The best inheritance a parent can give his children is a few minutes of his time each day. – O. A Battista

I send James to school every morning.  I meet many familiar faces there each day, but one stands out each time.  The boy is younger than James by a year.  He seems to be a regular school going child in his green and white uniform, but what caught my attention is that his father walks him to school almost daily.

Mostly I see mothers scurrying in and out of their cars dropping their children at school but this father takes an unhurried walk with his son.  Sometimes I see him stroll down the lane towards the school with his son in hand.  Other times I see him giving the boy a good bye kiss before sending him off into his classroom. 

On most evenings, I take my children to a nearby park.  Occasionally I see the same father there.  He comes with his two children, the boy and a younger girl, plus a green ball tucked under his arm.  Soon, they are playing and kicking the ball around.  The father kicks the ball to the boy, and the ball is returned.  When the ball is passed to the girl, she decides that using her hands to pick the ball up is easier, and breaks into a run temporarily disrupting the game.     

My boys join in the fun.  For me, it seems as if they are doing mindless ball chasing.  Daniel loves physical activities but isn’t very competent at sports.  He tries to kick the ball with his left leg but misses.  James dives in giving the ball a strong kick and passes it to the nearest player.  Brian is just happy tagging along, chasing after James.  The father is always near, assisting and facilitating in the game. 

At some point amidst the chasing and kicking, James throws a tantrum when he does not get a chance to control the ball.  He sits down heavily on the grass and gives out a loud howl. 

The game goes on, despite of the little boy’s temper showing drama.

Eventually he will learn, I said to myself, that there are some things larger than him. 

Probably the greatest teachings in life are learnt during play. 

I sit at a nearby bench, feeling hopelessly useless.  Not in my lifetime will I be able to teach my sons the pleasure of playing football having no interest in the game myself.  And compounded by the size of my huge rounded tummy, mobility has been a big issue lately. 

Idly, I observe the children playing with the father.  I realise that he is the only regular male figure I see at our parks.  I envision all the issues our children have to deal with in our increasingly complicated world.  I think of preteen children and bullying at school, or sibling rivalry in the home.  Or the teenager who is constantly taunted because of her being overweight, or being pressured into having pre marital sex. 

The scenario changes.  I see six young men obediently standing in a circle while waiting patiently for their turn to kick the ball.  Each kicks to the father, who in turn, passes the ball to the next boy.  For once, the mothers have no major role to play except to sit and catch up amongst themselves. 

Herein lies the solution to all our precious children’s problems.  Here is a father who has decided to place his children’s importance above all other things.  He has chosen to spend some of his invaluable time with them. 

How often a child is merely in need of a father who needs only to listen and be interested in the happenings of his day, instead of one who is constantly in front of the television or flipping the newspapers. 

If only we have more fathers like the father that I know of at the park, our children’s self confidence would soar equipping them with the self sufficiency they will need to handle life’s problems.
    
I reckon it is a good idea for me to kick my spouse off his lazy chair this weekend and get him to take our children to the park.  After all, they deserve his one hour of undivided attention minus the television, and the computer, and the cell phone. 
 
Here’s wishing you my friends, a good weekend!  Cheers

Erma Bombeck, that wise humorist, when asked what she had learned from raising her children, replied, “That a child needs your love the most when he deserves it the least.” – How to stress-proof your child, Reader’s Digest, October 1985.

I am constantly at odds and ends with Daniel, my eldest son.  He is eight years old this year.  The reason being is because I believe, we possess totally different personalities.

It is difficult for me to understand why he frets over matters that are deemed unimportant to me or when he stubbornly refused to take his mother’s noteworthy advice.  Whenever I am with Daniel, the role of positive parenting eludes me.  Constantly replacing positive thoughts and deeds are harsh words, threats and shouts.  The aftermath of these dramatised moments is always followed by a feeling of guilt on my part. 

I find myself being highly critical of his behaviour.  Daniel shouts more than he talks.  Daniel is always negative about everything.  Daniel has a much unwanted stubborn streak.  Daniel whines too much. Daniel is rude always. Daniel is too this, and Daniel is too that.  Interacting with this boy seems to perpetuate the worst in me.   

This night was a regular night.  I was at the computer when my spouse approached me.

“Look at what Daniel did,” he said.  “He is so thoughtful.  He bought some stamps for me,” he continued talking while handing me a small packet of transparent plastic.

My spouse is an avid first day cover and stamp collector.  Obviously Daniel has been observant of this.

I looked down at his handout.  Sure enough, there it was.  Three good looking rectangular stamps arranged properly in the plastic.  Each had a drawn picture of a fish.  

This was turning out to be an irregular night.  I did not believe this.  My son, the laid back boy?

“Where did he buy it?” I asked.

“He bought it in school.  He bought it for a dollar,” my spouse replied.

“You mean he bought it with his pocket money?” I enquired further.  This boy had done an extraordinary task.  He had bought a gift for his father on his own initiative and without any promptings from the adults. 

That night I gazed at my sleeping son.  I realised that he was merely a young child trying his best to find his way to be in the world.  He earned a new sense of deep respect and great pride from me after the unexpected act of love. 

Surely his father must know how important and influential his presence is in the lives of his sons.  And possibly, this is the best Father’s day gift ever! 

Every child is indeed special, and especially Daniel.  He has a heart of gold.       

Shame on his mother. 

“Our memories of the ocean will linger on, long after our footprints in the sand are gone.”  - Anonymous

The children had just finished their two week school holiday.  Their father decided that they should be taken on a real holiday and asked me to reserve accommodation near the beach.

The hotel has a really nice setting.  I know because I tagged along with my spouse the last time he was there for a business meeting.  In fact, many months ago, I pestered him to take the children there for a holiday.  He finally relented and instructed me to do the bookings. 

After making numerous phone calls later, I managed to secure a room for two nights despite the heavy reservations being made due to the school holidays.

The hotel had a kiddy pool which our two older boys jumped in right into.  The pool which was one meter deep was also very exciting to play in because it had a blue water slide.  The boys would slip into their tyre floaties and hold them at their waists before sliding down at top speed into the water making a big splash and squealing with laughter.  Brian can’t touch ground yet when in the pool but he was fearless riding the slide at top speed tailing behind his brothers.

And then it happened.  His swim tube slipped out as he was sliding down into the water.  Naturally he went under as soon as he hit the water. 

I had just begun to relax and was enjoying the warm sunshine when I saw him plopped under.  With all the speed my seven month pregnant form could muster, I waded towards his aid. I quickly pulled him up, but not before he gulped down some water.  He came up spluttering and coughing.  He then sobbed a little before starting to breathe again.  He was clearly upset. 

The lifeguard came over to find out if everything was all right.  He told us there was a newly opened wading pool nearby which was more suited for a three year old. 

To appease the boy, I then decided to rent a floating croc for the boys to ride on in the water.  It was a huge crocodile, green in colour and filled with air.   It was so huge that even an adult could float on it in the pool.  After much difficulty, I hoisted James and Brian on top of the floating croc while Daniel maneuvered it while standing waist deep in the water. 

I turned my back for one second and then, it happened again.  I heard a splash and Brian screaming.  I spun around and saw the two brothers holding him above water.  One was holding his head and the other his legs to keep him afloat, and him, screaming his lungs out.  For the second time that morning, I lunged my oversized stomach forward and carried him upright.

I looked at the older boys for an answer.  Daniel pointed at James and said, he did it.  I glared at James, and waited for him to speak.  Obviously the little boy did not know the danger of drowning because he was laughing when he said,  “I overturned the crocodile!” 

I never let Brian out of my sight again that day.  Young children must have short memories because he was happily playing again with his brothers when my spouse came downstairs to join us later that morning.  But he would not zoom down the water slide anymore for the rest of our time there no matter what we said or did to make him feel more secure.     
     
Well, there was always the wading pool to make up for his lack of confidence in the water.  He didn’t feel threatened as it only reached his ankles.  There were spouting fountains fixed at the sides of the pool and another cascading one in the middle for more fun and action.  Brian was running in circles in the pool to stop the fountains from spouting water, and loving every minute of it.  And I was in a definitely more relaxed mood sunbathing in this wading pool.  Surely, the boys could never drown in the shallow waters.

Daniel as usual, was the chief coordinator.  He lugged the huge green croc into the pool and volunteered to give rides to the other two boys.  James was more interested in the fountains.  He would go looking for adventure.  He absolutely loved drenching himself under the falling waters of the man made tiny fountain at the middle of the pool.   He made Brian go under the fountain as well, but the latter didn’t like it and made a big fuss.  James laughed. 

The boys needed minimum supervision from us in this wading pool.  They had each other to entertain themselves, and of course there were the ever flowing fountains for more creative play. 

My spouse and I were finally able to have the long awaited vacation that both of us were so looking forward to.  Away from work pressure and the constraints of time, we communicated with ease.  I do not remember all that we said or discussed, but I remember us enjoying each other’s company very much.  And I also recall then, why I fell in love with this man the very first time I spoke to him.  He made me laugh easily with his jokes and both of us enjoyed listening to Bee Gees. 

From the wading pool which was built on higher ground, we were able to see the beautiful beach as our backdrop against the blue sky.  Every day for the three days I am thankful that we had excellent warm weather.  When the boys were tired of the pools, we reached for our spades and buckets, before heading for the sands.  The walk was just a few minutes away, across grass and palm trees. 

Nature beckons us with her timeless song of her gentle waves rolling towards shore.  I feasted my eyes on the waters with her glorious colour of different shades of blue.  Drawing in a deep breath of salty air, I felt myself being a part of this huge universe in this jigsaw puzzle of life.

The elder two boys were eager to get into the waters, but Brian was terrified of the waves.  My spouse accompanied the two boys into the sea, while I stayed behind with Brian to play on the sands. 

I sat beside Brian in comfortable silence.  He had everything he needed then, a spade and a bucket and of course, plenty of sand to dig with.  A child who is preoccupied is a happy one.  A mother whose child is preoccupied is happier.  I left him alone to do some work.  My mind took flight as he sat playing quietly next to me.      

He filled his bucket with sand, poured the sand out again and repeated the process.  Perhaps a more ambitious mother might ask how does her child benefit by doing this, but not I.  I was delighted to share this rare moment of togetherness with my child.  I am constantly experiencing life in a time pressured environment with datelines and goals attached to every single activity.  It was heartwarming to see my child dig sand for pleasure, and for just being. 

Soon, the boys were calling out to us to join them in the waters.  After some coaxing, we managed to get Brian into the waters.   We watched the sunset together while soaking in the sea.  The sun had turned into a warm red ball.   The sea was a mixture of turquoise blue and a rich orange colour against the blue reddish sky. 

The boys got restless after a while.  James found a way of self entertainment.  He waited at the shore for the waves to come in.  When they did, he ran inwards towards the sands laughing.  Then, he turned back to chase the waves when they rolled out.  Intermittently he joined his elder brother Daniel who was building sand castles nearby.

Daniel is our builder and thinker.  For his time at the beach, he was not his usual whiny, complaining self because he was doing what he loved best.  His hands were magically transforming plain sand into castles, turrets and moats.  Working busily with his hands had a calming effect on his otherwise restless spirit. 

None of the boys had any reason to get at each other’s throat.  Each had carved his personal space with a unique agenda under the big blue sky and the vastness of the ocean.
We were one happy family.
  
All too soon, dusk fell.  The tide was coming in and, the sea was beginning to turn rough.  Reluctantly, I called for the boys to head back to the hotel.  We cleaned and washed the sand clinging to our skin at the nearby showers . 

The boys were still energetic from a nap earlier that afternoon.  And so the adults decided that play should continue at the hotel pools for a little while more before having dinner.  The water was soothing and warm to the skin.   

I managed to obtain one of the green floating crocs for the boys.  Their father gladly entertained them in the pool with the floating croc while I lie in my lazy chair.

Most of the crowd has left for dinner.  I welcomed the calm and  silence.  There were only us and another family in the water.  The scorching sun was no longer blazing.  Night covered us like a blanket, cooling the air.  I looked up into the darkened sky and saw some twinkling stars.  Palm trees sway gently in the breeze.  I was transported to another place and time.  This whole panoramic experience reminded me of the many Arabian Nights stories I loved and knew so well.  It is hard to believe that it had been more than two decades since my mother used to read those stories to me.  

We have had some bad experiences with the hotel services.  When we checked in, we were given a room that was being occupied.  Housekeeping services were not available the whole day and they only came late in the night after five persistent calls to them.  We walked into one of their restaurants to have a look at their menus only to find out that there was none available according to the waiter on duty.  I looked at him in disbelief, but there was little else we could do except leave. 

There were other minor inconveniences during our stay there, but I was glad we took this holiday because the hotel provided two essential elements; sands and waters.  These two elements were provided in excellent conditions in the form of a beautiful beach with fine sands and waters, in addition to providing superb pool facilities. 

Sands and waters, two great combination for creating everlasting memories for us and the boys.  The room rates were pricey but our time together as a family was priceless. 

It was truly a great holiday.

If you don’t like something change it; if you can’t change it, change the way you think about it.  - Mary Engelbreit

I am still on thoughts on taking different paths.  It was my dad who prompted these thoughts.  A few weeks ago, he had to send my brother to the airport, and find his way home on his own.  Though he had taken the route before, he needed to rely heavily on signboards to get home.

This time was no different.  He faithfully followed the green signboard, which according to him would take him towards the freeway, the most direct and quickest way home.  But instead of leading him directly home, the green signboards led him to a side slip road.  He had to travel many extra kilometers and pay additional toll charges before being able to turn off at the correct exit.   He got home safely nonetheless.

He sat down at his favourite spot on the sofa that afternoon, and related his experience to us.  Although I was not familiar with the  route, I knew that he had taken a longer ride home.  There was definitely a shorter and cheaper alternative route.  My spouse would be the best person to ask for directions, I told my dad.  

Two weeks later, he had to chauffeur my brother once again to the airport.  He arrived home to tell us that he had taken the same long route again. 

The first question I asked myself was, why did he take the same route again when he already knew that it was an unnecessary long complicated journey and he had to pay extra toll money to get home. 

He could have easily asked for the directions, and got home in half the time. Instead, he took the path that was safe and familiar to him.  I tried to comprehend this but to no avail.

For reasons unknown to me, this issue kept cropping up in my mind throughout the whole of last week.  I pondered deeply upon this, and discovered a part of myself.

As difficult as it is to confess, I realised that I would have done the same thing if I were in my dad’s shoes.  A little deviation from familiarity can be notoriously dangerous for me.

When I applied this startlingly discovery to the other areas of my life, it became obvious that I had walked the same path again and again because it was ‘safe’ and familiar.  This does not mean that I had taken the most direct shortest path to attain my desired results.

I would struggle to get out of my credit card debt, to get myself laden with another pile of debt once again.  I attribute this to the same spending habits and thought patterns that I have acquired throughout the years. 

I had done what my dad did.  I had taken the same path again and again without thinking much about this because it was deemed safer and more familiar.  It is of no surprise that my actions produced the same results every single time.  

How can I teach my children about taking risks and embracing change if I was not able to do so myself?  How do I strengthen my relationship with my spouse if I was not prepared to risk a little more by listening harder and talking less?  How do I begin to teach my children to love themselves if I have yet to initiate the journey within myself?

The obvious solution to the above questions, I believe, is to take a stroll on a different path.  A new path, which may seemed riskier and unfamiliar in the beginning may be more rewarding in the end.    

Cheers!  to you, my friends and a good week ahead. 

Playing at parks is a part of the boys’ daily lives.  The hot weather these days permits for many hours of outdoors.  Virtually every day the boys get to spend time outside, soaking in the sun and   exhausting their abundant physical energy on swings and slides. 

My spouse and I chose a home in a neighbourhood where there are an abundant of greeneries and parks.  We both agreed that this would be a good place to raise our children.

We frequent three parks regularly.  The first, which is just round the corner of our home, is close by and our first choice when the sky is dark and threatens a looming thunderstorm. The second, which boasts a bigger field is situated down the road.  It is further, but is still close enough for the children to walk or cycle to.  The third park has a more complicated structure with more tunnels and slides.  This is the park we go to when we are bored with the other two.  The children will have to be driven there. 

For a long time now, the children are happy to play at these three different parks.  We never did feel the need to venture further until recently,  when James suggested that we cross the road to play at a basketball court nearby.

I was quite resistant towards the idea.  What would we do at an empty cemented space with no ball, bicycles, or any other sports equipment, I asked myself. But James was persistent and determined to go.  And so, we went. 

We mugged around for a while at the court, playing catching.  After some running around, the boys strayed away to the adjacent field.  It has a beautiful park structure, with many different slides and tunnels assembled at various platform levels.  The interesting feature of this park is that its bridge is made of a few moveable plastic planks tied together.  The boys, especially Brian, loved to run across it as fast as they can and feel it tremble below their feet. 

The boys were zooming in and out of the tunnels, and up and down its slides.  James loved the challenge of its monkey bars.  Brian gave his mother a heart attack by jumping off a platform elevated two feet from the ground.  They played crocodile at the bridge, stomping on it to shake it violently and laughing in the process.  When will I get used to raising boys, I thought to myself observing from afar.

All too soon, it was time to go home.  The boys were sweaty and very tired.  Apart from the encounter with some stinging red ants, the boys had a wonderful time.

We decided to take a short cut home.  The route required us to walk through a small path in between two rows of houses.  We were passing through when we chanced upon someone’s pet rabbit.  It was caged up and placed at the side of the pathway we were crossing. 

The rabbit was in repose but attentive of her surroundings.  She had white fur, long pointy ears and a sparkling pair of big black eyes.  The boys were excited to see her.  She appeared excited to have visitors too. 

“What does she eat, mummy?,” James asked me.

“I’m not sure.  Possibly grass,” I answered, confessing the truth about my ignorance.

“I think they eat carrots,” Brian replied.  He seemed to have the brainiest answer.  Why didn’t I think of that?

Anyway, I found a piece of palm leaf on top of her cage, and thought maybe this was what her owners fed her with.

I pulled apart some leaves, and gave them to the boys for feeding.  Each took a blade of leaf and pushed it into a tiny hole of the wired cage.  To our delight, our fuzzy little friend munched on one of the blades enthusiastically.  She ate with a huge appetite, her tiny mouth moving animatedly. 

James pulled back the leaf she was munching on, and met with much resistant.  Our new found friend refused to let go. 

“James, don’t do that.  She might bite,” I barked.

“Why did the rabbit pull back like that?,” James asked, jerking his head back mimicking the animal. 

Brian laughed, and pulled at her munching food as well, following his brother’s actions.   He totally ignored my warnings.  I give up. 

The boys kept feeding her as long as she wanted to be fed.  Hopefully, we didn’t overfeed her and make her ill.  She was such a sweet natured bunny. 

Twilight enveloped us like a blanket, and mosquitoes were soon feasting on our legs.  It really was time to go home.  Reluctantly, we said goodbye to the friendly rabbit.  

The following visit, we brought Daniel along.  And he had a fine time feeding the bunny as well.  She would stand on her hind legs to take in a blade of leave.  The boys love to see her do that stunt of hers. 

And nowadays, she lets the boys stroke her soft white fur while she eats. 

Her eyes must be her main attraction because all the boys asked me the same question individually at different times. 

Can I poke her eyes or not?

Surely this is a chance to teach these youngsters about kindness towards animals, so I launched into a long lecture.  If the boys understood, they didn’t indicate it.  They were too busy with the bunny to listen to their mother.   I give up again.

I stood there looking at my children having a wonderful time with the rabbit.  Surely they learnt more about animals, and rabbits in particular, having had hands on experience than any textbook can offer.   

Thanks to James, for being inquisitive and possessing the courage to try something new the other day.  He brought us along a different path which led us to the discovery of this wonderful white fluffy rabbit, which in turn, brought us many new experiences. 

And hopefully, this will encourage you, my dear readers, to take a different path today.  Literally.  Who knows, instead of meeting a domicile pet, you might bump into a roaring tiger.  Then, I shall look forward to you sharing your more enriching and intense experience, and how it changed your life. 

And by the way, don’t know about carrots, but rabbits love to munch on palm leaves. 

Until then, here’s wishing you a good weekend.  Cheers!  

Recently I attended a wedding dinner with my spouse.  It was beautiful to see a couple as old as we are in their mid thirties just  starting a new beginning.   We needed to share their excitement and joy as a newly wedded couple.  We will be celebrating our tenth wedding anniversary this year.  Has it been ten years already, I sometimes ask myself in the middle of the night looking at my sleeping spouse.

We have become so comfortable with one another that passion has taken a back seat in our lives.  Practicality has ruled out all romantic moments, much to my chagrin.  My better half doesn’t celebrate Valentine’s Day because he reasons that roses are charged at exorbitant prices on that day.  I am just wondering how many men out there agree with his logic.  Well, he showered me with flowers on Valentine’s day the first year we dated! 

True, I thought to myself now that we are veteran partners for life.  But then again, he doesn’t come home with a bunch of red roses either on any other day when they cost only a fraction of the prices charged on cupid’s day. 

There we were eating and catching up with old friends at our dinner table when the groom’s father went on stage to give his speech.  My spouse, as usual, was talking too much when the speech was delivered, thus diverting my attention.  I felt like kicking his leg but decided not to make a scene in front of his friends. 

Despite the boisterous noise my spouse made, I managed to laugh at a joke the speaker made.  He said that after he got married, he decided not to wear his wedding ring.  His wife noticed this, and asked him why he was not wearing his ring. 

It cuts off my blood circulation, he said in his speech.

Then, he went on to say this, “Well, his wife replied, it’s supposed to!”

Later that week, I noticed that my spouse wasn’t wearing his wedding ring either. 

Suddenly, the joke doesn’t seem so funny anymore!

Cheers!  and a good day to you my readers!          

It has been an interesting weekend. We were invited to a wedding dinner on Saturday night. We decided to leave our children behind with their grandparents. I was awfully excited as if I was going on a first date again. The last time we were out on our own was so long ago I could not remember when.

I cleaned my high heeled shoes which were sitting and collecting dust on the shoe rack. Finally I had a reason to put on my long slinky velvet red gown. Never mind my protruding six month old pregnant tummy. I was determined to wear that revealing dress even though I had to stretch it a little. Well, a little more than the dress allowed. It seemed like a perfect fit when I wriggled my way through the low neckline and down my upper torso. So far so good, I said to myself. Then the dress got stuck at my huge melon tummy. I pulled, twisted and negotiated my body as best that I could to accommodate the already thinly stretched material. I am glad that the dress did rise to the occasion, enveloping my pregnant form like a cocoon when I finished dressing up.

I took my time smearing my face with my already expired liquid foundation, to discover that I had forgotten to apply my face moisturiser first. Indeed, it had been a long time since I had done a self makeover. I put on my favourite eye shadow colour and applied rouge on my cheekbones. Then, I went on to put on matching earrings and a necklace. I could hear my spouse yelling at the background about us being late. Quickly, I dabbed on some lipstick.

I looked into the mirror, and saw a different reflection. I felt like Cinderella. The frump that I normally see in the mirror had turned into a princess, and her carriage was waiting outside ready to take her to the ball.

We had a fine time catching up with friends at the cocktail reception. With no children to run after and bedtime schedules to meet, my spouse and I were in a totally unhurried, relaxed mood.

My spouse was like a butterfly, fluttering from table to table, mingling and socialising. The dinner was soon over, and guests were quietly filing out of the hall. On the contrary, the party at our table had just begun. It seemed more like an old school reunion to me. True to tradition, the objective of the night was to knock the groom off his feet with however much liquor that was needed.

Alcohol flowed freely that night. And endlessly. Red wine. Whiskey. Brandy. Beer. With their accompaniment, the crowd grew rowdier, and the jokes got crankier. And then the magic potion appeared. A bottle of Chivas Regal.

All of a sudden, the men turned into boys once again. Relishing their youth, the challenged was for each other to drink the longest straight from the bottle. Move over, Mr Groom. These young men have found a new mission for themselves. Strange things started happening to these dignified men as portrayed by them earlier that evening. They voluntarily posed in awkward positions in front of the camera. Some of them loosened their shirt buttons baring a naked chest, and one thought it was perfectly all right standing on a chair with the occasional foot on the table top. Others had their shirts drenched in liquor. In between, there were many conversations that made no sense at all.

We had a siesta that night. The groom and his guy friends made their own music, and sang off tuned songs. Liquor flowed in endless streams into our champagne glasses, and toastings were made to everyone and anyone who cared to raise their glass. The camera shutters were working overtime, clicking non stop.

The party only ended when the bottle of Chivas had gone dry, and of course only when the groom can no longer walk in a straight line and had to be escorted to his bridal suite. His bride was not impressed at all, and neither was I.

Wives had to drive their husbands home early the next morning. I was no exception.

That was the beginning of a nightmare after the siesta. My spouse was having such a fine time that he conveniently forgot that he had a stomach problem and alcohol aggravates his condition. He had consumed enough alcohol to stay by the toilet bowl puking the whole night through.

Morning came, and throughout the following day he continued his vomiting marathon. He insisted that he didn’t have a hangover. I shook my head and looked at him in disbelief. Until today, he still denies that he had taken alcohol excessively that night.   Then, why is it that he could not remember many of the obscene shots they took of him that night, I wondered.

He stayed in bed the whole day, and never got better. I was mad because he made me missed my self improvement seminar that weekend. And of course, also because he abandoned me to handle the children on my own.

Evening came, and he got worst. I really was starting to get worried. I asked whether he needed to see a doctor. He said he wanted to go to the hospital. At that moment, I wished I had been more symphathetic. I quickly dressed up, arranged for baby sitting and drove him to the emergency ward.

I managed to get a nurse to wheel him in as he could hardly walk at all. Then, I did the necessary. I parked the car, and registered him before joining him in the Resus room.

He was placed on a bed, with curtains drawn up as partitions to create a private space for the patient. In that time and space where I stood waiting for him to be treated, I saw and heard many emergency cases. One girl as young as Daniel had blood all over her shirt when they wheeled her in. It looked as if she split her skull while playing and needed stitches. The nurses were so busy that they didn’t have time to clear the bloody cotton swaps immediately. It was a gory sight.

Then there was another emergency case which I never saw, but hearing it was just as good as ‘seeing’ it. I heard a boy crying pitifully for his mother, and vomiting violently non stop after the nurses administered medicine. I deducted he probably consumed poison.

And my spouse was in pain, clutching his stomach in desperate need of painkillers.  I could do nothing to ease his suffering.  Silently I cursed him for his irresponsible drinking.  This was not exactly the best place for us to spend our Sunday evening. 

The doctor on duty finally attended to him. He gave the patient a jab, and some white liquid to swallow. My spouse calmed down almost immediately, his gut no longer in pain.

We finally left the hospital after nearly four hours. The hospital discharged him with a big packet of medicine and not before slapping me with a hefty bill.

I experienced both sides of life last weekend, the beautiful side with all its glamour, and its boost, and the ugly side with all its sufferings and pains. I have to admit that I prefer the glamorous side more.

The weekend is coming soon again. Here’s wishing you a good weekend! Cheers!

Temperatures have been soaring lately in this part of the globe.  We have had only hot, humid weather with no intermittent showers at all for as far back as I can remember.

Our master bedroom gets the evening sun.  When late evening comes, the room is aglow with soft rays of sunshine shining through our window basking it in warm golden sunlight.   

Recently, the heat has been unbearable.  Earlier this evening, I took a bottle of hand lotion from my dressing table in my room and squirted some on the palm of my hand.  The sticky white liquid felt warm. 

My room is being transformed into a sauna these days.  The thermometer shows a record high of 32.5 Celsius almost everyday now.   That seemed to be the norm.  I seldom use the air-conditioner in our room but for the past two weeks, I had diligently turned it on full blast driven by the heat.  Even so, I am still sweating bullets. 

I also have this habit of turning on the water heater when bathing my children and myself.  Since the insane heat has kept my air-conditioner running throughout the night, I reckon that I could save on my electricity bill by switching off my heater instead. 

The first few heater free baths solicited many comments from the boys.  “It’s too cold,” they chorused, refusing to go under the shower.  “The water will get warmed up!” I shot back.  These children are too spoilt, I thought to myself. 

When I took my first cool shower that was what I thought of as well.  It’s too cold.  I shook my head, and realised that I have been turned into a spoilt brat too.  I felt braver when I was seven.  I was bathed early in the mornings with cold water using a hose.  We didn’t have heaters then and I don’t remember complaining.

I gingerly put out my hand under the streams of cold water.  It felt bitingly cold to the skin.  It’s now or never, I said to myself.  Closing my eyes, I stood directly underneath the running shower. 

My first instinct was to jump out.  Then, I remembered the formidable heat.  For once, I’d rather be cold than hot.  I remained standing motionless for a few seconds, feeling the cold water cascading down my back.  The baby in me kicked twice as if to say, are you seriously thinking about exposing me to this cold.

My body gradually adjusted to the cool running water. Initially the cold jolted my being,  igniting my sense of touch.  My skin tingled under the continuous sprays of cold water. 

I visibly relaxed as I let the cool water enveloped me. I was beginning to enjoy my cold shower.  The day’s heat vaporized, and my skin no longer feels perpetually hot and clammy.

I stepped out of the shower rejuvenated.  The heat has already begun doing its job by warming me up.  For once, I welcomed the heat instead of complaining about it.                    

My baby seemed to agree with me as well on the benefits of taking a cold shower.  He hasn’t kicked once in protest since.  And I felt smugly proud as I thought of all the electricity I would save by not using the heater.    

My children still complain when I give them cold showers but only for the first two seconds.  Thereafter, they are not bothered by the cold water at all. 

If the heat is driving you up the wall, try heading for a cold shower to experience a cool refreshment.  You’ll be pleasantly surprised. 

Here’s wishing you a good week ahead. 

And wishing all mothers, Happy Mother’s Day! 

Cheers! 

Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing – Diller, Phyllis

I admire the tenacity of working women, who hold responsibilities of careers and their families at home.  There are also women who have decided to stay home with their children, leaving behind much sought after careers and part of their independence.  This brand of women would be able to, in my earlier perception, enjoy a more relaxing form of life with fewer responsibilities.  That was before I became a stay home mum myself.

In the beginning when I was brand new, I expected my life to be relatively easier.  I was working office hours before I decided to exchange this for a full time job at home to care for my two young sons.  Working full time had its rigid schedule; clocking in fixed working hours and braving the peak hour traffic.  It was stressful, especially early in the mornings when I had to strap my eldest into his car seat to cart him to his nanny.  Most mornings he would fret and wail. 

After my second child was born, I gladly traded in my five day a week early mornings stressful journeys for a full time mothering experience with my children.  How difficult can my new role be, I asked myself.  I would have rid myself of a  boss breathing down my neck, and freed myself from adhering to rigid working hours, I thought gleefully.

Five years later with three growing children and another one on the way, I have grown a new kind of respect for the mum who does the thankless job of cooking, washing and keeping her children clean. 

I discarded my office nine to five job, in place now I have a twenty four hour on call job.  Children in need in the nights have become solely my responsibility because, as my spouse so aptly puts it every time, he has to work the following day.

“I work hard in the mornings too,” I reply glaring at him.  But he is already fast asleep, snoring in oblivion to my grudges.

My youngest child is looking at me and waiting for me to change his soiled diaper.   Heavy with sleepiness myself, I quickly change him without further creating a fuss.  For I know that tomorrow, before the crack of dawn, I would have to be awake again to prepare his elder brother for school.

I find myself being frequently asked why I needed a domestic helper when I was at home all the time.  Initially, I didn’t know why either.   Now, I have come to realise that running a household and bringing up children are two entirely different entities. 

Both are time consuming, labour intensive and needing my constant attention.  My housekeeping chores demand that I  whip up a hot meal in twenty minutes, do the laundry at least twice a day, dust the beds, sweep and mop dirty floors, keep the toilets clean, throw out the garbage and occasionally wipe out a stray cockroach, among the myriad of other essential chores.

With my children, I would need to feed them, bathe them, wipe runny noses, kiss scrape knees, change soiled nappies, tell bedtime stories, facilitate quarrels and fights, address monster fears and nurture their souls, among a million other activities that I can think of.
Blending children and housework is a formula for disaster.  I can handle children with temper tantrums, or enjoy stirring up a meal undisturbed in the kitchen but mix these two together, I call it an emergency situation.  

Every household chore that I did, I had to do it with the presence of my children.  Cooking became stressful for me, simply because children and hot stoves existed in the same space.  Laundry folding became unruly when the boys tossed my folded clothes in the air as part of their entertainment act.  A simple task of sweeping the floor that would normally take a mere five minutes would now take twenty minutes because a child wants to help.  Even a personal trip to the bathroom had to be timed and quick before a fight breaks out. 

I laugh at myself now thinking how disillusioned I was to have believed that I had exchanged my office job for an easier workload in the home.

Less than a day spent with my children quickly provided me with the stark truth that I wasn’t the appointed boss in my own home.  My seniority didn’t count as far as my children were concerned, and they certainly didn’t think it was necessary to take any orders from me then, or now. 

I discovered that raising children was more like the sport of boxing rather than karate fighting.  I have to persuade, dart, duck, avoid, encourage, discourage, push, jump or divert in order to live in harmony with my rowdy bunch. I’ve tried using the authoritarian method of strict discipline with them but this always ends our episodes in tears and screams.

Daily I strive to reconnect with our boys’ restless bodies and minds.  I discovered that the absolute ingredients necessary are love, patience and understanding.  These three virtues rule my life as a boss would if I want to raise happy healthy children. 

This was ironic, I thought with resignation.  When I left my job employment, I also gladly left my boss behind.  Now I have three bosses.

Clearly, these three bosses of love, patience and understanding demand much effort and time from me.  I scramble every day for these two precious resources. These seemed to be perpetually in great scarcity when I have to blend household chores and childcare responsibilities. 
        
The past one year of juggling housekeeping and children created an intensive experience for me. It produced much frustration within myself.  My children had a grumpy and, screaming mum by the end of the day.  Coupled with exhaustion, I struggled daily to find time for myself.

Recently, we hired a domestic helper.  She is efficient and courteous.  More importantly, she has taken over the mundane but essential activities that are needed to create a decent house for us to live in. 

It has been almost magical ever since we employed her.  Two days ago, I took the children to the park.  When we came home, our chocolate stained floors were mopped and clean.  The toys that were scattered about were placed once again in their proper boxes.  And a hot meal was ready on the dining table for the children.  

It’s true what they say about fairy godmothers, I said to myself.  She had dropped in and sprinkled magic cleaning dust while we were out.  Our home has been magically transformed.

The laundry no longer piles up unfolded.  Our clean clothes are always nicely pressed and placed in their proper drawers at the end of the day.  The garbage is taken out daily.  Our sinks and bathrooms have reflections like mirrors now that they are being washed daily instead of us washing them as-and-when-they-grow-mouldy. 

Weekly, I go to the night market to do grocery shopping.  Today I came home with enough fresh produce to feed a household of eight people.  On a normal day, I would have to feed my children and tuck them in bed first before I take care of my purchases for the day.  By the time I finish my work in the kitchen, it would be close to midnight.  Because I have a helping hand now, I am able to retire for the night right after the boys have gone to bed.  It was a wonderful feeling to be able to have a nice warm relaxing shower.

My boys haven’t changed one bit.  They are still rowdy, loud and difficult.  However, I would like to think now that their mother has grown to please her bosses of love, patience and understanding more.

Cheers! And a good week ahead to you!

Everything grows rounder and wider and weirder, and I sit here in the middle of it all and wonder who in the world you will turn out to be. - Carrie Fisher

Ever since I discovered that I am pregnant, I have been diligently visiting a free pregnancy website which keeps track of the timeline of my pregnancy. 

When the ticker displayed that my pregnancy was half way there, I felt a growing excitement.  Suddenly, the remaining half of the journey didn’t seem like such a long and strenuous road now.  Having been free of the dreaded morning sickness that had plagued me for the first three months, my pregnancy has progressed from difficult to manageable.

Nowadays, I feel energised to pack more activities into my days for myself and my children.  I am able to control my emotions better instead of letting them take me on a roller coaster ride.    As a result of attaining some form of emotional stability, I engage in fewer arguments with my spouse and the rest of the world.  Instead, I am able to enjoy my spouse’s company once again by focusing on his positive traits instead of constantly finding fault with his shortcomings.

In short, I have learnt to be a functional human being once again assimilating myself to the social structure of society.   Simply said, I no longer was the psychopath I once was three months ago due to my raging hormones.

I have stopped trying to look like my next door neighbour when she was five months expecting.  She had a rake thin figure at that time with an unassuming bulge.  At five months pregnant myself, I am wearing underpants as huge as a man’s boxer shorts and needing a bigger size everyday.  I pulled one up just under my bust today in front of the mirror.  I looked at myself from various angles.  It was hard to look sexy in it.  It was harder to feel sexy in it.  This looks as if hot steamy nights with my better half will have to take a back seat for a while.    

As much as I feel much better these days, I cannot say so for my unborn baby.  My active boys would run to me and knock themselves hard against my growing belly. Ouch!  Avoidance is futile when the blows come in all directions and unexpectedly.  Every moment is precarious for the baby because daily I am constantly involved in some form of activity with my three boys.

Brian is our three year old and also our bundle of boundless energy.  Two weeks ago, we attended an Easter service.  I was holding his hand when he suddenly broke into a run.  I tried to withhold him by tightening my grip.  Instead I slipped and found myself sprawled on my right side on the ground.

Initially, I was more concerned about my ungraceful fall in public. Only when the embarrassment has receded, did I worry unendingly about the well being of my foetus.  A trip to my doctor managed to put my fears to ease. 

Everyday I ask my baby, “How are you doing inside there?”

In my quiet moments with him, I often get a response.  He answers by a gentle nudge or a slightest touch from the womb.  I am still here, he whispers.

By the way, the pronoun “he” mentioned here refers to both sexes.  We have decided to let the baby reveal himself at his birth.  What we do know is that there is only one.   

The world is impatient.  As with everything else, she wants to know immediately whether the swelling tummy is carrying a he or a she.  The other day, I met a casual friend at a grocery store. Standing in line at the busy cashier counter  with three or four customers sandwiched between us she hollered across, “Is it going to be a girl or a boy?” 

The unknown can be exciting and create suspense!

Initially, my prayer was, “Lord, please make this a girl this time.”  As my pregnancy progressed, I changed my prayer to, “Lord, please give me a strong and healthy baby.”  Then after a brief pause, I throw in a special request, “Please give me my perfect little girl!”

And to you, my dear friends, a good weekend ahead! 

Cheers!