We have a personal computer in our house.  The monitor screen is awfully bulky in its faded yellowish white casing.  My spouse tells me that these are on the way out.  Apparently, most users prefer the portable and trendier looking notebooks these days.

Anyhow, I am glad that I have this pc at my beck and call.  It performs the basic functions of type, cut and paste very well.  And that was enough to keep me happy.

One fine day, my spouse came back with a black screen.  It sure looked like a sexy siren to me compared to our current screen.  It was sleeker and slimmer.

I present to you the latest technology. This is the Samsung LCD flatscreen. 

In ten minutes flat that same night, my spouse had switched the monitors.   I was secretly ashamed of myself.  All I saw was a mass of entangled wires, the thick layer of dust and much cleaning up to do before the monitors could be changed.    

That same week, I started sending my children to piano classes. 

For years I’ve procrastinated.  The excuses were many and plausible; there was no piano at our home, the fees chargeable were too expensive, the boys were too young.
Even so, I had a deep desire for my children to embrace music as part of their lives.  But for reasons unexplainable, I felt much resistance and had never made piano lessons a reality until recently. 

I am sure the monitor- change prompted me to take a step forward. 

My spouse made the change look so easy. His easygoing approach towards changed prompted me to take action.  And I too, embraced change as a friend. 

Now, my two elder boys attend piano classes once a week. 

And I hope, you too, my friend will make the change you had always wanted to change today. 

Cheers! And have a good week ahead.  

Regardless of how you feel inside, always try to look like a winner.  Even if you are behind, a sustained look of control and confidence can give you a mental edge that results in victory. – Arthur Ashe on Tennis

I’ve had a long night.  The baby was cranky, causing me to get in and out of bed all night.  I woke up tired. 

The weather mirrored my attitude this morning.  It was gloomy and dull.  And my head hurt. 

In addition to my fatigue, my mind was muddled with unpleasant thoughts that were starting to wear me down.  I was not looking forward to having a good day. 

I love my children.  They are always cheerful and full of energy regardless.  Be it a sunny day or a gloomy one.  For them a new day is always filled with promises and adventures.

I looked into the mirror.  I was startled by its reflection. One’s hair was disheveled, her eyes lifeless and her skin colour tawny.  My only guess is that too much coffee is bad for the skin after downing 4 glasses the day before. 

I seriously needed to tap into the reservoir of my boys’ endless exuberance. 

Brian was, as usual, very noisy in my room.  I was too distracted to pay any attention at him.  I had too many problems in my head at the moment. 

Instead, my eyes fell upon the dark clouds heavy with rainwater at a distant.  My mood was as sombre as those black clouds. 

I heaved a sigh. 

Soon, it started to rain.  First softly, and then it got bigger and louder.  We had an awning erected on our front lawn to provide some shade from the scorching sun in the afternoons.  Now the rain beating on it had a rhythm going.
 
Tee ta tee ta tee ta tee… it went.

At first I took no notice of this, but because the beat was so consistent, the sound created music to my ears. 

“Let’s do the rain dance,” I told Brian. 

Although he didn’t know what to expect, he sportingly nodded his head. 

I stood facing him, and raised my hands in the air. 

“Now, let the rain fall,” I said, letting my arms fall while wriggling my fingers.  “Don’t forget to shake your head. Shake your bum as well.” 

I started a rain dance right in my room to the tempo of the falling rain.

Tee ta tee ta tee ta tee ta… it continued steadily on.  

The little boy quickly caught on.  He moved his arms up and down, shook his head left and right, and wriggled his fingers non stop.  

Soon, his whole body was in motion.  So was mine.

This rain dance was serious business.  

We performed the rain dance for ten minutes.  Then, the boy decided that he would change into a bird. 

Tweet tweet tweet tweet, he chirped while flapping his arms and running around the baby’s cot. 

And what was I?

I was a bald eagle.  Stretching my arms out fully on each side, I moved as if I was gliding in the air just like a powerful eagle. 

I glided behind the chirping bird while making the sound of the wind. 

Hmm… I liked being an eagle.  I think I’ll glide a few more rounds through the mountains.    

The baby cot suddenly had ridges, slopes and crevices.

I ran round and round the cot, and made more noises.  I must have looked so silly.

But not to the boy though.  On the contrary, he couldn’t be happier. 

He didn’t mind me gliding aimlessly round and round the mountains, I mean the cot.  He was being followed by an eagle.  He has found a playmate.

I love children!  They never say things like, “Don’t do that.  You look so ridiculous.”

A little pretend play did wonders for me.  It lifted my black mood that had blanketed me the whole morning. 

It was still raining when we went downstairs but what does it matter. The both of us were laughing and in high spirits despite of the bad weather.    

Try some pretend play today! Especially with your children.  You will be pleasantly surprised at the results. 

And here’s wishing you a great week ahead.

Cheers! 

A good book should leave you… slightly exhausted at the end.  You live several lives while reading it. -William Styron, interview, Writers at Work, 1958

Articles of enduring significance, in condensed permanent booklet form.  – Reader’s Digest, March 1987.

I’ve been reading lately.  Suddenly, I find myself having some pockets of free time here and there during the day.  I reckon the major attribution to these free moments is that the baby has grown somewhat and doesn’t need my fullest attention now.       

Some of us read for knowledge.  Others read to pass exams.  And I read for pleasure.  When I was a young woman I enjoyed reading Reader’s Digest immensely.  That was more than twenty years ago.

Then life distracted me. I met a handsome young man, got married, and had children.  Marriage and children kept me on my toes. There was never enough time in a day to simply read for pleasure until now.

I found a recent copy of RD lying in my mail basket.  After a brief chat with my spouse, I found out that upon trying to enter a RD sponsored contest, he had subscribed to the magazine for a year long.

May 2010 RD was delivered nice and thick. It looked more attractive than ever with vibrant colours splashed all over its front cover. 

At the first available moment, I curled up on my favourite couch for a read.      

I quickly discovered that inserted between the covers were one hundred over pages of trash.  I say trash, because nothing from those pages that I read fired up my brain cells.

I was merely bombarded with advertisements from so-called best voted brands. To name a few from a ridiculously endless list, RD featured their trusted brand family restaurant, lingerie and beer.

“Our meals are made from the best ingredients.” 

“Our most popular items come from our Maximiser push-up range.”

“Our products are exported to 60 markets around the world.”

Why would I want to fill my mind with brands and branding?  I honestly don’t know.

So many precious pages wasted!

Three months ago, RD organised a poll based on this totally frivolous question; “Would You Marry the Same Person Again?” 

“I don’t give two hoots on how the world responded!” I said to my spouse.  “Their results do not make me love you more or less.”

Why would I want to spend time analysing a survey like this? I honestly don’t know.

More precious space wasted!

RD today features a regular “Dear Abby” column. 

Reading this merely fills my already cluttered mind with more problems belonging to someone else. 

An appointed mysterious ‘Aunty’ from RD has the absolute advice and solutions. 

Who knows who this big A might be?  Another man on the street, a woman psychic, a budding psychologist or perhaps the editorial staff takes turns?  

I’ve read it all in the newspapers and gossip magazines; the nosy mother-in-law, the inconsiderate neighbour, the cheating partner etc.

So, now I have the newspapers, gossip magazines plus RD bringing the world’s problems right to my door steps.   

Why would I want to read about Jack’s and Jill’s problems, I asked myself.  I honestly don’t know.  Perhaps I should ask RD’s Aunty.  

Another page wasted on trash!

RD today dedicates one whole page to cooking recipes every  month. 

I now have four cooking recipes and no answer to how these can changed my life. 

By the way, where can I find paprika?

If I had wanted recipes, I would have gone out and bought myself a Women’s Weekly magazine. 

Oh, there goes another page wasted!   

RD today features guest writers in their monthly column Voice.   

Finally, let’s get down to some serious reading. 

These authors are well established in their respective profession.     Some have common names, others have so complicated ones that I can’t pronounce. Regardless, they are all followed by big titles. 

They write so well.  Even so, reading these required the mind, and not the heart. The topics discussed were befitting a classroom discussion or a thesis research.

Possibly the only difference between them and a student is that, these writers write flawless English.

A recent topic discussed was terrorism.  The writer categorised and explained his writings concisely in point form.  He broke down the meaning of Victory in three levels; Tactical victories, strategic victories and grand … yawn…  Where was I again? 

Reading RD these days is like reading an encyclopaedia.

April 2010 issue dedicated one full page on hotels having achieved the ‘-est’ factor, namely the tallest, the most expensive and the coldest.  

Why doesn’t RD feature also the flattest, the least expensive and the warmest hotel, I thought to myself.  By the way, does RD know that there is no ‘est’ in expensive?  

Perhaps RD ran out of space, or she ran out of ideas, or she second guessed that her current readers enjoy digesting mindless facts. 

My brains have gone shopping.

The hotel feature was on page 23.  The page before that, which happened to be page 22, RD tried to have some fun with the number 26.

It was reported that 26 million people got displaced because of climate change, 26 percent of Australians would like to get a tattoo, the longest human appendix measured 26cm etc.

You know what I mean. 

“Why not have fun with the number eleven, or ninety nine, or two hundred and twenty three?” I asked my spouse.  

He didn’t bother answering.  He is now getting used to my sudden outburst regarding the magazine. 

Why would I want to fill my head with the number 26?

 I honestly don’t know.

All I know is that my life had zero change after reading this. 

The current RD look so much more sleek with laser sharp graphics and pages printed in different shades compared to their older issues twenty years ago.  Even the editor gets to display a different self portrait each month in RD’s Editor’s Letter nowadays. 

And yet, RD today lacks.  It just lacks. 

RD today lacks the Ali-s ( an Indian elephant handler who fought fiercely and survived a tiger attack at India’s Corbett National Park ), Jutimitta-s ( a Police Major in Thailand who is uncompromising in a corrupted society and risked his life daily hunting down drug traffickers relentlessly ) and Gudlaugur-s ( a fisherman whose boat capsized at sea and he unbelievably survived seven hours in icy cold waters). 

Where is the presence of the resilient human spirit, the blood, the gore and the glory in today’s RD articles?

RD today is all about Super and famous.  She prefers to devote precious space interviewing and writing up on Hollywood superstars, Sports superstars, famous singers and famous chefs.  I read about these superstars and their relationship with their roles on TV, their fathers, their guitars and, their restaurants. 

I stifled another yawn.

My life remains unchanged still. 

Perhaps the most disturbing trend I discovered reading RD today is that she is peppered with sarcasm. 

I’ve come across offensive put-down quotes by superstars (not them again!) as if these were words of wisdom.   

RD today prefers to highlight Paris Hilton look-alikes and making fun of another person’s ignorance.  Even her jokes bordered cynicism.  

I was a great advocate of RD but now, I am not so sure.

I shudder to think of the influence this will have on RD’s young readers.  Would they willingly accept sarcasm as part of life?  

I felt a twinge of sadness.

Somehow, somewhere along the years, RD changed its core concept. 

I continued flipping the pages listlessly, looking for an article of interest.  I found a write up on Toy Story 3.

Not this again.

Their merchandise started selling before the movie premiered in the cinemas.  I’ve already seen their over publicised trailer countless of times on TV.  My spouse, my children, my friends and their children already know the existence of this movie.  And they didn’t need to read RD to find this out.    
    
Another precious page wasted!

I flipped the pages some more.  There were more reviews; book reviews and phone reviews. 

I skimmed through a write up on Google’s Android.  It was a review of comments and, statements and, more comments, written in that order. 

My brain, it has gone to sleep!  Is there not an article for the serious reader today?

At that point I felt that reading nothing was better.   

In an instant, I shut RD up.  I’ve had enough thrash reading for the day.  

So many wasted pages!

Two days ago, by sheer coincidence, an issue of March 1987 RD lay on my reading table.  I picked it up, planning only to read for a few minutes. 

I turned to page 45.

Jessica. This article was condensed from “People” by Susan Hill.  I’ve read Jessica many times over the past years.  Even so, every read of Jessica is like a first read.  Ms Hill wrote lively descriptions of her nine year old Jessica.  The author also wrote of how her daughter’s birth transformed her.

I loved how the author captured the essence of motherhood and childhood in a timeless manner.  This article was written more than twenty years ago, but her recorded experiences are just as relevant to me today. 

Reading Jessica years ago inspired me to write about my newest baby then.  His name was Brian.  After my current reading of Jessica, I am once again inspired to write.  This time the child’s name is Simon. 

I turned to page 99. 

The last Rainbow, condensed from Outdoor Life, Jim Berlin had a colourful title.  The rainbow was not the seven coloured striped one I had expected it to be though.  Instead it was fish, a trout.

The author wrote warmly of the last time he went fishing with his dying dad.  He wrote of baby loons, the bridge and stream they both knew so well, and fishing for the best rainbows under the bridge.  It was a beautifully written poignant final precious moments shared between a son and his father.  The story timeless, the emotions evoked bitter sweet. 

I was pleased with myself for picking up this particular issue of RD.  On its front cover in capital bright red letters, it printed for all to see ‘Unforgettable DeWitt Wallace’.   He was the genius behind RD. 

It has been almost an hour since I started reading.  The children are beginning to get rowdy, and the baby is fretful.  Even then, I couldn’t resist reading once more, despite the countless of times I had read, of DeWitt Wallace’s rise to success with RD.
 
He founded RD in 1922.  In those early years, he would condense articles of interest, writing in long hand on yellow sheets of paper.  All articles published were compressed and condensed for straight to the point easy reading.  His relentless search for good articles to condense benefited me tremendously.

DeWitt Wallace is truly unforgettable. He changed my life.  RD changed my life. 

His condensed little magazine taught me most about living.  RD constantly reminded me of the dangers of smoking.  Thanks to RD I don’t perceive the Marlboro man to be cool. Now, I tell my children the same message RD taught me repeatedly years ago. Cigarettes kill.  

RD taught me the importance of writing thank-you notes.  She taught me the importance of marriage.  She taught me about good manners, humanity, exercise and having fun. 

No wonder this little booklet is the World’s Most-Read Magazine.

Time ceased to exist as I burrowed myself deeper into the story of DeWitt Wallace.  Nothing else mattered except for the printed pages I held in my hands.   

I was finally reading for pleasure!   

My baby was wailing too loudly to be ignored by now. I reluctantly parted company with DeWitt Wallace. 

I have been thinking.

When I read RD of the yesteryears, her articles resonated in my life. 

I read of a child’s battle with AIDS in Go Toward The Light by Chris Oyler.  Ben was seven years old when he discovered he was dying of AIDS.  I held my breath.  I have a seven year old child myself.  After reading this, I thought of Ben constantly for days after.  His mother wrote of the pain and helplessness they had to endure watching their child slowly waste away.  My heart ached for his parents.  I thought deeply of death. 

I read of the ordeal of a Chinese mother who at 8 months pregnant, was forced to have an abortion by the Chinese government.

I felt for this young mother.  After reading this, I am grateful  to be able to bear four babies with no major consequences. 

I read of one family’s relocation from England to Spain in Happy Valley by Chris Stewart.  Chris and Ana Stewart gave up their old life in England to run a farm in a remote location in Spain.  They relocated anyway despite the many challenges, one being the lack of funds.   I like reading this piece of work. The author cleverly injected a wicked sense of humour in the right places.
 
Follow one’s dream, the story suggested. 

I read of Sabeer Bhatia.  Chances are you might never have heard of him. Neither have I.  He was a Stanford University graduate.  With a friend they launched a company called Hotmail in Silicon Valley.  They later sold the company to Microsoft in exchange for shares worth a whooping $400million.  He was only 27 years old at that time. Unbelievable!   

I wished I had his idea and guts to make it happen!

There are countless more stories I can tell you; stories that brought tears to my eyes, stories that changed the way I lived, stories that sang a song in my heart.

Here is one of my absolute favourites; Why a Man Needs a Woman by Herbert Stein in RD’s March 2000 issue.  

It is two pages long, and written simply for easy understanding. 

The before and after effects of reading this piece of work was remarkable.  I was plain Jane transformed to Cinderella.

A work of science and art interwoven intricately to produce a masterpiece, this is a great read.  The highlight though, belongs to its brilliant ending.  I had such a thrill reading the ending given its unexpected twist.

You are never an average man, or woman to the one who loves you. 

RD yesterday created waves, RD today merely makes statements.

Wishing you a good day today!  And make a book, not just any book but a good one, your companion today.  

The past two weeks have been rather exciting.  The elder two boys are on school holidays, and so, they get to stay home all day with mummy. 

The first two days, our eldest, Daniel, decided that he would like to sleepover at his uncle’s house.  The routine was that he would come home for lunch, before returning to his other new home.  The second day he came home for lunch as expected.  Later that day, he behaved exceptionally well.  He asked if he could spend another night at his other home.  When I said yes, he wasted no time in finding his way there. 

Without any need for prompting, he took the house keys hanging near the door and opened the door grill. Then, he returned the keys, pushed his bicycle to the gate, opened the gate, pushed the bike out, closed the gate and rode off down the road without looking back. 

I observed all these with amazement and wonder.  He was normally slow moving, and whinny, and fussy, and this and that, before he ever did anything.   A few minutes ago, he just showed me that he was capable of doing an eight step process in a methodical, efficient manner.  And all these he did with no adult supervision needed. 

I seriously needed to find out what was so enticing at his new home that turned my normally laid back big baby into Mr Fast-And-Efficient. 
I called my mum. 

It took me only five minutes to uncover the secret. 

Apparently, he has easy access to a notebook and its endless streams of computer games found on the internet.  He even asked an adult there to set up the notebook for him before he came home for lunch that day. 

And I found out that he had been staying up late playing games for the past two nights. 

I shook my head.  I was not entirely surprised though.  He loves playing computer games more than anything else. 

I kept him home permanently when he came back for lunch the following day. 

He was, naturally, very upset.

Now there are four boys at my home all day, every day until school reopens next week.

There are normally two favourite questions being asked by the boys daily.  Sometimes three, but always these two.

“Can we play the computer today?” and “Can we watch TV?”

I am perpetually finding ways to distract them from these two of their favourite pastimes. 

“Why don’t we read a book first?” I’d say.  “Why not play some pirate games first?  Why not do some drawing first?” 

“And then, can we play the computer?” they’d reply.

Somehow, they had learnt the skill of negotiation far better than cultivating good manners. 

One fine day, after a difficult morning of endless pleas from them to play the computer, I stopped negotiating with them. 

“Well, if there is nothing you’d want to do besides playing the computer, you can sit and sulk, and do nothing,” I said. 

And that was that.  It was final, and they knew that I meant it. 

James, an extrovert, started to wail and cried many a tear. 

Daniel, an introvert, put on the saddest face ever to show his unhappiness.

And Brian, being only four, was not bothered at all by the whole explosive scenario. 

The boys literally sat in a corner, and sulked. 

I took no pity on them. 

I reckoned sitting down and doing nothing was better than being exposed to the violence, foul language and, sarcasm that the boys had easily picked up from the TV.   And the computer does funny things to young boys.  Playing games make them forget to eat, sleep and pee.        

Sat and Sulk they did, but not for long. 

The boys started fooling around among themselves.  One decided that he would strip naked and do a dance.  The other two started throwing the sofa cushions on the floor, playing a game that they had made up. 

I am just happy to fade into the background, giving them space to kid around. 

This sure beats watching TV and playing computer games!

Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.

Cheers! And a good day to you. 

This is an excerpt from the Reader’s Digest March 2003 issue, page 132.  The best workout plan ever is men who have sexual intercourse two or more times a week.  They are 50 per cent less likely to die from coronary heart disease than those who have sex less than once a month, according to research done by the University of Bristol in England.

I often wondered if this workout had the same effect on women. 

Having had four babies, I could no longer fit into most of my pre-natal blouses and skirts.  I had expected this, and thus, did not find this a too distressing matter to handle.

Approximately six months after having my last baby, I made a decision that I would give myself a new beginning in the form of a new body.  I do not consider myself a vain pot.  However looking in the mirror everyday, I secretly confessed to myself that I would gladly trade my flabby stomach for a well toned one.       

So, I once again, jump started my daily workout routine.  There are only two fitness gurus in my life, Jane Fonda and Kathy Smith.  Now you have some inkling of which generation I come from.  Unlike most women, I actually enjoy working out.  I enjoy waving my arms wildly in the air and kicking my legs in all directions.  Workouts seem to provide a way to easily channel out stress from my body system.

The old story was, that is before I got married and had children,  I could jump around in front of the television for as long as I wanted to.  Normally this would be an hour or so before I collapsed due to extreme fatigue.  I never did figure out how the fitness trainers and their counterparts could still smile and look so fresh after a vigorous workout. 

The new story is more interesting and extremely short.  This is after having four children.  I turned on my Kathy Smith workout DVD, and started moving my limbs to the beat of the music.  In less than five minutes, I found a toddler trying to crawl between my legs as if it was a fun game as I tried, in a futile manner of course, to march in accordance to the tempo of the music.  Folks, that was the end of my workout. 

Thereafter I tried, albeit in a series of failed attempts to start my workout routines but these never culminated to anything.  There was always something that needed my attention immediately; a crying baby, a whiny toddler or an ensuing fight between the two elder boys.    
 
Needless to mention, it was easier to do nothing than to start the workout routines.  So, I stopped doing the workouts that I hardly started doing.  The flabby stomach stayed, and I shelved my dream body aside which was supposedly to resemble GI Jane’s.  It seemed that the new beginning that I wanted to give myself had abruptly ended before it had a chance to begin.  

Recently, my spouse has bestowed me with the prestigious ‘aunty’ title.   The aunty of the house need not worry about brushing her teeth in the mornings.  She need not worry about a bad hairdo day.  In fact, she need not even have to worry about brushing her hair.  The aunty of the house need not have to crack her head thinking of what apparel to put on for the day. It is deemed to be perfectly normal for the aunty to be still in her pyjamas even when noon approaches.

The aunty is given all the freedom she desires with one condition. The children are her main responsibility.  With children aged from nine years old to nine months old, the aunty’s day’s work never ends but stretches late into the night.     

I love the boys, and I love my spouse.  But lately, it is disturbing to note that my spouse has perceived me to be a frump.  In his mind, I had become the mundane, steadfast mother whose role is to be a constant provider of food and security for the family.   In some ways, this holds true.  I am after all, the mother of his children. 

Mothers are not seen as sexual beings.  I am fine by this statement.   The issue is this; my spouse is not my son, and I am not his mother! 

Ever time he calls me aunty, I get really mad.  Stop it, I want to yell out.  Look, can’t you see that I still have curves and breasts, I want to scream back at him. 

It wasn’t his fault.  The curves and the breasts were hidden beneath layers of shapeless, oversized, worn out T-shirts and baggy culottes.  Uninteresting and unattractive, this form of clothing is good for comfort but does nothing to fire up one’s imagination!     

I hated to admit this to myself, but I was not only perceived as a frump, I was a frump. 

How many two legged females  with cleavages does he see on the streets every day, I wondered.  Without warning, a feeling of insecurity welled up from within.    

Then, I chanced upon the workout article printed in Reader’s Digest. 

I needed to workout, but most importantly I needed to feel attractive once again. 

I went rummaging in the darkest corner of my cupboard for my light pink lingerie.  Sleeveless and made of transparent material, it is adorned with lace at the hem.  I finally found it hidden in between two T shirts, and in good condition.  After all, it had been only worn once or twice and had since been lying untouched for years and years now.

Gingerly, I slipped the flimsy material over my head.  It had fitted perfectly the first time I wore it.  Now it was too tight every where.  I looked into the mirror.   Of course, the first part screaming for my attention was my flabby stomach.  Purposely ignoring that, I glanced at the other parts of my body and took pleasure in knowing that the lingerie had also done a good job accentuating my womanly curves.

The first night ever I wore it after my baby was born, which was almost ten months ago, my spouse looked at me twice.  I finally caught his attention.  And mind you, he didn’t call me ‘aunty’ at all that night.  

Getting to exercise in bed proved to be more difficult.  That night, the baby woke up crying twice in a row and the toddler found his way into our bedroom to spend the rest of his night. 

Regardless, it was a good start to more interesting nights to come.  Instead of chucking the lingerie back into the dark corner of my cupboard, it now hangs behind my room door for easy retrieval. 

There were many more hot, steamy nights after that fateful one.  Some nights we worked out in bed, other nights we didn’t.  Regardless, it is good to feel attractive once again.

I also discovered that having sex is like riding a bicycle.  It has almost been a year,  but you never forget how it’s done even after a long, long time. 

Get intimate with your partner today.  You might discover yourself once again. If that does not motivate you, think of the health benefits involved when you take part in this pleasurable activity.   

Cheers!  And a good weekend! 

“Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.

We have these somewhat similar conversations almost every day nowadays.  It goes like this:

“ Hon, how much should I pay my credit cards this month?” I ask my spouse.  When we discuss monetary issues, I always try to talk to him when he is in a good mood.   Well, he is in one now. 

“I don’t know, dear,” he replies without looking up while tapping away on his notebook. 

“Well, when is the paycheck coming in?” I ask. 

“I don’t know, dear,” he replies without missing a beat. 

I cringe when I hear his response. 

We started a new beginning this year when he decided that he would do some free lance business instead of working for an employer. 

After being in a dead end job for a year with no light at the end of the tunnel, we decided it was time to take a little risk by doing something different. 

Truly it was a new beginning.  The regular paycheck didn’t come in on the twenty fifth of every month as it normally did.  Well, that created much havoc in my life.  There are bills to pay, mortgages and overdrafts to service, children’s expenses, and of course, the darn credit card bills.  Now, those come on time every time.  By the middle of each month, they arrive promptly in the mail no matter if it rains or shines.       

When they do arrive, as much as I dread this, I know that we will need to have the how-much-should-I-pay conversation once again.   I am not sure which is worse, having to have this conversation or having to pay for not one, but two credit card bills.
 
This credit cards issue is one beginning I would like to see an end to. 

However, there are other beginnings worth mentioning.  These are beginnings I’d love to share with you.  My spouse no longer hates going to work everyday.  Nowadays, he comes home happy every evening even after having to put in long hours at work.     

In the meantime, let me just leave you for a while to finish up my monetary conversation with my spouse.  After all, the paycheck might come in tomorrow. 

Every day is a new beginning! 

And you my readers, please remember to pay your credit card bills on time.  If you are not aware of this yet, it is good to know that you will be charged late charges and then, finance charges for every day of late payment. 

Cheers!

“You see, Wendy, when the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies.” – an excerpt from J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan

The baby is growing beautifully.  Little Simon is nine months old now.  He is very much aware of his surroundings these days, making him a popular pastime with the other children and adults.  Every one wants to make him a funny face or, play peak-a-boo with him or, simply shower him with kisses. 

All of us wants to play with him because we love to listen to him laugh his hearty laughs.  He is such a happy baby.  He laughs and laughs, and never tires of it. 

Every regular activity to us is a new adventure to him. 

He laughs when he sees Brian tossing a balloon into the air. He laughs out loud when his father throws him into the air.  He laughs when I caress the palm of his chubby hand.  He laughs when Daniel plays peak-a-boo with him.  He is tickled when he sees trickling water. 

The house resonates with his laughter.  My being is joyful when the baby laughs.  His laughter is like a breath of fresh air.  The tainted world that I know of seems renewed, as I see it through the eyes of a baby. 

Today, my spouse asked me what had happened to the flashcards  he purchased years and years ago.

I remember the cards.  These were bought when our first child was born nine years ago.  My spouse had wanted to raise a genius, and so with much enthusiasm, he went and bought two stacks of flashcards.  One stack consists of various types of animals, and the other, fruits.   

The purple coloured boxes that contained the cards are long gone  but the cards are still kept intact.  They are being stored in  one of the drawers downstairs.  Lying untouched, they looked new, as if these were bought yesterday. 

Slightly smaller than an A4 sized paper, these are beautiful cards.  An eye catching coloured picture is printed on one side of the card, and the word describing the picture is printed on the overleaf. 

I used the cards on Daniel when he was around a year old.  This October he will turn nine years old. 

I did exactly what the cards indicated.  I flashed them at him.  Well, I cannot confirm whether card flashing brought out the genius in the boy, but I can surely confirm that practically, it was a messy affair.  He would only be interested for the first few minutes.  Thereafter, he would reach out for the cards in an attempt to put them in his mouth or scatter them on the floor for his pure entertainment. 

After a few rounds of gathering scattered flash cards from four corners of the living room, I took the practical route.  I stopped using the cards altogether.   

It seemed to me that my spouse had shown more enthusiasm purchasing the cards rather than flashing them in front of the child.  I reckon he had only done it once or twice with Daniel, and none with James and Brian.
 
I look at him now and reply, “Didn’t you ask for the same thing when James or Brian was around this age?”

He gave me the sweetest smile ever.

This felt like déjà vu.

The both of us had no patience nor persistence in using the cards on any of the boys.  It’s no wonder that none of them are geniuses yet.

Well, it’s still not too late with little Simon yet.  Perhaps I’ll flash the cards tomorrow.  Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

In the meantime, we are just too busy flashing our monkey faces at him trying to make him laugh.

Wishing you a great weekend!  Cheers!

“Sons are a heritage from the Lord, children a reward from Him.”  Psalm 127:3

Brian celebrated his fourth birthday on 14 April, 2010. He is so proud of being a big boy now.  Today, he keeps telling everyone still he turned four years old.  

This child is a colourful character.  He is rebellious, adventurous and strong willed.  In our world of methodical, boring grown ups, we would term him the naughty child. 

Secretly, I wish I had inherited some of his recklessness and desire for  dangerous living.  His daily existence is anything but mundane and, boring.  He would jump from chair to chair for the sheer fun of it, or take a calculated risk and jump from the dressing table to the bed.  At times he would climb the door grill in an attempt to touch the ceiling, or risk caning by defying his father’s orders not to meddle with the forbidden object, the notebook.

This is the only child who can make me laugh and cry at the same time. 

Most of the time, he teaches me more about life than I can teach him.  Sometimes, on rare occasions, I try to teach him about nature and him being part of it. 

One evening many months ago, I had some precious time to spend with him and James at the park after the baby was born.  Both of them ran and, jumped and, played till it was time to go home. 

“Feel your heartbeat,” I said to them.

They paused to take a breather after a long run when I told them to put their tiny hand against their chest.    

“Can you feel it beating?” I asked.

Brian was especially excited to be able to feel his heart galloping.

Today was like any other for Brian.  It was a day of adventure and play.  Not for me though.  I had had a long night of broken sleep taking care of the boys.   

He was scampering and jumping and climbing as usual in our room, while I lay comatose on the bed trying to get some sleep. 

He suddenly came beside me and asked me to feel his heartbeat.

I put my hand on his chest.  I could feel his heart, beating steadily, doing its job diligently. 

In turn, he put his tiny hand against my chest, trying to find my beating heart. 

“Mummy, are you dying?” he asked.  Possibly, what he meant to ask was ‘Are you dead?”

“Err, I hope not,” I replied.  “Why do you say so?”

“Because I cannot feel your heart,” he replied.

For a fleeting moment, even I wasn’t sure if I were alive or dead when I couldn’t find my heartbeat as hard as I tried to. 

But surely if I am still breathing I cannot be dead, I reasoned with myself.

Today, thanks to the little boy, I am reminded of the gift of life.  

Every day, I thank God for giving me this beautiful child.  He keeps me alive and on my toes with his zest for life. 

Happy Belated Birthday Brian!  I love you always.

Our room gets the afternoon sun.  This means that the room can get really hot and stuffy.  Thankfully we have installed an air conditioner to cool the room down whenever it gets too heated up. 

For the past six months, I’ve on numerous occasions, complained that the air conditioner was not as cold as it should be.  This is especially felt in the afternoons.  My spouse would always give the explanation of the under powered air conditioner theory installed in a too big room. 

“But the air that’s being blown out if not cold,” I replied.

“It’s cold,” he insisted. 

I keep quiet to keep the peace around the house.  Maybe, just maybe, he could be right.

After six months of getting hot air conditioning complaints from me every other week, he finally relented and told me to get the air conditioner serviced. 

Unfortunately, the service company missed our appointment.  Business was brisk, and manpower was lacking.

The matter did not seem urgent, thus I procrastinated and did not remake another appointment. 

A few days after the missed appointment, my dear spouse decided that he would spend an afternoon taking care of our children. 

I was out when I got a call on my cell phone from him that fateful afternoon.  He was in our room with Brian.  I could hear the boy in the background.

“Have you made an appointment again to service our air conditioner?” he asked with great urgency. “The air conditioner has broken down.”

This sounded like bad news.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Can you turn it on?”

“Yes, but it’s not cold anymore,” he replied.

I rushed home to find our air conditioner humming quietly like it always did every afternoon.  

“I told you,” I told my spouse.

If only he had volunteered childcare during afternoons six months earlier.   

Now we have cool air conditioning.

Real People, True Stories.

“…let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action” 1 John 18

So, I‘ve been sulking for the past two weeks.  Life has been giving me a hard time, I thought with self-pity. 

One night while at the computer, my hand wandered to the left side of my cheekbone and discovered a tiny bump somewhat similar to a mosquito bite.  It was painless, and so, I thought nothing of it.

The next two days the bump ballooned into a huge lump.  It made me looked like Frankenstein with a swollen face on one side.  Still I did not go to the doctor.  I was consuming a thirty day detox package, and thought that maybe this was a side effect. 

Another day went by with me looking hideous, but it was all right since I rarely go out, and my children didn’t seem to be bothered by my altered appearance.

Later that night, my hand wandered again and discovered that I had a swell behind my left ear.  It was the same side where the lump was.  When I went to bed that evening, my ear throbbed.  Needless to say, I had a sleepless night.

Fear can drive a person to act swiftly.  The next day, I consulted a doctor immediately.  He shone a torchlight at my face.  He diagnosed my ugly lump as shingles. 

“This is a case of a weak immune system,” he told me.  Great.

He prescribed medicine for me, and told me not to breastfeed.  I asked for an alternative medicine, but was told that there was none. 

I had to decide.  I didn’t want to look like Frankenstein for the rest of my life, so I took the no breastfeeding choice.   One tablet four times a day, and no breastfeeding made my life totally miserable.

The baby slept fitfully that night.  My mother who was so kind to help me out, also didn’t sleep well.  My breasts were engorged.  I tried pumping them for some relief but could not completely drain them.  Besides, my lump didn’t seem to be getting better despite the aggressive treatment. 

I was ready to look like Frankenstein for the rest of my life just to make my baby and me happy once again.  Anyway, my spouse, in order to save the sanity of his family, checked the internet to learn more about the medicine I had been given.  We read that it was safe to consume the medication and breastfeed at the same time. 

This is not happening, I thought, after having to put up with the baby’s fuss. 

Anyway, I continued consuming the same medicine and breastfeeding simultaneously after consulting another doctor.  I was happy once again and thankfully, so was the baby. 

My shingles eventually shrivelled and dried up.  However it left behind a scar that stubbornly would not go away.  Thank goodness, the swell disappeared all together.    

My life resettled to its regular rhythm.  I breathed easier.  I started consciously looking after my health.  I started with the basic, like drinking three litres of waters daily.  I made the effort to put on my walking shoes every morning. 

Surely, life can only get better with a healthier lifestyle.

Then, James came home from school with a fever.  He complained of a sore throat.   Two days after this, his skin was dotted with a red rash at the buttocks.  His doctor, took one look and said he has hand-foot-and-mouth illness. 

“It’s contagious,” she told me.  It must be, because when I was still in the consulting room, she had washed her hands twice and swiped her table with an alcohol swab.

“First the shingles, and now this,” I whined. “This is just too much.” My spouse patiently heard me out. 

My mum who again, so kindly helped me with the children also caught this infectious illness. Her beautiful hands were dotted red, and so were her feet. This happened one week before her son’s wedding. 

She was entirely miserable regarding the whole situation and, the lousy timing.  She found solace in talking constantly about the illness.  This illness that plagued her that she so freely confided in her siblings eventually turned against her.  Relatives who knew of her illness did not dare come close to her during the wedding.  Not one came to congratulate her in church. 

She ended up teary eyed. 

It was the happiest day of her life, and I am sure, also the saddest. 

I was angry. 

“Would not one take a little risk to do the right thing? I asked myself.  A simple handshake or a touch on the shoulder would have made her very happy.  Or perhaps if one is so afraid of catching this disease by touch, a kind word shared with her would have provided great comfort.”                
 
Alas! They feared the illness more, treating my mum like a leper. 

There was a lot of anger in me.  There was a lot of anger within that I did not know how to dispel. 

I went for my regular walk the other day.  I got to know of  stories that I did not want to repeat.   

A nice gentleman who stays in our neighbourhood was diagnosed with pancreas cancer.  He would need chemotherapy for the next six months.  To add stress to this, he would need to pay exorbitant medical fees for this treatment.

Our opposite neighbour’s brother fell off the roof, shattering his elbow.  He would have only limited use of his right hand for the rest of his life. 

I am not angry anymore. 
 
It is good that the bride and groom were happy and most importantly, healthy during their wedding day.  It is good that my children and I made it to the wedding party.  It is good that my mum made it as well to her son’s wedding party. 

It is good that my children can read and write.  More importantly, I pray that they will take some risks to do the right thing in life.

I am sure they learnt through the shining example of their grandmother who took a little risk taking care of them even when she knew they had this contagious hand-foot-and-mouth illness.  

Cheers!  And a good week ahead.