gets up, throws herself on the mound, stomps on the bed, lies down then turns her head to catch our eye when we inadvertently turn our heads to see what she’s doing.

She smiles, cocks her head on the side, flirts.

“Go to sleep, Lulu!” states KK.

She goes back to her mound of sheets. Then rolls her way back to the edge where she puts out her foot. Then two. Then she pads over with the sweetest smile on her face.

“Papa I want to play computer.”

KK cracks up.

She manages to drag me to the kitchen to feed her Milo, strawberry yoghurt and sunflower seeds.

As KK follows behind and we take instructions from Lu at 2am, I tell him: “Why do I feel so helpless?”

It’s been a habit which has gone on a few days too long.

We think she thoroughly enjoys her midnight time in the sun, basking in the glow of undivided attention from the two people she loves most and being, for that short moment, an only child.

t3's big snow fantasy

This is one of the few places where Jo incredibly stepped out of the pram and actually enjoyed physical exercise, the sort that other kids get up to all the time.

Here’s the context: In principle we like to bring the three to the great outdoors, where they can run and shout and sweat and get those muscles moving in natural surroundings.

In reality, one out of the three does not appreciate this healthy nonsense. (actually neither do the other two, but to a lesser extent)

Jo is greatly stimulated by malls, aircon and shops. Anything outdoors makes her wilt.

And while we have a feeling she has iron stamina, we never quite know because she won’t move. She whines, scratching her scalp, while under the pram cover: “But mummy, I don’t like the beach/park/playground because I’m all sweaty!” And this could be in the early morning / late afternoon when the sun is gentle.

(On the side: After a year she still doesn’t play during outdoor play at school – she sits in the shade and watches. And at our favourite neighbourhood playground, she mostly sits in the pram or on the bench. Whining about the heat.)



Best thing for her is those Bambini-type playgrounds which are unfortunately pricey.

So it was a gem to stumble on the Big Snow Fantasy at the airport Terminal 3.





Not only is it air-conditioned, it’s free. In a sense.

A news report yesterday on something about how these gimmicks are drawing dollars to the airport had me nodding away. While the castle is free, in our two trips there we must have spent over $50 on parking and coffee and food.


* Dian Xiao Er. One plate of ee-mee (for four of us to share) and three drinks. Nearly $20. Eeks.

Jo loves it.

She saw the castle, she bounced out of the pram and ran around in air-conditioned delight.

And to my delight, she scampered up the steps to the top and slid down. No whining just happy squealing. Which is a BIG deal in my book.



The whole thing was a huge hit with Day and Lu as well.



Day somersaulted his way down and was roundly admonished by the long-haired, short-skirt-wearing sweet young things manning the set-up.



KK brought the two girls up and came bouncing down on his bum.



The whole thing unfortunately terminates 4 January, which is really sad for Jo.

But it makes me realize how we have become complete suckers for retailers who know how to reel the parents in, because we will go to places which the kids enjoy and we will spend money there because it’s so difficult to go anywhere else. Simple.