it never occured to us when we got married and bought a house and had babies, that at some point in time, they would soon reach the ripe schooling age of seven and there would be the issue of registering them in a primary school.
we kinda overlooked that part, really. back then, we only had the short-term view of ensuring that our location of residence would be in close proximity to my parents, for many reasons (other than the $40k grant) – the convenience of checking in on each other, the supply of home-cooked food, the default caregiver to our kids… in short, we chose our mainly solely for the family support factor.
only in later years did we realise, there were in fact many parents who chose/moved/rented houses for the sole purpose of being in close proximity to good, reputable schools, thereby increasing their chances of placing their young child/ren in them. it was a radical jolt to my system, this piece of info. i mean, we seriously never thought about it. “like, really? people would go to such lengths?” well that just goes to show how, err, ill-prepared we were with the realities of being parents of school-going children in singapore.
so then i heard about this whole fantastical system called the Primary One Registration that had these things called phases, and it was again, another rude shock to my oyster shell. “what? there are priorities given to register kids in school OTHER than proximity?!” my mom never told me thaaaaat. (ok maybe she did but i wasn’t listening, and besides, times have changed since she retired… i think.)
all the horror stories began to fill my ears, of parents who lived across the road from a particular school but did not succeed in obtaining a place for their kid, of parents who performed volunteer work religiously yet did not get through the balloting, of HOW HARD it is to get into that particular school because it’s so reputable, neighbourhood status notwithstanding, that it’s oversubscribed every year.
i’m sure there are just as many, if not more, parents who don’t think much of primary schools, and are just boggled over the fuss in the first place. “it’s just PRIMARY school, many kids come out of normal, nondescript ones doing well too, big deal.” they’re right, of course. i admire that kind of brave confidence, actually – that their kids CAN do well no matter where they go to, that it’s only in secondary school where they’ll ‘bloom’.
my parents, for some reason, had sent me to a particular girls’ school in the east, which was, in that era, a somewhat popular one. i remember going to school together with her on the bus and watching her by the school gate as she leaves – that particular image of her still stirs in me that same sad feeling to this very day. (separation anxiety, you may call it.) and if anything, that’s testament to how powerful your emotions and experiences are in the primary years, that it stays with you throughout your life. and i guess that’s the point i’m making; i had such deep, long-lasting impressions in my formative years in primary school – of friends and teachers, and importantly, of learning (i had such excellent language teachers, and i have them to thank for planting the seed that eventually became my strength) – that those six years were the most memorable ones for me. they weren’t all necessarily good ones, but i think, important ones. (though, ironically, the one thing i still can’t fully master, despite ten freaking years in a girls’ school, is dealing with the dynamics in a group of girls, ha haha. ahem.)
in any case, i wouldn’t be able to put aniq in a girls’ school, so the parents-as-alumni priority phase is out.
i looked around and realised, while there were a few neighbourhood schools that weren’t too bad, on account of the accolades they proudly blaze on banners outside their school gates, i sorta wish for my kid to go to nicer-sounding ones, with established history and long track record, and i don’t know, knowing actual people who came out of there and had promising/successful paths, you know? i guess all that sounds superficial and unreliable as basis for my choice, because i’ve NO idea what would work for my kid, whether he’ll thrive or survive regardless of the environment, what kind of teachers he’ll get, what kind of friends he’ll be surrounded with. then of course, there’s still the matter of convenience and proximity and sheer logistics… (by now, you’d have me for the typical overthinking, worrywart of a first-time parent, and you’d be right – bah!)
for all the uncertainties, i figure, the least i could do is try to get him into a school which he could one day thank me for, one that will hopefully leave a positive influence on him, and who knows, i could create a legacy for him, some day make it easier for him when the time comes to register for his kids when they reach the ripe schooling age of seven. (forward thinking, you know.)
and because i need some sense of being in control, i chose to do the beaten path of parent volunteering, a concept i never imagined i’d embrace (just like exercising – 2010 seems to be a year of new discoveries, it would seem).
we were duly warned that there were no guarantees despite clocking in that 40 hours of PV (or more, as some have done). i’m not even sure if it’s worth doing it, really. it’s not say, the top school (if anything, i’m easily intimidated by competition), it’s not affiliated to any secondary schools, and it’s technically a neighbourhood school which is out of our 2km range… but i have my reasons for choosing it.
i’m going in with no high hopes, in case this is all a futile exercise. heck, i don’t even know if i’ll be able to complete the 40 hours! i’ll just take it as… experience? experiment? yeah, just go with it.
anyway, clocked in my first four hours at their annual funfair on friday. that’s me, in a badge that says ‘parent volunteer’, sweating under a hot tent, touting and doling out food which the other parents contributed. the REAL, hardcore parent volunteers, the NON-40-hour ones, mothers AND fathers who’ve been at this for years! omg i’ve never known such a thing as their enthusiasm and devotion to a parent volunteering network, i’m a little.. overwhelmed.
as i’ve mentioned more than enough times, i’ve never been much of a sports person, but since the beginning of 2010 (see post on New Year’s resolution) and the realisation that my body is in slow but certain deterioration (my bones creak every time i bend down these days, what’s that about?!), i’ve taken to gearing my activities to the less sedentary. well, as much as i can, anyway. (i STILL can’t cycle.)
and i sorta had an epiphany – maaaaybe the reason why i never warmed up to this whole active lifestyle was because my parents didn’t really bring me out to do sporty activities as a kid, or supported my school sports’ events? i don’t know, just a theory. (so what DID we do then? i think i was indoors a lot. my childhood’s a little hazy – and apparently, lazy.)
anyway, the kids’ school had a sports league thingy, in line with their theme and i suppose, the upcoming youth olympic games, and i thought, what the heck, it’s one saturday morning that’s already thought-out for us. (we’re always racking our brains thinking up of things to make them tired on weekends, so they’d turn in early at the end of the day – not that it ever works.)
hey do you remember your school sports days?? the only thing i remember is the ICE COLD MILO they used to give out in small plastic cups! it tasted SO delicious back then, for some reason. of course, the rest of my memory is of hiding in corners of the bleachers with other anti-sports friends. heh.
speaking of friends, each school had displays of what they did to tie in with the theme, and guess who aniq introduced us to…
… the mysterious girfriend he’s always talking about. she IS real.
i liked that they highlighted little anecdotes and photos as evidence of what they did or talked about in class, coz i think most times, we parents have little idea what they do in there, five days a week. my daily question of “what did you do in school today?” has them invariably answering in the standard “i eat” / “i play toys” / “i donno”, or if i’m lucky, random ramblings of who pushed who, or who was naughty.
and importantly, we also got to see who they hang out with, five days a week.
one of those things i’ve been meaning to do but never got around to, due to my… erm, non-sahm status. bad excuse, i know, but weekends always seem to whiz by with little time to execute such activities at leisure. and it’s not much, but oh well, at least we were inspired, if only for one afternoon.
the little girl’s many ‘aunties’ have been asking what she wants for her birthday.
what do you think?
clearly, she has waaaay too many boys’ toys at her disposal. from power rangers to ben 10 merchandise to cars to trucks to dinosaurs to (i’m ashamed to say this) guns (none of which i’m responsible for, i stress) – she’s been sharing them all with her brother.
which is not such a bad thing, actually. i think it’s kinda cute. (this is her favourite set of pajamas, by the way. i kid you not. “eh-men! i want eh-men!”) ha ha.
sure, there’s a cooking stove, which both of them congregate at every day to concoct imaginary dishes/drinks for me or the daddy. there’s a little pram with a freaky blonde doll, which they both take turns to chase each other around the house with. there’s a shopping trolley, which they equally find pleasure in scattering its contents all over the floor with.
i’ve not discussed with her yet about princesses (except that one book about a Princess Polly and her potty, and even that, it’s just a girl with a crown wearing panties, not your standard Disney-type womanly princesses with coiffed hair and frilly gowns who go around kissing frogs or supposedly rich, handsome, young, single, charming men), but somehow, either from the incessant advertisements on tv or from observations of older girls and peers, a kind of, hmm, ‘social osmosis’ happened, and she can identify with the concept.
“(pr)een-cess!”, she’d exclaim, her head tilting, her voice extra high-pitched and in such a sing-song manner that you can practically hear glitters and pink sparkles coming out of her. O-o
“princess?”, i’d ask, giving her a sceptical grimace. “dowan lah.”
as you can see, i’m still trying my best to resist the idea of over-gender-conditioning and hyper-femininity. i’m fighting against creating a ‘gu niang’ girl. just as i’d lost the battle with the boy and his penchant for toy guns, i may be losing it with the colour pink.
and, admittedly, mummy isn’t being a great example herself, what with her girly makeup and lipglosses and dresses and high heels, eh? LOL.
there’s this scene in Dan In Real Life, starring steve carell (in an endearing role filled with endless pathos, reminiscent of steve martin in ‘father of the bride’, another favourite tearjerker), that struck me.
early on in the movie, his 15-year-old daughter declared her love for a boy after knowing him for 3 days, and as the rightful protecting father that he is, proceeds to ground her – for life.
Dan: And by the way, you’re grounded.
Cara: Oh yeah? For how long?
Dan: For life.
Jane: Dad, come on.
Cara: Yeah, this is humiliating!
Dan: Alright, you’re grounded for a month.
Cara: A month?! But… that’s worse than forever!
but he had to eat his words when he met marie (the beautiful juliette binoche), and fell in love with her after a morning of conversation – only to find out later that she’s his brother’s girlfriend. and so ensued an excruciating 3 days for him, stuck with her at his family gathering, repressing his feelings like a lovestruck 15-year-old. till the turning point in the movie where she breaks up with his brother, unable to repress her own growing feelings for him, and the entire family, including his daughters, discovered them kissing, resulting in a whirlwind of chaos.
Dan: I know I messed up.
Cara: Yup.
Jane: Yes you did.
Dan: So here is what I’m going to do. I am grounding myself for life. And so I will be with you–
Jane: You’re with us every day.
Dan: I’m not going anywhere. See, I got a little confused with Marie. That is over, okay? I kind of lost my head. I got a little stupid, because I love her. No, that’s not…I don’t love her. and that’s not what I meant. I mean, how could I love her? I’ve only known her..
Lily: Three days.
Dan: Yeah. And how can you know in three days? Well, no. Yes I do. I love her. I love her, I love her, I love her. I love her.
that part about grounding himself for life, man, that did it for me. there’s something heartbreaking in his attempts to be the übermensch single father – the self-sacrifice, the unconditional love, the rules and decisions that make him, as his 9-yr-old daughter says, “a great father but a bad dad” – but eventually succumbing to human fallibility.
i guess a single mother could make an equally compelling story – with more martyr-like panache for dramatic measure – but because he’s a single father, it brings out… a different kind of aww-factor fuzziness. yeah, i’m a sucker like that. coz for some strange – biological? evolutionary? – reason, we women have a soft spot for the nurturing male of the species, so much so that we even want to nurture the nurturing male. we can’t help it. just look as far back as the bedtime fairytales of yore, you’ll find more instances of stepmothers than stepfathers (refer to: snow white, cinderella, hansel & gretel, et al). from kings to woodcutters, they all seem to have these women (nevermind that they’re usually evil, vain, material and non-maternal) taking them into their open bosoms.
and, yes, in true fairytale fashion, dan did end up marrying marie. (except she’s not evil and they all love her, and i REALLY MUST STOP reading too much into those darn fairytales i read to aniq at night coz they’re screwing up with my brains).
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speaking of grounding, we’d ‘grounded’ the boy on sunday on account of his adamant refusal to partake in a weekend activity we’d subscribed him to for one hour. his excuse: he wanted to play with his toys. so fine, we told him, play with your toys all you want at home, but NO TV and NO following us out AT ALL. (we were going to shop for a birthday present before proceeding to the said birthday, where his cousin dadam was anticipating his arrival, so he’d be missing out on all the action.) he cried at the penalty. “too bad,” we told him. “that’s called Punishment, aniq.”
i mean, he has to learn that he simply can’t have his way all the time without some kind of repercussion, in this case, at the expense of fun time with his favourite cousin and the goodies that come with birthday parties. right?
sometimes i ask the husband, “is he spoilt? is he a spoilt brat?” i have my suspicions, but how exactly we’ve ‘spoilt’ him, i’m not too sure. it’s not like we give in to his whines or demands, we teach him to mind his Ps & Qs, we scold him whenever he does something wrong, praise him when he’s right… so what happened in between the acquiescent, eager-to-please baby he was and now? have we been too soft? could corporal punishment have its merits, after all?
in any case, when we came home, he was all kisses and hugs and, the cold, unforgiving mother that i am, i told him i was still angry. (i’m cruel, i know.) remnants of his remorse lingers the next day, smothering me all over with affection when i returned. “do you want go to the [subscribed weekend activity] on sunday?” “yes,” was his immediate response. “good boy,” i said.
I AM AN EMOTIONAL-BLACKMAIL FIEND, is what i am. if this were a fairytale, i’d be the stepmother.
+++++
since we’re on the topic of fairytales, and i clearly have a fascination at demystifying them, i leave you with this rhyme, an english translation at the end of a Perrault story to warn young girls with a propensity for attracting sexual predators (i’m sure you can easily guess which one).
Little girls, this seems to say,
Never stop upon your way,
Never trust a stranger-friend;
No one knows how it will end.
As you’re pretty so be wise;
Wolves may lurk in every guise.
Handsome they may be, and kind,
Gay, and charming—nevermind!
Now, as then, ’tis simple truth—
Sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth!
am missing her today, coz it’s the first day back at work after the long CNY holiday and she’d usually be the first feet to pitter-patter over to our room and lay her head on my side of the bed, followed by her brother, but today i was out before either of them woke up, so something felt… amiss.
sometimes it’s hard talking about the little things in your life you find pride in – be it your accomplishments, achievements, experiences, aspirations – without inadvertently offending someone.
because, – and perhaps i’m being a cynic here – people would really much rather hear the bad things that happen to you, all your imperfections and failures. because then you wouldn’t make them feel bad about themselves, for whatever reason.
in truth, it’s probably easier finding people – friends and strangers – willing to commiserate in your woes than share in your joys.
empathy is easy; mudita, or altruistic joy, not so.
and when it comes to parenting, ho boy, you REALLY gotta tiptoe on land mines on this one. coz nobody really wants to hear how well you’re doing, not really. not unless they ask. and certainly not when it strikes at their raw, exposed achilles’ heels.
human nature being the funny, illogical thing that it is, i get that, i really do.
(then again, if we keep shoving those achilles’ heels down people’s throats, we’re also shooting ourselves in the foot, so to speak, aren’t we? but i guess some find catharsis in airing their hardships and little grievances, while others, well, simply prefer to conceal them; that way, they protect themselves from others – intentionally or unintentionally – belittling/ridiculing them. everybody has a different way of dealing with their heels, after all.)
so anyway, to dispel the notion that only happy, delightful things happen in the life of izadnhana, let me share bits of what everybody likes to hear – our less-than-ideal dealings with our less-than-ideal children.
the four-year old boy: where shall i begin?
- “i want sweet/toy/etc!! i waaaaaannnnttt…!! i waaaaannnntttt…..! *whine whine whine*”
yes, IT HAPPENS. The Whine. the items may differ, but the tone consistent. despite our repeated denying and ignoring, and reminders to “please ask nicely”, this “i want” syndrome persists. we’ve even renamed him Aniq Iwant. on my less accommodating days, i’d even give him a nice fat tweak on the ear. sometimes, a pants-wetting shout that would crack your eardrums. (yes, i shout. bad mum.) and nah, we’ve never given in to his whiny demands, preferring to let him cry it out and wallow in the misery of not getting what he wants. “THAT’S LIFE, ANIQ! YOU CAN’T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT!”, i shout, quoting the wise words of the Rolling Stones. doesn’t mean he’s learnt his lesson though.
- “i dowan to bathe/go toilet!!”
with every ‘i want’, is an ‘i dowan’. anything routine is met with almost-violent objection. why do children resist baths as much as cats and dogs? that is the eternal question. we usually ‘trap’ him into bathing when he has to pee. (off with your clothes, into the shower you go, lightning-thunder-evil laughter!) and then we’d have him resist going to the toilet to pee. i told him if he holds his pee, stones will form inside, and then he wouldn’t be able to pee, and he’ll go to the hospital, and yes, you can die (he always likes a little gore injected into his potential ailments). he’d eventually have to pee at some point, of course, but holding his bladder can’t be a good thing. we’ve threatened putting him back on diapers, which makes him even madder. doesn’t mean he’s learnt his lesson though.
- “i dowan to eat/sleep!”
again, more routines, more ‘dowans’. there’ll be days when he wants proper food (ie. rice), days when he’d refuse it. he likes chicken skin. we told him, that’s why his inner elbow looks as gross as chicken skin (he’s got eczema). and they sleep late, my kids. on average, they’ll doze off at 11 – 11.30pm. the whole process – milk/water-drinking, peeing, toothbrushing, reading, talking, cajoling, threatening – takes about an hour each night. we could start the bedtime routine earlier, but no matter what we do, their body clock is stubborn that way. i know they should be trained to sleep earlier, but because we come back from work and get to spend so little time with them, we don’t have the heart to force them down earlier. bad, yes. good luck when they start morning session in school. so all of you with kids who sleep as early as 8pm, i say, WOW.
- “stop biting your nails!”
that’s me, swatting his hands out of his mouth for the trillionth time. there are times when i have to swat his FOOT out of his mouth. (actually, that bad habit is probably genetic, i’m pret-ty sure i used to perform such an acrobatic feat myself as a kid.) i tried telling him about disgusting germs lurking underneath those nails, travelling into his mouth, down his throat, into his stomach, invading his body (and yes, you’ll die!)… but then, he’ll forget. i never got around to getting that anti-nail-biting cream from the pharmacy.
- “i like game! i like tv!”
with an attention span shorter than a goldfish, video games (which i refuse to have anything to do with, but which he gets to play with abandon at his grandfather’s house) have a way of keeping him hooked. i hate it. sure, it keeps him focused and hones his hand-eye coordination, but at the detriment of a more important skill, ie. sitting down with a pencil and paper, which is OH SO UNEXCITING coz no guns are being shot and no bullets being dodged. barely 5 minutes at writing and he’d have wiggled his way out of his chair with an excuse i’d probably hear for the next 16 years: “i’m tired”. the tv thing, i think, is universal. i don’t know any kid who doesn’t like it, or NEED it. and i guess we need it ourselves too, coz how could we possibly NOT have a tv in the house?! unthinkable.
- “i like my friends, dong yi/vincent/lutfi..”
i know there are kids who are shy, but i say, shyness is really not so bad. consider this boy: he sees people or older kids, he barges right in and tries to play with them, which, i observe occasionally, irritates them. and when i do, i’d step in and pull him away. what else can you do? and another thing, these boys he befriends in school, they influence each other’s behaviour to some extent, and you see the bad ones surface, like the “leh”s at the end of sentences, the loudness, the rowdiness. his teacher called me the other day to tell me that he and his friends were scolded for shooting imaginary guns at the back of the class and causing a pitcher of water to spill. (he cried, HA HA!) and he’s only four! imagine being called up in primary-secondary school, for more serious misdeeds. his inclination as an extrovert could somehow attract him to groups of boys equally brash, playful, and mischievous. so, maybe it’s better to have a shy boy. a nerdy, bookish one. the bawah-ketiak-mak type. i don’t know.
- overall omg-can-you-stop-doing-that! behaviour
this ranges from kicking toys not meant to be kicked, to purposely doing whatever we JUST told him NOT to do, to… oh the list goes on. i get tired just trying to list them down.
so as you can see, all of the above are probably common tales of common parents dealing with common children. they may reveal our lack of disciplining, our lack of spending time with them, a lack of something-or-other, always, always a lack on our part.
and while this exercise of revealing the unpleasant side of my kid (and myself) brings little pleasure to me, perhaps it brings a bit of pleasure to you.
but they probably won’t live up to your EVEN worse stories, experiences, plights and predicaments, i’m sure. because someone ALWAYS has it worse than you, and you just. can’t. win.
am looking at auni’s documentation of her first two weeks at the centre.
it reads something like this. (yes i’m typing it out. don’t call me crazy. i’m a mommy.)
day 1: went in the class independently… sat down for a while and walked to the dramatic corner… played with manipulatives… ate the chicken only.
day 2: went in the class. didn’t cry… sang some familiar songs… enjoyed the walk around the neighbourhood… played puzzles… ate rice but did not finish.
day 3: did not cry… had storytelling… played at blocks corner… had dory fish + rice + vege… able to relate to the story at storytime (Adam’s Daycare).
day 4: cried (!!)… settled down… played at fine motor corner… had chicken mushroom + rice… sat down well at storytime.
day 5: cried… had chinese lesson… went to the library corner… had 2nd helping at lunch… able to sing along with the book, ‘Wheels on the Bus’.
day 6: cried… settled and joined in the music & movement… explored with the discovery corner… chose a book for the class.
day 7: cried for a while… did painting on easel board… had fun exploring with water… had baked chicken + rice.
day 8: cried for a while but settled down… dramatization for the book ‘Wheels on the Bus’… played at the playground… able to answer questions when asked.
day 9: had music & movement… played at discovery corner… activity at the void deck… played at the chinese corner… had 2nd helping at lunch… sat well at storytime.
day 10: sang songs… played with dough… enjoyed herself at the swing… played at dramatic corner… had steamed egg… chose a book for the class.
we must have made her miss four days out of that two weeks, coz that’s all i have. (wait, actually, 5 + 5 weekdays do technically count as two weeks of school, right?)
and don’t worry, coz she’s been there a month now and has since been reported as going straight into her class with nary a tear. i wasn’t too worried about the crying thing anyway coz, well, she IS barely two years old, what can one expect? they’re dramatic like that! they have good days and they have bad days. heck, i’m 32 and even i want to burst into tears when i reach work everyday. (ok lah, exaggerating…)
also, for the most parts, she’s pretty easy-going by nature, and like most children, adaptable to changes.
when i leave for work in the mornings, she puckers up her lips and gives me a cheerful “bye bye!”, and that, well, makes me NOT cry when i reach work everyday.
exactly 2 years ago, aniq had a milestone moment with his first visit to the dentist, at 2yrs 2mths old, and auni was, well, -2mths (ie. unborn!):
uh oh, i sense a cliche coming now —> “how time flies!”
it’s become a yearly routine and this being his third visit, he knows the drill, so to speak – come in, play with toys, talk to the doctor, sit in the reclining chair, open mouth, scrape, spit, brush, choose a reward from the treasure box.
of course, it helps that he gets HEAPS of praises from the friendly doc for his good teeth and behaviour. sheesh.
his canines have this greenish stain which we can’t remove with a toothbrush despite our nightly attempts. apparently it’s common among kids (actually, even more common are blackish ones instead of what doc described as aniq’s more ‘textbook’ green), and simply genetically inherited. case in point: his cousin, adam, came in right after, and was found to have the exact same green stains on his teeth. sooo, it just HAS to come from my chlorophyll-rich side of the family tree. (by the way, adam would need braces some day, coz his mouth is so small, his teeth would be overcrowding. braces! so cute, right?)
but the stains were easily removed with the right tools (doc said to DIY with a toothpick next time). the ‘gappy’-ness of his teeth makes it hard for food to get stuck in between, so they’re generally easy to clean. remember when you aunties called him ‘madonniq’? turned out to be a good thing after all, heh.
pronounced as cavity-free, his good-as-new, post-polished teeth (i’m not kidding, they look awesome, sigh – dear aniq, please pleaseeee don’t ever mar them with smokes and coffee in the future) were photographed by the doc, and then it was auni’s turn.
okaaay, so ALL the doc managed with our wriggly worm of a girl was count her teeth (16) and made her promise to let mummy or daddy brush them every night (to which she nodded in a very ‘macam paham’ way), before she successfully made like a slippery eel and slid out of her daddy’s clutches on the reclining chair, and ran off to play in the wendy house at the waiting room.
M: auni, tadi makan apa? (what did you eat today?)
A: asi! (nasi = rice)
M: lagi? (some more?)
A: eeken! (chicken, obviously, duh) ayam! (she has, as at last check, on 3 feb 2000hrs, decided to answer this instead of ‘eeken’.)
M: lagi?
A: opok! (keropok = fish cracker)
M: eh? sedap? (nice?)
A: dap!
M: pandai! (clever)
and when asked the various body parts in malay, she will obligingly twitch or point accordingly. yesterday, she saw her oma half-undressed and went, “eh, tak alu!” (no shame!).
ah. there is hope yet for you, my young padawan.
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M: aniq, ‘fish’ dalam melayu apa? (what is ‘fish’ in malay?)
A: …
M: (prompting with first syllable of ‘ikan’) eeee…?
A: eeee… er san!
M: O-O <--- (talk about culture shock.)
=========
in any case, they're both smitten by upin & ipin, you know, identical twin pre-schoolers who are the cutest cartoon characters, like EVUH, hailing from a fictional kampung in malaysia. (well, there was Lat the Kampung Boy back in the days - remember him? - but upin & ipin are so... arrrgh, DEM CUTE, and there are two of 'em!) the husband and i totally approve of the series, more so since the dialogue's so chuckle-worthy and in malay, and, i mean, WHO NEEDS TO LEARN SPANISH LAH, RIGHT?
so smitten by the characters and their antics, that even the little one has taken to mimicking the dialogue. a particular one that stuck to her was where the token effeminate youth in the kampung insists that his name's not Salleh but Sally, and attempts to spell it out: "S-I-L-L-Y", dismissing his misspelling with a flick of his limp wrist, "apa jer lah, tak kuasa aku." ("whatever!" - another thing about the beauty of localised humour - the english version simply does not translate sufficiently. right? betul betul betul?)
maybe i should send them to a kampung in malaysia, if anything, to brush up on their malay.
speaking of kampungs, the other night, in one of my meandering discussions with the little boy after an episode of upin & ipin, i described to him how in kampungs, they have no toilets with a flushing system, and potty business had to be done in an outhouse or behind bushes in the forest. (AS IF i know anything about rural life, hah! but mothers being mothers, must sound convincing and knowledgeable lah, right? betul betul betul?)
M: ingat tak, citer upin ipin, kawan cucu tok dalang sakit perut, nak pegi toilet tapi dia takut pasal dah malam abih tempat dia jauh? ahhh.
A: why??
M: ye laaah. kat kampung takde toilet.
A: why??
M: ye laaah. macam gitu. abih ingat tak, kawan cucu tok dalang nak berak, dia sembunyi belakang semak-samun? (at this point, even i can’t believe i just said ‘semak-samun’, an almost archaic word for thicket/undergrowth.)
A: why??
M: ye lah. pasal takde toilet!!
you can imagine how this conversation went on – endlessly.
like this bridge we trekked last weekend, in our attempt to bring the children close to nature.
well, as close as we could get to the semak-semak, anyway. no potty business going on here, though. it’s as sterile as everything typically singaporean is.
and mummy – again, ever-convincing and knowledgeable – explained away the many whys. sometimes with more than a “ye laah”.
so there was the “Bumper Car” incident on the road two days ago, which resulted in a few inconveniences for us. for those of you who aren’t privy to our tweet-world, i was banged from behind our car was banged from behind while i was driving home on the PIE by a young fella in his early 20s, who apologised and admitted that it was his fault.
the guy’s father called me soon after, asking to settle the bill from the damage without going through the insurance company. he even offered one of his cars (!) as a replacement while our car went to a workshop owned by his friend. overnight parking coupon? “it’s ok, just buy and claim from me later,” the father says.
i asked if his son was ok, since he mentioned that his son had blacked out briefly before the accident. (i know right? behind the wheel! in an overtaking lane! spells ‘road hazard’ in capital letters to me.) the father, either in truth or in defence, said he too had encountered such momentary black-outs, so could not fault his son. he then took our car ALL the way to jurong where the workshop is, and when the car was repaired, drove ALL the way back to return it to us. through all this, we did not hear or see the son at all (he drove his dad’s car to work).
luckily we’d dealt with a nice, honest man, and luckily for him too, we didn’t give him a hard time. luckily, as much as we love owning a car, we’re not exactly car-lovers. we don’t give our car a name, or decorate it with fluff and frills, or go insane if either of us gets it into minor scrapes (“gives it character”, we say, and shrug it off). inside, it’s probably one of the messiest cars you’d ever seen. my mum occasionally nags at us when she sees the backseat littered with crumbs and artfully-strewn crap. she insists how the neatness and pride one has for one’s car is a reflection of one’s personality. welllll…
aaaanyway, back to my story.
so izad had this epiphany while we were driving in the little nissan march loaned to us (the car that, incidentally, banged into our airwave).
“kesian, bapak dia.” (“poor thing, his father”.) the lengths the chap went to for his son, taking time off work to meet us and send our car to the workshop, sacrificing his own car for his son to use, footing the bill…
he imagined if it were aniq who messed up like that some day in the future – and we’re quite sure he’s capable of messing up to some degree, not that we’d wish it, of course – he too would be the one to “clean up his shit” (hey, his words, not mine). because, “that’s just what fathers do” (again, his words).
his perspective on fatherhood made me grin a little despite myself. just yesterday, i got mad at the little boy over something and told him i was SO angry, i was not going to talk to him, which made him cry, which made me even madder, and i told his daddy to deal with it.
because that’s what i do when i get mad – i tell them to GO TO DADDY. because daddy is the calm ocean to mummy’s turbulent tornado. (as to why she is predisposed as such, is for another day to discuss and dissect.)
so… yeah, daddy cleans up the shit.
driving lesson 101: DO NOT – i repeat, DO NOT – bang into anyone in front of you. or your mommy will get REAAALLY MAD.
i’d screamed my head off each time she attempted to climb over the back of our new sofa, and also at her brother whom she was imitating. her daddy told me it was no use coz she’d already done this stunt a few times, but only at the point of me capturing this vid that i discovered she really could do it – without harming herself, apparently.
grrrr.
note her “dare-you-to-stop-me” look while she performed the stunt for my benefit, and then gleefully dancing her arms about as she tottered away from me in escape from persecution.
i once overheard an old makcik, a long time ago in my teenage days, loudly warning her young charges who were swinging on railings or whatever – “jangan buat gitu! nanti kau jatuh, kepala kau pecah!” and i remembered thinking, come on, makcik, seriously? break his head? how melodramatic! hyperbolic! exaggerating! coz it seemed ridiculous that a kid, an agile one at that, could drop on his head from swinging on some mere low railings, and have his skull crack open, spilling its bloody content out all over the ground.
but now, many years later and having become a mom, the image has turned into a highly possible (and gory) reality, and the same phrase, which i once scoffed indignantly at in my arrogant youth, is perpetuated on my very own children.
“TURUN! JANGAN BUAT GITU, NANTI KAU JATUH, KEPALA KAU PECAAAAH!”
yes, i have turned into that histrionic makcik after all, in this great, karmic circle of life.
not sure why, but when she saw my 11-yr-old nephew, she flashed herself – and kept doing it when she met him another day (means she remembers him specifically; she doesn’t do it to anyone else… i hope). then she kept tugging his shirt from behind, giggling when he carries her.
omg. smitten with boys at 18mths?? :S
speaking of reaching 18 mths, have been thinking of placing the lil one in either her brother’s previous playgroup for a daily 3-hour programme, or half-day care at his current childcare centre. asked him if he would help look out for his sister if she were in his school. he said he would. “adik can go in baby class,” he says.
i like that the boy is largely independent, too curious for his own good, mischievous to no end (!!), but loving and lovable in his own rambunctious way. his sister has somewhat similar traits, but a girl being a girl, has a certain… je ne sais quoi that makes her a bit more adorable AND annoying at the same time. (how do you explain the nuances of ‘mentel’ and ‘menggeramkan’ in english anyway?)
sometimes we like to try to figure out who or where they get their particular traits from – her hard-headed stubbornness from mummy? his playfulness from daddy? – then give up, because it didn’t matter; they’re a mishmash of DNAs, each the way they are as a result of personality, circumstances, environment; a cocktail concoction of nature and nurture. and as they say, the whole is more than the sum of its parts. besides, i’ve asked mum on several occasions whether i was ever like either of them in terms of behaviour, and she could never confirm or deny, excuse being she “can’t remember”. i wish i knew, coz from the few unsmiling pictures of me, i figured i was quite a grumpy child. (not much has changed then.) on the other hand, EVERYBODY on izad’s side of the family tells me he was the naughtiest and most mischievous of the lot, so looks like that part didn’t skip a generation (darnnit).
so anyway, back to my so-called ‘planning’ and ‘strategies’. sure, letting the lil one hang around at home would be the easiest solution. it’s not so much for lack of support from the grandparent or hired help that i seemingly ‘banish’ them to playgroups and childcare. but rather, for the chance to explore, discover, adapt to other activities and people, big and small, in the expansive world out there, outside of the house and the gogglebox, that i wish to contribute to their whole, with whatever limited means that i have. do they really need it? will they be deprived otherwise? maybe, maybe not. i don’t know, i lean more towards the ‘let’s-expose-them’ camp than the ‘let’s-shelter-them’ camp.
but meanwhile, err, let’s not over-expose yourself there, lil one, and STOP FLASHING YOUR BRITNEY BITS!
we used to do this on aniq to amuse ourselves, now it’s her turn.
==================
(purely for recording purposes):
i guess i should note for posterity, like i did the last time with the elder one, that she’s weaned herself off b/f-ing at around 16 mths (11 of which were exclusive). a mean feat? i think so, seeing she wasn’t as much of a guzzler.
guess we both didn’t have the drive to keep going till she turned two years after all. which was just as well, coz the supply had gone dismal, and we’re both happy being independent off each other.
so yeah, no more baby hanging on mah titties! *throws confetti* (though there’s actually little for celebration, as i’ve learnt the last time, re: deflated boobs, slower metabolism, etc.)
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