Richard J. Needham, columnist:
   Three things that can give any young man or woman a running start in this competitive world are good manners, good speech and the habit of reading.  The humblest home can assure these, the costliest school cannot. 
                                                             - Quoted in The Globe and Mail, Toronto

His father and I are especially proud of Brian.  He is a little over two years of age and has a pretty face.  More than just a pretty face, he is also a very good communicator for his tender age.

He has an excellent grasp of speech and expressive body language very similar to James.  While most toddlers of his age are happy making sounds of ‘pa-pa’ and ‘ma-ma’, he is able to perfectly pronounce complicated words like cater-pillar, butter-fly, bang-a-low and heli-copter. 

He is almost perfect with words like “hipo-po-ta-nus”,  “cro-co-da-el” and “e-lec-ti-city”. 

It did sound as if he were born to speak effortlessly, being able to pronounce words he had only heard moments ago.  He surprised even his mother. 

I was with Brian when I met a friend and said to him, “Say, Hello Aunty Justina.”

And he did.  He said, “Hello Aunty Justina.”

He had only heard me say the name ‘Justina’ just seconds ago and is able to distinctively pronounce it as if he has been practicing pronouncing the name everyday. 

Perhaps even more amazing is this boy’s ability to construct complex structured sentences in his little head, and delivering them in a logical manner.

It makes me prouder still when I am able to carry out intelligent conversations with this young lad.  Below are excerpts of pieces of conversations I have had with Brian.

This morning it rained.  Brian looked out of the window and at the falling raindrops.

“Mummy, raining.  Very dark the clouds,” he said.

“Yes.  Very dark clouds,” I replied.

“I scared thunder.  Carry me!” he demanded.

Or this evening when he wanted to go outdoors to see the night sky.

“Let’s see shooting stars,” he said, pulling my hand to the front door.

“Mummy, open the door for me,” he requested. 

Shooting stars?  Where did he learn that from?

Or when I was reading to him the book, Don’t let the pigeon drive the bus by Mo Williams, I asked the boy,” Can the pigeon drive the bus or not?”

“No!” he replied.

Then, he turned to the last page and spotted a red lorry.

“Can the pigeon drive do… the lor-rii?” he volunteered, his voice an octave higher.

“Noooo… Can the pigeon drive do..do.. the lor-ri?” he asked again.

“I want to drive my car.  I want to drive mummy’s car.  You know how to drive a train or not? I know how to drive my train,” he continued his story.

This is really a whizzz kid to make clever sentences like these, I thought rather too proudly.  

And then he proceeded to show me by pushing his toy train on our bedroom floor. 

He loves to talk and I love to listen. Only recently I noticed some very important vocabulary missing from his speech.  

“Give me that!”

“I want a banana!”

“Wear my shoes!”

“Open the door!”

“I want to go downstairs!”

Every time he spoke, his pronunciation is crystal clear.  Anyone who hears him will understand perfectly well what he wants.

Still, something was amiss.   I wondered what. 

And then, I knew.

I am aghast at how he delivers his needs.  His requests are demanding, and he expects to be served.

His speech is more brilliant and advance than any two year old I know of, but suddenly I don’t feel so proud anymore. 

He has never found the need to use the three most essential words in the English language.

Please.  Thank you.

What good is a pretty face, and being a smooth talker minus good manners?

But the boy is not to be blamed.  He is a mimicking parrot.  I figured the reason he hasn’t used these words at all is because his mother has never used them enough at our home. 

The world has already enough rudeness in her daily existence when commuters refuse to line up and jostle with each other to get onto their buses, or when no one bothers giving up his seat for a standing pregnant lady or when a car defies traffic rules and jumps queue in a traffic jam.   No, our children do not have to look too hard to find  apparent rudeness exhibited everywhere.

Nowadays I deliberately teach Brian and his two elder brothers to say Please and Thank you. 

“Say pleassee… Brian,” I prompt unceasingly. 

I had this recent conversation with him before he took a shower.

“Take out my shirt!,” he ordered.

“Take out my shirt, please,” I countered.

“Take out my shirt, pleassse,” he echoed.

I took off his shirt.

“Take out my pants!,” he ordered again.

“Take out my pants, please,” I countered again, stressing the last word.

“Take out my pant, pleassse,” he echoed again.

I took off his pants.

“Take out my underpants!” he said, looking at me.

I looked at his stark nakedness, and said,” You have no underpants!”

And then, he laughed! The boy laughed!

Under-pants!  Under-pants!! Brian and his underpants!

The cunning little fox is learning fast.  If he wants something real badly, he now says, “Mummy, pleeeaaaseeee….” 

By the way, thank you for reading this post and sharing some of my thoughts today.  If you want to share any of yours, writingbeginnings is always here for you .  

Here’s wishing you a good week ahead!  Cheers!

Hello!  How have you been?  And how is your family? 

I decided to write this because indeed the toddler gave me joy with his running activity.  
I wish for you to discover your very own simple pleasures of life.    

Brian is twenty seven months old.   He is a feisty boy, constantly moving around and exploring the interesting world around him.  Like any curious toddler, he loves to poke his tiny fingers into electric sockets, climbs on knee high chairs and tries to reach for the gleaming stainless steel pot filled with hot water in the kitchen.   Because he is in need of constant supervision, and because the adults are not always able to supervise him constantly, he is often strapped to his chair.

I do not prefer him strapped.  In that position, he watches too much television and this lack of movement stifles his creativity.  I try my best to swiftly finish all my essential work (which is aplenty!)  and restore him his freedom from his chair.

His freedom would mean the lack of mine.  Where he goes, I will have to follow.  Sometimes I perform multitasking to save time.  For example, when he is busy stacking up his father’s unopened packets of batteries, I tidy up the room a little while keeping an eye on the little boy.  Or if he is in deep concentration doodling with a pencil or trying to put on a left sock on his right foot, I try to quickly sort out my laundry.

The weather has been cloudy and rainy the past few days, with the exception of the other day.  The evening was warm and golden.  It was an evening that every child would want to spend outdoors.  It was also a day that I felt I had not spent enough time with my boy.  I had been doing domestic work the whole day while he was either busy watching too much television or playing on his own, or taking a nap.   Even towards the end of the day, I was still mentally making a checklist of a string of things waiting to be completed around the house.

Surely there is a little time for play.   

I opened the front door. Hungry for adventure, the boy was standing at the doorstep in a flash. 

“Wear my shoes,” Brian said.

I put on his brown and yellow sandals, and he was on his way out without looking back.   For the first time that day, I stood still, keeping my hands idle by my sides.  Otherwise, these pair of hands would be busy doing some form of work.  I loved the feel of the gentle breeze and the warm setting sun.  And I took time to enjoy my son.

Initially, he walked around aimlessly and played with a little sand.  Then, he sat in his little hot red racing car that was practically falling apart.  The reason being this hot car had been roughly handled by his two elder brothers.   Nevertheless, he is still very proud of his car.  That day, the little car took him across many highways and byways. 

“Bye!” he said, his right hand doing a little wave as he sat behind the steering wheel.

“Bye!” I replied, my right hand imitating his little wave. 

It had been a long and tiring day for me. 

On impulse, Brian got out of his car and broke into a run.  He kept running in circles.  We don’t have a big front yard but big enough for the child to have his much needed space.  I played no part in encouraging this activity of his.  I simply stood there as a silent observer.

He made the sound of an aeroplane as he romped about using his strong legs.  Flailing his arms, he moved his bopping head side to side as he kept on running in circles.

What was he doing? 

He caught me watching him, and deliberately swung his hips like a waddling duck.   He made these movements whilst still going in circles.

I was afraid that he might fall and scrape his knees, but I didn’t stop his run.  He seemed to be having too much of a good time.

At an unexpected moment, he laughed in a singing voice deep from his belly.  It sounded like tinkling music to my ears! 

He genuinely enjoyed his sport.  He kept pumping his legs and laughing.  And he kept running in circles.  At times he skipped, walked a step and skipped again.  When he needed to, he paused, caught his breath and continued his enjoyment.    He loved what he did and did what he loved with his body and soul.  I had never seen a child so earnest in play.

This went on for a good ten minutes.

Earlier, my analytical mind searched for an explanation for his wild behaviour.   My adult mind was so puny that it missed what was so obvious.

The toddler simply enjoyed running. He really does! He was having some good plain fun playing with nothing.   

Realizing this, I stopped analyzing and started loosening up.  My son’s laughing eyes caught mine and it was as if they beckoned to me, Come mummy! Come and have some fun!

I no longer felt a need to rush from one errand to another.  At this moment,  these undone tasks seemed unimportant. 

I am refreshed by a running toddler.    

So, it is possible to enjoy life without a plasma TV, or a million dollars in my bank account.

It gave me great pleasure to see him so happy so simply. 

And he didn’t even complain being strapped up in his chair the whole day.

This simple pleasure of life, to be happy so simply.  Indeed, the best things in life are free!
 

Cheers!  And a good week ahead to you.

Specially for CWL and family who recently lost their 8 month old baby boy.

Think of your child; then, not as dead, but as of living; not as a flower that has withered; but as one that is transplanted, and touched by a divine hand, is blooming in richer colours, and sweeter shades than those on earth. – Richard Hooker.

My dear son,

When you were born, our hearts were filled with joy.   What a fresh new beginning!  We were a family of three before you were born. Your much awaited arrival completed us.

I breathed in deeply your fresh baby smell and counted your tiny fingers and toes.  You were my perfect little boy.  I carried you in my arms and let your warmth enveloped me.  You were a fine lad, so robust and full of life.  Your presence energized my tired being, giving new breath to the hard ways of this old world.

At an unforseen hour, at an unexpected moment, you were taken from us forever!  My son, my son.  My precious heir.  You were gone before I had a chance to say hello.  I had barely begun to get acquainted with you.  You took along with you your infectious laughter, your nightingale voice and your sparkling eyes.  Left behind now are our broken hearts and broken dreams. 

Oh, how we cried that fateful day you departed.  We cried from the depths of our being, willing you to return to us through our tears.  Your mother!  She, who held you under her heart for nine months cried inconsolably.  She, whose most beautiful face you gazed upon when you first opened your eyes to our world was completely crushed. She, whom you found comfort in suckling her warm breast was simply devastated. Her gentle being ragged with broken sobs, her once erect stature now a lifeless blob.  Never have I experienced sadness that so deeply pierced my heart, despair so strong that ripped my soul apart.

The long and lonely nights give me no reprieve these days. I am haunted by many regrets, as I replayed the event over and over again in my mind.  Perhaps you cried, and we didn’t hear you.  Perhaps if I were home you would still be with us today.  Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. The possibilities were infinite, the thoughts torturous!  If only I could turn back time, I would give up everything to save you from death.  Only recently I thought about that nice car that I couldn’t have, or the job promotion that I didn’t get.  And now, I realized how frivolous these things are to me.  

I had so much to share with you; of the interesting places that I’ve been, of the assortment of beautiful people that I’ve met, of the fun things that I’ve done.   I even kept my favourite train set just for you.  Most of all, I wanted to share myself with you.   Now, I speak only of shattered dreams!

My precious, you are gone forever now regardless of what I do or say or write.  There are just the three of us once again.   But we are never the same , as if an angel has touched us and left an indelible memory.  Your mother and I have experienced grief few would comprehend when we lost you.  More importantly we also share the memory of our joys and laughter when we carried you in our arms. 

Will we let you go?  In time, we hope that we will learn to.  Will we ever forget you?  No, never, my precious.   I will always see you on every boy’s face I chance upon.   You will forever be a special part of your mother and I.

We love you always, son.    

Love,
Daddy.            

Hello!  How are you today?  And how is your family coming along?  Here are some jottings for your thoughts today. 

Recently a friend of mine mentioned that she dined out with her family to celebrate her mum’s birthday. It was a buffet spread offering a myriad range of delicacies.  She added that she really misses the art of picking and enjoying the sumptuous food served because she had to babysit her little ones who were scampering about.

And I thought, here is a simple request that is seemingly impossible for a mother of toddlers.  And possibly one of the many reasons why some couples choose to remain childless.      

Yes, yes I wanted to tell her.  I know exactly what she meant.   After all we have a common thread connecting our hearts.  Both of us have 3 young boys and all 3 of them nearly the same age. 

I seldom eat out with my boys. The truth is, I am hardly excited when we go out to eat.  Occasionally, it is sometimes hard to decline an invitation.

The last time we walked into a restaurant was last month.  It was a nice looking Chinese restaurant bustling with activity, where waiters and waitresses were busy serving food, and bottles of beers generously poured into mugs. 

And when we walked in, we brought along our noise with us. 

“Mummy, where shall we sit?” Daniel asked loudly.

It was a good thing the place was noisy.   

The adults on my table were talking animatedly about everything dull and  interesting from the weather to the world economy.  And there I was barking out orders. 

“Daniel!  Stop playing with the table cloth!”

“James! Don’t stand on the chair!”

“Brian! Stop chewing the spoon!”

At times like these, I wish I could dine with the grace and table manners of a royal princess.   The handsome intricately carved guest table is laid in fine chinaware and crystal glasses.  Arranged in proper order, the gold plated shiny forks are spread out  on my left and the knives on my right.  And upon my lap is a spotless white napkin. 

I see myself swirling and sipping my cabernet sauvignon while having an intimate conversation with my esteemed guests at the table. 

By the way, what do princesses talk about?   I have no idea.  Perhaps about their diamond studded stilettos, or their recent holiday trip at the Caribbean Islands.  What does it matter?  I take my time to taste my medium raw ribeye steak and my hair is styled in a perfect coiffure.

Alas!  I am no rich man’s wife, and certainly no royal princess.  What tall dreams I have! 

Instead, I felt isolated even though I sat at the same table and shared the same food as the rest of the group.  There were no physical barriers between us but I was certainly in a different world with my children. 

I held on to Brian’s arm, making sure that he didn’t throw himself out of his baby chair while trying to stuff an omelette down my throat with my other free hand.  And every so often I was kept busy when another child tried to attempt a naughty stunt on the dining table. 

My favourite sweet and sour fish has just been served.  However, I refrain from eating the succulent fish because I do not have the time to debone it.  Brian’s leg is half way hanging out of his chair already.  Well, there is always another time.  

“No, thank you,” I decline politely when someone offered to fill up my bowl with sweet smelling soup.     

I didn’t fill up my bowl with the mouth watering, hot steaming soup either.  One of the boys might just decide to pull the table cloth and get scalded in the process. I’ll give that a pass this time too.  Never mind if it looks so good. 

While throwing out orders of many ‘don’ts” and using threats like “If you don’t behave, you won’t get to eat your chocolates later…” to keep the boys in line, I attempted to lend an ear to the main conversation the adults were having at the table. 

My spouse was talking animatedly accompanied by many hand gestures.  He loves to socialize and sometimes he speaks with much passion.  I could see that he was thoroughly enjoying a good exchange with another adult. 

What are they talking about? Something about the soaring property prices?

 “Yes.  When the prices of properties…” I said, trying to join in the conversation.

“Mummy, I need to go to the bathroom!”  James hollered, interrupting my string of words.

And that was the end of my only contribution towards an intellectual topic that evening.   

My children are happy to leave their father alone to chat at the dinner table.  And their father is happy to be left alone.  He was pleased to be able to mingle freely with the rest, making jokes punctuated with laughter at the right moments and giving comments when necessary.   Perhaps most fortunately for the man, he has been spared the role of a disciplinarian trying to settle three active boys who simply won’t sit still.

Soon enough, the evening is over and everyone heads home.

“That was a nice dinner wasn’t it?” my spouse said, a statement rather than a question.   

I gave him a look he knew too well. 

Ahh.. this simple pleasure.  To dine out in peace is this mother’s elusive simple pleasure of life for this moment.

To appease myself, I went home to indulge in my favourite tub of ice cream when the children had all gone to bed that evening. 

Cheers! to you.  And here’s wishing you a good day!

Hi.  How are you doing?  And your family?  I am sure you are enjoying the summer days as much as I did today with the boys.  The day was bright and the sun was still hot at seven in the evening.  I hope you’ll enjoy reading this posting and perhaps you have experienced this as well.

You never know what’s on a person’s mind until you ask.  And so, every so often I ask my spouse the same old question on different days and on different occasions. 

Just the other day, I threw him the question again. 

“Do you love me?” I asked playfully with an underlying seriousness.

“If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t have bought the dragon fruits for you,” he replied.

In our fridge downstairs lies five good looking red coloured round fruits a quarter of the size of a football.  I thought of nothing of this purchase that he brought back earlier that evening. 

Dragon fruits?  Since when does he give the fruits of a dragon as a passion of love? Perhaps I’ve been overzealous about my fruit eating habits?  And since we are on this very important matter, does it make me a dragon to receive so many fruits of a dragon?
 
“Err honey, what happened to my diamond ring?” I asked sweetly.

“Hhhmmphh,” he said.

And then, silence.

The other incident happened a few months ago.

“Honey, can you please pass me a towel,” my spouse called out.

I went to the cupboard and took out my absolute favourite towel for him.  It was a perfect piece of cloth, white with blue pokka dots.  A piece of beauty full of softness like this one was only meant to be shared with the love of your life. 

Promptly, I threw the towel across to him.

“Why did you give me this towel?” he asked with a grimaced look.

I could see that he was unhappy receiving such a perfect towel.

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” I shot back.

“Well, it had been stained before,” he replied. 

That ungrateful man!  He doesn’t know a good thing when he sees one. 

“Here, take this one,” I responded, handing over a too small plain Jane towel to him.

He was happy enough not to complain anymore. 

Surely we have been misunderstood many times over for our best intentions.

 And that is why, every day or every other day I ask my man the same mundane question.

“Do you love me?”

He doesn’t disappoint me with interesting answers.  And his expressions are always revealing to me some fresh insights of himself.

Cheers to you!  And a good day!
 

In the beginning, my eldest was ill.  He had a bout of common flu; fever, cough and cold.  You know, the bad stuff children bring back from their school.  Soon, the second boy caught the viral bug, and not long after that followed by the youngest.

The youngest one had it the worst, or so I thought.  He had fever for nine days, unproductive coughs that kept him and us awake at nights, and endured three doctors visits plus forced to drown multi-coloured syrup coated medicines.  For those times, I was generously sprayed with his blessings of sneezes and coughs.

Then came the bonus round.  The eldest came home from school two weeks after he got well as white as a sheet. Incidentally, this was the period the youngest was still ill. 

”Mummy, I vomited in class today,” he looked at me and said.

Uh-oh

“Are you sick again?” I asked, quickly checking his forehead for fever.

That night his head was hot by touch.  I didn’t really need a thermometer to tell me he brought home the bad stuff again from school.

So now, I have two sick little boys under my care.  No, wait.  When Daniel got sick the second time around, James who was well and playing already, had fever again two days after his brother fell sick again. 

I know.  I am tired already.  Let me record this so as not to confuse myself.    Initially Daniel fell ill.  Then, James and after that Brian.  And later, Daniel again and James thereafter.  And Brian?  The poor toddler seems to have fallen ill for a long time.

The saga continues.  The boys fell ill, and now their mummy is ill herself.  I made a trip to the doctor immediately.  I asked for a medical certificate and pinned it up on the fridge for all to see. 

“Mummy is ill, and is incapable of doing any form of work.  This include wiping wet noses, feeding pink medicines and waking up at nights to sponge hot heads,” the certificate screamed aloud.        

Oh, it was a nice looking certificate.  More importantly, it was an authentic certificate.  It had a genuine doctor’s signature and an original clinic stamp on it. 

This piece of paper would get me a day’s of rest in the corporate world but gave me no repose in my own home.  I have two young beings who cannot read still, and the one who can does not fully understand the meaning of the content yet.

I am truly blessed with a reliable spouse and helpful parents.  Casting aside the cares of the world, I curled under the bed covers and gave my weary body the rest it badly needed.  After two days of doing nothing except recuperate, I am now back on my feet wiping wet noses, feeding pink medicines and sponging hot heads. 

And how have you been?  I am sure you had a better week than mine!

Cheers!

And smile!  The weekend is almost here!