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The Flood Survival Kit – don’t leave home without it.

June 28, 2010

It’s been flooding a lot recently. I didn’t think I’d see entire shops being flooded in Singapore, I mean, you read about this kind of thing in other countries and all my life, I’ve never seen an actual flood.

That got me panicking, obviously, because I’ve got to think of contingencies now that I’ve got 2 kids. If it’s just me, I’d definitely survive a flood (thanks to all those swimming lessons) but there’s no way I’ll make it with 2 babies alone. So I’m coming up with a flood survival kit. That’s crazy, you say, it’s never going to happen in Singapore. Ah, but you never thought you’d see Hermes (I wept a little for all those lovely Birkins) completely submerged either, did you?

Anyway, here’s my flood survival kit. Feel free to use it if you like. You’re welcome.

1. Ziplocs, lots and lots of Ziplocs

They’re watertight and good for keeping spare clothes for when you get to safety so the kids don’t die of hypothermia after struggling to survive the flood. They’re also handy for keeping snacks so they don’t die of hunger after avoiding hypothermia and drowning. Two steps ahead, y’all.

2. Heavy-duty backpack

Those pretty (and also pretty useless) Kate Spade baby bags aren’t ergonomic enough when you’re stuck in a flood. You don’t want to be trying to tuck them in under your armpits while keeping a hold of two flailing babies. What you need is a heavy-duty backpack that straps on tight and distributes the weight evenly. Preferably waterproof, but if you can’t find one, that’s what the Ziplocs are for.

3. Thermal swimsuits

People tend to underestimate how cold the water can get, especially when you’re stuck in it for say, 10 hours before someone finds you and pulls you to safety. Kids lose heat pretty quickly, so you got to make sure they wear something that traps whatever little body heat they’ve got. Better yet, get one of those thermal packs and stuff it into their swimsuits.

4. Arm floats

That’s the first thing to inflate during a flood because it’ll keep them afloat if I lose my grip on one of them. Also, you don’t have to blow until you turn blue. You’ll need to conserve some air for the actual flood. And for shouting for help.

5. Water toys

I know, you think that’s just insane and completely unnecessary. It’s a crisis and you’re thinking of toys. See, that’s the difference between parents and non-parents. If you’ve ever been stuck with 2 babies for more than 5 minutes, their incessant nagging/screaming about how bored they are will drive you to drown yourself out of your own volition. Trust me, you want to pack the toys.

6. Large-ass dinghy

This is a tough call but I decided to put this in. On the one hand, just inflating it during an emergency will kill you. But on the other hand, you won’t have to search frantically for plywood (think Titanic) to help you stay afloat. The best is to get one big enough to fit yourself and both kids but if not, at least just find one to put the kids in while you hang on at the side for dear life. My advice: Inflate it first and have it handy so it’s there when you need it.

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

When your car smells like a boot, something fishy is going on

June 17, 2010

During our honeymoon, we rented a car and drove from LA to SF to Tahoe to Vegas and back to LA again. By the time we returned our PT Cruiser, it was filthy like you wouldn’t believe. In fact, we were so grossed out we started calling it dirtbag halfway through the trip. Note to self: melted snow does not mix well with all that desert sand. That was just the exterior though. It was still cosy and clean inside, which was the more important thing I suppose.

When we got back home, I thought there was no way our car could ever get that dirty again. I thought wrong.

Because this thing called kids, they’re compulsive little mess-makers. It’s like they *want* to live in a shanty town and so they try their hardest to turn my house into a refugee slum trailer trash shack.

Did I say house? I also meant car.

And every little inch of clean space I own.

Just the other day, we were on our way to pick the husband up from work. I was carrying a kid in each hand, digging for my elusive car keys with my elbows/teeth and when I finally managed to get the door open, I nearly passed out from the smell that was coming out from the inside. Something smelt fishy, and I don’t mean it as a metaphor. To be more specific, it was like all the fish in the Singapore River crawled into my car and died there.

Believe me, I’ve had my fair share of foul smells coming from the car (there’s something about the sun’s heat and moist, enclosed areas that make things rot at an alarming rate) and I have a pretty high tolerance for weird odors but holy cow, that was about the most awful smell ever. I think I threw up in my mouth a little.

Even though my arms were about to give way, I stood there for a while, trying to decide if I should attempt to brave imminent death and enter the fish mausoleum. I drew in a huge gasp of air, strapped them both in and started to search for the dead fish. Except that I had to dig through a giant pile of scattered toys. Covered in dried bread pieces and drizzled with sticky, gooey pastes. I swear I saw something move, so I decided to leave whatever monstrosity that was buried underneath all that rubble the hell alone.

Remind me again why I allow my kids to bring food into the car. Oh yes, because food was the only thing that made them stop screaming during those hour-long car rides.

Now I’m paying the price for those hours of (relative) peace and quiet. With mysterious fish carcasses.

I’m pretty sure this means my life sucks.

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stuff best described as not safe for parents, the breast things in life are free, unqualified parenting tips

Mutual assured destruction

June 15, 2010

School holidays are best spent with friends. Great for the kids but more importantly, great for the parents. We call it MAD – mutual assured destruction, where they neutralize each other’s powers and all of them are completely knocked out by naptime. Spectacular win for Team Parents.

Plus, it’s so cute to see little people playing with other little people who are not your own kids. Your own siblings are always snatching your toys and being a real pain in the ass but friends, ooh, they’re so fun to be with, look they have cool cars and water guns!

And that’s not taking into account the free massages you get while you take a break and sip your water. Boys have to stick together and wear the same manly colors like brown and khaki.

Tru loves having a boy friend to play with. Not boyfriend, but boy friend. Ah, you know what I mean. All that testosterone needs to find other testosterone to be happy. They trade cars and kungfu moves and peer at creepy crawlies. Except ants. Tru hates ants. One time, he saw an ant (actually it was just a speck of dirt but he was convinced it was an ant) in his bathtub and had a meltdown of epic proportions. Even after I scooped it out, he made me change the water and scrub the tub before agreeing to get in again.

Kirsten’s favorite game now is sitting on Tru’s back and smacking him to make him go faster. He’s been a very obliging horse but he doesn’t understand the concept of size so he tries to sit on her when it’s his turn, which usually doesn’t end very well. It’s hard to explain to a kid that his sister is too small to be sat on but big enough to usurp his toys.

Oh and Tru’s latest Casanova move is  to grab us by the cheeks and plant a big, juicy kiss square on the lips. He know that when he does that, he basically gets anything he wants.

I’ll be keeping a close eye on my little Georgie Porgie when he goes back to school.

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motherhood, side effects of motherhood, stuff best described as not safe for parents

Yes darling, you’re the apple of my eye too

June 14, 2010

Here’s a thought. Are parents allowed to have favorites? The politically correct answer is probably no because every kid is special and favoritism is BAD. But really, do parents have a secret preference that nobody else knows about?

I used to look at parents with multiple kids and one of them is often way cuter, funnier and smarter than the rest. He knows exactly how to make your heart melt into a gooey mush and then twirls it around his little fingers. When he grows up, he’s the classic overachiever – valedictorian, captain of the swim team, and the most popular kid everywhere he goes.

Then there’s the other kid. All whiny and screamy as a kid, then angsty and sullen later on and you’re like “OMG can this get any worse?” I mean, it’s normal to have more positive feelings towards someone who doesn’t scream at you all the time or makes you so crazy you want to eat your own spleen.

So, politically correctness aside, can parents have favorites?

After all, kids have their favorites. “I love daddy more because he lets me play computer games all day.” Or “I like mommy, she makes the best snacks.” We don’t expect kids to be unbiased and objective because it’s human nature to have preferences. When it comes to parents though, we are expected to love them EXACTLY the same. Is that even possible?

With two kids of my own, I constantly remind myself to be fair, even though I’m not sure what that really means. I try to divide my time equally between both kids and give them enough quality time with momma. I measure out equal scoops of ice-cream and give them equal portions of my affection, just to make sure neither one feels left out.

I try to love them with the same amount of love but I’ve come to realize that they’re as different as carrots and peas. Along the way, I find myself loving them differently. Not in quantity but in method. Tru is like an all-action boy. His hugs are intense but short. He grabs my face and kisses me but JUST ONCE IS ENOUGH, MOMMA. Truth be told, I really enjoy doing crazy stuff with him. Truett-time is like hanging out with the badass kid in class who makes everyone laugh all the time. And you know how much I like the badass kid. I married one.

Baby girl is the complete opposite. She’s the sweet girly girl who has tea parties with dolls. She loves snuggling and gazing into my eyes and leaning her head on my chest. Her hugs are generous and they often turn into long kissy sessions. Being with her takes less effort. I don’t have to worry that she’ll stab her eye with a fork “to see if jelly comes out“. She’s low maintenance and the epitome of chill, which I also really love.

Maybe when they’re a little older, and I have 5 kids to choose from, I may find myself closer to one of the kids. If I ever end up with that pickle, we’ve agreed that the kids must never know about it. We’ll have to be more careful in treating them just the same, even the angsty, sullen one. That being said, I really hope I don’t get an angsty one that drives me crazy. I’d like to keep my spleen, thankyouverymuch.

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Father Inc, i embarrass myself sometimes, not feeling so supermom, side effects of motherhood, stuff best described as not safe for parents, unqualified parenting tips

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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milestones & musings, stuff best described as not safe for parents

Let’s get this party started (or die trying)

June 4, 2010

When I was busy making babies, I forgot to read the memo on planning their birthday parties. It goes something like this: “It’s like planning for a wedding, except worse.” Or “Party planning: NOT all fun and games.” Or “Kids parties, just don’t do it.”

So we went right on ahead and held a party for Tru in his school on his birthday. It was supposed to be a small affair, with a combined birthday bash coming up (God help me) for both kids sometime later in the month (a mid-point between both their birthdays). But small affairs are never quite so small for us because two days prior, we start getting into a frenzy like “Get the party packs, food, snacks and don’t forget the cake, WE NEED A LARGE CAKE FOR A SWARM OF HUNGRY LITTLE PEOPLE.”

Knowing us, we really did forget the cake and Kelvin had to run out to the store the night before the party at 9.30pm to beg them to keep the store open so that he could buy the cake.

About the party packs, I was always under the impression that the birthday person was supposed to GET presents, not give out 30 presents to his friends on his birthday. See, I didn’t get that memo either, and good thing Tru’s teacher reminded us about the party packs, because we would have ended up as the only scroogy parents who didn’t give out presents.

We decided to give out stuff that parents wouldn’t secretly chuck into the bin when their kids got home. We got them character-themed A4 folder, customized name stickers, a crayon set, a stationery set, cute paper clips, milo, raisins and a snack.

Tru got to dress up all nice and preppy for school that day, just in case his friends got confused as to whose birthday it was. I almost wanted to get him a crown and a scepter so that he could order all his friends around and make them clean his toes because that’s the kind of thing you should do on your birthday, but it was also the kind of thing that would get you hazed in the toilet the next day. So I went conservative and stuck to a white shirt and jeans.

During the whole party, Tru went around looking like he was on a lot of weed. He was walking around in a daze, not sure why he was getting all the attention, and more importantly, why he had to serve cake to all his friends first before he could have any. After giving out the sixteenth piece of cake, he was all like “come on momma, get a move on and give me my cake NOW!“

After he finally had his cake and ate it, he was back to being happy as a clam, and moved on to happier things like nose picking.

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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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