deja vu

It’s an odd feeling.

Seeing somebody else’s squalling newborn and hearing the cries which pull me back in time, to the trauma I underwent not once, but three times.


* Baby Erin, looking very much like Jo did before

There is a sense of bitter distaste – I never want to do this again! – and then there is that drop of sweet familiarity.

I drop in on little baby Erin. For that moment, I help exhausted mummy Janet - who is all alone with not a single helper, two kids and a whole load of housework – to carry Erin so she has a moment of peace.

I cradle the chubby bub, round as a ball and prickly as hell, and watch her mouth arc towards my breast, exactly like my babies did in 2004, 2006 and 2008. I shake my head and I want to laugh.

And I realize there are some maybe nonsensical things about newborns which I have found to be (sometimes) true:

* Mums are the worst people to put babies to sleep.
* Mums are the worst people to carry their own babies.
* All babies want is the breast. (those which were breast fed)
* A baby who stretches for the breast, even if she does it all the time, is not necessarily hungry. For God's sake. (it's a pet peeve)
* All babies want to be carried.
* Babies are really very difficult to put down once they are asleep in the arms.
* Babies exist to rob their mothers of their sleep, health and vitality. Not their fathers. Their mothers.
* Strangers always find newborns cuter than their mums, who are shooting daggers at the dastardly creatures for robbing them of their nights and days.

Dang, Erin is cute! And I love other people’s babies!


* With Gor-gor Ethan

aftermath of a night out

6pm
I leave the house to meet up with two old friends.


* Two different-coloured women

7pm
It’s leisurely conversation, wine and tea, and home-cooked food (roast chicken and vegetables, mushroom pasta, bruschetta) for the evening.



Chef: Jo in her brand-new kitchen.



11pm
I drive home in the pouring rain.

1145pm
I pick up a latte from Starbucks for KK.

12am
I am home. I shake off my slippers, put my bag down and hand TV-watching KK his latte. He's mopped the floor and washed the dishes, bless him.

But I'm the pick-up person and the scene, upon my return home from any outing or gig, is almost always the same.

I pick up and sort out the craft materials and various odds and ends from the floor.



I pick up the shampoo, tissues and clothes from the bathroom floor.



I dump the laundry load into the washing machine. It’s one full load and some left over.



The mess on the dining table I decide to reserve for Sunday, first thing in the morning after I eat my breakfast.



The clothes unfolded, I reserve for Sunday too.



1245am
I shower.

1am
I blog.

120am
I hang out the just-washed laundry.

130am
I start on my mountain of work, so come Monday I am not too shell-shocked.

I seldom mind the aftermath of a night out because, well, I spent the night out! (unless it was a tiring gig in which I deal with the aftermath on the morrow)

jo's first meal

When I interview people, an interesting question to ask sometimes is: What did you want to be as a child?

Day has veered from one to another. He’s still onto helping people with their body parts and just threw out the latest: Dentist.

The first thing Jo has ever said she wanted to be was a chef. Maybe because she thinks she has got to learn how to do a better job than me.

Last month, she told me she wanted to be mama like me with three children, a boy and two girls. But that was just a diversion.

She still maintains she wants to be a chef.

Her first iPod obsession, Cooking Mama, has heightened that desire. She wants to be a Cooking Mama.



These days, she is the one to help me in the kitchen.

Day has completely gone off chopping and cooking.

The other day, she cooked her first meal: Stir-fried long beans and pacific clams. (I know it’s weird but the clams had been around for a long time and I needed to get rid of it, somehow.)



She chose the long beans, cut them, sliced the clams into quarters and fried the whole thing under not-very-high heat.



Result: KK and I dug the dish. All three kids wolfed down the beans and spit out the clams, including the chef herself.

the polliwogs

Another indoor playground: The Polliwogs at East Coast Park (five minutes walk from the MacDonalds, towards the left if you were looking at the beach with Macs behind you)

Left on a full Saturday with no husband and all kids on board, I bring them to where I figured I would have an easy time.

It’s our first time there.

Damage: $54 for three kids for two hours.

Good:
* It’s spacious.
* They have ball shooters and you don’t have to pay extra to use them.
* There are many slides and they are very slippery for some reason. Which is great.
* I do have an easy time. I sit down and read magazines in air-conditioned comfort.

The kids work up an ecstatic sweat.



Right after, though, we head out back to the car and the kids clamour to stop at the beach for sandcastle play for a good long while.



It’s a nice day.

I should have just saved myself the $54, forgo the magazines and air-con, and stick with the ever-dependable beach.

mozzie magnets

Mosquitoes are funny things. (we are having a mozzie infestation at the moment)

You’d think they’d take any blood that is on offer and just suck it up.

No.

Not everyone’s blood is equally disposed to being made a meal of and it’s becoming blindingly obvious in this family that only two of us are yummy to the mozzies: KK and Jo.

Lu gets a few, Day even fewer and I, none.

These days, the moment Jo steps into the house, if I didn’t smother her in lemongrass repellant, she would get 5-10 big ones within 10 minutes.



As for KK, the moment he gets into the house, they start swarming all over him. The moment he gets in, he runs straight to the cupboard, grabs the insect repellant and stands on guard, still and sniper-like, ready to spray the bastards.

Why these two?

I have thought long and hard. And gone online to search.

* It can’t be blood type. Even though studies suggest that O-type people get bitten more, our entire family is of that same blood type. I, Day and Lu don’t get bitten.

* Apparently, it’s not what’s delicious about KK and Jo, it’s what is yucky about me, Day and Lu. We may be secreting certain chemicals that repel mosquitoes. The mozzies “deem hosts that emit more of these chemicals to be diseased or injured and not a good quality blood meal.”

* Apparently, genetics account for 85% of our susceptibility to mosquito bites. Have I ever mentioned Jo is KK’s doppleganger, except for gender?

What I know is that KK and Jo have the same dense pore-less good quality skin and are both very CLEAN. Their skin naturally smells good and they have fresh fragrant mouths even if they don’t brush their teeth. They are brimming with good health. Not so the rest of the dry, rashy, smelly family.

I think it affects the way they smell to the mozzies?

(In all respects, I always say Jo drew the better genetic lot when it comes to this. The only minus being the mozzies love her too!)

A bit on our mozzie infestation. It got so bad there were swarms of mosquitoes lingering in pockets of our house, mostly in the master bedroom behind my computer seat (like now). I do mean swarms.

I sit at my computer and do my work unmolested while my mosquitoes companions buzz around me. KK occasionally comes in with the repellant and does a strange jerky dance trying to get them all.

Day has killed several mosquitoes himself, by simply clapping his hands in the air. He’s very proud of his achievement.

office, finally

It was a long-awaited moment: KK finally allows us to step into his office.

I have this fixation with seeing his workspace. Ever since he started his first job I have photographed all his workspaces, from dingy containers with mangy dogs to big holes in the ground, and this is no different. Only he never allowed entry because this office is “corporate”.

This time, the only reason we were permitted was because he was working on a Saturday (first time I think), and there is no one around to see how unprofessional he is, letting his family paw all over his work things.

The kids had a field day, as expected.

While Day and Jo fought over a canned drink, Lu took her time. Sitting at KK’s table, which was unbelievable. There was only space for a calculator and an empty rectangle where his laptop was supposed to sit.



Playing what she calls “washing machine” as she turns the handle round and round to move the huge stack. She got a kick out of it.



Running along the carpeted corridors.



We take silly pictures.



We miss the old garden site though. I think that workspace was the best by far. We don’t dig corporate.

chalk pictures

It's nice to have a car porch.

lu in school

In the last few days of December, I cut Lu’s hair. She took her little chair and plonked herself in front of the rubbish chute because it’s the only mirror in the house which is at her eye level.

It’s the first time she’s ever willingly let me take a pair of scissors to her hair.

I lopped off an inch off the back and a bit off her fringe.



That, I suppose, was my little way of spiffing her up for school.

If what I hear of the few third childs around are accurate, then mine is right up the #3 alley.

A real trouper, independent as hell and very, very adaptable.

Day 1, she clung to me with vice-like claws and outright rejected the thermometer in her ear.


* Happy Jo, miserable Lu

Day 2, the tears continued to run but she bravely turned into school and held up her arms to Alexis. She also allows the thermometer entry into her right ear.

Day 3, she stopped crying. She obediently turns her head – either side is OK now - for the thermometer.

Day 4, she pronounced: I like school. She came back singing bits and bobs from stray Chinese songs she had learnt in school and comes back with her first worksheet, which completely stuns me because I have never done anything the least bit academic with her (“Lu can draw LINES?”)



Day 5, the teachers tell me she downed two bowls of rice which is more than she ever ate at home.

Maybe it is true, what someone said to me: Treat every child like it’s your sixth. Devoid of the fussing and over-attention, they truly come into their own.

(Does that explain why Day is a bit of a softie?)

Lu still makes noise every morning. “I don’t want to go to school! I don’t want my friends to look at me!” she laments cursorily when she sees the school uniform.

But once Jo starts kicking up her heels, Lu follows suit.

At school, I give her a kiss and she’s off with nary a sound.

I am so bloody proud of her.

shopping girls

The day has come: Me and my two girls walk past a clothes shop, they rush in and go nuts wanting to buy this and that dress, I stand outside in my ratty T-shirt and leggings forlornly clutching my wallet (but I make KK pay in the end).


* Jo and Lu, delighted with their purchase (in bag)

That they like their clothes is nothing surprising, but what a grim portent of similar scenarios years down the line!

Drat.

It could be nice, potentially even fun, if I had the same sartorial bent. All that wasted mother-and-daughter bonding opportunity.

The girls, running squealing touching, pounce on the dresses they like.

And most times it’s got to be a dress. They move past T-shirts, pants and skirts.

Ironically, their current taste runs to the kind of dresses my mother tried to stuff me into when I was their age but which I thoroughly hated with a passion: The long dresses in bright colours (I hated bright coloured clothes) with fussy detail and bows.

Jo goes for the warm reds and pinks. Lu goes for the cool blues and turquoises.



They’re not yet into browsing. They telescopically hone in on the one dress they like and insist on our buying it.

Then they grab a hair-band each (pink for Jo, blue for Lu) and a fistful of necklaces and bracelets.



Drat!

Can anyone sense my angst?

* Day has to be dragged into the shop to pick his clothes. He picks a yellow hoodie.

shows

The performances from the long-awaited kiddy school concert DVD, which has been played almost every day. (on demand from Jo who wants to watch herself and Lu, who is suddenly recognizing people from school onscreen)

Jo watches herself and she is rapt, probably observing herself and her friends and comparing. She’s like that. She also demands for anyone within earshot or eyeshot to come and watch her onscreen. (she's right in the centre)



Day hates watching himself (Like me! Like me!). He would rather disappear into a room when his dance comes on. Here, they are doing a jazz number about a group of kids who wake up for morning exercise before going for a competitive run. I think. Day refused to say.



Lu just tries to copy all the moves.

tai-tai

I’m not one to get angry. Most things flow over my head.

But I unexpectedly did when I had a conversation with the neighbour.

She: Oh I saw your husband walking with David to school the other day. It’s much better than driving, it’s a terrible jam.

Me: Yah, but when I fetch him from school it’s not so bad.

She: Of course. All the parents are working. How many can fetch their kids from school? Unlike you, you are a lady of leisure. You can fetch him any time you want what. (with little eye roll)

That got to me: Lady Of Leisure.

It was like someone switched on a blowtorch under my butt. I was red-hot angry.

And I wanted to tell her: Get rid of your two maids, do all the housework, have one more kid on top of your two, stay with them all day and try to earn an income at night when they are sleeping. Then tell me if you feel leisurely.

Then I figured: She must be having a hard time at work, balancing all the work and family balls, maybe her boss is giving her trouble, maybe her colleagues are shit, maybe it’s appraisal time.

Then it hit me: I am having a better time than her. In my book, anyway.

And in relation to her, I probably AM a lady of leisure!

school zoo

More school news.

Today I go to the school zoo to view my son from a respectful distance.

A whole swarm of other parents, whose beloved offspring are in Primary 1, are with me to observe and take pictures (what else?).

We descend upon the school at 1015am.

Parent volunteers holding aloft signs with class names lead us to the classes and the parental herd follow obediently.

At class, a nice bright cheery room with a tree outside, we peer in through the windows searching for our own.



The question which most parents ask (I overheard): Why is my child sitting over THERE? Can he/she SEE?

Beloved Day is right at the back of the class. I assume it’s because of his perfect eyesight?

Some wave shyly, some smile but all the kids are otherwise absorbed in the story their pretty young slip of a teacher is reading. (Why are all the Primary 1 class teachers such young things? Do they chuck all the freshie teachers to Primary 1? A trial by fire?)



Then along comes a tall skinny sweet Primary 5 boy by the name of Louis to shepherd Day to the canteen. Louis is Day’s buddy.

Thank God for Louis.

Because it’s mayhem in the canteen. Crawling with sweaty kids and the noise level! I’ve forgotten how crazy school canteens are.



Louis keeps a hand on Day’s shoulder throughout, constantly asking Day: What do you want to buy?

Day picks up what looks like a piece of chicken chop in a plastic bag. I doubt he can buy his own food without Louis. Even I don’t want to join the throng.

Maybe he needs a lunchbox (shudder).

the almost-school

It was pure serendipity.

A day after the kid’s school raised prices, I found an alternative.

A nice little green corner around the corner from us.



Yes, the girls aren't in (though almost), but as the coincidences unfurled I was starting to think it was fate.



* Ethan was going there (that is how I knew about it)
* It is a brand new school which opened its doors just a week ago
* I discover it is about 100 steps away from home
* I discover it is started by a woman who reads my blog
* I discover that her partner is a woman who is my ex-hostel mate and one of my blog links (don’t try)
* I recognize a woman who brought her kid there and realize it’s the only blog reader who’s ever identified herself to me before, at a coffeeshop!

Twinkle Kidz would have done very nicely indeed. A whole community of kids with blogging mummies, surreptitiously trying to see if reality gels with online persona.

It still isn’t cheap - $600 a month for four hours a day or $1650 a term – but what it had that the kid’s other school didn’t, is that it is a Chinese kindergarten.



Meaning the kids are pretty much spoken to in Chinese for at least 60% of the time.

So they learn about the earth in Chinese, do their maths in Chinese, conduct discussions in Chinese.


* Curriculum for K1s

Lianne (the ex-teacher and mum who started the school because she was so pissed off with the Chinese-based church kindy her kid used to go to - "I can do better!") is very serious about the Chinese part of things, spending time since March last year working out the curriculum with some consultants so it's Chinese, interactive and fun.

She was so serious she managed to get a "lao-jiao" teacher from above-mentioned church kindy to defect to her camp.

Her two kids are in the school too.


* Lianne's daughter, Terelle

The rest of the time, it’s a lot of built-in arts and fitness stuff. The kids will apparently get to do things like inline skating, synchronised swimming, learn their alphabets through pilates, their maths through music, confidence through drama.



It’s all very progressive. And Chinese. Which is probably quite rare.

fee woe

Post-Christmas, along comes a letter from the kid’s school and we came down to earth with a bump.

“Dear parents, we are embarking towards a new year of learning with your children in the coming 2011. Here are the new fees.”

To be precise, from $910 to $1250 a month for two kids. Half a day. After subsidies.

For the matter, it seems like too many freaking pre-schools in Singapore have suddenly decided to band together and raise fees.

Everyone is raising fees. To be fair, it probably costs more to rent the spaces, hire people, pay for food. But still. A 37 percent hike?

(On a side-note, my bubble tea price has gone up 30 percent too, from $1 to $1.30. What's with this dang country and its cost of living?)

I have a screaming price point when it comes to pre-school fees and that point is $1000 a month (for all kids).

I don’t need my kids to have bells and whistles. No need for Baking, Wushu, Gym, Music Appreciation, Chinese Opera, Street Jazz, Chinese Theatre and Drama (optional paying extras, all of which I am saying no to).

I just need a nice simple reasonably-priced place where they have the space to learn in a loving environment, away from me, for just half a day. Not full day. Half a day.

It was a place which their school used to be - and still is - but a measure of business sense, expansion, corporatization and diversification has since caught up.

The day after I get the letter, I scout around. I find a school I might want to put the kids in. I hand-write a withdrawal letter (no printer). I speak to Alexis.

And I decide to stay. At least for the year.

Why?

Unfortunately, I like Alexis, on a personal level. I like her teachers. I like the school.

Like it or not, we’ve enjoyed a four-year relationship: Of me inviting the teachers to our house for a BBQ, Alexis passing me her hand-me-down dresses, of me and Alexis even trying to play a bit of matchmaker.

More importantly, the kids like Alexis. The kids like the teachers. The kids like the school.

Day's done well in in, Jo's found her confidence and four days in, Lu fits in like she’s been there forever.

So what will we do?

Pay up. And enjoy some more. While I scream silently or until I run dry.

dancing

Cheek to cheek.

Another humdrum day-to-day video which never fails to perk me up.



Both clad in socks, Lu with bib accessory, Jo plays guy and Lu plays girl (Day will have none of it) as they swirl around the living room.

The girls love dancing together.

Another fave-of-the-moment: Singing in the Rain. They wanted to wear their shoes in-house and I am presuming they didn't want their feet to get "wet".

need. sleep.

Not just Lu. Just one in the household going to primary school in the morning session, and we are all a bit gong-gong.

But Lu's getting the worst of it.

Most Sensitive Sleeper in the House wakes up at 6-ish am with her brother, goes to school where she is stimulated beyond anything she's ever experienced, gets woozy at noon, tries to sleep, cannot, comes home, potters until 8pm when she goes down. Fast.

big school

2011, two big schooling biggies: Day goes to Primary. Lu goes to Nursery.

This is about the prep. The big day is tomorrow.

PRIMARY

My moment of sadness happens when I pick up Day’s old scuffed Bob-the-Builder bag from its usual corner next to the dining table and I realize it will never be there again.



Other than that, preparing for primary school has been a bit of a non-event.

Day packed his bag way in advance, looked through all his textbooks and is joyfully expectant – I hope he doesn’t come home bawling– and so am I. It’s about time he starts learning to order his own food.

I am asked: Aren’t you sentimental?



Not at all. From where I am, he’s just going off every day to do his own thing in a different uniform.

Plus I will ironically get to see a lot more of him in primary school than in kindy, when he was spending full days in school nearly every day.

Anyway he has the dubious honour of being the last K2 kid to leave. He was the only kid from his class left, at school on New Year’s Eve.


* Letting go

NURSERY

Lu, little Lu, ah. With her parting is such sweet sorrow!

Because she is my last little one!

Never again will I have another delightful chubby creature to liven up my mornings and share breakfast with me!



Of the three, she is probably the most familiar with school. She’s been going to the damned school every day at least twice or even three times, following me as I fetch Big Two.

She knows Teacher Erzy has purple eyes, calls Jo’s best friend Sam by name and knows where all the good toys are stashed.

The teachers’ arms are wide open to receive the little girl they had seen grow, from in my tummy to nursery-level.

She proudly dons the uniform at home, picks out a purple bag and wields her Mr Strong waterbottle (Day’s old one) around.



Yes, she is familiar. But is she prepared?

For a year we have asked: Lu, do you want to go to school? For a year, she’s said no with a little toss of her stringy mane.

The last few days, she’s been particularly clingy when I leave her in the mornings. As if she knows that our halcyon breakfast mornings are numbered.



I, too, will miss my mornings with her. That’s for sure.