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Good cop, bad cop

June 8, 2010

Good cop, bad cop is a strategy we use all the time in disciplining the kids. From the onset, we agreed that we’ll rotate the roles so that it’s fair and we both get to be the good cop at some point. Because nobody wants to be the bad cop. Besides sociopaths, that is. Or masochists with a sadistic streak. But well, neither of us fall into those categories.

Unfortunately, it’s becoming quite apparent that daddy is emerging as the resident bad cop. Why? Because mommy has no backbone and she can’t keep a straight face when it comes to discipline. Also, it’s terribly weird to talk about myself in the third person.

The kids seem to sense that weakness and they have been exploiting it. They do their cute I’m-so-sorry-didn’t-mean-to-do-it move and I feel bad about being upset because they’re obviously just babies and innocent and all puppy dog eyes looking at me. That makes me immediately forget about how they spat out food all over the floor 30 seconds ago. WHILE I’M STILL STANDING IN THE SPITTLE. I’m such a cliche.

So now whenever we do good cop bad cop, Kelvin gets to be the bad cop while I dangle bribes of ice-cream and Yakult. It never works though and I don’t even know why I bother.

Me: Tru, if you finish your food mommy will let you have a scoop of ice-cream.

Tru: ICE-CREAM!!! GIVE ME ICE-CREAM! GIVE ME GIVE ME!!

Me: I meant you have to FINISH your food first.

Tru: I’m all done. Give me ice-cream!!!

Me: No, you’re not done. You can’t be done if you haven’t even started.

Tru: ICE CREAM!!!!

That goes on for a while until he grabs his head and slumps onto the table, which is his sign for “I don’t care about your stupid ice-cream anyway. It’s not worth having to swallow this broccoli for.”

That’s me wasting 15 minutes of my life trying to bargain with a two-year-old.

So it’s the cue for bad cop to step in.

Kelvin: Tru, open your mouth, say ahhhhh.

Tru: No, don’t like.

Kelvin: Do you like the naughty corner?

Tru: No, don’t like.

Kelvin: I’m going to count to three and if you don’t eat by the time I get to 3, you know where you’re going to. 1…2…

And it works like a charm. Once in a while he tries his luck and ends up in the naughty corner. Daddy says it’s about consistency, which I have none of. I keep trying to find excuses to cut him some slack, to not have to put him in the naughty corner because it breaks momma’s tender little heart to see him cry.

If this goes on I’ll be the kind of mother that has to leave the discipline to their husbands and the best they can do is pull out their killer phrase “wait till daddy gets home” whenever the kids start becoming bratty. But that won’t work very well for me because by the time daddy gets home, I’ll have a VERY LONG list of things, some of which I’m likely to forget.

I think I better start lessons on being a bad cop before Kirsten gets smarter and I get eaten alive by TWO kids with innocent baby eyes.

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awards i forced myself to win, blogging about blogging, i embarrass myself sometimes

I promise to be more *insightful* from now on. Or less. I’m not sure.

May 25, 2010

Just found out yesterday that I made it into the top 10 finalists for SG Blog Award’s Most Insightful blog category.

Kelvin: Congrats, you made it into the top 10 for Most Insightful.

Me: For real? Most insightful? There’s hardly any insight in the blog. I think at some point they’ll realize they’ve made a terrible mistake.

Kelvin: Don’t feel bad. How *not* to be a parent counts as insight too.

Me: Thanks hon, you always make me feel so much better.

And then it degenerated into banality about how Truett was spitting out his food again, which you probably don’t want to hear about.

In any case, be prepared for some major insight in the next few weeks just so that I don’t get disqualified from the category completely. Because I did my homework and checked out the rest of the blogs there and I realized that they actually do give insight on stuff like dating and health and technology and here I am flooding you with photos of my kids. So I’ll be loading up on some serious insight here from now on.

What the heck, I might as well start now. Did you know that an ostrich’s eye is bigger than its brain? Because it is. There, you’re welcome.

I’m not very good at this insight stuff, I’m still working on it.

Anyway, in exchange, you’ll have to promise to vote for me. Ok, stop it, I can see your eyes rolling back into your head. I’m not done yet. You’ll have to promise to vote for me everyday. I told the husband to promise and he was all like “WHAT?! it’s so troublesome. I don’t even read your blog everyday.” Which is the point I banned him from surfing his Arsenal blogs until he voted me for. I also hinted at the possibility of some serious boom-chica-wow-wow action but he knows he’ll be getting some regardless. The guy has got some serious moves. Ok, too much information, I’ll stop now.

But seriously, if you like the blog enough, you can head over to OMY to vote and I’ll be eternally grateful. If not, I’ll probably end up as the only blog without any votes, which will be reminiscent of that time in Primary School where I had this sing-off competition with another girl during Music Class and after I was done, nobody voted for me because my friend said it sounded “really awful and she was saving me from further embarrassment“. Worst thing was, I didn’t even want to sing in the first place but after that, I hid in a hole for a few days and I’ve never sung in public again, not even in Karaokes. True story.

Oh, while you’re at the voting, there are some other superb blogs  in some of the other categories which I’m sure you’ll like and you can vote for them too.

1. Best Individual Blog – ED Unloaded

2. Best Lifestyle Blog – Miss Glitzy (my schoolmate!) &  Story of Bing

3, Best Photography Blog – Hendra & Leonny

4. Best Food Blog – Camemberu

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i embarrass myself sometimes

No, really, blogging is not worth getting drenched in soya bean for

April 10, 2010

Remember the time I got electrocuted and then took a shower in public? (not at the same time, obviously) I don’t even know why these things happen to me, like my subconscious is trying to find new material to talk about.

Note to subconscious: I’m FINE, and blogging is not worth dying for anyway. Just stop it.

So I was out to pick up some presents for a friend while Kel was watching the kids at home. On the way back, I stopped for a takeaway at Carl’s Jr, a truckload of bubble tea and a packet of soya bean milk mixed with grass jelly, the kind that comes in the clear plastic bag with the little red nylon strings.

Feeling all smug for balancing all the items perfectly, I managed to unlock the car door with my thumb and gingerly placed everything inside. Without spilling a drop. I hooked the soya bean on the locking mechanism by the door of the driver’s seat, then arranged all the drinks neatly in all the cup holder compartments.

There were two girls in the car next to me who were observing my highly-developed motor skills with interest. Or they figured I was an accident waiting to happen. Either way, I noticed them peering and I proceeded to do everything with a flourish. I was like “observe the master, because that’s how you do it, ladies“, and with a quick flick of my pinkie, pulled the door shut, ready to drive off. The next minute happened in slow motion complete with operatic music as the accursed pack of soya bean got squashed by the door and a stream of milky white liquid flew over my head and landed EVERYWHERE.

I was drenched in soya bean and there were little black jelly bits in my hair and all over the car. It was a bad time to forget to replenish the tissue so I sat there for two minutes soaking in (ha!) the situation. Never mind that my burger was all soggy, I had to drive home while the soya bean slowly dried off and stuck to my skin like it was mocking me.

And the girls next door, I could hear them laughing. Even with both our car doors closed.

There’s something about scrubbing off dried soya bean and stupid jelly bits from the little crevices in a car that makes you not want to drink soya bean milk ever again.

Update: In a completely unrelated incident, water leaked out of Kirsten’s milk bottle and destroyed my iPhone along with its warranty. Somebody says I need therapy.

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Funny or So I think, i embarrass myself sometimes

This is what it feels like to be electrocuted

October 9, 2009

I’ve never taken an IQ test in my life. Ever. The reasons are twofold. *Everyone* knows that IQ tests are not the most reliable gauge of one’s intelligence. And by everyone, I mean the stupid people. If I had an IQ score of 175, I’d be saying that IQ tests are THE ABSOLUTE MOST RELIABLE source on the face of this planet. And the second reason is because I’m secretly afraid that I’ll end up with a score of 40, which places me in the top 1% of the most retarded people in the world.

That’s why I don’t do it. And technically, I *could* have an IQ of 175 and be an extraordinary genius. The odds of that are not high, but I’m an optimist like that.

Yesterday, I think my worst fears have come true. I’m actually retarded in the most severe way. I probably shouldn’t even be allowed to roam the streets. The neighbors have been renovating and my house has been covered with a thick layer of dust, so in a bid to win the most awesome mom award, I decided to vacuum the floor so Tru won’t eat more dirt than usual. And thanks to a series of retarded actions, I ended up getting electrocuted. You heard me. E-L-E-C-T-R-O-C-U-T-E-D. Like fried by electricity.

1. Don’t ask me how it happened, but the plug of my vacuum cleaner has taken such a beating that it looks like this.

I risked getting electrocuted AGAIN just to take a photo for you. Because I'm a blogger who cares. That's why

I risked getting electrocuted AGAIN just to take a photo for you. Because I'm a blogger who cares. That's why

2. My mom always told me, “turn off the switch before plugging in any electrical appliance”, but did I listen? No. Obviously.

3. The plug was hanging loose, so I thought, “Ok, just use both my BARE HANDS and push it back in”.

4. As I touched the bare wiring of the plug with my bare hands, I got shocked with like 100 volts of electricity, and the impact of it threw me back several steps and next thing I knew, I was on the floor.

5. I should be dead right about now but I’m not. Obviously. Although my hands are twitching involuntarily and they have lost all feeling.

Yeah, I’m pretty much screwed. And definitely retarded.

After I got electrocuted, all I could think of was oh God, please don’t let me die because I’m too young to die and the husband is going to come home to find a dead wife and 2 screaming kids, one of which witnessed his mother being fried. And what about my hair? People are going to come to the wake and laugh hysterically because I look like Einstein, except blacker.

Seriously, THANK YOU, GOD. And all of you, listen to your mother and don’t touch an open plug with your bare hands because you might not survive to tell the tale.

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Funny or So I think, i embarrass myself sometimes

To kill a mocking bird

June 30, 2009

big bird.jpg

I know I’m going to incur the wrath of bird lovers out there, but I’m going to say it anyway. I HATE BIRDS, THEY’RE EVIL AND MEAN AND DESERVE TO BE EATEN. I suppose some birds are ok, like chickens, which are juicy and succulent and taste good fried. But most birds are evil. They’ve got sharp beaks and beady eyes (that look like they’re mocking you all the time) and flappy feathers. Worst of all, they steal food and crap all over the place.

I’ve never been particularly fond of birds, but we’ve got this mutual understanding that we’ll keep to our own territories and maintain a truce. They agree not to crap on my head and in return, I won’t poison them with arsenic and rip off their bony legs one by one. But recently, they’ve broken the treaty and now it’s time for war.

Ever since I moved in to my new place, they’ve made it a daily routine to perch their evil asses outside my kitchen window squawking away making a nuisance of themselves. Then they got bolder and started stealing leftover food. And if that wasn’t enough, they’ve been leaving little piles of poop on my stove, table and sink. Now on top of cleaning my kid’s poop, I’ve got to clean bird poop as well.

So this morning, I was cooking Tru’s lunch and this bird flew in right under my nose to try to steal his food. The shock from the sneak attack led to a muscle spasm and I ended up flicking up a whole ladle of boiling porridge right onto my arm. I think subconsciously, I was aiming it at the bird, but somehow it landed on my hand and cooked it, so now it’s all red and swollen.

The bird must have thought it was hilarious, because after that, it was sitting outside my window squawking its head off.

Like I said, I hate birds. They deserve to die. I’ve tried putting stuff at the window to scare them away but they’re way to smart for that. I’ve also set booby traps like poisoned food to kill them, but so far, it’s not working. And it’s driving me insane.

Seriously, if you know of a way to get rid of the birds, do me a favor and let me know. I promise I’ll make it quick and painless and I’ll also try not to relish every moment of it.

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i embarrass myself sometimes, stuff best described as not safe for parents

Technology, the bane of my life

April 22, 2009

I have a love-hate relationship with technology. I love it because it has made my life a lot easier as a mom (I can’t imagine how mothers used to survive without the assistance of modern technology). But I hate it when it fails me.

I’d like to think otherwise, but on the scale of technology idiots, I’m probably way ahead of the pack. I’m bright enough to recognize the giant (usually red) on/off buttons to work most devices, but when it comes to customizing complicated settings and troubleshooting for problems, it will usually involve some hair grabbing and guttural howls.

There’s nothing more frustrating than having some technological device fail you in the middle of something important like say, preparing a meal. Cooking a decent meal for Tru is tough enough, (I’ll save my culinary exploits for another time) and it is too much to ask for all my kitchen appliances to cooperate?

As usual, the husband and I were puttering around in the kitchen trying to whip up a pot of nutritious porridge for Tru yesterday (it’s a two-men operation) when my blender decided to commit kamikaze midstream. Halfway through the carrots, it let out a final screech and died. It then decided that it could only dice tiny pieces of food one at a time, which is more painful than having to chop it by hand (at least my hands won’t go on strike).

It was just terribly frustrating, to the extent that I considered flinging it against the wall and letting it go out in a blaze of glory.

Die, you pathetic excuse for a blender.

Good thing there’s Superdad to the rescue. After struggling with the accursed appliance for a few minutes, it suddenly resurrected from the dead and sputtered to life. And that’s how I decided to let it continue its miserable existence. But I assure you, it will not be so fortunate the next time around.

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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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