Yearly Archives

2009

Funny or So I think, Videos I dig

Time for bed, sleepyhead

April 7, 2009

I’m not usually into youtube videos, but this one I just couldn’t resist.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Hhdr1IPOGs

Seriously, it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. I mean, props to the parents for getting it down on tape. They probably waited for hours with the video cam on standby. Sure, the poor kid’s disproportionately-capacious noggin helps to propel it in all directions, but for this masterpiece to take place, all the stars have to align.

But the real stroke of genius has to be the brother/sister’s (see, androgynous is all the rage) complete nonchalance. Then again, if it was my kid, I’d have given him a good and proper smack to the head, before making a quick getaway to the bathroom to roll on the floor laughing.

I’ve been trying to get Tru to reenact the scene for my own viewing pleasure. Which involves tiring him out past the point of exhaustion but I’ve got a fighter on my hands. If I don’t restrain him in a straightjacket and pin him down in his cot, he’d play all the time and never sleep.

And he obviously didn’t get that from me. As far as I’m concerned, sleep is a luxury. The more, the better. I haven’t had decent sleep for 10 months now, and sometimes, I just want to shoot him with a tranquilizer dart so I can catch my forty winks.

More than once, I’ve dozed off in the living room only to wake up with a start and find him systematically ingesting all the stuff in the house. I’m willing to wager that a goat would do less damage than him.

One day, I’m just gonna go all Clockwork Orange on him and make him watch the clip on loop till it sinks in.

Go to sleep… Go to sleep… Go to sleep…

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Funny or So I think

The Name Game

April 6, 2009

I’m having a massive dilemma, so much so that I’m grabbing my head while meditating on the floor (lotus position, say ohm…) as I type. I was so sure that Kirsten was THE CHOSEN NAME for my little munchkin. But something has been troubling me of late, and I will have no rest till I come to terms with it.

Well, so it’s like this. I’ve been infatuated many times in my life, and fallen so head-over-heels in love that my head spins and I can barely catch my breath. But I’ve never felt like this before. I am completely besotted with the deep-badass goddess of fug that is TILDA SWINTON (trust me, you WANT to click on the link). She brings me unspeakable joy and makes my life complete. May she live forever.

And to pay homage to her genius, I’m willing to offer one of my offspring to be named after her greatness, in hope that a sliver of her brilliance will be somehow passed on to my baby girl.

Therein lies my dilemma. Much as I love how Kirsten Kao sounds, TILDA KAO would kick its pretty little ass out of this galaxy. Think of all the goodness that lies in the name.

First, I’ve got the cheesy sibling alliteration name thing going. They will all have names beginning with ‘T’. Truett, Tilda, Travis, Trent, Tristan. I’ll have my own little terrific tribe of tiny tots. Everyone will be so envious.

I’ve also googled the meaning for Tilda, and it totally rocks. It means “Mighty in Battle”. What could be better than having my own warrior princess? Her battle cries alone will give Tru a run for his money.

Best of all, it’s not your usual Jane or Mary. (disclaimer so I don’t get hate mail: those are very pretty names) Nobody in her school (no, make it life) will be called Tilda, so she’ll grow up with a unique personality. She’ll never have to deal with just being another face in the crowd.

So I’m really torn. Should I stick with the safe and go with Kirsten, or jump off the deep end and follow my heart to go with Tilda? I’m leaning towards the latter.

Oh, but there’s just one teensy, weensy pickle. “Tilda Kao(s) come home” would be mildly amusing.

**********************************************************

POLL RESULTS: KIRSTEN (61%) TILDA (39%)

Drats, it wasn’t even as close as I hoped. All you people with your predispositions! Tilda day comes, I will wait patiently..

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kids inc, the breast things in life are free

Here’s looking at yourself, kid

April 3, 2009

I have to ask, what’s up with kids and their own reflection? My boy is an absolute narcissist. He’s been obsessed with his own image since he first saw his reflection in the mirror at like 3 months old.

At first, I wasn’t sure if he knows it’s himself he’s looking at, or maybe he’s just thinking, “Boy, that chap sure looks stunning.”But now, I’m actually convinced he knows the handsome dude in the mirror is a version of himself.

You know how it is with the really hot people who know that they’re hotter than us mere mortals. They have this half-coy, half-charming grin that they flash, and it’s an art really. It takes years of practice to get it just right, and my son is on his way to mastering this skill.

Every time he passes a mirror, he’ll stop and preen. It’s a riot.

But if you ask me, it’s not just a baby thing. We all like to admire ourselves in the mirror, and the only difference is that kids are self-obsessed enough to make a show of it. Anyway, kids get away with anything.

Somewhere along the way, we grow up and people make it out to be like some sort of a bad thing. So we do it discreetly. Sometimes when I pass a mirror in the mall, I can’t help but check out the hot chick looking back at me. I’ll practice my killer pout and give my hair a flick before moving on. Of course, I first make sure no one else is looking.

And the thing is, we’ve all done it. It’s our way of shouting out for attention. “Hey, look at me, I don’t look half bad.” But then when it’s someone else, we’re so quick to judge if their ass is too big, or their arms are flabby, or their make-up is laid on too thick. So we’d rather avoid the pain and pretend that how we look is not that big a deal.

But take it from my boy. Who cares if people aren’t used to it. He’ll preen and pout all he likes, and mama’s not gonna tell him any different.

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Kidspeak, milestones & musings, the breast things in life are free

Mom’s the word

April 2, 2009

My boy just said his first word and its MAMA!!! Woohoo! A milestone, I say.

Hang on while I do a victory dance.

The first word is a big deal. Out of the 250,000 words in the English language, Mama is the chosen one. Ok, technically, it’s not an official word, but in my dictionary, it sure counts. The husband would claim that it was actually “Mum mum”, which could just as easily be in reference to food, but he was looking in my general direction when he said it, so there.

And it doesn’t count as cheating even though I’ve been repeating Mama to him about 500 times a day. I mean, he’s the only person I’ve got to talk to, so might as well spread some propaganda while I’m at it.

As James Brown would say, “I feel good!” Almost makes up for all the sacrifice. Just almost.

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coolest kids ever, lists you should paste on your fridge

Best thing about being a mom…

April 1, 2009

1. Morning Madness

I’m not a morning person. Most days, I wake up feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck and I’m reeling from the aftershock. My son feels differently about mornings. It’s always like the Fourth of July and he’s a one-man marching band. He’ll raise a ruckus until one of us wakes from our stupor and he’ll flash the biggest grin of his life.

2. Snuggles Unlimited

Fess up, how often have you seen a really cute baby and have the urge to smother the poor kid with cuddles and kisses? (I also sometimes have the urge to sink my teeth into those juicy, succulent thighs) Once, my overly enthusiastic displays of affection got noticed by the mother and there was this embarrassing, awkward moment I’d prefer not have again. Now, I’ve got my own kid to squeeze and snuggle all I want.

*evil laughter*

3. Dress-up Barbie

I was never really a doll person. It’s the eyes that really give me the heebie jeebies, especially those that can open and close on its own accord. The only fun part about playing with dolls is the dressing-up. You get to customize different outfits for different occasions and there’s something incredibly irresistible about tiny clothes. They’re just so small and cute. Some days, I dress Tru up in the most outrageous costumes and voila! I’ve got Fashion Week in my living room.

Just wait till Kirsten is born.

4. Baby Giggles

Adult giggles can get a tad creepy at times, but baby giggles are always infectious. (especially the sleepy ones) There’s nothing like manufacturing a giggling fit when life gets too trying.

5. My very own Mini-Me

Me

Me

Mini-Me

Mini-Me

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i embarrass myself sometimes

Parting is such sweet sorrow

March 31, 2009

Before I gave birth, I used to laugh at parents who developed severe separation anxiety disorders. A friend of mine had originally booked a holiday without the kid, but then decided it was too painful to jet set off to see the world without her little precious for five days. She started bawling her eyes out at the airport, and came right back after spending a grand total of 24 hours in the Maldives.

Naturally, I had a ton of witticisms about that particular incident. In fact, my mom can attest to the fact that I declared I’d take a 3-week holiday to California without Tru within a year of his birth. Apparently, I said “I’m too cool to be that clingy and needy.” (it’s all a little fuzzy in my mind right now)

Obviously, I spoke too soon, and I’ve got a funny feeling I’d have to eat my words at some point.

So during my prolonged battle with the flu, my mom offered to watch Tru for 2 nights so I can take a break and get some rest. It seemed like a brilliant idea. My mind told me to shut up, thank my lucky stars and celebrate 48 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

But as soon as I stepped out of the house, I started experiencing a whole host of unexpected symptoms, including but not limited to nausea, breathlessness, headaches, dizzy spells, heart palpitations, profuse sweating and blurred vision. I also had this horrible, homesick, sinking feeling in my gut, reminiscent of the days when I was away at school camp without my mommy and my teddy.

I stood outside my mom’s house for several minutes, torn between sleep and my miracle drug. I couldn’t believe I was turning into one of those disgustingly needy mothers. I was hoping Tru would kick up a big fuss so I’d have an excuse to bring him home, but he seemed perfectly happy to spend the night at Grandma’s.

Well, it was way too embarrassing to turn back so all I could do was suck it up, wipe the snot from my nose and stop being a wuss. But I have to admit, I was bawling all the way back home.

Laugh all you want, but there’s no way I’m going for a holiday without the kids.

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Funny or So I think, not feeling so supermom, pregnancy

Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird

March 30, 2009

I thought that after the flu virus made its rounds on the family, I’d be done with it. But a mutated strain has come back to bite me in the ass, so on top of all my other problems, I’ve also completely lost my voice.

See, I can totally appreciate the irony of it all. Serves me right for going on and on about not having anyone to talk to. Now I don’t even have a voice to whine about it. I feel like the universe is mocking me. But it’s not gonna stop me from blogging about it. Hah, take that!

Last evening, I decided to go get some new meds from the clinic near my place, since my immune system has decided to go on strike. It was a rather reputable clinic, the kind that opens till 9.30pm on a Sunday night. Which makes it all the more uncanny that they had a quack on shift just when I needed a consult. (like I said, the universe was mocking me) First up, he looked like an Asian version of a Hillbilly, except with a stethoscope around his neck.

He eyed me with suspicion the moment I walked into his office. After describing my various ailments in my barely audible croak, his first question was “Are you working?” (Translation: That was the most pathetic fake loss-of-voice I’ve ever heard and I bet your lazy ass just needs to be excused from work tomorrow.)

“No,” I mumbled. Another suspicious look. (Translation: Tsk tsk, not another knocked-up teenager bumming around at the expense of us taxpayers). He proceeded take my temperature and do an obligatory check on my throat.

At this point, I was starting to feel uncomfortable. This is the first time I’ve had to endure a silent castigation at a clinic, and by a doctor I’m not sure even made it out of med school. This was an absolute outrage.  I mean, even when I was faking it to be excused from school during my errant years, the doctors still (although unwillingly) had the courtesy to give me the benefit of the doubt.

I thought of making a snide remark along the lines of “I hope your Hillbilly quackery won’t get me killed from a misdiagnosis”, but I wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t prescribe me laxatives just for kicks, so I decided to refrain. I didn’t think it was possible, but I left feeling worse that before I went in.

I get it. Some days are just meant to be a test of character. My ego just took the beating of its life, my son thinks I’m Lord Vader, and even the blackbirds are having a field day outside my kitchen window taking pot shots at my plight. Talk about learning endurance the hard way.

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