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side effects of motherhood

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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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literally a crappy post, side effects of motherhood, stuff best described as not safe for parents

The curious case of the missing bath toys

June 1, 2010

You probably already know that I misplace things fairly often.

I’m just talking about the things that I know are missing, because it technically does not count as lost until you need to start looking for it. It could be due to my massive brain that is thinking about 5,000 things at once. Or wait a minute, maybe it’s because I spend my entire day running after two very active toddlers who think it’s funny to hide my stuff, like “let’s see momma grab her hair and charge around the house looking for her car key while we are already FASHIONABLY LATE because THAT’S SO HILARIOUS.”

Again, that’s just the things I know are misplaced. Most of the stuff they hide, I don’t even know I have to begin with. Just the other day, I found $2 in the dustbin. Again. Who knows how much money they’ve chucked into the rubbish bin already? I can’t believe I’m having to sieve through my own rubbish before dunking them down the chute.

Then there’s my bathroom. I call it the Bermuda Triangle. It’s weird because stuff goes in there and just disappears completely. Stuff like bath toys, squirties, toothbrushes (I’ve lost 3 baby toothbrushes to date), non-bath-toys that find their way into the tub because I can’t find any bath toys to keep them occupied in the tub.

For a while, I’ve been having a nagging suspicion that the items in the bathroom are disappearing so I check the kitchen dustbin (nearest to the bathroom) all the time just in case they’re throwing stuff away there, but nothing. So I just leave it at that since mysterious toilet disappearances are not at the top of my list of things to investigate (as opposed to making sure the kids are still alive and not in any mortal danger).

This morning, I had a massive choke in my bathroom and it started to FLOOD. I mean drain water with little poop bits was filling the floor at an alarming rate, threatening to flood my entire kitchen as well. And don’t even get me started on the smell, I can still smell it in my head after scrubbing my hands like 25 times. Obviously I start panicking and screaming for help.

Soon after, toys were coming out of the hole in my bathroom floor, the hole I cover up with a drain cover, without any idea that Tru can open quite easily with his little fingers. I found a pig, a whistle, a squirting thing and a chicken, all slimy and covered in oh gross, I don’t even want to think  about it. Obviously then I start panicking and screaming at Tru for throwing stuff into the toilet drain. At which point he came in and saw the water and toys and thought the entire toilet was a giant bathtub and wanted to start bathing. In the drain water.

It was a good move though, because I forgot about yelling at him for the toy-throwing and started yelling at him for being all disgusting and gross.

I think it’s time to start looking for a plumber, but I know whichever plumber unfortunate enough to take the job is going to give me the evil eye once they discover the slime-covered toys in the drain. I have a feeling there’s a lot more where those came from. AND IT’S NOT EVEN MY FAULT. Gah!

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Funny or So I think, side effects of motherhood

Who’s afraid of a little red guy with a big mouth?

May 31, 2010

When I first got my hands on the iPhone, I resolved not to let my kids play with it, knowing that they are likely to chuck it, smash it, dunk it in water and basically make me regret ever letting them touch it in the first place.

But kids, they have a sixth sense for all the things they are not allowed to touch and you know how it is. After a day of constant badgering, I finally surrendered my spanking new phone. Also, I heard other parents raving about how incredible some of the apps are, with its educational and keeping-kids-quiet capabilities. I was mostly sold on the second part.

Once they got it, they proceeded to submerge it in water and use it as a weapon of destruction just as I expected but I suppose I only have myself to blame for it. Although that’s not really the point here.

The point is that in the process, I also discovered that the phone was truly unparalleled in its ability to prevent meltdowns. Every time I saw a tantrum coming, all I needed to do was pull out my trump card and… instant silence. I know, I can practically sweep best parenting awards with this move. Stop judging me.

It’s not like I don’t try other methods. My car is filled with different toys to keep them quiet but each one usually lasts for 60 seconds tops before it gets flung out of the baby seat. Even daddy’s Omnia doesn’t make it past the 5 minute mark. It’s like they know it’s inferior.

With the phone, baby girl watches Youtube quietly on the go and Tru, he’s addicted to ALL the games. He can fiddle with the phone for a whole hour straight reading Dr Seuss, singing the Wheels of the Bus and playing that spelling game he’s getting quite good at. He’s also got a signature move to go with it, where he grips the phone with his left hand, sucks his right thumb and uses his pinkie to navigate the phone. That boy redefines the meaning of badass.

Recently, we’ve been trying to figure out a way to reduce Tru’s playing time. Every time I tell him time’s up, he goes all screamy on me and he’s like “forget it mom, you’ll have to pry this from my grip of death”.

Until yesterday, that is. Tru was with me at the wet market, seated in his stroller with phone in hand while I was trying to do my marketing when he suddenly threw down the phone and unleashed the mother of all screeches. Everyone within a 5 meter radius turned to look and we were all trying to figure out if he was injured or something. I couldn’t find anything wrong with him and he was crying too badly to explain. Eventually, I figured it out. The source of the distress: Talking Carl.

Let me qualify by saying that I got this app because it was highly reviewed by one of the Mac sites. This little guy supposedly repeats everything you say with a hysterical voice and it is claims to be able to provide me with hours of peacefulness. Apparently, my son disagrees. Turns out, it’s his greatest nemesis. He’s terrified out of his skin and freaks out completely whenever he so much as sees the icon of Talking Carl. He also made me throw the app away, which I was forced to do immediately.

I was sure he was overreacting and it was one of his bizarre quirks. Then I saw this clip and it all made sense.

*For best results, crank up the volume or use earphones.

Talking Carl from yann le coroller on Vimeo.

I’m sure this violates some parenting theories but I’m totally getting the app back on my phone for the next time he refuses to stop playing. I’m all about results.

What are your meltdown-prevention methods?

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side effects of motherhood

Don’t you give me that look, young man

May 18, 2010

I’m totally useless when it comes to discipline. Why? Because I can’t keep a straight face while looking at this face. I wasn’t expecting that I’d turn into that parent, the kind whose kid gets away with murder because oh, his mother is a giant softie. The kind that other parents shake their heads and tsk at.

Barely two-years-old and my son has discovered that he’s got a special power in weasling out of trouble. He raises an eyebrow, then the corners of his mouth turn just ever so slightly and looks at me with the twinkle in his eye. Usually, this is the point I go “don’t you give me that look, young man” but he knows it’s a desperate plea more than a command and it is the cue for him to go in for the kill. He recites “sorry, mommy, won’t do it again“, rubs his chest vigorously (to sign his apology), then breaks into a giant grin.

Finishing move complete.

Each time, I tell myself that I’m going to be firm this time. I take deep breaths and gather my resolve but who am I kidding? I was never the disciplinarian type. The brief attempt at being firm ends like these things always do: with me looking like a complete doormat. See, I generally avoid conflict at the risk of well, having it snowball into a bigger conflict.

The moment he pulls out his get-out-of-jail-free card, I pretty much cave. That’s how much resolve I have – about zero.

I know this is going to come back and bite me in the ass when he is big enough to manipulate us to get his way but I’m banking on the fact that by then, he will be a lot less cute and way easier for me to not fall apart completely. At this point, he still looks baby enough to act all innocent and cute.

To his credit, he’s a really good kid but there is one thing that really drives me up the wall on a daily basis – eating. Meal times have become a battlefield with him pushing the food away, spitting it out and clamping his mouth shut because he “don’t like” whatever I feed him. Sometimes he eats a couple of mouthfuls when he gets to feed himself, but he usually makes a huge mess and more food will end up flung all over the floor that inside his mouth.

I thought of not fighting him on it and just letting him starve if refuses a meal. He’ll eventually learn to eat whatever is given to him when he’s hungry enough. The only problem with that is feeding just so happens to be the one test of every mother’s competency. Don’t ask me why that is. I mean, I can get away with not buying them developmental toys or not sending them to the fanciest schools but feeding, that’s like the basic requirement of every mother. That and the ability to whip up a storm of the finest, healthiest eats. Both of which I can’t do to save my life, it seems.

That’s why I can’t help feeling terrible if my kids don’t eat even though I tell myself that it’s not going to kill them and in the long run, it’s actually helping them. I’ve tried every trick in the book to sneak some vegetables into his mouth, only to have him spit it right out.

And just when I’ve about had it with the feeding frenzy, he flashes me a look like this and I’m right back to being putty.

How do you get through meal times? Or is it just my kids that want to eat Mackers all the time?

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by the numbers, lists you should paste on your fridge, side effects of motherhood

My life in numbers

May 13, 2010

You probably know by now that I’m not a big fan of numbers, especially when you string a lot of them together at one time. Anything past 100 and my head starts to hurt. I say, give me words and pictures any day.

Tru loves to count though, so I’m hoping he’ll turn out to be a Math genius like Einstein or one of those Russian scientists with crazy hair. BTW, ever wondered why Einstein’s hair was so big? It’s a price to pay for being that smart because all the fried brain cells makes the hair go nuts. Need more proof? Just look at my hair – massive.

Anyway, Tru has been counting everything recently, like Megabloks, cups, ants, spoons, dirt and his personal favorite, buttons. Yup, clothing buttons. He sometimes skips three and eight but I shan’t nitpick since I’m not a fan of those numbers myself.

Numbers people will tell you that numbers are better than words because they tell a story and they don’t lie. There’s some truth in that so here’s my attempt to tell my story in numbers.

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getting ready for baby, how i pretend to be a cool mum, side effects of motherhood, unqualified parenting tips

Finally, a website dedicated to making more babies

April 30, 2010

Tomorrow’s a big day for anyone with kids, those trying for a kid, with a bun already baking in the oven, or wouldn’t mind having a kid in the near future, pretty much everybody, actually. Unless you’re 15 and not even allowed to have sex yet, then you probably want to skip this.

It’s going to be the launch of maybebaby.sg, a portal for couples, newlyweds and new parents. Sort of like a one-stop shop for all your babymaking and babycaring needs. I know every new parent’s best friend is Google, but sometimes it sends you on a wild goose chase to sites like this one when all you want to know is whether it’s normal for your boobs to be spraying milk. (BTW, it’s totally normal, and there, I totally answered your question. You’re welcome.) So that’s why it’s good to have a proper website dedicated to providing useful information for couples planning for a baby so you don’t have to sieve through all that information. There’s someone to do it for you.

If you’re the cynical sort and you’re all “I bet there’s some agenda for this website“, then you’re absolutely right. They’re on a mission to convince people to make more babies, which is like having your mom make up a song about how cool eating vegetables is because it’s good for you and you realize that you’re thankful because you don’t end up constipated for three weeks. Except making babies is way more fun than eating vegetables, so we all win.

And what do you know, having more babies is just so happens to be my goal in life, so you can say that we’re a perfect match. Also, I’m sadistic enough to enjoy watching people go through baby bootcamp. Anyway, starting tomorrow, I’ll be doing a weekly blog at maybebaby and you can find me there when I’m not here.

The launch event will be held at 2pm tomorrow at Wisma Atria and if you happen to be around the area, come by and say hi. Or you can just point and laugh. I’ll be sitting in front doing what I do best, which is looking thoughtful and nodding intelligently. See you tomorrow!

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Funny or So I think, side effects of motherhood, stuff best described as not safe for parents

If I disappear, you know where to find me

April 26, 2010

This is not really a post as much as a desperate SOS and a final note in case I disappear from the blogosphere completely tomorrow. And I’m not even *really* kidding. Seriously, if I suddenly stop blogging, somebody CALL THE COPS. Because I’m likely to be held captive by the creepy stalker loitering at my void deck. So I’m leaving a trail of bread crumbs on the Internet so that you know where to find me before I get fed to wolves. The key word here is before, in case you’re wondering.

Obviously I can’t post his *actual* photo here because it’s like asking to be kidnapped but he looks something like this.

creepy old dude

For several days, I’ve noticed a middle-aged guy with a walking aid idling at the benches downstairs. It’s not like handicapped people make me uncomfortable or anything, but handicapped old dudes who stare at me while I’m carrying two kids give me the creeps.

Also, I have a nagging suspicion that he’s not really handicapped, like the guy in the Usual Suspects who walks with a limp throughout the show but actually can run faster than Forrest Gump. You know, like a decoy to throw you off and make you think they’re really slow but then suddenly they pull some deadly ninja moves when you least expect it. Yeah, exactly like that. But then society frowns on attacking random handicapped people even if I know that they’re bluffing so it’s not like I can expose him. Thanks a lot, society for the physically disabled, you just signed my death warrant.

Every time I come home with the kids, he’s there with his fake walking aid and creepy eyes just staring at me. I suppose it’s not everyday that you see a frazzled woman carrying two babies and a giant bag at the same time and I would probably stare too but wait a minute, you do see me carrying all that everyday and you still stare. All. the. time.

Like this afternoon, I brought Tru down to tidy up the car and pick up the crumbs before it gets infested by pests and lo and behold, the creepy old dude was there again. Pretending to do some stretching exercises on his walking implement as usual and of course, I could see him staring at us as we walked past. 15 minutes later, we’re done cleaning up the car and he was still there waiting for us to come back. The moment we walked past, he quickly got up and followed us to the lift.

My momma always told me not to enter the lift with creepy guys so I distracted Tru with some excuse of going to the playground and sure enough, creepy old dude ambled back to his usual spot to do more exercises. At which point, I promptly grabbed Tru and ran into the lift, jabbing violently at the door closing button.

The husband says he lives in our block with his kids and is probably harmless but he obviously haven’t watched Silence of the Lambs because the craziest psychopaths are the ones who live down the street. Ok, so the kids downstairs seem to know him and I’ve seen them saying hi to him from time to time but it doesn’t make him any less creepy and I’m still calling his bluff on the handicap. One of these days I’m going to take his photo just to show you what I mean but it’s kind of difficult to take a discreet photo of someone who is staring right at you. Especially not when I’m carrying a kid in each arm. Also, I really don’t want to encourage the staring just in case he thinks I’m into him too and am taking his picture as a memento.

I’m getting some pepper spray tomorrow.

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