Dear Daniel,

You are seven years old today.  What a fine lad you are!  Every day I thank God for giving you good health.  You are a robust boy, and growing steadily into a confident young man.

Last week you thought you were turning eight.  Don’t grow up too fast, son!  Seven is a magical number.  All things are magical at seven.  An evening spent at the park that costs nothing except my time,  always puts a smile on your face.  Three tiny golden fish as a gift from your grandmother for your big day is only what it takes to fill your heart with immense pleasure.  An inexpensive miniature flag souvenir of different countries from your papa is able to keep you entertained for days.          

Seven years ago, you came into our world raw and crying at 2.55 kilos.  Today, you are a handsome young man too heavy to be lifted up unless I want to risk a sprained back.  You don’t wake up in the nights crying anymore for milk, and I am thankful for that!  We were worried because you only started attempting to speak a few halting words when an average toddler at your same age could have easily rattled off long sentences.  Look at you now, son.  Now we can’t stop you from talking!  Daily, you engage yourself in many interesting conversations and endless chatter.

I am simply intrigued by the subject matters that totally absorb you but do not interest me at all.  You are only seven, but you throw to me questions beyond my common knowledge.  What does the overflow function do on our washing machine?  Why do car engines sound different when we change gears?  When do street lights light up every evening?  Why does the green light come on every time I snap a photo on the digital camera?  I don’t know, son.  Go ask your father.

Sometimes late in the night when I am still awake lying in bed, I ask if we will ever have anything common to talk about as you grow older.  Will the technological savvy internet, new versions of nintendos and mp3 players dominate your life and influence your way of life as it has in the life of every young teenager?  I am a little nervous going down that path.  It still seems a long way down the road, so come, let me enjoy your company now as you are with your endless whys. 

Your current obsession is observing the mechanics of our washing machine.  Even when your two younger brothers have lost interest and run off to play, you are able to patiently hover over and watch our machine twist and turn for a long time.  Can I adjust the water level, you ask.  Do I pre-set the program to the normal or heavy duty washing cycle, you continue asking. Can I open the lid when the machine is spinning, you call out after a space of silence.  Tell me son, what is so interesting about the machine?  Will you remember your fascination of our humble washing machine when you are twenty?  I am utterly convinced that you will make a fine engineer one day.   

Remember, physical beauty is not everything. Outward appearances will fade as sure as the day, but beauty of the heart is everlasting.  Choose your partner not because she is beautiful on the outside but from the inside. 

I can hear you yelling out, “But mum, I am only seven! I don’t need all this advice yet.”

All right, all right, let’s move on to some other more interesting topics you might prefer to discuss now.   Did you feed your fish today?  Please remember to feed them daily, not weekly.   And did you like our surprise birthday gift to you? 

Your father was the prodigy behind this gift.  He was the one who discovered and chose this present specially for you, and was sure that you would be proud to own your very own washing machine.  I could not agree more.  I was not as excited as you were when you demonstrated to me all the functions of its little red buttons, whirring sounds and the tumbling washing effect of its front loading drum.  This tiny wonder even allowed you to put in a sock or two for washing.  Now that you have your own machine, can I have mine back?   

We share happy moments daily, and understandably some difficult times together as well.   Due to unclear reasons, I am rarely as patient as I am with your two other brothers.  Possibly because you are older, I expect more understanding and conformity from you.  Possibly also because we both have two totally different personalities, I sometimes simply cannot understand your rash behaviour and pettiness.

Today looked like a promising day for creating good memories, until when lunch time turned into a combat ground.  I had wanted to encourage you to eat your meal quickly but you would not be encouraged. 

When I said, “ You can do it ”, you said, “I can’t.”

When I said, “You can be the first”, you said, “But I want to be last.”

When I said, “Finish your food”, you said, “I don’t want to eat anymore.”      

Sigh.  There were so many negative statements coming from you.   I give up!  And I did. 

“Why do you have to be so irritating?  Be last if you want to be,” I screamed at you. 

I really was very angry. 

Now that the storm is over, I earnestly pray that you do not remember today’s unpleasant incident.  No one likes to be called an irritant, especially my little boy.  

I am sorry.

You are my greatest teacher.  You teach me this same profound lesson over and over again everyday. 

Every moment I spend with you, I am reminded that every one of us is unique.  A big drain pipe holds no interest whatsoever for me, but is able to keep you occupied the whole afternoon.  Your fascination of   giant machineries such as huge cranes, tractors and dump trucks stump me.  I would not give these a second glance. 

Son, it is obvious that when you grow up you will immerse yourself in activities and hobbies that I would never dream of indulging myself in.  You might not even become the engineer I had expected you to be. 

But Daniel, what does it matter?  The only important question your mummy is concern about is, are you happy?  All I want for you is to lead the life that you want to live and to make the decisions that you are happy about.

I am indeed blessed to have you in my life.  For without you, I would never have discovered the wonders of looking at tractors, cranes and big pipes!

Happy Birthday, and many happy returns of the day! 

Love always, mummy.     

Finally a good book.  A book worth staying up late into the night for.  A friend sent it to me as a gift.  It came as an unexpected gift in the mail.  What a pleasant surprise!

A book cover does nothing to me.  And this one is no exception.  I vaguely remembered the title as Mittens and God… something.  I found the title quite uninteresting actually.   

Well, I thought to myself, I have no time these days to read about God.  I was too busy being a mother, and had no room for pleasure reading.

With its pale yellow jacket wrapping a hardcover book, it certainly was not screaming for my attention.  But my friend is a good book reviewer, and I trusted her choice in sending me this gift. 

And so, on one unassuming afternoon a week after receiving the book, I decided to browse through it.  Progressing through the first few pages, I discovered that God was never the main character of the author’s writings as my expectations. Many of the messages conveyed were long forgotten simple truths that parents have overlooked as they have become busy with busy-ness.  They are busy keeping up with their fast paced lifestyle, busy shuttling their children from one activity to another, busy with their own agendas and of course, busy spending time in front of the flickering tube, widely known as the TV.       

I wanted to read only for a few minutes, instead I found myself being held captive by mere printed words and wholesome, refreshing insights on mothering and children.  

I found myself exclaiming statements like, “Yes! I know what it feels like eating on the dinner table with young children,” or “Finally, here is a mother who wants what I’ve always wanted for my children.”

After doing some intense reading, I shouted aloud, “This is the book I have always wanted to write all my life!”

My friend, she has great intuition.   She somehow knew I needed to read this book.

For a long time I felt unlike the common mother.  The common mother is willing to spend a huge fraction of her working salary to feed her child with the perceived best brand of milk powder.  The best is often labeled gold with a complete range of alphabets printed on the front of the milk carton, ranging from dha, ara, A+ etc.   

The common mother is concern of her child’s cutting edge in our increasingly competitive world.  To boost the worth of her child, ballet, swimming and music lessons are provided.  In addition to all these, the children of these current times have very structured days filled with extra classes and assignments.

I know these needs of a common mother are important.  I also believe that other needs of my children are important as well.  Far more than just academic and intellect stimulation, I want to fill my children’s hearts and souls with the goodness of our lives.  I want to feed my children’s hearts and souls as much as their bodies.  I want to give them good memories as much as knowledge for their minds. 
When my first child was born, it was hard to hand him over to a nanny for eight hours every day while I went to work.  I had wanted badly to nurture him as his mother, but more than my financial worries, my fear held me back. 

I was fearful of losing my identity of a working career woman of the new century.  I was fearful of my lost of independence due to an empty bank account.  I was fearful of venturing into the unknown, of not being able to be the perfect mum. 

I finally took the courage to listen to my heart two years later after James was born.  He was a perfect little boy.  And he would play and smile most of the time during his waking hours.  I slipped into the role of motherhood easily with this second baby.

I no longer felt the need to live by the world’s expectation of the modern working woman.   She was expected to perform her work duties and run her home efficiently, and also be happy about this arrangement. 

I was miserable going to work.  I wanted to watch my children grow and be an active part of their growing process.  I didn’t want updates and snapshots from their sitters daily while I am busy attending business meetings.

After much deliberation, I traded my business attire and the sterile office environment for an apron and a home full of noisy children.

My parents didn’t understand the choices that I’ve made for myself and my children.  I didn’t know how to make them understand either.  It wasn’t a popular choice, it was a personal heartfelt one.                        

The road I had chosen sometimes seemed long and weary, with many mundane daily activities and endless routines that must run like clockwork.  Often I’d stopped and pondered with anxiety if I had made the right choices during the prime of my life.

Then a magical event took place.  This book fell into my lap. 

The writings were simple, timeless and profound and refreshing.  

At long last, here is a mother who understands the value of my slow languid afternoons of nothingness with my sons.  If I had to write a daily report of my afternoons on daily progress of my children, I would have to hand in a clean blank sheet of paper.

From an adult point of view, our afternoons surely must be perceived as a total waste of time.  James, Brian and I would play hide and seek through the afternoons.  I would count aloud slowly from one to five, skip six and seven, and go fast straight through ten.  The boys would scamper about wildly and would always end up hiding under the bed covers.  Always.  It feels wonderful to hear their musical laughter while they squirm under the covers.   When I eventually do find them for the tenth time at their usual hiding spot they play the game as if it’s their first one.  It’s amazing how they are never bored with the same predictable activity.

Brian always gives me his wide grin and his sparkling eyes are unforgettable every time I fling the blanket off his tiny head.  James hates to be found, and so I pretend I cannot find him until he wants to be found.  Then, he breaks into a smile and shout aloud, you found me! 

Initially, I would pretend to laugh along with my boys.  Adults find  no thrill in already knowing the hideouts of this seemingly boring predictable game.  As we progressed through the afternoons, the boys’ infectious excitement and genuine enjoyment drove out my boredom .  Suddenly the tables were reversed. Instead of me entertaining them, they were making me laugh.

Perhaps I can write in my report; Played hide and seek today and enjoyed each other’s company.  

Many times during my chosen vocation as a mother, I am frustrated because I could not produce results worthy by the standards of the society we live in.  

I was transformed to being just a mother with a hurried schedule of childcare, laundry and cooking.  In my many instances of madness when the children are crying and the loads of laundry are piled up high and dinners are burnt, and I hear myself screaming, I often ask myself, what have I got myself into. 

On one particular trying day, after all my children had gone to bed I threw myself heavily back against our worn out hall sofa, and heaved a long sigh.  Maybe I had bitten off more than I can chew, I reasoned.  As I calmed down a bit, I started to reminisced about the past, particularly of my childhood memories.  I fondly remembered my late grandmother who nurtured, washed and cleaned after me.  She did nothing extraordinary for me.  She didn’t lavish me with expensive gifts and rarely did we go for outings together.  She did the simple basic things important to a child.  She sang to me in the darkness until I fell asleep.  She took the time to cook my favourite meal on my birthday.  She walked me to kindergarten everyday.  She gave me cold baths in the mornings.  She told me I was beautiful everyday of my life. 

As the memories flowed, the energy level in my physical being began to change.  I was no longer filled with anger and frustration.  The stirrings of my heart warmed up to the thoughts of her, my soul eternally expressing gratitude for the unselfish giving of herself and her precious time to a child.  She gave this child her placing in our faceless, impersonal universe. 

With my anger dispelled, tenderness filled my heart when I looked upon my three sleeping sons. As I watched their tummies rising and falling to the rhythm of their breathing, I am reminded of how swiftly time passes.  Only yesterday they lay as newborns in my arms.

I felt a deep yearning to provide them with a sense of belonging  I had experienced as a child.   Every day I look into three pairs of trusting eyes and see their childhood as a short window of opportunity to fill three little beings’ open hearts with song, joy and everlasting memories.  

I wept and I laughed as I read through the various chapters of this book.  I had lived through some of the experiences mentioned. Finally another mother understands. Other experiences of the author had given me invaluable insights and fresh ideas on how to create moments of joy and peace for my sons. 

Thanks See Ming, for the priceless treasure. 

And you, my readers, have a good week ahead!

Cheers!

PS  Turn off your TV for an hour and  instead spend it with Ms Kenison.  This book will change your relationship with your children.

Mitten Strings for God by Katrina Kenison. ( Publisher : Warner Books). 

I’ve been so busy getting angry.  I am just too angry to focus on anything.  I am angry at the current leadership of my country and their lack of integrity.  I am angry because our leaders are not interested in the well being of the citizens of this beautiful country but the majority group.

I am angry because I am not given my equal rights and fair opportunities.  I am angry reading the newspapers headlines everyday.  I feel that I am but only a foreigner in my homeland. 

I didn’t have my equal rights twenty years ago, or ever before that.  Why wasn’t I so angry then?  And why am I so angry now?  

I don’t know.

My mum doesn’t understand my anger.  My sibling doesn’t either.  And guess what?  Even I am baffled by the volcanic eruption of this emotion. 

What does it matter?  My family and I have nothing to gain and everything to lose by me being and staying angry.  My children hear and see my anger everyday nowadays.  I try to hide my ugly anger streak from them but children, they always see the truth. 

I am angrier because I realized that the current intense anger I am experiencing will not change the way I am being treated in this country.  Not for me, nor my children. 

Like second class citizens.

Surely I can find a way to chart a different course for this family unit.  This family deserves a fresh beginning.  It is every citizen’s, and every child’s right to be given equal rights.          

Perhaps anger is good if I am catapulted by it to make a change for the betterment of this family unit. 

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. 

 And what have you been thinking about lately?

The weekend is almost here. Have a good Friday and a great weekend! 

Cheers!