But I'm not tired mummy! ... zzz...

Now that I have two monkeys children, every time I see parents with twins, I have this urge to run over to them, shake their hand, and ask, "HOW do you do it???" I have two children, THREE years apart, and I struggle to find time to go to the toilet. How do they handle two children of the SAME AGE? Amazing.

DN has definitely become more challenging to handle this past year. It's probably because of DS. I think in general he loves his sister (sometimes he gives her random out of the blue hugs) but sometimes he wishes she were toast. Like today. He woke up complaining that his sister stole his bolsters and pillows and went on and on and on and on about it and even pushed her! DS of course, doesn't take this kind of abuse lying down and promptly threw her milk bottle at his foot. At this point, if PF were awake, he would have started his usual chant - "fight fight fight fight fight!"

By this time, my FIL is flipping out. It's not yet 7.30 in the morning and he has two young spitfires children on his hands, ready to leap at each other's jugulars. I of course, am still wiping crust from my eyes and trying to walk in a straight line. So my poor FIL has to referee the fight. Again.

Sigh!

The cheeky monkey and Barney 

DN has also been resisting sleep and refusing naps. Nothing too unusual, he's 4 after all. The thing that gets me is, he's SO not ready to drop naps. Of course he doesn't think so. If he misses his 1pm nap, by 3pm, his eyes are glazed over, his arms are limp and his mood is BAD! And our usual conversation goes something like this...

Me : DN! It's time for a nap! You haven't taken your nap today!
DN : No! I don't want to sleep!
Me : You have to sleep. You're so tired. Look at your eyes!
DN : I'm not tired Mummy. I don't want to sleep. I want to play!
Me : No more playing. Okay, you don't have to sleep. Just close your eyes and lie down. (He hasn't caught me on this one!!)
DN : But I'm not tired Mummy! ... zzzzz...!

And he's out like a light.

And then DS wakes up from her nap. ARGGGGHHH! Just stab me already.

Ilovemychildren. Ilovemychildren. Ilovemychildren. Ilovemychildren.

Merry Christmas!

I don't have a helper at home, but my mom does. J came to live with our family a year after my brother was born 17 years ago. I was 18 and J was 22. We are just four years apart, but by then, it was obvious that our worlds were miles apart and our futures were going to be so different. I finished my A Levels, went to University, went on holidays, dated, got married, went on honeymoon, had two kids AND throughout, I had my family around me. J just helped our family for all those years. So basically, I lived the cookie cutter (and privileged) life. Because J and I are so close in age, I often feel guilty (but grateful) for having so many things and such an fortunate life.

When DN was born, J helped me out with my housework. She was a godsend. With her, we slept on clean sheets, walked on clean floors and wore clean clothes. Without her, we would have lived in filth and smelt even worse! We are very lucky to have J. She is so patient, kind and generous. She has been with us for so many years and seen us through so much, she is like family to us.

About two years ago, J decided that she wanted to move back to the Philippines to get married and start a family. Although no one wanted her to go, it would have been very selfish to make her stay. So we made do while she was gone. And sigh, started living in filth.

So J got married and her husband and her had a little boy last year. :)

Sadly, because of the global recession, her husband couldn't find work and five months ago, she returned to Singapore to work. It was good to see her again after all that while, but I couldn't help but feel SO SAD when I thought about how she had to leave her little boy to come back here. And indefinitely too. How painful must that be? I remember what a wreck I was when I had to leave DN last year. And even then, I knew I would be seeing both PF and DN in about two months or so. (What a wuss!) So my heart aches for J and her little boy. And all the other helpers who had to leave their children behind to work here. It's too sad.


On a recent Sunday, I asked J what she was doing that day. She told me she was going to Lucky Plaza to wire money back to her family because they didn't have enough to buy milk for her son. I stopped smiling after that. Life is so unfair right? Just as J and I have such different lives even though we're about the same age, so will our children. My son started receiving Christmas presents left, right and centre about three weeks ago. J's son will spend Christmas without his mother. My son just went on his fourth holiday last week (and he's only three and a half). When will J be able to take her son on a holiday? I mean, I bought DN his own luggage for heaven's sake!

As a "privileged" parent, providing for my children's basic necessities is a done deal. I am lucky to be able to go beyond that and give them even more. I know how lucky I am, but DN and DS don't realise how lucky they are.

So my Christmas wish this year is this - I wish that my children will grow up to be humble and giving individuals. I wish that they will have compassion in their hearts and are able to put others ahead of them. I want them to take nothing for granted and be grateful for everything they have. And lastly, I want them to give generously and wholeheartedly to those who are not as fortunate as they are.

In the midst of all the giving and feasting with family this season, let's stop for a while and think about all those who cannot celebrate the holiday the way we can. Merry Christmas everyone!

Sawadeeka!

PF and I have very different holidaying styles. He's really suited for chill-out-and-go-brain-dead type of spa holidays and I'm the duracell-bunny-on-speed-and-a-coffee-drip type of holiday maker. I mean, I'm here for only x number of days, so pass me the baht and call a tuk-tuk, we're going canoeing, rock-climbing, golfing, spa-ing, shopping... and THEN lunch! I'm the ultimate kiam ka na (stingy sour prune) too. When shopping, I almost get into fights over 10 baht. And usually by that time, my husband would have slunk away in embarrassment and would be of absolutely no use if I'd gotten my eyes scratched out. Of course, I then go back to Singapore and realise that I was almost blinded over 40 cents!

So that's me on holidays before kids came along. It's really different when you have kids huh? Goodbye duracell bunny, hello slow loris. No more cheong-ing until 11pm, or making full use of happy hour. You've got to think about naps, insect repellent, tea-time snacks, regular bowel movements and spare toys in the diaper bag. Not glam, not glam.

All this just means taking things really slow on holidays, MAJOR changes in one's holiday expectations and lots of beer on the plane. And in the hotel. And at dinner. And heck, how about one before dinner? You know, to dull the pain!

This was the first time I'd seen PF drink so much beer on a holiday. It all started on the flight to Phuket - a beer with his tray dinner. On Day 2, it was beer from the minimart (Phuket Lager!) and beer at dinner. On Day 3, more beer when the kids were sleeping. No beer on Day 4 because his hands were full carrying all our barang-barang, and he konked out on the plane after lunch. He drank more beer on this holiday than on all our other holidays combined! When you go on holiday with two kids under four, life's more bearable through beer goggles eh?

It was also funny that as the holiday progressed, the list of things that we'd forgotten to bring got longer and longer.

1. DN's anti-allergy medicine (Ack! Had to buy Zyrtec at the airport.)
2. DS's bath net
3. Cable for downloading pics from the camera
4. Plug Adaptor
5. DN's multi-vits

... and so on and so on. The days were peppered with, "Aiyah! We forgot to bring that!"

But all in all, it was good fun. I got to spend quality time with my mom, set my throat on fire with Tom Yum Goong, enjoyed our own private lap pool and basically did nothing constructive or useful. Quite shiok! ;)

My Mei Mei!

A cousin's of PF shared this story about sibling rivalry that scared the bejesus out of me. It's a really short story and goes something like this - one day, she found her 2 year old standing on his 8-month old baby brother in the playpen. ACK!

That's natural birth control for you!

So it was with much trepidation that we introduced DN to DS for the first time in the hospital. We did our prep work and prepared a present for DN (from his sister). Before DS arrived, we read "A New Baby" to him and every night, we invited him to talk to his little sister via baby telephone (toilet roll). I don't know if it was the present, the book, the baby telephone, or just that DN is real sweetie at heart, but I don't think he's going to use DS as a stepping stone any time soon.

PHEW!

He really does love his little sister. He gets real excited when DS smiles at him and will promptly shout (and scare the living daylights out of his little sister at the same time) out, "Mei Mei smiled at me! Mei Mei smiled at me! She smiled at me you know!"

During DS's first month, the first thing DN wanted to do every day he came home from school was "look at Mei Mei". After kicking off his shoes, he would rush over to her cot and attempt to hug her with his grimy hands and shower her with sweaty kisses. Sweet, but terribly unhygienic!

One day, when confinement nazi left the flat to walk DS along the corridor, DN shouted from the living room, "HEY! That's my Mei Mei!" He was worried his little sister was getting kidnapped, but apparently not worried enough to get off his seat from the couch and stop watching cartoons to chase after confinement nazi and get his sister back. LOL!

He even tries to be the mummy by singing her his favourite lullaby (you MUST click on that link!) when she gets a little fussy.Yes, I've got a little hokkien kia at home. And if DN keeps up with the serenading, I will soon have TWO.

And now that DS is actively cooing and communicating with us, when DN is in a patient mood (not often enough), he will talk to her and give her advice.

DS : *coo coo coo*
DN : Hello Mei Mei! (playing with his cars)
DS : *coo coo coo*
DN : You cannot play with this yet okay? I am big. You are small. When you're big, you can play.
DS : *coo coo COO*
DN : Hush hush.
DS : *coo COO COO*
DN : Don't cry okay? Ti or or... beh lor hor... ah kong ah mah gia gut tor...
DS : *COO COO COO!!!*
DN : Hush hush! Quiet quiet! Otherwise I'll make you stand in the corner!

He tries. He really does.

But don't get me wrong, it's not always hunky-dory in the Ong household. We are so NOT perfect. Just the other day, I lost my temper when DN prodded his sister with one of those handheld back massager sticks (sometimes, I'm just so eloquent) despite being warned not to. And he refuses to share his pillows, bolsters, towels, EVERYTHING with his sister. And the other night, he peed on the bed, and ME, when PF carried his sister out of the room instead of him. Me! He peed on me! My son actually urinated on me! So yeah, it's not all ribbons and rainbows over here too. But overall, I'd still say that he does love his little sister and can be quite a sweetheart.

At times.

Sleep tight, my little bunnies!

Can't believe I'm a mother of TWO

If you had told me 17 years ago (that's when I first met PF) that I would be married to PF and we'd have 2 children, I would have been terribly upset because then, I really wanted to marry Harrison Ford. Oh well. PF ain't too bad I suppose. Ha! He's going to kill me!

So yup, fast forward 17 years and now we have two kids! Two kids! Two! I am officially a "mother of TWO"! Gosh, it makes me sound so grown-up. And responsible. And... old. I guess I'm still in denial about my age. But honestly, I really don't feel like I'm already 25 years old.

(Haha, got you! Bet you started mentally subtracting 17 from 25! I'm WAY over 25.)

Anyway, life really changes once you have kids huh? Gone are the marathon shopping trips, 2-hour gym sessions, holidays to places that might give you diarrhoea and/or rabies and parking 10 minutes away from the shopping centre just because there's free parking there after 5pm. Our lives now involve lots of rushed shopping trips to kid-friendly malls, holidays where we do research on where the nearest hospitals are and of course, actually parking IN shopping centres in Orchard Road.

Sometimes I miss those child-free days, but most times I'm loving it. Yup yup. Even though my body has surrendered to gravity and my belly gets jiggy with it (against my wishes) when I'm in a moving vehicle, I wouldn't have it any other way. I love these two little munchkins so much! When DN was first plonked into my arms after birth, I felt this HUGE rush of love come flooding in even though he looked like a wet rat. Now, when DS is quietly kicking and cooing away on her playmat, I feel like I'm going to explode with joy. I used to make fun of people who wrote about this kind of mushy crap. I'm now one of them! Ack.

But honestly, I will step in front of a moving bus for these two.

I love this photo.

Caught DN and DS staring at each other on the playmat one morning.

Almost gave myself an aneurism running for the camera.

8 weeks and counting...

At exactly this time 8 weeks ago, I had just finished pushing my baby out and was presented with a slippery little thing that looked more worm-like than human. Sorry DS, mummy loves you, but it's true. You looked like a puffy worm! Well, that puffy worm is now 8 weeks old and, I'm happy to report, does not look like the hungry caterpillar anymore. (Although she still wriggles like one.)

This time round, I tossed my Gina Ford book aside and just let my baby set the pace, instead of some white English lady I'd never met before. When I was pregnant with DN, someone told me about Gina Ford and how she was a God in the baby-rearing world, so I bought the book and was quickly converted. I mean, this lady promised that your baby would sleep from 7pm to 7am! Yeah sure I'll have some of that!

But I soon found out that Gina Ford = Chairman Mao. I don't know about her dental habits, but her objectives sounded ideal, her practices made sense, she promised heaven... and it didn't work. Smells Marxist to me!

Okay okay, I'm being a bit harsh and unfair here. I'm sure it worked for tons of babies out there, DN just wasn't one of them. Bugger that! He still wasn't sleeping through the night when he was one and a half. But I think I've paid my dues because recently, DS has been waking up around 1-ish and then again at 5-ish to feed. Which, at 8 weeks, is WAY better than DN at 1 year 2 months. But, knowing my rotten luck, I've probably JUST jinxed that and she's going to want to do the macarena all night tonight.

Hmmm, so what else has DS been up to these past 8 weeks?

Jaundice : By her 1st month party, she was still looking rather unattractively orange. Her PD said it would take up to 2 months to clear because she's on total breastmilk so I had to be patient. Even though I knew that, it was still rather unnerving staring at a carrot in the cot. Thankfully, the yellowness disappeared about a week ago and she's looking like a normal baby now!

Baby Acne : With DN, I had never heard of baby acne so when his cheeks started getting pimply, my computer almost exploded with all that googling. This time, I was the epitome of calmness. It was my mother-in-law who flew into a panic and I had to calm her down. Just call me cucumber already!

Cooing : Okay, this is a first for us. DN was always the strong, silent type. This one? She's a pigeon! In week 5-6 she started cooing in response to what we were saying. So I became a pigeon too! Although we have nothing much in common, I still love talking to her. Coo coo gurgle gurgle...

Growing : The picture below says it all!

From L to R:

What she wore home from the hospital, Her sleepsuit from week 2-5, Her sleepsuit now :)

I'm sure we'll get better at this... right?!??

Our confidence highly bolstered by this successful trip, we brought both kiddos out the next day. Nothing too ambitious. Just two stops. One, to a friend's to pick up some homemade yoghurt muffins. Two, to VivoCity for lunch with my mum. You know how being a 2nd time mum makes you wiser and more experienced in the ways of the child, and more adept at getting them ready and bringing them out?

This WASN'T one of those times.

We started getting ready at 9.30am but finally left at 11.30am. Two hours to get the whole family ready? Goodness, what nonsense is this!?

At 9.30am, I sent a text saying we'll pick the muffins up at 10.15am.

At 10am, DN was all nicely decked out in jeans and a t-shirt. Even his socks were on. He was the only one dressed. I sent another text - 10.45am.

At 10.15am, PF was still in his boxers replying to some work emails. The baby was also dressed but had just pooped. Argh, and now she wants to feed. Never mind, send another text - 11am.

At 10.45am, the diaper bag was finally packed, the adults were all dressed, but the toddler was now only in his underwear because he had taken off his wet jeans. Hold on, wet jeans? Yes, wet jeans. DN was secretly playing with water as I fed the baby and as PF was working at the computer. Okay. Keep calm. Keep calm. Don't lose the plot. Re-dress toddler and let's go! Er, no. WE FORGOT TO SET UP THE CAR SEAT! Send another text - 11.30am.

At 11.15am, you'd think we would have left by now right? No. Let's just say after the whole rigmarole of putting the car seat together (the fabric bits and bobs were just washed and still hanging on the line) and then setting it up in the car, my sweat-drenched, toiling husband had to take a shower.

Sigh.

We left at 11.30am.

The Taste of Freedom

As you already know, my confinement ended last Tuesday. WOOT! Being cooped up at home for a whole month did wonders for my sanity, looks (my eyebrows now look like this) and body (no exercise + 3 heavy meals daily = this). So the day I received my "get out of jail" card, I got the hell out of there faster than you can say, "And this is what I really think about confinement!" *insert rude sign*

What do you think I did on my first trip out?

Eat?

Shop?

Massage?

Pedicure?

Trim eyebrows?

The answer of course, is EAT! We went to our favourite haunt - Shimbashi Soba and I had my usual "dessert and tea" set. Ah... absence makes the heart go fonder and the dessert tastier! And this, my dear friends, is what freedom looks like. :)

(clockwise from top)
vanilla ice cream, fried soba chips (partially hidden), mochi with peanut powder,
cheesecake crepe with orange sauce, rice mochi with red bean paste

As it was our first trip out with DS, we made it a quick one. Remembering our very first trip out with DN and how we used NOTHING in the diaper bag, we refused to learn our lesson and again left the house with a bag that was heavier than the baby. Well at least we were prepared. For 3 months in a bomb shelter.

Of course, DS was a little dream. Except for a little bit of fussing, PF and I had a pretty relaxing tea. :)

Excuse me, I think there's something on your head

Tissue paper is a wonderful thing. You can use it in a multitude of ways. Blot an oily face, fling a bug out the window, hide some contraband food from the prying eyes of confinement nazi, blow a stuffy nose and... cure hiccups!

Yes sir-ree! Betcha didn't know that.

DS erupted into a fit of hiccups the other morning and confinement nazi sprang off her feet and dashed towards the tissue box. She tore a little corner off, wet it, stuck it on DS's forehead and stepped back happily to admire her handiwork. So forget holding your breath or frightening yourself. Prrttth! That's just an old wife's tale. Really. Tissue paper is the way to go man. Got a cough? Stick a mop up your armpit. Works like a dream. Bad flatulence? Feather duster up the ... never mind.

Okay, this next one I can't explain. I think it's because confinement nazi and I are on different frequencies (in more ways than one, as you can already guess). She only speaks Hokkien and I only speak English. It's chicken and duck talk every time. Our conversations usually involve lots of pidgin Hokkien, tons of frantic hand gestures, many furrowed brows and the occasional rolling eyeball. Painful.

Anyway, today I discovered this hidden in her swaddler!

I have no idea what those sprigs are, where they came from and why they're there. Apparently they can cure a fussy newborn. Aha... I didn't know that either. As you can tell from the picture above, it's working really well. Not.

So what cures a fussy toddler? My money's on cauliflower in the underpants.

Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus and Confinement Aunties are from Hell

It's officially day 26 of my incarceration confinement and so far, I have resisted counting down the days until now because I can now count the days down on one hand. It's five more days to freeeeedom...! *William Wallace ROAR*

Confinement has not been fun. Wait. Let me rephrase that. It has been a pure, unadulterated, like watching Singapore Idol on repeat, kind of torture.

I mean no disrespect to our confinement auntie who's just doing her job (and who actually cooks a pretty mean ginger cod fish), but honestly, is this woman on crack or something?

1. Thou shalt not bathe

Ah, my biggest beef with this whole confinement nonsense. According to confinement nazi, I can't bathe or wash my hair. Now that's really weird because in one of my pregnancy books, one of the things recommended to postpartum mothers is a nice, long, hot soak in the tub! So technically, shouldn't these women be crawling out of the tub, doubled over in arthritic pain? Tut tut. These editors. They're trying to kill us all!

For DN's birth, I think I managed a week without showering or washing my hair. My hair was so clumpy I felt like Bob Marley. Not cool. Around day 14 I caved in, threw all caution to the wind (and all the bathing herbs into the bin) and enjoyed my regular showers again. For this birth, I didn't bother messing about at all and showered (yes, hair and all!) daily in the hospital. I figured I'd already sealed my arthritic fate when I broke the no-bathing-rule the first time, so I might as well do things properly this time (and be clean at it!) and go out with a bang.

After checking with many friends, it looks like I'm not the only one taking illegal showers. If confinement nazi is right, in about 30 years, there'll be a whole generation of old ladies walking around like Quasimodo, cursing the world with gnarled and shrivelled hands.

Except for PF, nobody here knows I've been sneaking in those showers. I think. Er, I hope!

I've been diligently bathing with herbs on alternate days, and having illegal showers on the others. I think confinement nazi knows about those illegal showers though, because I swear, she tried to kill me. Good thing I tested the pail of herbal water she prepared for me the first time. If I had just poured that on myself, PF would have had to rush me to A&E. I was this close to cooking myself! Geez.

A friend is convinced that all this must-bathe-with-herbs-and-very-hot-water-mumbo-jumbo is just a front. What all confinement aunties really want to do is cook their charges. Herbs for bathing? Nope. They're really herbs for MARINATING you. Jamu massage to release "wind"? Nope, just a cover. They're TENDERISING the meat, i.e. you. And when your confinement auntie suggests that you go sit in the oven? Time to get the hell out of there honey!

2. Thou shalt dress for winter

When we brought DS to the PD for her 1-week check-up, I saw another mom with her little newborn. The poor girl (mother, not baby) went the whole hog - woolly hat, sweat pants, long-sleeved tee, hoodie, socks and trainers. The only things missing were gloves and skis. Strangely enough, she didn't look miserable! I think it's just me. I'm being a real brat and rebel about this confinement thing.

I weighed my two options. One, be comfortable in bare feet and sleeveless tees, or two, be grumpy in a cardigan and socks. Coupled with a bit of the postnatal blues, number two was the more dangerous option because it might involve me and (someone else's) murder. So I chose option one and have been very happy in bare feet.

3. Thou shalt not starve

Okay, this is one part of confinement that I'm actually enjoying, heh. Pan fried threadfin? Yes please! Steamed pomfret? Okay! Vinegared pork? Bring it onnn!

Let's just say I'm definitely not starving over here. In fact, I feel rather like one of those french geese being reared for foie gras. (Hmmm... that confinement-auntie-cooking-her-charge conspiracy theory is becoming more and more plausible...) Confinement nazi gives me rice like it's going out of fashion and my gosh, you should see the amount of protein I eat everyday. It's amazing I don't look like Jojo Sinclair yet.

What I had for a weekday lunch last week - pan fried threadfin, stir fried vege, vinegared pork, sesame oil pork loin and potato, carrot and pork soup.


4. Thou shalt not leave the house

ARGHHHHH...!!! The penultimate confinement torture because it's impossible to cheat on this! Except for two trips to the paediatrician and one trip to the gynae, I've really been stuck in the flat for 26 days. OH. EM. GEE. I'm going bonkers. With DN, I served my confinement at my mom's and so, was allowed out for little jaunts to the shopping centre nearby. I'm not staying with her this time round so, no dice. :(

The only good thing that has come out of this is, from now on, I'm going to be the most law abiding person I know. (Scared already!)

So if you can't go out, bring the "out" to you I say! Over the past 4 weeks, kind friends (and PF) have brought over tidings of joy in the form of donuts...

... cupcakes...
... chocolate, crisps, macaroons, char siew, roasted suckling pig and fruits!

If looks could kill...

... I would have been dead twice this week. I promise, honest to goodness, cross my heart and hope to die, it's TRUE. The (innocent!) victim? Me. The (almost) murderer? My confinement auntie.

The first time I received the look of death was on day 3 or 4 I think and I wasn't exactly in the best of moods. I mean, I just gave BIRTH. I'm on some hormonal trip, sweating like a pig, shuffling around because of stitches and struggling with nipples on fire. The only thing I need is a nice, hot shower and the last thing I need is someone telling me I'm not supposed to have one. So, as much as I would like to be the model "confine-d" mother and walk around dressed for winter (hat, long pants, cardigan and thick woolly socks) and not shower for a month, I just C.A.N.N.O.T.

So what do I do?

I shower.

In secret.

And enjoy every single water droplet of it!

But I paid for it when I stepped out of the toilet with a towel slung over my shoulder. I stepped out just as Jack the Ripper my confinement auntie walked into the corridor. ACK! The look she shot me! Now I know what it feels like to stare Medusa in the eye!

Then, confinement auntie barked (if she were a dog (HA!) she'd be a pit bull-rottweiler pariah), "Chong Liang???!!" or "WHAT THE HELLLLL???! DID YOU TAKE A SHOWER???!"

And I (the chihuahua) whimpered, "Mei You!" or "No I didn't! This is not a towel over my shoulder! I'm not wearing clean clothes! And I'm not holding a set of dirty clothes in my hand!" and scampered away, tail between my legs... but clean as a whistle!

The second time I received "the look" was today. Last week, I tried (unsuccessfully) to get out of the house by saying I wanted to visit my mother and grandmother. Of course, this request was met with incredulity and disbelief - "Stupid, ignorant girl. Doesn't she know she's going to die a long and painful death if she leaves the house during her confinement month?". So yeah, my request was shot down. Big time. So when Jeffrey Dahmer confinement auntie saw me dressed in jeans and a t-shirt today, ready to go out, she shot me another one of her special looks that could have curdled milk. Can you spell S.O.U.R.?

This was followed by another bark. "Qu Na Li??!!?" or "ARE YOU GOING OUT FOOL???!"

(I swear, this woman has taken 5 years off my life!)

Again, I let out a chihuahua squeak. "Dai baby Qu Kan Yi Sheng!" or "I'm sorry for offending thee, oh wise and all-knowing one, but my baby is looking rather orange so I'd like to bring her to the doctor to get her jaundice level checked out. I promise to be back here immediately after the doctor's." NOT!

After the doctor's, I forced PF to drive me to this cake shop for some macaroons. Mmmm! They cost a pretty penny, but hey, I'm going to make the most of my clandestine trip out of jail okay!

Planning DN's 3rd Birthday Party

I remember telling friends and relatives at DN's 1st birthday party that his next big parent-sponsored bash would be when he's 21, when we can turn him loose on society and not feel guilty about it. HA! I also remember telling people that the first birthday party was not really for him (he couldn't even eat the cake eh?) but rather, for US (but we could... and it was lychee martini!) - a reward for getting through the first year unscathed, undeterred and most importantly, (mentally and physically) undead.

His 2nd birthday party was a low-key affair compared to the first one. Just a small gathering for his little friends that all of us co-organised. It was a wet BBQ (bleah), but at least we had cupcakes (heh!) and all families were colour-coded. The Ongs were radiant in red. ;)

His 3rd birthday was meant to be a non-event, because hello, I'm giving birth on 2nd September! *hao lian* Unfortunately, both PF and I have severely underestimated the wiles of Master Ong DN. Some time in June, for some strange unknown reason, DN started singing "Happy Birthday". To himself. In a pitiful, self-deprecating tone. Repeatedly. At least he didn't do it sitting in a corner with his head hung down eh? Now THAT would be wily! Besides the birthday song singing, he also started saying things like "Today is my birthday!". To us. In a gleeful, expectant tone. Repeatedly.

I mean, WASSUP??! *narrow eyes*

So yeah, that's how weak we are. We caved in. And moved the 21st birthday party forward by 18 years. :p PF and I are trying to justify this party by telling ourselves that it's DN's last chance to have a party all to himself because from next year onwards, we'll be celebrating the 2 kiddos' birthdays together. Also, I've been feeling awfully guilty about not being able to give DN my 100% when Bessie comes along. I know I don't have to feel guilty, but I can't help but feel a little bad.

Anyhows, back to the party. Why just stop at a cake when you can blow it all (read: child's future trust fund) on entertainment for the kids, helium balloons, themed fillers for goody bags, matching plates and cups and (the piece de resistance) A PINATA FILLED WITH EDIBLE GOODIES! Arriba! Jalapeno! Paco chicano! Ole!

The next thing to do was to decide on a theme. I went with Mickey Mouse because it's gender neutral and I won't have an aneurysm when deciding what to put in girl and boy goody bags. Only over my dead body will I have a Barney party even though that's also gender-neutral. I hate that purple dinosaur (who PF believes is actually a T-Rex with blunt teeth because of its short, useless, flailing arms). And oh yeah, the most important reason why Mickey Mouse? DN lurves Mickey Clubhouse.

The grand plan (and I'm full of these useless things that don't materialise) was to MAKE my own Mickey Mouse pinata with papier-mache. If I could make a papier-mache bowl in primary school, what's stopping a 34-year old from making a Mickey Mouse pinata? Well, how about plain 'ole deludedness? I thought about it for a day and then promptly shelved the thought next to grand plan #2 - baking DN's dairy-free birthday cake, which by the way is sitting next to grand plan #3 - going swimming to work on that tan and get M.Obama arms in time for the party. Like I said, deluded. So after all the grand plans have gone the way of the Dodo, what else is left?

Actually, tons! For 3 days, I pored over the Birthday Direct website, adding things into and deleting things out of my shopping basket. I'm going to keep the contents of the goody bag a secret, but let's just say I bought a few extra just for myself! So exciting, hee. Tomorrow, I'm going to buy the edible pinata fillers and on Friday, DN and I are going to pack the goody bags. Can't wait! :D

It's going to be a mad rush on Saturday though. The cakes need collecting (2 cakes from 2 different places... argh), the food needs picking up (again from 2 different places... argh argh), the ice needs to be bought and the room needs setting up. And all that to be done by 10.30am before guests start arriving. Thankfully, I didn't even entertain the thought of decorations because that might just be the thing that sends me into labour!

The only grand plan that I concocted and actually saw through was scrapbooking my own digital invite. I'm quite proud of this one! Ta-dah!



Invites? Check.
Cake? Check.
Kids' entertainment? Check.
Food? Check.
Drinks? Check.
Goody bags? Check.
Balloons? Check.
DN's birthday present?

OOOOOPS!

Dear Mrs Ong...

Oooh, it's really strange being called that! But it's time I got used to it because it's been 6 years since we got married after all. LOL.

I'm bringing this up because DN brought home his communication book last week. It's a book for us to communicate with his teachers in school. When he brought it home, DN was so proud of his HANDiwork (hur hur!) he showed it off to everyone and explained to us how he did it. It's the first thing he's brought home from school and I'm so proud of it too! As a mother, if he had brought home a scrap of torn paper with some senseless doodle on it and claimed it to be a bus, I would probably still worship the poop that came out of his butt and thought my son the next Monet.

Ahhh... such is a mother's love (and blind biasedness!).


Anyway, part of the first note from his teacher read:

"Dear Mr and Mrs Ong (ack!),
DN is able to adapt in our centre after a week's experiences. (awright!) He plays with his friends and he is able to express his basic needs. However, (uh-oh...) he didn't approach his teacher when he needed to pass urine during morning outdoor play and in the classroom before naptime."

I replied with a word of thanks to the teachers for helping him settle in and asked a few questions:

1. Is DN generally happy in/with school?
2. Is he eating (and drinking) well at meal times?
3. Does he listen well to instructions?

(part of) Her reply:

"Hi Mrs Ong (ack!),
DN was able to go to the toilet in the classroom this morning, except (uh-oh) during outdoor activity this morning. For meal times, he'll eat more or finish the food when we feed him (that means he won't if he self-feeds!). He is able to follow simple instructions and he is very helpful towards his friends and teachers (awww...!)."

I guess my little bub is settling in. :)

Another thing I have been paranoid about is how he's playing with his other little friends. I am just so worried that he will start shoving and snatching. Survival of the fittest eh? But the teacher's feedback is that he does none of these things. Am I relieved or what!!! I don't mind if DN is not the brightest bulb in the pack, but I do want him to grow up polite, well-mannered, with the right morals and be a person who's sensitive to people and animals above all things. What's the point of being a Harvard scholar when you can't even say "thank you" to the auntie that cleans your table at the hawker centre?

Hmm...

Okay, I'll be really honest. I want him to be that Harvard scholar who ALSO says "thank you" to the auntie at the hawker centre. Haha!

This is what theatre is all about!

Last week, DN and I watched a play at The Arts House. In The Garden was part of the Act 3-Prudential Children's First Festival. It was a good choice, and I'm glad it was pitched at the right level (1-4 years). There was no story, which was fine because at DN's age, to get them to concentrate, absorb and try to understand a 45 minute story is impossible anyway. There were hardly any words too, and honestly, it didn't need words because it was so visual. There was the use of shadow puppets, multi-media and music, and that was enough to grab DN's attention. The entire performance was made up of tiny tiny action sequences - being chased by elephants, looking for a boat in choppy waters, getting wet in the rain etc... things that very young children can understand and enjoy. No words needed.

DN was engaged throughout! He laughed at the funny moments, shouted out the names of the animals that he saw on the screen, tried to imitate the actions of the actors (only 2 of them) and basically enjoyed himself very much. He responded to this so much better than when we watched The Rainbow Fish last September. Of course, he's older now, but I think the content, and our seats (we were seated almost right at the back for that one! LOL), also made a difference. This time, it was a much smaller theatre space, very intimate and we sat on the floor.

However (and you can crucify me for this one), I was just a little disappointed to hear other parents in the audience repeatedly shush their little ones during this performance. It's children's theatre, CHILDREN'S theatre! Let them laugh out loud, let them them shout "elephant!", let them enjoy themselves! Come onnn... they're not watching The Bridge Project, so give them a break already! As another parent in the audience, I won't mind if your child makes "noises" during the show. If I did mind, then I didn't deserve to be there. I should be watching The Bridge Project instead.

I'm now reading David Wood's Theatre for Children and he puts it succinctly when he says...

I shall never forget standing at the back of the auditorium of the Swan Theatre, Worcester watching the first production of "The Owl and the Pussycat Went to See...", my second play for children, co-written with Sheila Ruskin. The children responded with huge enthusiasm, rooting for the Owl and the Pussycat as they pursued their quest to get married, beset by marauding Jumblies and the ever-hungry Plum Pudding Flea. One minute they listened attentively, the next they participated with ear-splitting excitement. The way they willingly suspended disbelief and entered into the spirit of the performance was incredibly exciting and strangely moving. They laughed, they shouted warnings, they became emotionally involved, they cared. And the victorious, abandoned cheer when justice prevailed and the Plum Pudding Flea was vanquished was sheer joy to behold. A couple of years later Braham Murray, director of the prestigious 69 Theatre Company in Manchester witnessed the same triumphant moment with tears rolling down his cheeks. "This," he said, "is what theatre is all about!"

How brilliant!

He then carries on to say...

Such uninhibited displays of happy enthusiasm are all too rare in adult audiences.

Aiyoh. But that's true in everything we do isn't it? We lose all those wonderful child-like behaviours as we grow up and we mind our p's and q's (although many living in Chin Swee Road don't and still pee in HDB lift toilets!) with everything. Oh well. I guess I'm also not going to jump like a kangaroo when I find my favourite Kate Spade bag on sale at 50% off. Hmm... okay, I might.

Two days after the performance, we decided to do a little art project at home. After the performance on Sunday, every child was given a little butterfly to bring home. Of course, by the time we put DN in the car seat, it didn't look like a butterfly anymore, more like a beetle. But I kept it anyway and traced it out onto many sheets of coloured paper.

DN and I then decorated the butterflies with other little bits of coloured paper which he tore up into smaller pieces. We were aiming for the mosaic look, but failed miserably!

That night, I got him to help me scotchtape the butterflies onto a piece of ribbon and we strung it up on his cot. He loved it! You could detect a big dose of pride in his voice when he showed it to his Dad the next day. And he says goodnight to them every night now. Awww...

Pass the detergent and scouring pad

Before PF and DN got here, I had been on my own for 2.5 months. That's 10 weeks of home-sickness. 10 weeks of boredom. 10 weeks of bad eating. And 10 weeks of unrestrained swearing! Woot!

When DN arrived, I really had to watch myself and curb the sailor in me. But just the other day, I tripped on the pavement while carrying DN and I forgot myself. Before you can say "what the hell?", a few choice words exploded out of me and rained on DN's ears. Here's the exact conversation that ensued, adapted for all ages.

Fisherman's wife trips on the pavement and almost drops the baby.
FW : F***!
(realising that I'd just said the BIG no-no) FW : Sh**!
(realising that I'd just sworn again BECAUSE of swearing) FW : Ah, dam**t!
DN : !!!

And then, I really shut up because swearing at a rate of 1 choice word per second is not funny when your toddler has entered the parroting stage and has already started saying "oh dear" when he drops something.

Pass the detergent and the scouring pad. If I'm not careful, soon, little children, their mothers and other assorted little animals will be running away from my toddler at the playground, who will probably be (notoriously) known as "that BAD one".

Games to play at home - HELP!

Have you ever had a day where you stare at your toddler and think to yourself:

• Did I bring home the wrong baby from the hospital? (that kind of energy is definitely not from my side of the family)
  
• Will he/she take a longer nap if I put just a few drops of vodka in his/her juice?
  
• If I close my eyes and think of a happy place, will that block out the screaming?
• Three drops?
  

Last Saturday I asked myself all that plus this one :

• What can I do with this child on a hot and boring Saturday afternoon?

I was stumped! So if you have a great idea for a home-made game for toddlers, please email me at mylittlelittleturnip@gmail.com. If you've got pictures, even better. I'll compile a little list of games and post them on this blog for all to share. ;)

I'm sorry, how many kids???

A couple of months ago, I caught snippets of an interesting trailer while channel surfing. It went something like this...

(camera pans to...) Many kids running around screaming
(audio) "We have 2 six-year olds..."
(camera pans to...) Two smiling parents, one looks kind of Asian
(audio) "... and 6 two-year olds and..."

WAIT! STOP! REWIND! HELLO???

Yes. They have EIGHT kids. You know what's worse than having EIGHT kids? Having your toenails plucked out one by one 2 six-year olds and 6 two-year olds. Yup, that's what they have. It's the 6 two-year olds that's the problem, not the 2 six-year olds. We're talking sextuplets, not just 6 babies, but 6 AT ONE GO.

When PF and I finally caught the show Jon and Kate Plus 8, we instantly felt blessed and wanted to do a rain dance to thank the heavens because almost immediately, our parenting problems became amoebas.

For eg:

1. DN has too much for lunch and craps 3 times after lunch. 1 toddler = 3 diaper changes, 6 toddlers = 18 diaper changes

2. DN is in Toys R Us and is pulling toys off the shelves. 1 toddler = 5 dinosaurs thrown on the floor, 6 toddlers = 30 dino... hang on, I won't bring 6 toddlers into Toys R Us.

3. DN misses a nap and is Mr Grumpy. 1 screaming, crying, melt-down toddler = 1 migraine, 6 screaming, crying, melt-down toddlers = 1 phone call to the adoption agency

So, yeah, phew. I can't imagine 6 Der Nens running around the house, asking for raisins.

Regardless, PF and I are still rivetted because it's amazing how Jon and Kate handle, entertain, discipline, feed and put 6 toddlers down for naps. They amaze me because:

1. They only feed their kids organic food. In one episode, they bought an organic COW. Yes, the entire bovine animal.

2. Even with 8 kids, they still insist on good manners, good behaviour and structure and schedules throughout the day.

3. They are so in love!

After watching one season of Jon and Kate Plus 8, I've come to the conclusion that they cannot be human for the following reasons.

1. They're still alive sane after 8 kids.

2. They even have a sense of humour to boot (unless of course, that's a defense mechanism and a way to block out the pain/screams/tantrums/crying/ whines/all of the above).

3. They don't just look decent, they look good! Jon is Korean-French-Welsh (phwoarh) and Kate is thin. Okay, this is a big deal to me because for a good year, PF and I were shuffling walking around looking like the living dead because DN still kept waking us up at night, and my belly is so soft and floppy, DN sometimes kneads it like dough. -_- (hmm... maybe I need 6 kids to look like... STOP! WHAT AM I THINKING!?)

If you don't want to watch it for all the reasons I've listed, at least watch it for the 8 kids. They are just too cute. :) Jon and Kate Plus 8 is on at 10.30pm, Monday to Friday, on Discovery Home and Health - channel 70.

Imagine this...

... TIMES 6!

What a morning!

Two Fridays ago, both PF and I took the day off. When you're a parent, taking a day off is not taking a day off. Unless the toddler is at his grandmother's of course.

At 7am, DN becomes bionic baby and can hear the dust rolling in the corner of our bedroom - the slightest sound and he's up. It's like his eyes pop open and he sits up like someone has released the spring in his back. BOING!

And he bounces (literally) out of bed and starts abusing terrorising rousing his parents. You see, DN will not stand for sleeping parents. He goes, "Mama! Mama! Papa! Papa! Up! Up! UPPPPP!" over and over and over. If verbal abuse doesn't work, he resorts to abuse of the physical sort. He will sit on our bellies and bounce. Doesn't work? He tries to lift our snoring heads up and shout "UP!" at the same time.

The poor guy. It's a gargantuan task really. The slug force is strong in us.

He definitely doesn't get the early bird gene from PF or myself because we have the comatose-until-12-noon gene. (My mom used to wake me up for school by pinching my legs. For 10 minutes!) So I don't know where he gets this trait from. Sometimes I wonder if the hospital switched babies when I wasn't looking and put a firecracker in my baby's cot.

Back to that Friday. After finally dragging my sorry butt out of bed, I lumbered downstairs like Babar the Elephant and set about making breakfast for the excitable toddler. After breakfast, I looked at the clock and went, "!!??!". It's only 8.15am! What am I going to do next with the excitable toddler?

Ah-ha! Now's a good time to finally use that activity pack Julia Gabriel gave us when class was cancelled one week because of the HFMD outbreak. So I stripped the toddler to his diaper and plonked him in his high chair, trembling with excitement just watching me get everything ready.

He loved it!

In the pack are "ingredients" for fried rice. The bag of yellow glue is "oil", the white crepe paper is "rice", the green stickers are "peas" and the paper plate is the "wok".

I helped DN with the peas but he "fried" the rest of the dish himself.
Looking mighty pleased with his oily fried rice. This dish definitely won't get the Healthy Choice sticker.



After adding the prawns and egg, it's time to throw in the rice.

After a few grains, DN got fed up and just dumped the whole container of rice into the wok!


No gloves in the kitchen. Tsk tsk tsk.

The finished dish. :D

DN was having so much fun, I decided to let him continue painting with the glue on rough paper I found in the house.















Time check : 9.00am! Only??!

DN and I go upstairs on the pretext of getting a diaper, but really to make some noise to wake PF up. Success! The father slug wakes up and we decide to troop off to Katong for breakfast.

PF orders a Pi Pa Kao canned drink, much to my amazement. The can is damn retro man. Tradition in a can!



It's Sarawak Laksa for PF...
... Chin Mee Chin cupcakes for me :)...

... and chai tow kuay for all of us.

DN : "What?! I have to share?"


















What a great breakfast! Food was good, weather was actually balmy and DN was his same amusing self, endearing the other kopi tiam diners to him. He kept smiling at this man sitting at the next table. I thought he was being friendly... until I saw the roti prata on the man's plate. He's beo-ing* the roti prata!

Since we were in the East, we drove over to the beach for a little walk.

The weather was really nice that day, and because it was a weekday, it was empty. :)


We found twigs and started drawing in the sand. I found a crab hole (this sounds so wrong, but for the life of me, I can't think of the proper name for it!) and showed it to DN. He probably understood 2% of my explanation of why crabs dig holes in the sand and where they go when the tide comes in.

I don't think I even understood myself.

My world has changed

In school this week, I talked to my kids about media violence and its influence on children and youths. My research revealed some interesting nuggets of information.

• Television alone is responsible for 10% of youth violence. (Leonard Eron, Senior Research Scientist at the University of Michigan)
• The more real-life the violence portrayed, the greater the likelihood that it will be learned. (American Academy of Pediatrics Policy Statement, Volume 95, Number 6, June 1995)
• Children younger than 8 cannot uniformly discriminate between real life and fantasy / entertainment.

Scary stuff.

During my lesson, I suddenly remembered Jamie Bulger. I remember reading somewhere that his killers copied what they watched in the movie Chucky. So I told my kids about this extreme case of how influential the media can be.

After the lesson, I went online to check on the details of the case. And that's when my heart fell like a ton of bricks. Reading about it now is so different compared to reading about it in 1993. I mean, I was sad and shocked then, but as a parent now, reading about it made me hurt in places that never hurt before.

He was just shy of his 3rd birthday and he must have been so scared.

When PF picked me up from school that day, I talked to him about it. I really needed an outlet. I felt like a tight balloon ready to explode. We spoke about how different it feels now, to read about tragedies and little children, and how we both hate, really really hate, to read articles like that in the newspapers. And we found that we both skip those articles altogether.

It hurts because you think about your own baby, and you think, what if?

It's strange. During my pregnancy, I never felt any connection or bond with the baby at all. I was very worried I was incapable of loving my baby because ALL the books talked about talking to your belly, but I could never do it. It just felt too weird and earth-mother-ish. But when the nurse put DN in my arms for the very first time, I suddenly felt this insane explosion of love. It was crazy. I realised there and then that I will jump in front of a hurtling bus for this 47cm long, swollen, wriggling, helpless being.

It was at that time that I became a parent. And my world changed.

Beach Fun

Oops, haven't written anything for 2 weeks because of all the marking I had to clear. :(

Last weekend, we went to Sentosa with some friends. The original plan was to meet at Sentosa, but it started to pour when we left the house, and from where we were, the sky over Marina Bay was BLACK.

Great.

Time to activate Plan B - another weekend stuck in a shopping centre. -_-

So we pulled into Vivocity (which should be renamed Confusing City, btw) and waited for the rest to arrive. I think they brought the good weather with them from Bukit Panjang coz the sky cleared up. So we packed everyone up and drove to Sentosa. DN's first time at the beach, here we come!

At the beach, PF impressed us with the groundsheet he made at his worksite. It measured 5m x 5m, weighed 20kg and almost broke the carrybox it was in, but our over-the-hill asses would be more than adequately protected from the Siloso sand. (Of course, what does everyone do when the groundsheet is finally laid out? They plonk their bags and food on it and go sit on the sand.)

DN liked the beach. But he liked it in a serious way. Let me explain.

The minute we hit the beach, DN had this permanent frown on his face. He was playing with the sand, but frowning at it too. I think he didn't really fancy the grainy sand. I actually expected him to dive right into the sand, embrace it, toss into the air, roll about in it and basically have a "The Hills Are Alive With The Sound Of Music" moment.

But he didn't. He was actually quite dainty and reserved as he scooped up sand and dumped it into a pail, and he was frowning the whole time. Hmm. It must be all our exclamations of, "No! Dirty! Don't touch that! Eeeks! Stop! No! Dirty! Put that down! Aiyoh! Dirty!" that have instilled a sense of 'cleanliness' in him.

Compare this to Anthony, our New Zealander friend, who invited us over to his condo for a BBQ. As we chatted happily next to the BBQ pit, Levi, his 1.5 year old baby came crawling towards us, clad only his diaper. He crawled over puddles of water, over dirt, over soot and by the time he arrived at our feet, he was black!

Did Anthony know? Yes. Did Anthony do anything? Of course not. He's not bleeding, he's still got 4 limbs attached, what for?

A normal Singaporean grandparent would have scooped him up ... wait, a normal Singaporean grandparent wouldn't have even let him down in the first place.

Even at the Botanic Gardens on a weekend, 9 out of 10 times, the kid rolling down hill is caucasian. The asian kid is the one drenched in mosquito repellent, sitting on a mat and completing page 10 of a Maths assessment book.

It's a very Asian thing.

Will YOU let your baby crawl in soot?


"I'm happy... I think."


If it looks like my feet, feels like my feet and smells like my feet, it's probably my feet!


We had dinner at this great Japanese restaurant at Vivocity after the beach. You MUST click on, and enlarge this picture. It's worth it! ;)