kids inc

Mommy, baby me too

One of the biggest ironies in life is that babies spend all that time trying to grow up but once they do, they want to go right back to becoming a baby again. Tru’s in one of his baby-me phases where he’s trying to relive his days of infancy. Seeing how Kirsten is having such a blast with all his old toys, he’s decided to chuck all his big-boy toys and go back to becoming a baby. Except that he’s way too big to fit and ends up looking like a giant who’s destroying them.

My legs are so long I've got to curl them up

My legs are so long I've got to curl them up

Baby toys are so fun

Baby toys are so fun

Why is it called a mobile when its stationary?

Why is it called a mobile when its stationary?

But I figured it was probably just a cry for attention so today I babied him and put him on my lap and fussed over him and smothered him with kisses. 15 minutes later, his desire for mischief kicked in and he decided being a baby was way overrated. So he got up, yanked off the apron strings, climbed into his big-boy car and waved me goodbye.

Which is just the way I like it.

Bye mom, gotta run

Bye mom, gotta run

motherhood

All in a day’s work

When folks find out that I’m a stay home mom with a 15 month old toddler and a 2 month old infant AND no maid, they have one of the following reactions.

1. Wide-eyed wonder. “Are you out of your mind? (Like WHY ARE YOU EVEN HAVING KIDS BACK TO BACK? Haven’t you heard of birth control, woman?)”

2. Sympathy. “I feel for you, I truly do. But seriously, go get some birth control.”

3. More sympathy. “Poor thing, betcha can’t find a job and you’re just sitting your ass down at home chilling out instead of contributing to our sluggish economy.” (Oh, trust me, I am contributing. It’s called shopping.)

So they want to know how I do it. What really goes on in this war zone I call home. Weekends notwithstanding because Superdad is around to take over, I am solely responsible for the well-being of my little munchkins (down with the wicked witch!).

I usually start my day with a cold shower – for the sleep deprivation, a cuppa – for the nerves, and a hair net – for the crazy hair. I also try to clear my system in the morning because that’s all the toilet action I’ll be having for the day. And then the fun begins.

5.30 – Express Milk. Engorgement is usually at its worst so it takes a good hour to clear the ducts.

6.45 – Kirsten wakes up for milk.

7.30 – Tru wakes up for milk. Kirsten goes back to bed.

8.15 – Breakfast with the husband and Tru.

8.45 – Superdad goes to work. More milk expressing.

9.45 – Tru goes down for his nap. Kirsten wakes up for a feed.

10.30 – Shower and play time for Kirsten while I cook lunch for Tru.

11.30 – Kirsten goes back to bed and I blitz around the house trying to squeeze in the laundry and cleaning.

12.00 – Tru wakes up in time for lunch. I feed him while expressing my milk.

1.00 – Tru’s bath time, followed by an hour of song and dance. This is where I perfect my Mickey Mouse impressions.

2.00 – Kirsten wakes up for a feed and I have 2 kids thronging me for attention.

2.30 – Tru takes his second nap. (He usually plays in his cot alone for 30 mins before sleeping) Play time with Kirsten. Here’s where I show off my already perfected Mother Goose impressions, complete with high-pitched Nursery Rhymes and storytelling. Mostly, she just looks at me like I’m off my rocker. See what I did there? Pun totally intended.

3.30 – Kirsten goes back to sleep. I shove some food down my throat and express milk at the same time, followed by a quick shower.

4. 30 – Tru wakes up. TV time on Playhouse Disney.

5.00 – Kirsten wakes up for milk and Tru runs amok in the living room.

5.30 – Tru takes his dinner while Kirsten rocks out to her cot mobile.

6.30 – Kirsten goes back to bed and Tru takes shower #2.

7.00 – Tru goes to bed for the night. You would think here’s when I finally get to prop my legs up, let my hair down and pat myself on the back for another day survived. But you’d be wrong, because 7pm is the witching hour for my sweet little baby girl. Every night at a certain hour, she will wake from her stupor and turn into the Bride of Chucky   and no amount of love and attention will pacify her. So she’s practically stuck to my hip screaming from 7-11, sometimes 12. The strangest thing is once it hits midnight, she turns back into a little angel and falls asleep without the slightest whimper.

12.00 – Kirsten gets her last feed, I express my milk and crawl slowly into bed.

And all this is considered a good day, which happens like once a week. On bad days, there will be tantrums, food slinging, vomiting, screaming, yelling and kicking. I told you, it’s the toughest job in the world.

Father Inc

A Cool Dad is (NOT) an Oxymoron

Let’s face it. If i were to ask you readers out there “How many of you would consider your father to be cool?”, the response I get will probably be similar to me asking “Would you consider Hitler cuter without a moustache and having only massacred 2 million Jews instead of six?” or “Do you prefer being long sleeved or short sleeved?” while polishing the blade of my Hatori Hanzo.

The truth is most of the time, our dads embarass us, not in a purposefully conceited manner but in that lovable but doofish sort of Dad style – that makes them so NOT cool.

So he claims to be the top scorer for the high school basketball team that came just 2 points short of landing the state championships (i should have taken the game winning shot, he laments). But after seeing how he shoots (brings new meaning to the underhand method, urgh) and watching him screen your friends out from rebounds with his well-formed behind, all illusions of your dad being the Lebron James of his time shatter and you vow never to invite him to your pickup games again.

So he used to be the lead singer of a rock and roll band; apparently if American Idol was launched back then he would have made it to the top six on his sheer stage presence alone and then ace the competition plus a recording contract with his soaring pipes. Then he picks up Guitar Hero and screams an overly jazzed up rendition of FreeBird, and as your friends watch in a mixture of awe, shock and horror, you vow never to invite him to your video game sessions again.

Once I told some relatives at a family gathering that I was going with Daphne to Mount Faber for a drink with some friends. Upon hearing that, they started giving me knowing looks and winks as we left, much to my bewilderment. Later, I found out that Mount Faber was apparently a hotspot for couples to get some hanky panky action, and that my Dad used to bring my Mom there. FML.

Parents- Dads, listen, when your kids grow up, – the following is going to be inevitable.

1. They will look at our wedding photos and laugh at our attire. 

2. That is, if they apparently don’t die from laughing at our hairstyles.

3. The football players that you consider great at  the moment (Cristiano Ronaldo, Messi) will be to our kids those hippy men in super tight jerseys and tigher shorts running around on the pitch in those sepia-toned footage at half-time interludes.

[Fun fact about me: Apparently, I was supposed to be named after one of England’s football greats, Kevin Keegan. Except that my folks got the spelling wrong and named me Kelvin instead. There is not a single famous football player in the world who has a first name called Kelvin. (Kelvin Kilbane doesn’t count guys, he plays for Hull City.) Again, FML.]

4. They’ll listen to your story of how you met (and courted) their mother and go “Gee, I can’t believe mom fell for that. That is so dweebish. And, honestly dad, I thought I stepped into a museum when I went to Al Fornos on your Silver Anniversary. “

5. One day, you’ll decide to revive those inline skates in the attic. You’ll put them on and go to the East Coast Park and think that the young chaps who are also skating there will go “hey, that guy’s really cool for an old dude, he does inline skating!Except that when you get there, there are no young chaps but lots of familiar faces hobbling around unsteadily on inline skates, which happens to have been out of production for five years now, by the way.

So what’s an old man gotta do? Me being the ever helpful Superdad, I have here a few tips on how to stay trendy, contemporary and cool when you enter into your golden years.

Don’t try too hard. 

This is really the key rule here. I don’t need my father to be doing scat singing a la Jason Mraz to be cool. In fact, I’ll be rather scared of that (oh, nevermind). You don’t have to wear baggy hooded jackets and a long, blingy chain to be cool. It’s very disconcerting. Stop it.

So, attire wise, you want to dress your age, but NOT how people dressed at your current age back when you were young. I know that’s sounds complicated one but chew on it. 

Change your hairstylist. 

This seems to be an arbitrary and somewhat insignificant point but I cannot emphasize the importance of this. I have seen too many photos of friends’ parents and parents’ friends and have concluded that they would have been better off doing permanent hair removal on their heads and then specially customizing a wig (or a set of similar wigs for washing) to reduce the carbon footprints involved in driving to the barber and turning on the electric shaver because THEIR HAIRSTYLE HAS BEEN THE SAME FRIGGIN’ ONE THE PAST FORTY YEARS. 

Noticed I said to change your hairstylist and not just your hairstyle. Look, much as Uncle Murasamy from Sri Nada is a very skilful barber, he probably hasn’t updated much of his skills set and not found a need to, so don’t be upset when you bring along a magazine, point to Beckham’s do and leave the salon looking more like Scary Spice. 

Don’t bring up past glories unless you’re asked. Even then, be self-effacing and pretend to be embarrased by the fact that you used to be Prom King. 

You should go all like “Ah, that was a long time ago, you don’t want to hear about that/see those pictures.” Make no mistake, you really want to but that is one heck of a bait. Your kids will go, “Aw come on dad, Prom King! I wanna see some photos!” and you’ll be all “Hmm, i’m not quite sure where they are now, but there may be a few pictures in the third drawer of the brown cabinet in the basement study room,  to the left of my Harry Potter box set and right below the stack of my limited edition Michael Jordan basketball cards.” 

On this point – strategically hide “contraband items” (like weed) in places where your children will undoubtedly excavate when they are bored. 

Your kids will be like, “Oh cool, my dad smokes weed!” Then they’ll see a vision of you looking stoned in your hippy hairstyle, glazed eyes and goofish smile and all and start to think twice about taking drugs. 2 birds, UNO STONE.

Write a letter to yourself, address it to Agent [your surname] and stamp a large-assed “TOP SECRET. TO BE OPENED BY ADDRESSEE ONLY OR CERTAIN DEATH TO FOLLOW” 

The inside prose has to be convincing and you may want to research some John Le Carre novels for reference. Self-destruct papers are cool but risky if you live in a house with loads of country-style, wooden furnishing. Safety first, Agent Zero.

With these handy tips, you’re well on your way to be not just a Superdad, but a cool dad as well. Stay safe and if anything does screw up, refer to this.