girl: “my friend, his name is Keith, he also always sweat a lot.”
boy: “what?! Keith? eh same like my friend’s name.”
girl: “who?”
boy: “…. Keith.”
girl: “oh.”

(i swear sometimes it’s like watching a live sitcom right in front of me. a bad one.)

26

  

the girl is turning five in a week’s time.

you know that cliche where the little rich girl asks her doting daddy for a pony for her birthday?

well, she hasn’t asked us for a real pony, of course – just some plastic ones, with bright colourful bodies and manes, some with wings and unicorn horns, and little tattoos on their flanks called ‘cutie marks’.

yes, she’s mad about these long-haired ponies. to think i used to play with the older versions when i was a kid back in the 80s. but you know, the animated series now have so much more… sophisticated and complex themes and characters, and i was surprised she’d picked up crazy-sounding things like ‘elements of harmony’ and ‘fight discord’ just from watching the shows. man, i sure did NOT have such vocabulary when i was four…

anyway, i found these simple books going at 3 for $10 recently and thought they were just the right reading level for her – and sure enough, she picked them up and rattled right off, with just a little bit of help.

yeah, you’ll have ponies for your birthday.

12

  

i am possibly one of the most unadventurous shoe-buyers in the history of womankind. my decisions are usually based on:

1) price – nothing above $50. the most i ever paid for a pair was $99, which promptly peeled at the pointy tips after a few wears, which made me regret the breach in my price policy.

2) practicality – i think hard whether i’ll wear them often, are comfortable to walk in, and whether they’ll match most or at least a few outfits in my wardrobe. so you won’t find me getting crazy sky-high stilletos or fancy boots on a whim or “just because”. besides, who has space for them? (i don’t.)

gawd, the number of cheap, thoughtful black shoes i’ve purchased in my life.

i tend to treat my shoes a little too roughly; i’d carelessly step on puddles and mushy grass, clumsily snub on pavements and metal grille, fling them off and toss them into the shoe cabinet when i’m done. scuffs and scratches and scraped soles galore, without me meaning to subject them to such suffering.

(man, i hope psychologists out there won’t read too much into that.)

i may have mentioned before that the girl has her own opinions about what she wears. and shoes, omg – she’s ALWAYS the last to step out of the house, especially when we’re in a mighty hurry. (because those ARE after all always the best times to have a meltdown, right?!) usually, the dramatic face-off (or rather, feet-off) would involve:

1) insisting on wearing her pink/purple shoes, which do not match any parts of her clothes. and you should know by now that non-colour-coordination in my world is considered a sin.

2) refusing to wear what i suggest without making a fuss over how: a) tight/loose they are (she seems to be perpetually in between sizes, i’m beginning to suspect she has freak feet), b) itchy they made her feet, c) she doesn’t like them.

many a times, we’ve had to threaten to leave her home. seriously, who has time for primadonna dramas? (i don’t.)

there are these little girl heels at Payless that she eyes every time we go in there (in the hopes of finding shoes that fit her – feet and sensibility). they’re so… Suri Cruise. but the smallest size they come in is still to big for her (freak) feet so i told her she’ll just have to wait till she grows a bit more. (which then unleashes the primadonna drama, in the aisles of Payless. i’m sure Suri does the same to poor ol’ mommy Katie.)

i told her she can choose all the shoes she likes and wear all the high heels she wants when she’s grown up. see if i care when she mismatches them then.

11

  

i happened to flip to Project Runway yesterday while channel surfing with the kid. the impossibly skinny yet perfectly-curvy-assed models managed to make even the most half-assed outfits look haute good as they strutted their stuff.

one of them wore this ridiculous bikini top thingy with some mismatched printed skirt, showing off her silky smooth, flawlessly flat bare belly, much to everybody’s envy.

this is why i don’t watch tv much.

yet i was too enthralled to change the channel, not just by the swaying (bony) hips on screen, but also the whole drama of who’s in and who’s out (damn, they do know how to hook you right in, don’t they? like a supremely unhealthy can of Pringles, you can’t stop once you pop).

bare-belly appeared again, for appraisal.

i gave a big sigh.

“see lah, how to get my tummy to look like that? so thin, so smooth… because of you all, now become like this,” i said, glancing down dejectedly at my perpetually bloated, wrinkled state. a lumpy, sagging pouch which has resigned to permanent residence on my body.

the girl heaved her entire weight on top of me in an effort to flatten my tummy. seeing as that didn’t work, she proceeded to poke poke poke my belly, then pummel it repeatedly like a hammer with her tiny fist.

eventually giving up, she kissed my tummy in all its jiggly glory and declared, “IT’S OKAAAY…. nevermind! people know, you’re a mummy. it’s okaaaay…” she assured.

“but i cannot wear bikini…” i moaned dramatically.

“but you cannot wear bikini anyway, so malu,” she replied. “i can because i’m still small.”

as i tried to dispute her, she repeated, “IT’S OKAAAYY… people knowww… nevermindddd… i like your tummy.” then she practically french-kissed my knotty navel.

and this is what i’m giving up a model’s body for, just so you know.

43

  

was dishing out two kinds of mee soto noodles – yellow and white – and asked the girl which one she wanted. she always chooses the yellow one, but me being me, i always try to ‘sell’ her alternatives.

me: “try the white one too. it’s very delicious.”
her: “no. ok lah ok lah, just a small serving.”
(i dish out a scoop of white noodles, amused at her use of the word ‘serving’. what is this, a restaurant?!)
her: “then i can chum-pao.” *stirs her noodles gleefully*

she talks a lot, sometimes a mile a minute, so some things she says whiz by without me giving much thought to them. and from the strange sound of it, i thought that last word was perhaps a chinese word she learnt in school, complete with chinese accent, picked up from her chinese teacher or friends. something… food-related. like kung pao. or da bao.

so a few seconds pass.

then it hit me.

me: “wait, what did you say?”
her: “chum-pao… chum-pao..”
me: *looks at her action* “not chum-pao lah… CAMPUR! CAMPUR! ‘mixing’! macam mana ni melayu??”
her: “oh, chum-po.” *complete with chinese accent*

40

  

me to boy: “don’t sigh!”
boy aloud: “what is sigh?”
girl sings: “oppa gangnam style… ehhh…”
me: “not THAT Psy!”

27

  

found the girl at the sofa making her Barbie dolls prance around while animating imagined dialogues between them.

“i want you to play with me,” she demanded upon my arrival.

so i picked up one skimpily-clothed doll and turned on my inner Barbie. “hiiiii, i’m Barbieee…”

“noo, her name is Tecna.”
“… Techna? *blinks* what kind of a name is Tecna??”
“her name is Tecna because her special power is Technology.” (this, explained to me matter-of-factly, while i exploded in mirth at the fact that she said ‘Technology’ in the most ‘macam-paham’ of manner.)
“her super power is Technology?!! *splutters*”
“yes. and she has a friend, her name is Musa (pronounced very pronouncedly as ‘Miu-za’).”
“Miuza??”
“yes. her special power is Music.” (well, but of course.)

she then proceeded to educate me, in feverish seriousness, about the wondrous world of Winx – these candy-coloured, rainbow-sparkled teen-ish fairies, all of whom apparently, at some points in time, have romantic entanglements with boys and relationship ups and downs, in between err, saving worlds. i think.

i don’t know if this early exposure to and fascination with BGR perpetuates a girl’s predisposition to precocity and sensitivity to social dynamics, but she does show particular understanding of and interest in concepts like ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ and ‘breaking up’ (again, thanks, taylor swift). well, even more than her brother does, for sure.

sure, they both generally go “eeww!” and vehemently deny when we suggest they like somebody of the opposite sex, and would cover their eyes should there be a potential ‘kissing’ scene on the screen (even in cartoons). but the difference is, the girl will cringe even more AND blush and go all shy at the same time, whereas the boy is less reactive, like ‘whatevs, gross’. i can’t tell you how stereotypical they are as far as gender differences go.

so back to my lesson on Winx. from the bits of her excitable chatter i gathered something about the fairies coming together to live in the ocean (at which point i sought clarification on whether the mermaids minded this transgression into their territory, to which i was informed that the mermaids were in fact the ocean’s “gatekeepers” – say whuut…); some “evil” guy called Tritannus (i do not want to know what his special power is); something called Dragon Fire (i don’t suppose that has to do with bad breath); another fairy called Stella who likes “fashion” and wants to be a “fashion designer” (i wonder if her last name is McCartney)… and the prattle went on and on. i tried a few times to interject with questions but got her frustrated at my sheer ignorance, which was very funny and made me laugh even more, which in turn made her even madder haha ha! i should call her Angstyna.

anyway, speaking of things that make the kids go “eeww” yet still delight them, here’s one of their favourite picture books, Spells by Emily Gravett. why do they like it? because there’s an illustration of a man’s bare bum in it.

i swear from the moment they first opened up this page till now after repeated reading (and flipping – this book is brilliant, btw; it plays on the concept of magic ‘spells’ and ‘spelling’, and actually teaches them to blend letters to form funny words as a romantically-inclined frog blunders his way through various incantations), this princely pale derriere never fails to (butt)crack them up. i don’t know what it is about behinds but they make children go crazy, it’s practically perverted. in fact, if ever i were to write a children’s book and ensure it becomes wildly successful, all i need to do is insert a drawing of a man’s bottom in it somewhere, just for shit and giggles (literally).

3

  

the girl asked, out of the blue (and i mean really randomly), if she could read to me her brother’s old Peter & Jane books (which were happily collecting dust on the bookshelf), and i said suuuuuure, by all means.

and so she skipped away, found books 1a & b, breezed through them, then moved on to 2a & b, and well… i guess i’m pleased as peach but not too surprised, because she’s already picked up on reading for a while now. some sight words, some phonic attempts – and i thank god above she’s saving me from shelling out any money for reading classes (unlike her brother at her age).

yes, yes, rule #1 in parenting: ‘thou shalt not compare among siblings’. i don’t consciously mean to, but it’s fascinating to observe their differences; if anything, it reinforces my theories on boys vs girls/first child vs second child – that they each pick up certain skills at different rates.

this was aniq reading book 1b at 4 years 11 months:

this is auni reading book 2b at 4 years 9 months:

their differences in pace, flow, intonation, diction, and even focus, are quite interesting. well, TO ME anyway.

but otherwise, by golly, ‘peter and jane’ is STILL, like, THE MOST INSUFFERABLE READ EVER. :D

7

  

oh the battle that we fought!
to have her wear this outfit mod.
the girl whose cries and wails so wrought;
the fearsome father with frustration fraught.

the mother, it was, stirred the hornet’s nest,
demanded and ordered and would not rest,
declared she cared not the girl’s protest,
and proved to all that mum knows best.

‘too scratchy! and there’s a hole!’
the girl doth howl at the wool tights’ role.
‘too small! don’t want!’ she was on a roll,
but steadfast, one must, with a drama troll.

perhaps ’tis be the last time ever
we see this dress – our ties, to sever.
till in her closet i next discover
another unworn outfit – with delight, i shiver!

18

  

of all things, this is how she chooses to imitate me: in bed, late at night, with book (she even found a bookmark somewhere – macam paham, i tell you).

this. me. exactly. sigh.

she’s got my night-owl genes, she does. keep this up, she’ll also get my blind-as-a-bat genes.

go sleep already, fer pete’s sake, it’s almost midnight!

i guess in this case, the late bird catches the bookworm.

10

  

i am often the object of molestation in my house.

i would be lying prone, say, on the sofa, fully-clothed i might add, just minding my own business reading a book or something, and within minutes i’d have my bum inevitably patted by at least 3 different hands. it’s like a magnet inviting grubby paws around this house, i swear.

“what is UP with you all and my butt?! i feel so violated, arrgh!” i cried in exasperation the other day.

“nice what,” said big bear. (bad role model, papa bear, tsk. *swipes paw away*)

“yah lah, soft-soft, like pillow,” said medium bear. (so much for yoga giving you buns of steel, gah!)

“yah, like a smelly pillow,” said little bear, proceeding to sniff my behind.

it took me a few seconds to realise she’d remembered the word ‘bantal busuk’ (which is the malay equivalent to ‘comfort blanket’ – saliva-sodden and worn pillows often clung by many small children who cannot go to sleep without them) from a certain aunty she’d met earlier that day who regaled her with a story describing her fat cat as a substitute for a ‘bantal busuk’. and little bear, well, literally translated it.

yes, make me the butt of your smelly jokes, fine.

and that’s the story for tonight. sleep tight, and don’t let the bed bugs bite (your butt)….

5

  

only the girl ever still says “i love you mummy” to me, complete with a tiny kiss. (she just did, after i read One Last Book for the night, before she scampered off to bed.)

i blame all those angmoh shows she watches on tv.

all i can say in reply usually is a “why, thank you”.

coz i’m an awkward-at-expressing-feelings kinda mum like that. (and i feel like i really don’t deserve it whenever she says it.)

2

  

mad about purple, didn’t i mention? especially this purple cardigan she goes everywhere with now, even in 32 degrees heat.

do you know that she can bawl her eyes out if she doesn’t get to wear something she likes (or made to wear something she doesn’t)? i’d stuffed a pair of her brother’s old jeans (which fits her perfectly fine, btw) in her ballet bag to change after class and when she discovered it instead of her own pair with the inner purple flowers or the one with the sparkly purple star embellishment, she cried all the way in the car as if i’d killed her favourite pet cat, SO annoying.

but all is well the moment we reached home and she got to change her outfit. even when all we were going to do the rest of the day was stay home…

had some buttermilk left over from the previous kitchen experiment, so tried making nutella pancakes for teatime. she was happy to lick the nutella spoon; i just wanted an excuse to smell nutella.

can’t wait for monday, ie. the start of another week of working out on the mat. i may or may not be slightly addicted to the smell of sweat and rubber. (i know what that sounds like but no, don’t even think it….)

meanwhile, here’s the girl demonstrating a few yoga poses. she calls the last one the “die pose”. (please ignore her brother who’s pretending he’s in a crime scene.)

11

  

the kids’ breakfast of choice is, more often than not, eggs. scrambled, omellete, bulls-eye, hard-boiled – they sure like their eggs. i tell them they cannot eat eggs every day, but we always end up going through a carton within days. (what more with my recent ‘experiments’, they get used up even faster.)

anyway, the girl’s seen me make scrambled eggs enough times to remember the steps and was adamant about doing it herself. well, i don’t see why she shouldn’t…

enjoy your eggs!

15

  

we have quite a number of conversations in the bathroom, she and i.

was nagging at her this evening while i was in the shower and she was dithering just outside, watching/waiting for me. (yes, we mothers can nag at any given place and time; it’s a god-given gift.)

she’d belligerently declared that she doesn’t like to speak malay (the nerve!) so of course i had to scold her and set her right.

so while lathering body soap on myself, i exhorted her, “but you must be proud to speak malay, it’s your mother tongue ok! you know what is mother tongue? it’s what your mother speaks! and i speak malay! i’m proud to be malay you know! (ok, at this point, i get the irony of speaking to her in english here – so, switch.) tau tak, kalau orang melayu tak pandai cakap melayu, malu! you tak pandai cakap melayu, i malu tau! you know what is malu? malu, malu, MALUUU!” (yes, i can get a little OTT when i nag.)

“no lah, you malu because you not wearing your clothes what.”

well gee thanks, four-year-old’s logic.

46

  

the girl was watching me slap on my make-up when she peered into the mirror and asked, “how come your eyes are brown, my eyes are black?” i never really noticed her eye colour, so i looked and yeah, it is a shade darker than mine. “hmm, maybe you follow daddy’s eyes?” i suggested. i wondered then whether her eyes were one of the reasons why people keep saying she looks more like her daddy than me, which i always thought strange because i think she looks a lot like me when i was small, from the limited pictures i have of my young self anyway. (it’s also strange that all my life, people keep saying i look a lot like my mother but neither of us thinks so at all! something about the sum of all parts, i guess, since we can’t exactly point out the specific feature/s that match.)

so anyway, after i tied her hair in her usual two ponytails, i did mine too, on a whim. you know, just so we’d look more alike. (i have a Mini-Me complex.) come on, tell me i look more like her she looks more like me?

dropped the kids off at their granddad’s and watched ‘Looper’, which has the It-boy joseph gordon-levitt made-up to look like the younger version of bruce willis in a time-travelling thriller. when JGL first appeared on-screen, i almost couldn’t recognise him; i mean, i know it’s him, but there were subtle changes on his face you can’t quite put your finger on. i think the make-up people did good, because i could almost believe that’s what a younger bruce willis would look like, if i squint my eyes hard enough. oh his eyes! they did something to his eyes, right down to the eye colour, and that made the difference to his face. it’s possibly an improvement from his actual look, i think. :p

anyway, the premise of the story was kinda like Terminator meets Inception meets The Butterfly Effect meets an M Night Shyamalan movie meets… well, you know, something of a mind-f#@& but not so much that your brain will hurt.

“hmm, if people could time-travel from the future, wouldn’t they have gone back to major moments in history and like, kill Hitler when he was a baby, or stop the Hiroshima bombing, or the 9/11 or something? or maybe someone DID go back from the future and DID all those things – maybe Hitler et al were from the future! or what if someone went back to prevent one historic tragedy but another one happened anyway? what if, in preventing a Hitler or an Osama from being born, someone else took their place and everything STILL happened the same way? WHAT IF…!!” well, as you can err, tell, we sure had fun playing the Time-travelling What-if Game after that movie.

4