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kids inc

Labor Day

April 14, 2009

Was out with a couple of couply-parent friends over the long easter weekend and it has made me realize how life has changed with kids in the picture. I was hoping to challenge the cliche that life as we know it is over when kids arrive, and once in a while, it seems like there’s a glimmer of hope, but then it vanishes faster than a mirage in the Nevada desert.

It was the first time we’ve had an outing in months, and the original plan was to chill out at a decent cafe for a shot of coffee and some tiramisu like we used to back in the day. But now, instead of six young, hot singles, we were a party of six not-so-young, somewhat-frazzled parents with four (and a half) kids, three strollers, 2 diaper bags and a baby seat.

After standing in queue for 15 minutes, we thought we could squeeze into a 6-seater table tucked away at the back, but upon closer inspection, we decided there was no way we could have lasted five minutes in that cramped little space without being thrown out on our asses. So we decided to relocate (I’m sure I heard a sigh of relief from the nice lady at the cafe) to surprise, surprise, the Golden Arches.

Mackers was right down our alley, and we settled down comfortably, this time at a table actually meant for 10. The kids were certainly thrilled at the prospect of having french fries and chicken nuggets instead, and the distant call of Tiramisu was swiftly drowned out by the sound of screaming kids.
Straw-eating competition

Life is certainly different these days. But it’s not all bad. We used to pay $50 for an outing at a cafe, but at McDonalds, we even got paid for eating our fries and nuggets.

The kids got right to work cleaning the walls while we ate. I mean, they’ve got to learn to work for their supper in dire times like these. Besides, Chinese children are known for child labor. It’s our heritage, you see. We’ll send them to Nike by the time they turn 3.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98B-T955iE8

Ok, pardon the appalling quality of the vid, but to make up for it a little, there’s a running commentary from Superdad.

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kids inc

Double, double, toil and trouble

April 10, 2009

Ever wondered where babies learn all their naughty stuff from? I’m constantly amazed by the kinds of nonsense Tru is capable of conjuring on a daily basis. He recites this motto every morning. “I solemnly swear that I will be up to no good.”

I thought it was a given that I’ll be able to preempt his moves, since my superbrain is like 10,000 times more powerful than his. But I’ll be honest. More often than not, I’m caught totally off-guard, gaping at his ingenuity. I’d like to take credit for it, but it’s certainly not from me, and unless a gnome is secretly having mischief lessons with him in the dead of the night, I’m completely stumped.

For example, whenever he does something naughty, he will laugh like this. “HA HA HA” (complete with mocking tone). It’s not a giggle nor a grin. It’s more like a cross between a smirk and a taunt, as if he knows he’s got the upper hand and he’s rubbing it in my face.

He’s also learnt to recognize locations. Whenever he’s at Grandma’s house, he knows he can get away with murder (as opposed to being put on trial at home). In the hierarchy chain, he seems to know that Grandma trumps Mommy and he’s got her all nicely wound around his little pinky.

Whenever he gets nagged at or scolded, he’ll take his tiny hands and cover the offending person’s mouth. Somehow, he’s worked out that the sound coming out from there is highly unpleasant, and he needs to put a stop to it.

And for his finishing move. When he knows he’s in deep trouble (the kind that will result in an ass-whipping), he’ll snuggle his head on your chest and hug you real tight as if to say “I’m sor-wee I was naughty, and I just want you to know that I love you so much.”

The baby discipline books all say the same thing. Laughing encourages bad behavior. Kids know that as long as parents laugh at their misdemeanors, they are less likely to get spanked. But it’s not that easy to remain deadpan in the face of such brilliance. I try to keep a straight face, but then Tru will suddenly burst out giggling like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and all my disciplinary efforts will be down the drain.

I think I’ll have to send him for obedience classes with Mickey the next time around.

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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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kids inc

The Real Prison Break

March 26, 2009

If there’s one thing Tru hates, it’s being confined. He probably imagines he’s a free spirit, going where the wind takes him. I bet he’d be happiest living in the Amazon forest, without any boundaries. And he can eat all the dirt in the world.

I really wouldn’t mind letting him roam free at home, since I’ve pretty much baby-proofed my house. But ever since we started this morbid game I’d like to call Final Fantasy: Dead or Die Trying, I’ve decided to give myself a little advantage and keep him confined in his cot whenever I needed some mommy time (genius, I know).

Not to be outdone, he’s been plotting his version of Shawshank Redemption for some time now. Believe me, it’s sheer ingenuity. I couldn’t have thought of a better plan if I tried.

At home, there are effectively 2 evil confined spaces – his wooden baby cot and this Graco Pack n Play mobile cot.

Baby Cotmobile cot

Here’s the master plan.

He has identified the weakest points in both these contraptions and has started EATING his way out of it. I kid you not.

Good thing I’m on to his little scheme, which only happened due to a stroke of luck one afternoon. He usually screams for dear life the moment I put him into the cot, but this time, he just sat down without any fuss and pretended to play with his Care Bear. I should have noticed the glint in his eye, but I didn’t, so I mistook his silence for maturity. Big mistake. Five minutes later, I heard a strange scratchy noise coming from the bedroom so I snuck a peek.

Lo and behold, he was furiously biting away at the mesh netting at the side of his mobile cot like a deranged beaver. I swear his next step was to grind his Care Bear into a scalpel and cut his way to freedom.

Curious, I proceeded to inspect his wooden cot and there was a row of bite marks on the bars. In fact, he had practically gnawed off the top layer of wood. I only hope he had the good sense to spit out the fragments.

When he finally breaks free, I’ll have no choice but to buy a metal cot, but I’m pretty sure he’ll eat his way out of that as well.

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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.

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kids inc, stuff best described as not safe for parents

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.

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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

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