“James can write now!,” Ms Alison, his class teacher exclaimed.  This was the best news I received last week. 

I was caught by surprise.  “James can write? How wonderful!” I  replied loudly, my little boy within earshot distance.  From the corner of my eye, I could see James bursting with pride.   

It has not been easy for James.  He had been to school for less than a month and was expected to know how to hold a pencil and write words already.  Prior to his school-going days, his favourite pastimes were singing, and looking at big pipes.  He has never been taught writing, thanks to his mother.

“James can’t write,” Ms Alison reported.  It was the end of his second schooling day  when I casually asked how he was coping in class. Her observation made little sense to me.  Did she expect the boy to start writing on his second day?  I imagined the rest of the fifteen children writing perfect ‘r’s and ‘t’s.

The first time he brought back his homework after this exchange of information, he was required to write intricate words consisting of many letters.  I was mortified.  My boy could not even write an “a” yet.   

“James can’t write,” I informed Ms Alison as if she didn’t know already when handing over his homework blank.  It was her turn to look mortified.       

Thus began a frenzied effort to educate my son to write.  “Try to write ‘1’ James, “ I coaxed him.  It  turned out to be a wriggly worm. “Try to write an ‘o’ now,” I pressed on.   It looked like a wavy line gone haywired. 

“I cannot,” he replied.  And off he went to play.  It was a good thing he didn’t know he couldn’t write yet compared to his classmates.    

My spouse and I cut letters out of sandpaper and Daniel helped to paste these on coloured cardboards.  I asked a teacher friend to teach me teach James to write.  Thanks to her, now James can trace the sandpaper letters perfectly with his fingers.  James and I spent time colouring and tracing  daily.   James still can’t write yet, I thought to myself after a month of coaching. “What does it matter?” I finally said to myself.   I’d watched him go to school and come home happy. 

Last week, Ms Alison showed me his worksheet. The lines were crooked, and the letters were too widely spaced out but nonetheless it irrefutably read ‘James’.  My four year old toddler had finally written his name all by himself. That day, I  proudly told anyone who cared to listen to me that James can write!

Cheers !  And a good day to you!

Yesterday my spouse politely informed me that he needed another piece of soap in our bathroom.  I asked him what was wrong with the current soap that we were using.  He explained that we have used his special cleansing soap as a multipurpose one. 

“You mean that is your face cleansing soap?” I clarified with him.

“Yes, I use it to wash my face,” he answered.

“And what kind of soap is that?”  I asked.  I expected a glamorous brand name for this piece of white soap he is so protective of.  I was not disappointed.  

“A special soap.  A Ritz-Carlton soap,” he replied with a sheepish grin.  He recently stayed at the Ritz-Carlton hotel.

I am a user of a skincare product which contributes to the sales of this gigantic skincare industry worth more that USD20bn yearly.  As my hero slept peacefully next to me that night, I noticed that my skin was no smoother than his.  Perhaps I should try his special soap instead….

Cheers!  And a good day ahead!

We pay a private car to send Daniel to school and back.  When he came home from school one Friday evening, I took Daniel to the park. On the way there, we bumped into his classmate who had just arrived home from school.  That’s odd, I thought. Daniel was home twenty minutes earlier and had taken his bath, put on his shoes and was happily riding his bicycle around our neighbourhood.   

Later, as he was playing around the house, I asked him, “How fast does uncle drive?”  Incidentally,  we refer to every man as an uncle to him.  

He stopped playing, ran towards me at the dining table, and lit up like a bulb.  His whole being animated, he said excitedly, “He is a super duper fast driver.  Two two zero eight.”

My mind did a quick mental calculation.  What kind of speed is that?  Two thousand two hundred and eight?  And is it in miles or kilometers?

“What is two two zero eight?” I asked.

“The speed –lar,” he replied, smiling. 

He has my full attention now.  No wonder he gets home early everyday.  “What is two two zero eight?”  I asked again. 

“Eight the engine turning,” he said, turning his hand in circles, his eyes sparkling. “Nyeng nyeng nyeng nyeng,” his voice mimicking the sound of an engine.  “Two two zero very fast! VVVrrroom…vroom… the car manual gear changing,” his voice raising and falling in cadence to the gear change. “And his wipers stopped like that” he added.  He froze both his arms at forty five degrees angle.

“Yes! His car goes at two two zero eight!” he confirmed it when I stared at him with disbelief.    

Daniel seldom offers me additional information about his day at school, his friends or his teachers.  The reality is, talking about these subjects is a chore to him. I am amazed by this transformation.  Seven years of interaction with this male brain is still a fascinating experience for me.  And I just found out this morning that he is interested in train scrapyards.  You just hold on as I look up the dictionary first for this alien word.      

I am experiencing an information overload now.  I did not understand what my son was talking about.  In the end, I gave advice like any sane worrisome mother would.  I told him to put on his seat belt when he gets into the car.  I wonder if he heard what I just said, or was it just noise to him?            

Cheers!  to you and have a good week ahead.

The first time I experienced snow was in the summer 2004.   Mount Titlis was so enjoyable and a great memory because it provided the best of both world for us.  The bright sun to warm our backs and the cold snow to warm our hearts.

I recorded my wonderful memories of this snow experience right after the visit and may have sent out my writings to some of you.  I reread my own article, and thought to myself, here is one girl who really was excited to see snow!  As I read through the details, I exclaimed to myself, “ Hey I remember that!” or “ How could I forget that big snowball fight?”

Here are my jottings once again for your reading pleasure.  I hope you will enjoy this as much as I did.  Excerpts from my travel writings on August 22,2004 :

Engelberg - Titlis.  The most exciting destination for people like me and Pat.  Snow!! Snow !! and more Snow !!  Costs us like CHF76 (RM228) per pax to get up to Titlis, 10,000 feet above sea level.  Had to change cable car thrice.  The breathtaking alpine panorama was unforgettable, but that didn’t quite thrill me as much as the _expression on the men’s faces when in the cable car.  Pat was breaking out in cold sweat ( scared of heights!!), and my dad, he was trying to act macho.  The height is nothing much, he said.  Yeah right.  He was having some difficulty breathing, and clinging on to his seat for dear life !  Snow!  Virgin snow! We had the best of both worlds - snow and sunshine at the same time.  Warm enough not to wear winter clothings, and cold enough to feel fresh crush snow in the palm of your hands.  Virgin snow!  Tastes like our ice kacang back home.  Free of charge.  Just bring your own gula melaka and red syrup. I think Daniel was quite embarrased with his mother that day.  I knew Pat was.  He said ‘Behave!’.  Behave?  This is real snow man!!  Never seen anything so fine, and cold, and white, that I can sink my feet into. All right, all right, so I acted like a kid.  Laughing, and sinking my bum bum into the pop icicles. Got my ass frozen, by the way. Even tried building a snowman. And sliding on our bums. And playing snow fights.  After a while, Pat was acting more like a kid than I was !  He tried to stuff this HUGE snowball in my sweater. Wait, I will get my revenge one day…. And my dad.  He was excited all right.  He said, ‘Wah, here must take photos!’  Time passed quickly for us that day.  There was absolutely nothing to do except play in the snow.  And that was what we did, absolutely nothing except play in the snow!

Have a good weekend! 

Cheers!  
 

We try to instil a sense of gratitude into our children.  Every night I say something like this to each and every child, “Today I thank baby Jinjus ( Jesus) for ….” and later, the child will continue with his own prayer.

After a long exciting day, James was clearly in need of sleep.  Normally a good- natured child, he was extremely tired and cranky when I tucked him in bed.  As always, I started our nightly thank you ritual. 

“Today I thank baby Jinjus for taking James to the park,” I said.  If this prayer makes no sense to any of you, then don’t think too hard.  Maybe it does make some sense to some of you.   If this makes any sense at all, it was the heart that did the talking. 

I waited expectantly for him to continue, but was greeted with stony silence.  Undeterred, I continued.

“Today James thanks baby Jinjus for …,”   I said encouragingly, my voice trailing off.             

“Nothing!,” he snapped back while drinking his bottle of milk.

It is apparent that nighty night sleep is more important than thanking baby Jinjus.  And that was James’s heart talking as well.  His mummy got the message loud and clear.  The lesson on gratitude will have to wait today, mum.  Within five minutes he closed his eyes, and was in deep slumber.

Nighty night James. And sweet dreams.

Good night and sweet dreams to you too.  If you are not as tired as James, perhaps you might want to express your gratitude towards someone or for something today.  Say it straight from your heart even if it makes no sense to me. 

Cheers!      

Three days ago, Afghanistan made top headlines.  Almost one thousand people have died in heavy snowstorms and severe colds.  It has been reported that up in the mountains temperature was as cold as minus 51 degrees farenheit (minus 45.5 degrees Celsius).  Hundreds had to have amputations because of frostbites.

This piece of news brought back my memories of winter experiences in Europe.  It was a cold beginning for me.   When I departed Kuala Lumpur, the local temperature was 30 degrees Celsius.  I arrived Zurich thirteen hours later.  It was 0630hrs local time.  As the plane taxied the runway, I noticed that the landscape was bare.  The trees were stripped of their leaves, the ground barren.  And Mister Sun was nowhere to be seen. It was early January and I had arrived in the dead of winter. 

The cold draft caught me as I stepped out of the plane.  It felt like an ice freezer.    I was waiting patiently for my pram to be delivered.   The Swiss attendants duly delivered my pram in less than ten minutes.  I am still amazed by their efficient services rendered!  They asked me where I flew from.  I was too distracted looking at them.  They were breathing out smoke as they spoke.   “From Kuala Lumpur,“ I finally replied.  Incidentally, don’t bother using the country name Malaysia.  The rest of the world knows us as Kuala Lumpur.  “I heard it’s very hot over there,” one of them said.  He was right!  Looking at him breathing out smoke, I wanted to run back into the plane and fly straight back to the warm tropics. 

I spent my whole life in the tropics.  The only winter I’ve ever experienced was Perth, Australia.  Winter was just a descriptive word in my many readings.   In Switzerland my first outdoor activity was a leisure walk to the beautiful Lac Léman.  I put on my Cameron Highlands sweater, a pair of worn out jeans, and my casual hush puppies shoes to withstand the negative two degrees Celsius cold.  I was a novice trying to keep warm in the cold outdoors.  At that time, I thought I was brave to do that.  Now, I know it was pure stupidity!  Our apartment was situated near Ouchy,  just two hundred meters from the lake.  The walk was considered short but with the wind blowing and my flimsy dressing, I was frozen to the core within fifteen minutes out in the open.  My feet were numbed from the biting cold.  Oh, why didn’t I wear my socks? 

Switzerland is always known for her beautiful picture perfect postcard sceneries.  I have a confession to make, especially to my Swiss friends.  I could not remember the breathtaking view of the lake that day.  Or how pretty Evian, France looked across the lake from Lausanne.  All I remembered were the ducks. Creatures with yellow beaks and white feathers.  They looked just like the ones back home.   These must be resilient creatures, I thought.  They have made a home for themselves  at both far ends of our earth, surviving the scorching heat and the freezing cold.  There was a good number of ducks swimming that day by the lake.  They seemed to have embraced the cold quite well, swimming in the chilly waters.  At that moment, I changed my perception of the waddling duck.  No longer was it just a main dish to be served on my dinner table. It gained my respect instantly.  It had to be really tough to withstand cold of this sort, I thought again.  And guess what?  I was breathing out smoke like the Swiss attendants at the Zurich airport.  Cool!  I mean, cold! Daniel and I had fun with the smoke.  We blew out smoke through our mouths and pretended to be dragons.  The locals must have thought we were some crazy tourists from Japan.  We were not Japanese, but indeed, we were starting to act crazy.  Our first winter together.  Daniel and mine. 

I deducted the locals were crazy to dress so heavily when I first arrived.  It wasn’t even snowing.   It took me only hours later to realize that it doesn’t take snow to  freeze you to your bones.  Clear skies can be deceiving.  After the cold harsh winter lesson, I made it a point to observe how the locals dressed and kept warm.

There are many forms of garments to combat the harsh nature elements.  There are waterproof coats, and waterproof shoes.  Some wear fashionable waterproof boots as well. There are even waterproof pram coverings to protect infants in their prams from the cold. And then, there is the windbreaker.  Or windstopper.  You got it.  This is an outer jacket that resists the chill wind and light rain. Now, sing this to the tune of twinkle, twinkle little star :

Zippered jerseys, turtlenecks,
Long or short underwears,
Boxers, hoodies and vests,
Jackets, leggings, and scarves,
Long johns, gloves or mittens,
There are plenty plenty more.
 

There are also various different materials to choose from when purchasing winter clothings.   The choices are myriad.  Wool is a good insulator but can cause allergy.  There are other options such as silk, fleece fabric, feathers, down, fur, camel hair et cetera, et cetera.  This must be warmest fabric because of its elaborate spelling :  Polypropylene fabric.  For someone who has only known the term ‘one hundred percent cotton’ all her life, these choices can prove to be a great challenge. 

The effective way to battle the cold is to dress layer to layer.  Depending on the weather report of the day, sometimes layering is better, and sometimes the heavier clothings are preferred.  Daily, there were two major issues I had to deal with during winter:  the menu du jour and the choice of winter garments to put on.  If the day is freezing and I am dressed too lightly, I risk becoming frozen meat.  If the day is mild, and I am heavily dressed, I risk getting sweaty armpits.  Everyday, my mantra would be ‘Dress wisely’.  And I thought raising kids was difficult!    
   
On one cold blustery day, I was at the main town center St François, waiting for my bus.  There was a crowd but one lady stood out.  She was probably in her early twenties, and was slender in stature.  I could not recall what she wore as her top, but what she wore from her waist down was unforgettable.  I felt like a snowman in my heavy jacket and thick grey pants that day.  This femme fatale sported only a short miniskirt,  tight black leggings and high heels.  It was an awesome sight!  Switzerland not only has picturesque sceneries, now she can boast of a picture perfect lady to outshine the gloomy winter day.

No matter if you are experiencing winter or summer or any season in between, have a great day today!

Cheers !   

It was a regular Saturday morning.  I packed three kids together with another adult in the car, clad only in my imitation Nike sweatshirt and shorts. We were on our way out to buy breakfast.  We drove passed a row of shophouses, and then another and then, there it was.  The bright red and yellow, the glittering silver.  There were red and silver stilts lined up in  rows of twos and threes by the shoulder of the road.  These were of different height, ranging from two feet to four feet. 

I finally found the missing puzzle in my Chinese New Year celebration this year.  The lion has come to town today!  Members of the lion troupe were adorned in equally dazzling white hair red coloured lion-pants, and yellow T shirts.  They were being consumed by the tiniest details, preparing the space for the lion to prance as my car drove passed them.  

The lion was nowhere in sight as I looked for a parking space.  He was probably still in slumber.  I quickly locked the car, unloaded my kids and walked towards the hub of activity.  As I neared, I heard the all familiar cling clang cymbals and the beating of Chinese drums. 

And then, I saw it.  The lion has awaken!  In all its splendour  and majesty.  Its brilliant head of white fur, feathers and glitter gleamed in the sun, dancing to the rhythm of the beat.  It prowled, and moved its body gracefully as if it were looking for food.  It jumped from stilt to stilt, dancing aggressively now according to the cadence of the drums and cymbals.

Never mind if the morning sun was getting hot.  The rhythm was loud, and my kids were enthralled.  Brian was waving his arms as if beating a drum, and saying, “Thhoong Chaaanng!  Very loud, very loud.” The bigger boys were standing still and absorbing the spectacle before them.  And there I stood only in my ‘ house worthy’ clothes with a bad hairdo to watch the lion dance and leap, and enjoying every minute of it.           

The red lion skillfully balanced with three legs on the stilts. It was resting with one leg hanging loosely near the ground,  It batted an eye at its audience, its mouth opened wide as if basking in the attention given.  The rhythm picked up speed, and the music reached crescendo.  Our lion jumped high and low, from one stilt to another.  Its head swayed from side to side, its body danced in waves.  Our great lion rose high up in the air, three feet above the highest stilt and froze there for a grand finale.  

Bravo! A splendid performance.  We came home this morning with our regular breakfast and memories of a dancing lion.

Gong Xi Fa Cai!

Daniel is seven years old this year.  He looks very much like his father, but is  nothing of his father’s temperament.  His father and siblings are loud, boisterous and spontaneous.  Unlike Daniel.  Daniel is gentle, quiet,  and a thinker.  Well, these members of this unit do have one thing in common.  They are all males.

Talking to Daniel is easy.  I will talk incessantly, and he listens only what he wants to hear.  The rest of my senseless talk is what the psychologists termed ‘noise’.  Communicating with him is an uphill battle though.    He only talks when absolutely necessary.  I’ve tried getting into his head many times, trying to understand my son for the many deemed inappropriate actions he has taken.  For example, why would he be so upset when I open the two glass panes of his room window?  He’d wake up in the middle of the night to pull shut the right pane.  Everytime.

Communicating with him is made more difficult because I have double disadvantages.  I am female, and I am a right brain thinker.  Translated, it means that my son is perpetually asking ‘why’ questions about things that do not interest me at all.  And frequently also my answers are unsatisfactory for him.  Why does rain fall?  Why do cars have wipers?  Why do we need big pipes?  Why is this tractor so big?   Why is the air condition not turning? I don’t know, son.  Maybe you can tell me when you grow up. 

Once, I came home with a new haircut.  It might as well been a shaved head, because Daniel took one look at me and continued with his ‘why’ questions. “Mum, you cut your hair” would have been nice to hear.

There are only few rare moments where Daniel really opens up and talks to me.  Today was a gem.  I took him for a car ride to buy his favourite hash brown from Mcdonald’s.  We were talking about how hot his breakfast was when he said, “I cannot decide.” 

What was he talking about? 

“I cannot decide to buy a Toyota or a Honda when I grow up,” he said.

Wow.  Who had put that thought in my son’s head?  For the next few seconds, I didn’t know what to say.

“Which car do you like more?” I finally asked.

“I like Toyota and Honda,” he replied.   Smart answer.

Surely his father won’t be happy to hear this, being a die hard advocate of Toyota. I told him that he needed to test drive the cars first before making a decision.

“Why don’t you sit in the car, check the mirror, use the steering first?” I suggested. 

“What car does your papa like?” I asked.  I was probing now.

“Surely papa will like Toyota,” he replied, his voice trailing off. 

The conversation ended as abruptly as it started.  Did I just have a conversation with a seven year old boy?  He sounded like he was seventeen already.  Moments later, life continued as usual, with his intellectual ‘why’ questions. 

Try communicating with someone today.  Be it a spouse, a child or a parent. If you don’t succeed, try again tomorrow.  It’s hard work, but the effort is worth it.     

Have a good day! 

Cheers!

My man just doesn’t get it.  The other day, on our most watched television channel,  Playhouse Disney, Daisy presented Mickey with a bunch of flowers.  My man happened to be around, and instinctively I cleared my throat.  He didn’t bat an eyelid, and so I cleared my throat again, forcefully this time, and gave a loud cough.  He looked at me and asked,  “So, you want flowers on Valentine’s Day?”   I looked at him as if he was a moron and stated the obvious.  

“Yes!” I shot back.  What was he thinking about?  That I had a bad throat? 

“You do know that flowers cost a fortune on that day, don’t you?  I am not going to pay so much,” he said without hesitating. 

I was appalled! Is this the same man whom I married nine years ago?  Our first Valentine was a candlelight dinner at a prominent hotel.  He didn’t complain about the exorbitant prices then.   Did I forget to mention that at that space and time we have yet  to exchange our wedding bands?

But I really wanted those flowers.  I pressed on even though I knew how futile my efforts would be.

“You haven’t given me flowers for a long time.  And the best time to give will be on Valentine’s day,” I replied, trying to use reasoning now on my unreasonable man.  

That was the end of the conversation.  Will I never get my pink roses?  My man, he really doesn’t get it.  Perhaps roses do not excite him like a car engine does.  I have seen him admire the engine part of an Estima vehicle.  His whole being becomes alive when you use vocabulary like fuel injected V6, timing belt and distributor caps.  Can you hear me yawning?  His eyes light up, and his voice sounds an octave higher as he speaks. He has more snapshots of her than me, and is more excited by her curves than mine.  He is in love all over again.   My dating books didn’t tell me that I would have to compete with a car.  Neither did our marriage advisor.  Perhaps I should have read my wedding vows as follows:  “I, take thee, as my lawful wedded husband, together with your car parts and engines, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part.”

Flowers fade, but leave a lasting impression.  I received a dozen pink roses with perfect long stems in a translucent purple and white wrapper one evening unexpectedly.  The sender was in Australia and had sent his friends to deliver the flowers to me.  My girlfriends were as excited as I was.  We took photo shots of the beautiful bouquet with our many poses.  I remember breathing in deeply the  sweet scent of the roses.  They were just about to bloom and looked lovely coupled with stems of  baby breaths.  I remember feeling like a princess, lavished with attention.  I remember the warm stirrings  these roses created deep within my soul.  The fairies came and  sprinkled me with magic pixie dust.  I was walking on cloud nine. Cupid struck me that fateful day.  Ten years ago seemed like yesterday. 

For once, I am seriously considering being unreasonable. I am thinking of  surprising my man with a Toyota Engine part this Valentine’s Day. 

Valentine’s day will be like any other day.  This household will maintain its regular routine. The kids go to school, hubby at work and, the endless cleaning and cooking chores to be done around the house.  Even so, perhaps, just perhaps there will be pink roses to cast their magic spell again?

Happy Valentine’s Day! 

Cheers!

The highlight of my life has always been the Chinese New Year festival. Probably because it includes all members of my family from the oldest to the youngest. My grandmother embraced the yearly affair with much gutso and enthusiasm. She would buy all cooking ingredients and fresh produce weeks before the big day. She reasoned that prices of goods go up heftily as the festival nears. Never mind if every year, half of the greens always go bad before the reunion dinner, or the fridge groans under the weight of excessive frozen meat storage. Awaken at dawn, she cleaned, cooked and washed to put at least six different dishes on our reunion table to feed twelve people. She singlehandedly did all the cooking, and my mum helped with the other jobs. The reunion dinner table is a great Chinese cultural experience. Some dishes signify prosperity, others for great tastes and high cholesterol! For the brave at heart, there is the chicken feet with mushrooms cooked in black hair. I mean, it’s not really hair. It just looks like hair, but tastes spongy and smooth. It is supposed to bring prosperity for the year. And of course there is the Chinese sausage and waxed duck dish ( which Patrick hates and I absolutely love), salted vegetable simmered with duck to make soup and not to missed,  my grandmother’s infamous beef rendang. Also one of the favourite dishes in our family is the pig trotters cooked in vinegar. All right, all right I have a confession to make. I am no great cook, and do not know the right terminology for these dishes. What I did was a direct translation from the Cantonese version. If you don’t know any of these dishes I am talking about, you just need to know that the food tastes fantastic! During these New Year gatherings, I truly believe that we live to eat. With food in great abundance, we drink beer and enjoy the company of relatives we seldom meet throughout the year.

My beloved grandmother is no more around. She has gone to heaven. I miss her everyday, but especially during the festive season. Surely it will never be the same again without her excellent cooking. Just the other day, I overheard that my mum and her sisters could not agree on the key ingredients for cooking the perfect beef rendang. If only heaven has a phone number… sigh…

This year, we assembled at my aunt’s place. It was indeed an experience meeting up with everyone again, and creating happy noise around the house. Kids were running everywhere, the television was blasting loud and the adults were exchanging pleasantries like, “You put on ten pounds since I last met you!” As always, the food was the center of attention amongst us that evening. Everyone’s favourite dish was available. How can we not put on ten more pounds? I was pleasantly surprised at the replica of my grandmother’s cooking. The pig trotters in vinegar, the rendang ( even when no one knew the exact recipe) , the stir fried big prawns with spring onions (yum yum), and the chicken feet tasted just as how I remember she used to cook them! Sometimes in my waking moments, I am afraid that I will forget her as time goes by but, that night I knew in my heart that she lives with every New year that I celebrate. She left a little of herself behind at the dinner table, and she would have been proud of her daughters cooking up a sumptuous meal.

This fung shui master says that the year of the rat is going to be a great year for all the other animals. So, go ahead, set your goals and reach for the stars!

Gong Xi Fa Cai to you and your family!! May you have good health, prosperity and wisdom!

Cheers!

PS Some things never change. I always like it better to receive than to give ang pows!