Battle scars

I was part of a group of mothers on Saturday, interviewed for a 'chat show' for television. The topic, motherhood and parenting. It was a mish-mash group ranging from quirky mothers who think breastfeeding till 4 is the norm to conservative moms who had refused to expose the belly or by extension, their belly button when pregnant because the belly button to them, was the window into the belly and exposing it would mean allowing the all mysterious wind to enter the body.

I think I was the youngest in the group and my kids were probably the youngest too. But that wasn't what really set me apart. One of the questions asked was how motherhood had changed the way we looked at ourselves and also whether pregnancy was great. Most of the moms waxed lyrical about their experiences and talked about how it made them more confident, realising that many things previously were superficial especially now that they were on this journey of motherhood and how blessed they were to have such an opportunity to be mothers.

Before I go on, let me just state for the record that yes, all the above are true. But there was something else, that was either specific to me or they chose not to see it because it made them look bad. Motherhood also sucks as does pregnancy. I'm saying that now, in my third trimester because I feel as big as a whale, I hate the fact that I am as big as a whale and in no way do I feel one bit attractive. And when it comes to motherhood, yes, the things that used to matter might seem trifle but at the same time, those were all parts of a personality that has had to be cast aside. A friend and I were commiserating last week about how we hated how we looked and we didn't have a new-age bone in our body that made us want to embrace our madonna like bodies.

It may sound extremely flippant and flighty but such concerns obviously are in the face of large, life-altering issues like how we are there to shape the lives of our children, our offspring, the blank slates that God has blessed us with. But at the same time, it doesn't make it any less real and upsetting.

This hit home yesterday when for the first time in my pregnant life (both this time and last) did I find the beginnings of stretch marks. They were only visible when I sat in a certain way, in a certain type of light. But as certain as the fact that I am pregnant, I am also certain that the bluish, purplish welts that can be seen are stretchmarks. Most moms-to-be get them. What annoyed me and upset me was that I'd been pregnant with the twins previously and been much larger but never had to worry about stretchmarks then. I'd also been liberally slathering on oil for the skin, obviously to no effect. Packrat didn't think it was a big deal although my world seemed to be collapsing around that fact as I checked and re-checked the belly button and its surrounding area.

Obviously, it's a superficial issue. But to me, it brought home the downward spiral that my previous life had been heading toward, into an uncomfortable tail-spin. Before the twins, I ran about 25km- 30km a week, did pilates and had abdominal muscles that a guy would die for. After the twins, I found out that these muscles that also served to protect the belly, had split, in order to accommodate the babies. Ironically, the tighter and fitter the muscles were before the pregnancy, the more likely it would give way to make space for the baby. That took a great amount of rehabilitation and even then, my belly never looked the same again.

So, the six-pack had disappeared, and the muscles had split and in its place an unsightly bulge that grew into a 4 month pregnancy every time I ate. I had thought that what made it this bad was the fact that there were twins involved and the next time round, when I got pregnant, which is now, the same things would be less likely, especially since I'm carrying a much smaller load.

Unfortunately, as the stretchmarks have indicated, nature does not get kinder with subsequent pregnancies. Instead it just keeps it bringing it on, pushing and taunting you and the fact that the pregnancy is taking away what once gave you pride (in my case, it did). And I guess, because it defined such a large part of my life, it really does blow and is tears worthy.

What will happen after I deliver this baby? Will I have to burn all my previous photographs? Will I never lose my pregnancy weight and have to settle for something about 5 kg heavier, with flab round the belly and thighs? I know my mom never lost the weight she gained when she had me. She said I was the turning point. After both brothers, she was lithe thin, but after me, there was padding everywhere. People have commented that I actually look better with a little bit of padding here and there. The problem is that it causes cognitive dissonance in me and causes my brain to short out while it tries to wrap itself round that idea.

Too much of my life was spent worrying and preventing myself from ever getting fat- the reasons were mostly because it had to do with athletic performance more than image. The problem is when so much is focussed on not gaining any weight, what ever the reason is, it becomes something that has to do with image, self- image specifically.

And regardless of how warm and fuzzy a baby makes a mommy feel, in the moments when the mommy remembers that she was a girl, a woman and a person before she was a mommy, that's when things like that make her feel miserable.


Technorati Tags: twins, pregnancy, stretchmarks

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Sheer heaven

Going with my whole 'strict with food' philosophy, the twins haven't had much ice cream till recently. My fear has always been that their teeth would rot and they would become hyper and uncontrollable. One hyper and uncontrollable kid is bad enough, let alone two, two that are going through their terrible twos now.

But I also like seeing the sheer joy and wonder on their faces. And a little ice cream never harmed anyone. In fact, the doctors that I have seen for the twins, regarding their various little bouts of illnesses have told me that ice cream is a great way to mask foul tasting (read: Klaccid the antibiotic) medicine.

And since I pretty much have an ice cream craving now, I decided that they should join me in it.

A friend told me that her son had no idea how to eat ice cream from a cone. I didn't know how the twins would tackle a cone and I was curious to find out.

Evan just sucked at the cone, buried his mouth and nose into it, only succeeding in pushing the ice cream deeper into the cone.























Jordan first, asked for a spoon. When that stopped working, she tried to pour it out.























And then, this evening, in honour of Packrat's birthday next week, we had ice cream cake. Less rocket science required here. Just stick the finger into the cake and lick. This was rinsed and repeated MANY times, till the side of the cake looked like a block of Swiss cheese with holes all over the place.






















The sheer glee and joy on their faces (although at some point, I think Evan got a little bit of brain freeze)!

And since today had been a day of treats; they'd gone to the zoo in the morning and Jordan watched Monster's Inc while having lunch, we decided they could have cake despite having already brushed their teeth and it being an hour after bed time.


















Thankfully the sugar didn't send them into a tizzy and even though they fell asleep about an hour later than usual, it wasn't with all that much fuss. And if they are good tomorrow, they might just get a little bit more of heaven.

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Love-hate relationship

One thing I like about my family is the fact that I have 2 older brothers and we are close. We weren't as close growing up because of the big age gap, but we grew up close. I knew about their girlfriends, they wanted to shoot half of my boyfriends so we ended up being pretty protective of one another and knew that each of us had one another's backs and we would do anything for one another.

Everyone tells me that twins generally grow up close, especially if they are identical twins. Well, mine are twins but fraternal. Even then, my hope is that they will grow up close, love one another, stand up for one another and protect one another, because that's what siblings are supposed to do. Only in the recent months have they shown an outward awareness of one another. They now know how to ask for the other twin, they also know how to comfort one another and naturally, irritate the heck out of one another.

I think it would be easier if they were either girl-girl twins or boy-boy twins because at least the wavelengths would be somewhat similar. Right now, Jordan is very "girl" in the way she shows affection and Evan is very "boy". Jordan likes to touch her brother, stroke his face, pat his back or his arm, nuzzle him. She's very physical with her affection. Evan hates it. He will scream and run and cry if she comes on too strong. Word of warning to his future girlfriends!

So, I've taken to trying to mediate the situation by telling Jordan not to disturb her brother. Occasionally, I lapse into pasar Malay or Peranakan Malay and tell her "don't kachow di-di". And the boy, who picks up speech at a rapid rate, immediately started yelling it at him.

Here's an example of it. Although, here, I'm not mediating but trying to encourage them to kiss because it's pretty darned cute when they do. For the record, the two things Evan is saying is "Excuse Me!!!!!! " and "Don't kachow me!"



And here is the kiss for real and it's funny how Jordan rubs her mouth after that. For the record, that's Packrat asleep in the background because it is unearthly early. I think it's not yet 7. It just looks bright because I had to switch on the light to find the phone and so that they wouldn't trample all over their father.



And unfortunately, my day begins when they clamber up on the bed. He sleeps through it. I can't. Possibly because I'm mortally afraid for the health of my unborn child what with the kicking, the scrambling, the bouncing and the general rough housing that goes on.


Technorati Tags: twins, sibling interaction

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Bound by tradition

No matter how enlightened or liberal-minded I feel that I am, I constantly find myself restricted by cultural traditions and practices. Previously, it had to do with me being a bride-to-be and now, it's because I am pregnant. Some time back, I was told by a cousin that I couldn't visit her newborn child because it is bad luck for the child, since I am pregnant. I took great offence with that but was calmly told by my extremely Christian mom not to make it any more difficult for my cousin.

Yesterday, a grand aunt of a family that is very close to my heart passed away. I remember her to be a diminutive lady, a little bit anxious and nervous but very affectionate, very kind and very generous. I remember how she would, without anyone asking or actually wanting to, hand squeeze orange juice for her grand-nephew and niece. I haven't seen her much, in recent years because she began being forgetful and eventually had to be put into a home. I am saddened by her passing for many reasons. Because any passing is somewhat sad. Because she was in some way, part of my growing up years and partly responsible for my embracing of my Perankan identity. But also because she represents part of a Peranakan generation that when gone will represent a loss to us younger and somewhat bastardized Peranakans. My very own grandmother was part of such a great generation and while her legacy lives on in many things and many of us, we struggle to carry on the traditions she represented.

For these reasons and also to support the family, I would like to be at her wake, at the memorial service tonight and the funeral tomorrow. But I cannot and am not allowed to.

Why?

Because I am pregnant.

My argument was that it is a Christian funeral and such Chinese superstitions should have no bearing especially since my family and my husband's family are all Christian. But the forces are stronger than that argument. Of course, the pretext of modernisation is present. I was told that I shouldn't go because I am pregnant and shouldn't exert myself at situations this stressful. But I know that not to be a reason put forward in genuine concern but one to cover up the discomfort of having me, a pregnant woman bearing a child, being at such an event. And when I tried to seek support from other family quarters, I am told in the most kindly and gentle of manners that perhaps it is not a good idea. Not because we believe in it, because we don't but because the consequences are too great to bear.

Should nothing happen, nothing would be said. But should, by some pure coincidence and misfortune that something does happen, those who have already voiced disapproval will be given ample ammunition to assassinate my character and the blame will be shoved, like the crown of thorns onto my head, without a second thought. All regard for God's power, God's omnipotence and protection will be tossed out the window.

So, rather than lay the ground for something so unpleasant and unnecessary and rather than fight a battle that cannot be won, I will stay away even though the thought of it brings tears to my eyes. But also knowing that how tradition can be much more cruel, as it was with my mother, who was banned from attending my grandfather's funeral because she was expecting my brother, and how my mother, despite how she felt and what she thought, was obedient and respectful of it, gives me the ability to accept that this is what I have to do whether or not it is what I want to do.



Technorati Tags: pregnancy, Singapore, superstitions

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The morning shift

The twins generally sleep through the night. They do get hungry between 4.30 and 5.30 and usually by then, I've completed at least one sleep cycle and can willingly get up, get milk ready, potter around, go to the bathroom and tend to them. Usually I don't hold conversations with them because I do want to go back to bed and want them to do the same. If they have nightmares or need consolation earlier in the night, Packrat deals with them because earlier in the night, I'm not very conscious and not very useful. And if I have to do the midnight nightmares, my being able to wake up and do the 5 am one is questionable. Packrat is usually still up at midnight so that's his shift. Tag team perfection.

This morning, the routine was more or less the same except I needed to give Evan some panadol since he'd been running a low grade fever since yesterday. And while doing that, Jordan who had found her way into my bed was caterwauling because she couldn't find her beloved pacifier. That really woke Evan up, he's been behaving like the big brother lately and he needed to go and see why his sister was chucking a fit. So, off we went with all four of us on the bed. Because he was more awake than his wailing sister, it took him longer to get back to sleep. That meant it took me a long time to get to sleep too.

First it was "Mommy, massage eye. Eye itchy".

Then it was "Mommy, scratch arm. Got rashes".

Then it was "Mommy, put cream on rashes. Make rashes not itchy"

After that, there was much tossing and turning and scratching.

Just as I was drifting off, his little voice calls out insistently "Mommy, Mommy! Help me!" Evidently, he had swung his legs off the bed in the midst of tossing and turning and found himself standing on the floor without being able to get back onto the bed (our bed's quite high off the ground). When I told him he should try and climb up himself, he plaintively whined "Mommy, Mommy, I want to sleep!"

So, I heave him back onto the bed, all the while, his father and sister are dead to the world. I cuddle him and tell him that I'm tired and need to sleep and so does he. He quietly lies there for a bit and then rolls over and taps my nose and whispers to me again. "Mommy, get scissors"

At that moment, I think I was dreaming that baby Muffin was just born and I wondered why Evan was going to try and cut his cord. I murmur confused, "Why do you need a pair of scissors?"

Evan replies, obviously having something other than the umbilical cord to cut "Mommy get scissors. Help Evan. Evan no scissors. Scissors dangerous." Ok, so warnings still go heeded at 5 in the morning but I repeat "why does Evan need a pair of scissors?"

"Mommy cut Evan's tag. Evan's tag itchy. Scratch Evan." A t-shirt that he's worn for ages and has become too short for him evidently and only now, at 5 am irritates him to the point that he needs it cut off. I know I should just leave him to it but I don't. I roll my whale-like self off the bed and go in search of a pair of scissors and snip off the tag as much as I can, without switching on the light.

And the problem with using a pair of scissors is that I have to once again get up to put it away so that if he or Baby J wake up before we do, they don't end up hurting themselves.

At that point, I tell him firmly to go to sleep. And he does. But not before his little voice calls out again in the dark. "Mommy, Mommy"

Tired, I reply, "Yes?"

"Mommy, Mommy, Thank you! I love you!"

That's when I melt into a sleepy, gooey puddle, cuddle my little boy and drift off to sleep an hour after waking up to make him and his sister milk.



Technorati Tags: twins, early mornings, parenting

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The muffin thus far

A good friend recently commented that she forgets most of the time that I actually am pregnant. Truth be told, I think I would too if not for the fact that I'm sporting a huge bump and it has a mind of its own, moving, jigging, twitching, stretching and occasionally giving me a good kick. As with any second, third kid, there's a lot less thrill. Buy cot? Been there, done that, not doing it again. Clothes? Well, I did have a boy and a girl previously, so either way, we're covered. And those plain white pyjamas that the baby wears at the beginning, not the most exciting thing to buy and I'm probably leaving it up to grandma who will most definitely find better deals and softer PJs for a steal at the chain of markets that she visits.

So, what we're left to do is find a name, which is a terribly difficult task. As a teenager and a young adult, both unmarried and married, I always thought the most fun part about having a kid is to find a name. Unfortunately, that's not true. The name often picked is not the best suited, most favourite name for the baby. The name picked is often a compromise of the parents' and grandparents' preferences, the one that doesn't have a porn actress, druggie pop star, pretty boy attached to it and in our case, students that haven't annoyed us or been so insipid that we wouldn't wish that sort of trait on a newborn child who is supposed to be a blank slate. It also has to go with the most ubiquitous Asian surnames and has to not make up a weird acronym. Because of all these pre-conditions, whatever name we end up with, it's a compromise, it's the least offensive and least likely to end the poor child up in therapy and most acceptable. We're lucky we managed to come up with Jordan and Evan although Jordan wasn't a favourite with the grandparents. This time round, we really haven't figured it out and having already entered my third trimester, time is indeed running out.

What I would really want for this baby is to deliver this baby naturally. Lots of people don't get why it's a big deal to me. They think the c-section is the way to go because there's no long enduring labour, no stitches (not true! Just that stitches are in a different place altogether), baby comes out with a nicely shaped head etc. Well, true, but I've been there and done that and while the experience wasn't all that uncomfortable and difficult, it wasn't the experience I wanted. Even with the twins, I wanted to deliver them naturally. I knew the chances were not good but I was hoping to do it anyway. When I couldn't, I was bitterly disappointed but knew that I had small babies and it was unwise to stress them out. This time round, I only have one baby. But because of the last pregnancy with twins, the front wall of the uterus bears a large scar. The placenta wisely decided to plonk itself on the back wall which is better than being on the scar but it's also plonked itself relatively low down on the cervix so we don't know if it'll move out of the way by the time the baby needs to make its exit.

I know the most important thing is the baby's safety and health rather than forgoing all odds and insisting on a natural vaginal delivery. But I cannot help but feel bummed if I have to go through another c-section. My Ob-gyn is pretty pro-natural delivery but at the same time, he's cautious so he's already stated categorically that he isn't going to take unwarranted risks and have things go south. So, how we're delivering this little muffin is still up in the air. All I can do is to pray that the placenta skedaddles out of the way enough for muffin to take position and rock out naturally. And I guess if push comes to shove and there really isn't any other way to do it, then it's another scar on the bikini line.

Right now, those are the two big issues weighing down on me with the little muffin. Like I said, a lot of the superficial stuff, clothes, bottles, doing up the nursery... all seem to be insignificant. My only consolation is that Muffin's not going to be any the wiser. It isn't as if we're going to stick the little one into the sock drawer wrapped up in a towel.

Technorati Tags: twins, pregnancy

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Bedtime story

Evan likes routine. He likes the same thing every night. Previously it was the Singapore Flag song. And then the Singapore Flyer song. Now he's into stories. He's had his favourite from books but one night I told him that if he settled down, I would tell him a story about Thomas the Tank and that stuck. The problem is I made it up as I went along but he wanted the same story. So I've had to remember details and rehash the thing over and over every night. Since I was making it up, I took a great amount of creative liberty.

And to remember the details, I'm recording it here for posterity.



















---
Once upon a time, on the island of Sodor, in the town of Tidmouth, there was a train shed. In the train shed, there were many trains of many colours. There were blue trains, red ones, green ones as well as brown ones. Every train had a specific job to do and every train had a name. There was a blue train named Thomas and he was the cheeky one. His job was to help Bob the Builder, especially when Bob had jobs in far away places and needed Muck, Scoop, Roley and Dizzy transported. Percy was the green train and he made sure that the mail got delivered on time. He would be very busy during Christmas, delivering Christmas cards and Christmas presents to people all over Sodor. That was his busiest period, followed by Valentine's Day where most of his mail was made up of pink or red envelopes with hearts.

Then, there was Gordon who was red. (I know Gordon isn't red but Evan insists he is). Gordon often helped to deliver farm produce to and from Farmer Pickles' farm. On this day, Gordon was supposed to deliver a carriage of eggs to Farmer Pickles. But when he came out of the train shed and looked at the sky, he saw that it was dark and cloudy with a south westerly wind blowing in. It made him stretch and yawn. Looking at the clock, he decided that there was time to take a nap before he went off to deliver the eggs. Emily, who often helped him with his deliveries didn't look very pleased when Gordon reversed back into the train shed.

She said, "Gordon, what are you doing? You need to deliver those eggs!"
Gordon replied sleepily, "It's such nice weather for a nap. I'm going to nap first. There's plenty of time to do the delivery after I wake up"
Emily shook her head, "I don't think it's a good idea though. I think you should deliver the eggs and then come back and take your nap."
Gordon didn't look too pleased with what Emily said so he stubbornly replied, "No. I'm sleepy now. I'm going to nap. I'll send the eggs when I wake up. There's plenty of time."

So, that was the end of that conversation and he reversed into the train shed and had the shutters come down.

When he woke and looked around, he realised that it was all dark. That was when he panicked. "What time is it? This can't be right. It can't be night time already." he wondered. His heart sank when he looked at the clock. It was already 5 o'clock in the evening! And the eggs were supposed to have been delivered to Farmer Pickles by then.

"Oh no! Oh no oh no oh no!!" He exclaimed. " I need to go. I'm very late! I need to go very fast! If I go very fast, maybe I'll make it there by 6 and won't be all that late." So, he pulled out of the train shed and sped down the tracks at a very fast speed. "Chugga chugga chugga chugga, choo choo, Chugga chugga chugga chugga, choo choo!"

He was going so quickly, he didn't realise that Emily was coming down the tracks in front of him till it was almost too late. By the time he noticed her, he had to come to a screeching halt so that he didn't hit her. Because he was moving so quickly and had to stop so suddenly, ALL the eggs in the carriage flew forward and made a LOUD SPLAT on the walls of the carriage.

Both Gordon and Emily heard the hundreds of eggs go SPLAT at the same time and both went "uh oh!"

Gordon knew that he was going to be in trouble and asked Emily to help him think of a plan to get him out of trouble with both the Fat Controller and Farmer Pickles. Emily looked at him and said "see, I told you not to take a nap! Now you're really in a pickle!" But then, she added in a kinder tone, "ok, both the Fat Controller and Farmer Pickles both like scrambled eggs. How about we clean up the eggs from the carriage, since your carriage was clean anyway, and cook up a big batch of scrambled eggs for them?"

Gordon thought that was a splendid idea and they set about cleaning up the carriage of all the eggs.

Back at the train shed, they started cooking the eggs. Too make it even yummier, they added some tomatoes, ham, onions, red peppers, yellow peppers, cheese, pepper and even some bacon bits. Once it was ready, they brought it to the Fat Controller.

The Fat Controller was surprised that Emily and Gordon brought him some supper. "What have I done to deserve this?" Then, he narrowed his eyes in suspicion and asked "What have you done?"

Gordon stuttered and stammered and finally admitted what he had done. Of course, the Fat Controller was furious and gave him a big lecture about getting his work done first instead of napping. Gordon apologised and was on the verge of tears, knowing it was plainly his fault and no one else. The Fat Controller saw that he felt bad so he decided to accept the scrambled eggs. However, the Fat Controller told Gordon that he still needed to face up to the consequences of what he had done. So, instead of staying for supper and then going to bed, he was going to have to work through the night and deliver the eggs to Farmer Pickle's as promised. Gordon didn't like going out at night because he was afraid of the dark but he knew he didn't have a choice.

So while all the other trains settled down to his scrambled egg supper, he set off quietly and sadly to Farmer Pickles. Next time, he reminded himself as he braved the dark night, deliver the eggs first and then nap!

The end.

---

For some reason, the boy loves the story, with the sound effects and the idea of scrambled eggs and Gordon being naughty. So every night, he gets the story and holds on to this red train, his ONLY Thomas train that I bought for him from 7-11, and listens with rapt attention.

Boys will be boys.

Technorati Tags: twins, Thomas the Tank Engine

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Little Performers

Ok, if you're sick watching my kids in videos singing, I apologise. This is their big thing now-performing and I'm not about quash that in them. On top of that, when I was young, my mom made a big deal about how it was important for one to not be self-conscious. Her solution to that was to make me stand on the chair, or a table and speak to the floor, audience, curtains. It sounded easier than it was. Standing up on the table to speak was indeed terrifying and when I got picked to emcee something for school, I really had no choice but to suck it up and do what she told me to.

When the twins decided that it was the most fun thing to stand on furniture and belt out tunes, the grandparents ran helter-skelter, worried they might fall over and break their necks and crack open their skulls. Not that I'm not worried about that, I'm just against bubble wrapping them. Anyway, they seemed quite comfortable belting out tunes on top of their voices from a raised platform, of course, mixing up words from various songs and getting distracted but generally doing a pretty cool job.

It'll come in useful. They have a performance coming up and a video thing to record for their grandma's 70th birthday. Seems like I really won't need them to send them to speech and drama class or anything. I'll just keep on letting them ham it up at home.



Technorati Tags: twins, singing

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Caught by the fashion police

Every time Jordan does something vain like insist on wearing particular shoes to school or having her way with the clothes she wants to wear, I get a side way glance and get asked "Did she get it from you?"

For the record, I did not learn how to be vain till I went to uni. Clothes did not make me do a double take till uni, make up when I went to Melbourne, facials when I started work, bags when work started getting stressful and pedicures when I finally stopped dancing and had some what presentable toes. Before that, I wore sneakers and jeans, my idea of a fashion statement was mismatching socks and netball skirts and I once had horrifically permed hair.

So the reason for Jordan to be vain at a tender age of two is really beyond me. On top of that, we have till this point, quite successfully banned Disney Princesses from our house and have only just allowed that insidious Barney to slip in by means of a goodie bag brought home from school (ok, I know Barney doesn't breed vanity, but I'm still not amused that the twins' bedframes are covered with stickers of the insipid purple dinosaur that ought to be shot)

But despite all that, the girl knows her shoes, her clothes and her accessories and what she wants, even if it defies conventional fashion sense and would send Anna Wintour into a fit.

Just last night, she insisted on wearing a pretty dress to bed, not wanting it any other way. We didn't have a choice because the screaming rose in decibels that would burst ear drums. The compromise was that she still needed to wear her pyjama pants. It did create a certain bohemain look though, especially when she insisted that her pacifier had to match the stripes on her pants.

Hence this.



















When I say anything to Packrat, he reminds me of how on one cold winter day in Melbourne, I wore my ballet warm-ups which are essentially waist high leg warmers, with my shorts over it and a big oversized sweater, prompting him to christen my style the 'bag lady chic'.

He points to my daughter and claims that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

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Bus ride through the eyes of a 2 1/2 year old

We took the bus again today because I didn't have the car and I was feeling brave and rested enough to weather the journey and the trek up to school. Of course, the twins were chuffed. Even more so when we actually took the bus back as well, which was much easier because the walk is downhill and the bus stops right at our block.

As with the last time, they were noisy commuters. This time, Evan was giving a blow by blow account of what was happening, from the bus doors opening to him wanting all the children to get off the bus to the fact that he was sweaty. If he was about 20 years older, that would be far too much information. But at this point, he's just loud and funny.

Jordan doesn't appear in this one because I had enough trouble holding the boy and videoing him without falling out of my seat.




Technorati Tags: twins, taking the bus, Public Transport in Singapore

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Boy Idol

One of Evan's obsessions is the Singapore Flyer. Nothing makes his day more than us driving past the Flyer on the Shears' bridge. My mother has been bugging me to take the twins up on the Flyer but I am reluctant because it is expensive. Anyway, the boy seems content with us driving past it. Perhaps he hasn't figured that people can actually go up on it.

Another one of his obsessions is to get me to sing to him. He makes me sing strange songs. About the weather, about the Singapore flag and about the Flyer. All this is often requested as he is falling asleep and I am already mostly asleep. About a month ago, he requested that I sing about the Flyer. I couldn't think of any other tune to put it to than Twinkle Twinkle Little Stars and I couldn't think of very many words to put to it because seriously, I haven't been on the Flyer and it's really not something that impresses me. But for my son, I make it up as I go along.

Yet another one of his obsessions is to learn the words of songs and to sing it, at increasing speeds, to the point where it is just a big blur of words. It totally cracks us up because his words aren't clear to begin with and when he ups the speed of it, no one has any clue about what he is actually going on about.

This is him, singing the Singapore Flyer song. There are 2 speeds to it. It went on even faster after I stopped recording but we were already late for church as is. You will also notice that the stools are all placed in one straight line. Once again, his handiwork. Thankfully, for neighbourly relations, I have convinced him and he is strong enough to carry it out, to actually carry the stools rather than drag them all over the house.




Here are the words for those who are interested. Not the most imaginative but he is chuffed enough and it does indeed make "Evan a happy boy".

Flyer Flyer, in the town, (I changed it to 'by the sea' but he didn't like it)
Round and round and round it goes.
Up in the sky and down on the ground.
Making Evan a happy boy!


Technorati Tags: twins, singing, Singapore Flyer

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Tell me a story

Okay, I know I need to get more photographs of Evan. He's been out of the picture (literally speaking) because he's recently become a big bundle of energy and is often off somewhere, doing something like sweeping the floor with the broom and dragging the dustpan round the house or trying to toss balls into dustbins, pretending he's really shooting into a basket (much to the pride of Packrat).

Anyway, to his credit, he has taken to books like a fish to water. In fact, both of them have, wanting to look at books, wanting us to read to us (often not letting us finish though). Evan has also developed a great memory for the books we've read to him. He can complete sentences from the books, repeating them verbatim and actually making references to them when he's out and about. His favourite book to date is of course, a book to do with trains. It's the Little Engine That Could. There are others but there are too many to name.

Both of them have their favourite books and favourite parts of books.

Jordan, like her brother enjoys books but in a different way. She loves flipping through them, looking at the pictures, making up stories for herself and carrying books around. She sometimes demands to go to bed with a particular book, pacifier in mouth, one hand clinging on to her teddy bear or her stuffed elephant, the other hand holding a book with iron grip, lying down with her eyes closed. She isn't as attentive as her brother though when we're reading to them. She knows the bits as well as he does but isn't all that enthused about calling out the bits she knows unless coaxed. She does however have an affinity to rhyme; she loves Dr Seuss and loves the cadence of his nonsensical writing.

Another thing she enjoys, is pretend reading. She mimics us. She doesn't know enough to actually 'pretend to really read' so she does it in her own language. But she's got the tone, the expression and everything down pat! Even at 20 months, she loved doing this!



It hasn't changed much, all the gibberish. Although this time, she sounds like she's saying "I eat biscuit" over and over again.



Now she just needs to put real words into it and flip the pages the right way and she'll be set.

Technorati Tags: twins, reading to toddlers

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Cooking with Jordan

My aunt, an early childhood specialist told me sometime back that it didn't matter all that much if I couldn't spend all day with my children. This was after I'd gone back to work and was narrating what my day was like. I think she got breathless listening to how I would wake up in the morning, get the twins ready for school, have breakfast, pack lunch, get dressed and be out of the door all in an average of an hour and a half and then proceed to pick the twins up from school during my lunch break, drop them home, go back to work, and get home in time to bathe them, read to them, sing to them, pray with them and get them to sleep only having dinner after 9 and passing out shortly after. Ok, admittedly, I got breathless writing that sentence too.

Anyway, she told me that it was unnecessary to break my neck trying to do everything and be everywhere and do everything with the twins, including taking them to the bathroom (I think I was bemoaning the fact that Evan preferred my helper to help him with his bathroom needs). I know that is true although it doesn't stop me from trying to be Super Mom.

A common theme in the last few posts has been my need to rest, my not feeling well and still trying to do things with the twins. Yesterday, I decided that since I was trying to teach our helper to make baked rice and Evan was off having some father-son bonding time at the video store, I would include Baby J in our preparation for dinner.

Okay, I know the images and video are of a two-year old with a knife but this was under adult supervision (3 adults actually) and I can attest to how "un sharp" the Ikea plastic knife is. Anyway, our little Nigella (or is it Jamie) was off trying to slice mushrooms and also stir the mushrooms into the mixture. She did have a bit of issue with getting bits of mushroom stuck under her nails or sauce on her hands but she was a game little chef.








Obviously she was full from dinner because she didn't even bother to try what she was 'cooking'. But she seemed to have had fun and was proud of the fact that the bits of mushroom she sliced went into the main mixture as well.

When Evan came back, I tried to get him involved too. But boy as he is, slinked off the stool in a jiffy and went off looking for Papa and demanding for him to sing the "Thomas his friends" (Thomas and His Friends) song.

For those who are interested, here's the recipe for Baby J's Baked Rice.

Slices of chicken fillet marinated in oyster sauce and honey. We used 4 chicken thighs. (Grilled beforehand)
1 punnet of mushrooms to slice.
1/2 bottle of any pasta sauce.
1 can of Campbell's Cream of Chicken/ Mushroom sauce
1 big yellow onion to slice thin.
Fresh chopped up herbs/ dried herbs (oregano, parsley, corriander, basil) (Whatever you like actually...if you use dried herbs, use more!)
50 g cheddar cheese
50 g mozzarella cheese (both shredded)
Rice cooked in chicken stock

Mix pasta sauce and cream sauce together.
Mix mushrooms and onions into the sauce.
Lay the rice into a bake dish.
Pour mixture over the rice.
Cover top of sauce with cheese mixture. Sprinkle generously.

Bake at 180 degree celsius for about half an hour or until cheese is browned.

It's a great comfort dinner to have. Sausages can be added in as can other types of vegetables. We've tried with zucchini and peppers. I was tempted to chop in spinach but we didn't have time.

Technorati Tags: twins, cooking with children

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Channeling sick Mommy

I am sick. That's not surprising considering I have been running myself ragged. Anyway, I've been trying to stay away from the twins as much as possible, despite the fact that it fills me with guilt and I miss them terribly. Our alternative caregivers, Grandaunt and Grandma have been telling the twins repeatedly that Mommy is sick, Mommy needs to rest, Do not disturb Mommy and Mommy cannot carry them. It doesn't work. In fact, it makes Baby J attempt to seek me out at any given chance and literally cling to my leg. We've taken to calling her 树袋熊 (shu4 dai4 xiong2)~ koala bear, after the koala bear in the ONLY Chinese book (to date) that I've read to them.

But I guess, it is just her way of digesting what she has been told.

Evan does it in a different way. He isn't as koala bear-ish but has, in his own way, told us that he gets what he's been told about Mommy.

Conversation he had with me on the way to school this morning.

Evan: Mommy, Evan don't go school.
Me: Why?
Evan: Cos Evan sick.
Me: Evan is sick?
Evan: Yes yes yes. Evan sick. Evan must rest.
Me: What is Evan sick with?
Evan: Evan coughing. No eat banana.
Me: So Evan cannot go to school?
Evan: Yes yes yes. Evan sick. Evan no go school. Evan rest. Evan tired.
Me: You can rest now, on the way to school.
Evan: Evan sick. Evan rest. Evan sleep now.

... Leans his head against the side of his car seat and pretends to sleep for a good 30 seconds.

So, my son, at the age of two has learnt how to malinger, using words taught to him, describing the fact that his Mommy is unwell.

I always knew he was clever. I had better get started on writing all those excuse letters he's going to need when he doesn't want to go to school for real next time.

Technorati Tags: twins, toddler speech, tracheitis

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The wheels of the bus

The twins went to school by bus today and it was the biggest treat for them. Their video of the month is The Wheels of The Bus and they have always had something for buses. Recently, it's evolved into Evan constantly asking us to tell him the numbers on the bus. So far, his favourite is 62 although there is NO bus number 62 anywhere near our house and I don't even know where 62 goes to or comes from. In my opinion, that's a perfect reason why he should learn his numbers soon. Just so that we don't have to keep reading out the numbers to him and he can do it himself.

Given a choice, they would rather take the bus. They would have not cared very much if we didn't buy a new car to fit everyone in and that would have saved us a pretty penny. Although I suspect part of the novelty of taking the bus is that they don't do it very often and if we subjected it to them everyday, they'd be begging to go in the car. As is, when three 95s, two 106s, one 61 and one 48 passed them by before our bus actually came, they were getting impatient and made as if they were just going to get onto the next bus, regardless of bus number.

But their sense of adventure soon came back to them when we sat separately on the bus and the two of them decided that it was going to be a big hoot yelling to one another across the bus aisle, much to my embarrassment but thankfully, much to the amusement of the other commuters on the bus. There really was no sense of lowering their voices and Baby J thought it was hilarious when I tried to muffle her by putting my hand over her mouth and that just made her yell even louder and Evan replying in kind.



















I think I can do this as a treat for them but not as an everyday affair because the trek from the bus stop to the school is a tad bit far and even though Baby J is light for her age and Evan is mostly game to walk, we still end up carrying them quite a fair bit. And all the women older than I am out there keep telling me I shouldn't be carrying anything heavy.



Technorati Tags: twins, public transport, Singapore

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