Monthly Archives

March 2009

Not Quite So Supermom

March 23, 2009

I’m been down with a massive flu since the weekend. That’s the difference when you’re a mom. Now when I want to go on sick leave, I have to wait till the weekends and clear with the husband (whom I have also infected with my killer virus).

What they don’t tell you is that pregnancy amplifies the flu symptoms by a gazillion times. My head is pounding non-stop, my back is about to break in 5 different locations and my stuffed nose resembles the wicked witch of the west. The weak-ass meds are not helping either, but I can’t take anything too strong or it will knock me out and social services will come take away my kid.

My son though, is blissfully unaware of my numerous afflictions, despite the fact that I look like Helena Bonham Carter and sound like Nelly Furtado. So I’ve still gotta function like I’m all fine and dandy.

I don’t know how moms even find the time to be sick. Or there must be some supersonic tonics that I’m missing out on.

I’m officially relinquishing my supermom status now that kryptonite has been discovered. I just want to curl up in a corner and cry.

Somebody put me out of my misery.

by Daphne

kids inc

Truett Kao: Adrenaline Junkie

March 20, 2009

I have this nagging suspicion that my son is an adrenaline junkie. And partially masochistic. First of all, he doesn’t seem to feel/mind pain. He can’t sit still (not even for 2 seconds), he’s totally fearless and he has this massive need to climb to the highest possible point all the time (and then fling himself off it).

I used to think that we are all wired with a basic human survival instinct, which is relatively simple. Pain = BAD. No pain = GOOD. That means I shouldn’t have to tell him fundamental stuff like “Don’t throw yourself off an elevated point” or “Don’t drown yourself” or “Banging stuff on your head is bad”.

Most kids seem to get it, but mine is evidently struggling with that concept.

While we’re at it, isn’t there some research that shows how humans can be conditioned to stop doing stuff that brings detriment to their physical beings? i.e. putting your hand at an open flame will result in PAIN, which is BAD.

Call it bravado (or retardation), but my boy absolutely does not register the fact that stupidity will bring about bad consequences, despite having been at the receiving end many times.

Let me elaborate. I’ve probably mentioned that he’s flung himself off various high objects numerous times (7 times and counting), but he just keeps finding new places to jump off. Just yesterday, he managed to pivot his body off his cot and headfirst onto the floor. Till this moment, I’m still baffled by how he did it, considering the bar was up to his armpits.

Then there was the pool incident. While most kids make it their aim to avoid having water enter their noses and mouths, my little daredevil is completely unfazed by being submerged in the water. To him, swimming is no fun without trying to drown himself. Apparently, staying above water is for the amateurs.

It’s getting out of hand. His mission is life is to devise new ways to inflict pain upon himself, and my mission is life is to stop him. Sorta like a real-life, twisted computer game.

And the count stands at Mommy: 6 points, Tru: 8,527 points. Great, I’m getting thrashed by a 9-month-old.

I’m thinking, it’s time to bring out the big guns. Maybe I should wrap him up like the abominable snowman all the time to provide some additional padding. Or else I’ll have to attach a pillow permanently to his head and his butt.

Forget fashion, survival trumps style.

by Daphne

Androgynous is the New Macho

March 19, 2009

It’s bizarre. 7 out of 10 strangers will mistake Tru for a girl, and it used to really bug me. Ok, so he’s got bangs. And longer-than-average lashes. And pretty, big eyes. And a charming grin. But I assure you, HE’S A BOY. I can show you if you want.

In spite of my best efforts to dress him up in dudish duds, I still encounter blind cows who insist that he’s a chick. Look, the universal rules have not changed. Boys dress in blue and girls dress in pink. Just check the color, people, it’s not that hard.

Like I said, it used to really bug me.

That’s until I had a moment of truth. You know, when the glass shatters and you suddenly see a side that was really there all along, and you never see it in quite the same light again. The kind of OMG I WAS THE BLIND COW moment that changes your life forever.

Sometimes, all it takes is an innocuous object, like say, a hairband or a little pink hairclip to change everything. Take a gander.

So I say, revel in it my boy, androgynous is the new macho.

by Daphne

love bites

Love Actually

March 18, 2009

I’m celebrating my 2nd wedding anniversary today.

When I first got married, plenty of well-meaning folks (the kind you’d like to stab in the eye with a fork) told me that the honeymoon period lasts for 2 years and then its mostly just getting through each day without wanting to stab each other’s eye with a fork. And they back it up with all kinds of impressive statistics to sound like they’re some kind of authority on the subject.

Oh, and guess what the 2nd anniversary is called. We all know that 50th is Gold, and 60th is Diamond (I like!), but few would know that the 2nd is COTTON. Wow, way to go, I can’t think of a more worthless material. It’s what I use to wipe my kid’s arse. Whoever came up with the names obviously didn’t think much of the 2nd anniversary.

Here’s the thing. When you’re googly-eyed newlyweds, you gaze into each other’s eyes and whisper saccharine sweet nothings all day. And you pooh-pooh the idea that your marriage will be one of the casualties.

But as we neared the big 2-year mark, I realized it’s about the time it takes for the gazing and whispering to get old. There’s only so much mush you can concoct and romance is almost like a reflex action sometimes.

Which got me thinking.

Given that the odds are against us, how do some marriages stay together while others fall apart? Is it really just the luck of the draw or is there something we’re missing here?

And after many days of mulling, I still didn’t have the slightest clue. I was determined to come up with a grand plan to bring back the fireworks. to spice up the marriage and spread some good juju around. You know, to ward off the malevolent eye-stabbing powers. But let me just state that fireworks are a real pain to set off and clean up. And even that starts to wane after a while.

Then one evening as we were going about our usual activities, surfing the net and engaging in one of our usual banal conversations, it occurred to me that this is exactly what makes us tick.

That we can talk for hours about the most insipid topics and enjoy the conversation.

That we can sit in silence and still enjoy the conversation.

That after Manchester United kicks Arsenal’s 4th-place bottom, we can still have a civil chat.

That after I’ve gained 50 pounds, he still looks at me like I’m smokin’ hot.

That when I wake up in the morning, I know that he’s my best friend in the whole, wide world.

So, HAPPY ANNIVERSARY.

by Daphne

kids inc

Must Love Dogs

March 17, 2009

For some strange reason, Tru seems to LOVE dogs. And I never quite understood why. Every time he sees a dog, big or small, he’ll want to go pat and hug them. Which is translated into: he’ll yank their fur and smack them on the nose, but I’m pretty sure it’s his way of showing affection. (I should know, I’ve got battle scars to show for it)

Except that my mom’s got this 6-year-old West Highland Terrier, Mickey, who is absolutely terrified of thunderstorms and babies. So I’ll watch this classic case of unrequited love replay itself over and over again.

Scene 1:

Enters Mickey.

Tru grins and starts to crawl towards him. “Watachar katatechj”

(Muahaha! Fur-grabbing time)

Mickey growls and walks away, muttering “Grrrr, grrrrr, grrrrr”

(Aaarrrggghhhhhhhhhhhhh)

Tru follows closely behind.

Exeunt

It’s tragic, I know. Until one dark and stormy afternoon, love suddenly blossoms.

*Cue cheesy music*

Apparently, between the two evils, the storm is way more terrifying, so Mickey turns to Tru for comfort. As the lightning cracked outside the window, his life flashed before his eyes and he realized that the love of his life was right there all along.

*More cheesy music*

Like every other love story, it ends with Tru and Mickey snuggling in bed and falling asleep. And they live happily every after.

tru-n-mickey

The End

by Daphne

seriously somewhat serious

A Tribute… of sorts

March 16, 2009

Thanks for all the times you would have been there for him,

For all the times you’d hold his hand,

For all the wonderful stories you’d tell,

For all trips to the zoo and the park,

For all the toys you’d have lavished on him,

For all the times you’d scoop him up if he was tired,

For all the kisses and hugs,

For all the tickles and giggles,

For all the mischief you’d encourage,

For all the times he’d sit on your lap just to be held,

For the beaming grin he’d reserve just for you,

For the look of pride in your eyes every time you’re with him…

I’m sorry you never got the chance to meet. I know he would have loved to spend time with you. One day, I’ll sit him down and tell him all about the amazing Grandpa you would have been, and his eyes will open in wonder.

We miss you.

by Daphne

Funny or So I think, kids inc

A Hair-Raising Affair

March 13, 2009

It’s that time of the month again. The dreaded haircut. For me, a haircut is like a head spa. I’ve got a people fussing over my hair, giving me a head massage while I sip my earl grey and catch up on Cosmo, plus I walk away with a nice do.

Not quite the same story for my son. He hates having itsy hair bits stuck to his face and neck and he’ll squirm like an eel out of water.

The last time he had a haircut, it didn’t go very well. Peruse specimen A.

Despite telling the stylist (I’m being generous with the term here) not to take off too much from the fringe and the sides, she completely butchered his hair with her evil shaver. And I still had to pay $16 for it.

For almost a month, he had to go around LOOKING LIKE MR. SPOCK. Peruse specimen B.

This time, I wasn’t taking any chances, and I decided to cut his hair myself. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m talented in so many ways. Anyway, how difficult can a haircut be? I’ve seen them do it a hundred times, just grab a bunch between my fingers and snip away.

Before you decide to work on your own hair, you might want to start with your dog, cos it’s kinda tougher than it looks. The squirming was uncontrollable, and half the time I was close to dislodging his eye. And once you start, you can’t just abandon ship halfway, or it’ll look like he got attacked by a rabid dog.

After about an hour, we stood back and surveyed the final product. It was really not bad at all, for a virgin attempt.

*Excuse me while I go show off my chef d’oeuvre.

by Daphne

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