Monthly Archives

July 2010

how i pretend to be a cool mum, lists you should paste on your fridge, motherhood, side effects of motherhood

One of those cheesy monologues you probably don’t want to paste on your fridge. And by *don’t* I really mean *do*

July 16, 2010

You know what’s the one thing that I’m terrified of the most? Besides my extensive list of completely rational fears like being attacked by lizards, buried alive (because there is no way in a million years that I can punch my way out like Uma Thurman) and having my kids abducted by a kidnapping syndicate in Mumbai.

I’m talking about top of the list here, numero uno. It’s being redundant.

In the days of my youthful idealism, I was exactly like you. I wanted to change the world. I was planning to end world hunger or become obscenely rich selling a ton of useless stuff to people who probably wouldn’t need them just because I was that brilliant. Either one would have worked for me – I wasn’t picky about the details.

The truth is, being a mom doesn’t make it into the list of glamorous professions. I don’t care what they say on those overly-priced Hallmark cards on Mothers’ Day, nobody’s dream job is to be a poop-cleaning, booger-digging, frazzled, batshitcrazy chick up to her elbows in human excretions. Make no mistake, motherhood is noble and to sacrifice your own dreams for the kids is all great but it kind of sucks that 30 years down the road, all you get is “Congrats, none of your 3 kids turned out to be Hitler. Good for you!”

And really, that terrifies me.

Knowing that I spent my best years cooking vegetables (that nobody wants to touch with a ten-foot pole), washing tiny onesies and cleaning up spilt cereal for the fifth time in a day. Alright, the kids will have a decent shot at a happy childhood and they may grow up to be Nobel prize-winning physicists, rockstars and Supreme Court judges, but then again, they may just as well end up as a struggling artist or a troubled delinquent.

So I’ll come out and say it. I don’t just want gratitude, it’s overrated. I want the kids to grow up knowing that their mom was brilliant, and not at folding laundry. I want them to be proud of me, to go to school and brag about how their mom wrote the new vampire series that outsold Stephenie Meyer. Something like that. I want them to know that there is no excuse for not going after their dreams, no matter how tough life gets.

I’m starting to think that being a mom doesn’t have to make you redundant. Its easy to get swamped by the responsibilities of having to care for tiny human beings and lose yourself in the process but come on, there’s got to be more than getting a pat on the back and a fugly Mothers’ Day card. (except yours, kids, they’re lovely)

Maybe we can still change the world. And even if I don’t, I will sure as hell try.

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kids inc, motherhood, stuff best described as not safe for parents

Please, pretty please, please, please…

July 14, 2010

Having been a stay-home mom for almost 2 years, I sometimes forget why I wanted to do it so badly in the first place. I mean, you do something long enough and the grass starts to look greener on the other side. I start to think of how nice it would be to dress up and have power lunches (do people still call it that or am I that outdated) with other non-babies. To not have to start work at 10 at night, after a whole day of manual labor.

I know it is a privilege to be able to work from home and take care of the babies at the same time and I’m not complaining.

Well, maybe just a little bit.

Ok, maybe a lot.

But the point is, at times like these, we all just need a little reminder of why we are doing it in the first place.

Everyone, meet my reminder.

So a couple of days ago, I had one of my nights off to attend an event organized by Pat Law from Goodstuph (more on that later), who as I found out, is a former colleague from my short-lived advertising days at Publicis. 6 years later, she’s now a bad-ass social media guru (I think that means she invented the Internet or something, I’m not very sure), and me, I’ve got two babies. Also, I can make a killer aglio olio, which is like the parenting equivalent of inventing the Internet, obviously.

Anyway, I was getting ready to go out when Tru starts to smell a rat because momma never puts on makeup at 630 in the evening, and that means only one thing – a night out without him. My preemptive strike involved explaining that mommy has to go to work. (which at that time sounded far more credible than mommy had to go chill out over mini sandwiches)

Next thing I knew, he flung his body onto my calfs and proceeded to attach himself surgically to my legs while shrieking “NOOOOOOOO, mommy don’t go work! Don’t like mommy to go work, mommy stay home” about 20,000 times. At which point I switched strategy and tried to explain that mommy had to go for an event, because I figured I might as well confuse him with words he doesn’t know, hoping that it would distract him from the issue at hand.

Except that my kid apparently knows what an event is, and he was all like “Not work, mommy go e-ben.” He ponders for a moment, then goes “NOOOOOOOO, mommy don’t go e-ben! Don’t like mommy to go e-ben, mommy stay home.”

When he realizes that it’s not working, he suddenly remembers that he is more likely to get his way when he asks nicely. “Mommy, can stay home please, please, please?” Now that always gets me, because 3 pleases is a big deal.

I was close to ditching the event because my little boy needed me to tuck him into bed but the husband told me that I needed a breather and he had everything under control, so I went. I was glad to be out for a while but that night, it all came back to me – the reason why I left my job in the first place. Because if I had to hear that many pleases every morning while I left them with a bunch of strangers and went on my merry way, I would be crying all the way to work every day. And honestly, I wouldn’t have lasted a week.

On retrospect, manual labor and a couple of late nights don’t seem so bad after all.

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milestones & musings

I’m pretty sure this is a milestone

July 13, 2010

It’s a big day today, y’all. Today, I’m a proud momma because my little girl turns one.

Yeah, ok, so we’ve all turned one at some point and it wasn’t a big deal like inventing a cure for cancer or going to the moon. Except it’s a big deal for me.

Did you know that statistically, once they’ve made it past the first year, they’re more likely to survive into adulthood? I can finally heave a sigh of relief and not worry that I’m going to accidentally press her brains in if I hold her too tight, or have to rush into the room every 5 minutes to check if she’s breathing while sleeping face down. I’ve realized that as a mother, I never stop worrying. Ever. But after the first year, they’re less fragile and I get to worry about other stuff like how to make them eat vegetables, or anything else that is not yoghurt. Yay me, I guess.

This time last year, I was screaming bloody murder in the delivery ward, thinking that nothing could possibly be worse than childbirth. Turns out, childbirth was the easiest part after all. The first year of baby girl’s life, it was all about cleaning poop, ultrasonic shrieks, breastfeeding, whining about poop and shrieks and breastfeeding, and so on.

But now that I’ve made it past the first year and I’m standing on the other side, with two toddlers in tow, it’s almost surreal. I can now offer sagely advice to sleep-deprived new moms who look just about ready to eat their babies and say irritating things like “it’s going to get better, just hang in there.”

***

As always, here’s a letter to my sweet little muffin, whom I love more than I thought was possible.

Baby girl,

Happy first birthday. You woke up this morning with your jammies scrunched up and your hair all messy and sleep lines on your little cheeks and all I could think of was how thankful I am to be your mom. You know how I’m supposed to be crazy about you because I’m your momma? Truth is, if you were someone else’s baby girl, I would have been totally jealous and I would have formulated an elaborate plan to abduct you because you are that awesome.

In the past 3 months, you’ve developed a real personality, wagging your finger and shrieking at Tru when your’re upset. You’ve learnt to be affectionate, snuggling and cuddling and nuzzling her head everywhere. I love the way you hold on to me extra tight when you’re shy. I love how you sing so terribly and bob your head like a geek and do that trademark herky jerky hand flail when you hear Lady Gaga. I love your toothy, girly grin that turns me into mush and best of all, I love the way you make me feel like a rockstar. Every. single. day.

While we’re on the topic of my infinite wisdom, here’s the thing. I know we’re probably not going to have it easy all the time, especially when you start to turn into an angsty teen and read the entire twilight saga and look all nonchalant.

Mostly because much as I want to be your girlfriend, I have to first be your mom, which means I’ll be uncool by default.  I’ll be invading your privacy because you’re too important for me to not care. I’ll always err on the side of caution and tell you all the stuff you’re not supposed to do because I’ve sort of done them before and gotten messed up in the process. I’ll always be overly protective and watch out for you even when you think that you don’t need me to. Also, I’ll be making snide comments about sullen teenage vampires because, well, it’s like they’re asking for it.

But after I do my mom thing, I’ll try to be cool so I can do the girlfriend thing. I’ll be here when you make a mess that’s too big to clean up on your own. I’ll always have ice-cream and sappy dramas on hand when you get your heart broken. I’ll  be on your side no matter what and I’ll always think that you’re the best kid in the world. Because you really are.

Have a good one today, sweetheart.

Love,

Momma

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blogging about blogging

No, I didn’t wear jeans for the awards.

July 11, 2010

Yesterday was the Singapore Blog Awards and for the first time since I got knocked up, I found myself stepping into a club. A real one with dim lights and loud music. Ok, so they only served orange and cranberry juice (you don’t want any drunken speeches) but the criteria for being a real club is the disco lights and booming music. So, double check.

And in case you were wondering, I didn’t go in my jeans. I did think about showing up in my derelict collection of faded jeans and ripped tee (because hello, that’s cool) but I totally lost my coin-collection mug so that didn’t quite work out. Instead, the husband helped pick out a little black number from River Island. Then with my mom being in Sydney and all, we had a bit of problem working out the babysitting because let’s face it, nobody wants to be stuck with 2 babies on a Saturday evening. Good thing we managed to con my brother and his fiancee into taking Tru and my aunt helped out with Kirsten while we sipped our virgin screwdrivers.

Oh, I did manage to meet Ris Low, who was boomz as usual, though sans leopard preens. To be precise, I was sitting next to the guy who sat next to the girl who sat next to Ris herself, but I’m pretty sure being in a 5m radius counts as meeting. I’m such a sucker for celebrities, you know. I’m now also boomz by association. Nice.

Also, since we were already all dressed up and didn’t have to haul 2 kids around, we managed to sneak in a kickass dinner at Dan Ryan’s Chicago Steakhouse, one of our favorite places for 12 oz slabs of meat. I can’t believe it’s been 3 years since we last went there and I finally had a decent meal with the husband all to myself, so yes, it was a pretty awesome night. What can I say, I love date night.

If you don’t already know the results, the award went to Violet, who is admittedly far more insightful, so congrats babe!

Although I do want to say thanks for all the support and votes and encouraging emails this past month. I’m really touched by all the love. And this nomination is really a tribute to all the other mommy blogs because you guys are my inspiration. You make me realize that being a mom doesn’t make us outdated and uncool. You make me feel like I’m not the worst mother in the world for feeding my kids cornflakes for dinner or having them throw massive hissy fits in public or shouting penis at the top of their lungs. That motherhood is all about the journey, and enjoying every moment of it, even the awful ones. That it’s about making mistakes and learning from them. That it’s really a privilege just to be able to know them and love them.

I spend all this time writing the blog and reading all your blogs and I’m really glad that I took the plunge and decided to start blogging. So award or no award, I want to say thank you. You are the best blog-friends a girl could ever ask for.

Updated: I wanted to show you guys pics but I didn’t turn on the flash so I look like a mass of black in all the photos. To make up for it, here’s one from my prized derelict collection, which I totally didn’t wear.

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kids in motion, side effects of motherhood

Hey mom, I think Barney got caught in a nuclear explosion

July 8, 2010

Baby girl just discovered the wonderful world of kiddy rides, even without the actual riding, which makes it more like a kiddy seat. I haven’t had the need to slot in coins yet since she’s contented just to sit on the stationary rides and pretend. Ah, sweet ignorance, how I will miss you when you are gone.

In any case, the garish colors and the fact that Barney looks like he was caught in the aftermath of Chernobyl doesn’t seem to faze her – brave one, that girl. She was all like “Waaait a minute, is this Barney or is it not? All this thinking is making my head hurt.”

She was also happy that Tru wasn’t there to monopolize the buttons and driving handles because every time he’s around, he’s the default driver and she gets relegated to the passenger seat. This time, she had Thomas all to herself, without being nagged at not to disturb the train driver.

And then halfway through, there was this kid who ran up with a coin in his hand and I had to cover both her eyes and her ears so she couldn’t see the other kid’s ride actually moving. Because you know, kids learn awfully fast. The moment they see another kid’s ride moving and singing, Pandora’s box will be well and truly open and they’ll be demanding for a ride that moves.

I’m hoping that day doesn’t come so soon.

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kids in motion

Basket Case

July 6, 2010

I don’t know about you but sometimes (like 3,000 times a day) I run out of stuff to entertain the kids with because they’re thoroughly sick of playing with their advanced techie vtech toys (which is the point I go on and on about how we never had all these toys and had to make do with five stones and zero point). So instead of running out and buying more toys, we improvise.

Their favorite so far is what I like to call the basket train, where I put them in my laundry basket and push them around the house. The good thing is that I get to entertain both kids at the same time so the madness is contained. But it’s admittedly a lot more strenuous for me because I’m like a coolie while they clap and yell “faster mommy, FASTER!!”

5 minutes in, I park them at a corner and tell them they’re not supposed to get out because the train is waiting for more passengers. So they sit inside quietly doing their huggy stuff while I sneak away for a breather to sip my coffee.

Fair trade, I think.

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lists you should paste on your fridge, unqualified parenting tips

Top 5 Asian Parenting Faux Pas

July 5, 2010

First of all, who am I to dictate parenting norms? The answer would be nobody, but I’m still going to dish out unsolicited parenting advice anyway because that always makes me feel much better about my Mondays and also, I am that kind of douchebag. Read on, I think you’ll feel better too. Unless you do these things then you’d probably want to stab me in the eye.

Sit back and here goes.

1. Smacking inanimate objects whenever your kid gets a boo boo.

We’ve all seen that before. Kid bumps his head on the table, parents rush to the scene of the crime and start smacking the living daylights out of the table. “Bad table, naughty table hurt my poor little baby“.

Um… what? That’s bizarre on so many levels because the table is an inanimate object and the only person feeling the pain is the smacker. Also, you’re teaching the kid that it’s ok to smack things/people that hurt you. Most of all, it just makes you look like a moron because the last time I saw a guy scolding inanimate objects, he was wearing a straightjacket.

2. Distracting your kid with a loosely-worded promise of something good.

I must admit, it’s a very effective way to prevent a meltdown, especially with a kid under the age of 4 (works best before cynicism kicks in). The moment they start to freak out, promise them a toy/candy/trip to the pool in the somewhat distant future. “Later, soon, next time” are all vague enough for parents to weasel out of when they demand for their reward. “Mommy said later and later means sometime from now till you turn 18“.

The key is to be specific enough with the object of desire while keeping the time frame vague. Only thing is, you can justify all you want but kids, they don’t know the difference and they’ll just think that you’re lying to them.

3. Being overly strict in public just to show how great a parent you are.

I’ve come to realize that kids have one mission in life, which is to embarrass you at the worst possible moments like during an important family day event with the boss or at a wedding when the bride is about to say “I do” or at a high school gathering where you’re trying to impress all those old schoolmates. You dress them up all spiffy, issue them strict warnings to behave and just when you are about to launch into a monologue about how cute the kids are, BAM, they smear chocolate all over themselves or throw a full-scale hissy fit. *Cue head shakes, disapproving looks and sniggers”

That’s when the parents grab the kid, brings them to a not-so-discreet corner, scolds them loud enough for everyone to hear and/or spanks them for good measure. Then say something along the lines of “why are you so naughty TODAY? You better behave yourself like you usually do.”

Also, that’s exactly why I don’t go for these sorts of events.

4. Make up weird euphemisms for body parts or words deemed socially unacceptable to say loudly in public.

Being Asian and all, we don’t say certain words out loud in public. Words like penis, vagina, breasts and sex are all generally frowned upon at social gatherings so just to be careful, we teach the kids words like pee-pee, wee-wee, ku-ku, shee-shee and basically any other double-word that rhymes with “ee”. Just in case they start shouting it out loud repeatedly (like my son is likely to do), you can just pretend they’re making some strange sound effect.

And when you think about it, if you don’t teach them the correct pronunciations for stuff, they’re going to embarrass themselves by calling it a “breest” (think beast with an R) or “penn-ees” instead of “pee-nus”.

5. Threatening them with scary uncles

When parents are unable to control their kids, they resort to bringing in third parties, especially scary looking ones who tend to look a little different. Some parents go as far as to pick out stern-looking “mang-ka-li” uncles to strike fear into the kids, thereby perpetuating racist stereotypes. Alternatively, men in uniform can be used, like “If you are so naughty, I’ll ask the policeman to catch you“. Even when there are no scary-looking uncles in the vicinity during the next meltdown, some have designated friends on speed dial to *scold* them.

From the start, our guiding principle is to treat the kids like we would want to be treated, which is not to lie to them or threaten them or embarrass them. I know that some parents advocate a rule of fear because kids need to be disciplined in order to behave but here’s my theory (no, not again!!).

By and large, they do want to be good and logical explanations should do the trick. At times, they get irritable, moody, upset, uncooperative and hissy fits kick in so that’s when we need to set boundaries to let them know they can’t do as they please just because they don’t feel good. Sometimes there’s a bit of screaming involved and it’s not pretty. But then again, nobody said parenting was pretty.

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