yogi::ballerina::sportsgirl

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the ballet tree pose.

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if you recall, her first birthday was rainbow-filled…

it wasn’t intentional but her fifth birthday too was rainbow-filled…

well, ok, this was technically the weekend before her birthday, and we happened to be in damansara, KL (again!), on a mission to conquer Publika, where a certain Wondermilk cafe holds residence.

we could not resist the perfect opportunity to buy one of their famous colourful Lola cakes, the sight of which in itself is so delightfully vibrant and joyful, it could make unicorns cry happy, sparkly tears.

the actual day of her birthday, i travelled many kilometres, to the other side of the island, to fulfil her wish. yes, she wanted not one pony, but many ponies, and ponies she got – on her cake.

gahh, aren’t preschoolers the cutest?!

here’s to rainbows and sunshine wherever you go…

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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.)

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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*

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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).

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it was a spur of a moment suggestion – whether she wanted to have her ears pierced and wear earrings, like a big girl. she nodded in assent, and i knew there was at least one jewellery shop at the shopping centre where we could pop in to do it on the spot, so in between assurances that it won’t hurt much and even mommy had her ears pierced, she chose a pair of pink (surprise surprise) studs and proceeded to sit on the stool, slightly clueless of the coming ordeal.

her brother gave her support, as you can see. excited to see some gun-shooting action, no doubt.

after the initial shock of the first piercing, she teared up and covered her other, unsullied ear. it took a promise of a rainbow ice-cream cone before she steeled herself for the other ear.

i had mine done when i was in the middle of my primary school years – that late. my dad wouldn’t let me! but i was so keen and ready by then – it was my choice and decision, just as i wanted for the girl – so one day my mum brought me, along with my grandma, to some kedai emas and that was that.

i’ve had, erm, some other piercings done since; it kinda fed on my masochistic tendencies i guess. they were just.. thrilling, for me.

but of course, i ‘grew up’ and now am left with just one unclosed, ‘workable’ pair on the lobes and that’s enough for me.

and that’s the only one the girl will ever need to know on mommy.

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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!

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… and everything nice. (well, most of the time anyway – her inner diva rears her ugly tiara-ed head on occasions.)

on this occasion, however, at her ballet open class for parents, the sugar and spice side was in performance mode. little girls twirling about in tutus, ha ha, they’re like these little fluffy cotton candies, you know?

we think she’s a little easily distracted or a bit of a daydreamer. one of the comments in her ballet book from her teacher a few months back after a lesson was that she’d licked the mirror. seriously, who does that?!? must’ve been that inner tiara-ed diva getting bored and hungry for cotton candy. well, thankfully that was the only mirror-licking incident (though we never let her forget it), because little miss earned a pep talk from me, and i am happy to report that subsequent comments have been more positive. :p

ps: i wish i did ballet as a kid! it’s too late for me now… is it?

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“look -> auni” (she’s starting her own diary too, spelling on her own.)

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.)

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wall model.

bubblewrap fashion.