The weather has been extremely hot lately.  Due to this, the insects, mainly the mosquitoes and roaches are more active and driven out to be pests among us humans.  I can’t verify my opinion with years and years of scientific research but this theory holds true in this household. 

Recently, I went into a mosquito-killing frenzy in the boys’ room.  I would stand on top of the boys’ queen size bed to try to kill  these flying menaces before they got to the humans who happened to be my boys.  I had not taken into account though my huge swelling belly nor the fact that my spine would not yield any more extra weight or activity without lashing out a complaint. 

Focusing on the flying target, I was determined not to miss. It flew higher and higher out of my reach.  Without thinking of my physique, I climbed onto the bed which creaked beneath my overbearing weight.  My spine protested by indicating a sharp pain at my lower back.  My stomach wobbled.  Ignoring the pain, I reached out as far as I could and clapped both my hands together.  “Die!,” I yelped.  I almost lost my balance because of the weight loaded in front. Ignoring that as well, I looked at the palms of my hands for some tell tale signs of an enemy down.  Nothing.  “Rats!” I yelped again.  I was sure that I didn’t leap high enough to make the kill.  Being pregnant was really getting to me.  My boys looked at me as if I were a mad woman.  I was not bothered.  The enemy must die. 

I caught a glimpse at the pest again.  It was flying as free as a bird, waiting to strike again when opportunity presented itself.   I climbed down the bed with some degree of difficulty, tailing it.  This time, I had a better strategy.  I oiled my hands with moisturiser.  To take down an enemy, one must be well prepared.  Aiming carefully, I clapped my palms together again.  I looked down at those killing palms again.  There it was, stuck to my left palm was a flat and lifeless mosquito with a victim’s blood.  I felt victorious! 

For the past few nights, I had been in and out of the room many times to vanquish these pests while the boys were asleep.  On a good night, I’d be able to kill seven or eight mosquitoes.  Other nights despite my best efforts, I’d see at least three of these pests flying around the room as if taunting me, “You cannot catch me, you cannot catch me!”.  

In theory, we ought to have a mosquito-free room.  The windows had nettings, and I made sure that the doors and windows were closed by dusk to prevent these insects from flying in.  But for the past one week, I had been scratching my head wondering how these pests got into the room.  I looked around the room, and at the cupboards on my right.  I glanced up and found the answer to my riddle.  On top of these two cupboards, there stacked two big black plastic bags, a box, a monopoly game set and a host of other unknown items.

My spouse had cleaned his audio room, and transferred the unwanted items onto the boys’ room and stacked them high up on top of the cupboards.  I looked at the makeshift storage place and winced.  It looked more like a junkyard to me, collecting dust and definitely hibernating mosquitoes.

Coincidentally, my spouse had gone overseas for work.  I spoke to him over the phone the following day.  Instead of muttering sweet loving phrases like ‘I love you’ or ‘I miss you’, I was complaining endlessly regarding the junk he had stored on top the cupboard.  He was, of course, very defensive and irritated.  And so, for the next fifteen minutes we had the most expensive argument ever having to pay for the long distance phone call.  After replacing the phone receiver only did I realise what a horrendous nagger I had become.  Is this what happens after ten years of marriage, I asked myself resignedly.

There was a simple solution.  I shifted and sifted the items in the boys’ room.   It seemed that we had transferred all our treasured junk from the audio room to the boys’ room and now, these are transferred again outside where they are strewn all over our tiny hall upstairs. 

I am happy now that the boys’ room is almost mosquito-free.  Almost.  I saw one flying around yesterday.  It must have flown in while the room door was being opened.  That’s another story. 

Now I need only some discipline to clean the hall outside.  Perhaps the easiest way is to discard everything but please, don’t tell my spouse. 

Cheers !  and have a good day.                                   

It had been a tiring week.  I felt as if it was the sequel of the previous week’s viral attack.  The whole family quickly recovered from the recent bout of diarrhoea except for our second child, James.  Subsequently, he developed a cough and had fever.

James quickly recovered from his fever in the next two days, but passed the fever on to our third child, Brian.  I had expected   Brian to recover as quickly as James but the dreaded fever seemed to have taken permanent resident in his body. 

For the past one week, he has gulped down one bottle of paracetamol and ibuprofen each to control the fever as it rocketed to as high as thirty nine degrees Celsius especially in the nights.  My past nights were filled with warm wet handkerchiefs over a tiny hothead in desperation to bring down his temperature.  Sitting on the mattress on the floor with a huge swelling tummy certainly didn’t make the role of playing nurse any easier. 

Brian was really an angel even when he had to deal with his illness.  He swallowed his medicine down with no complaints and slept all day without much fuss.  There were some temper tantrums thrown sporadically throughout the day but he was easily pacified and still smiled easily. 

By mid week, I was a tired and a very grouchy pregnant mum.  It was then I requested my spouse to monitor Brian that night while I slept separately on the floor beside our queen size bed.   The only assistance I got from my spouse was a wake up call in the dead of the night informing me that little Brian was heating up and needed sponging.  My spouse then proceeded to go right back to sleep.  Thanks honey, for all your help!

I looked at the time.  It was two in the morning.  My head heavy with sleep still, I was really tempted to close my eyes and doze off once again.  Brian decided that if mummy would not come to him, he would go to her.  He crawled down to the mattress where I had sat up after being so rudely awaken.  I felt his head.  It was burning.  Now I was really awake. 

I quickly made my way downstairs to take some water and fever medicine.  After giving him his pink syrup, I ran through the  motions I had become so familiar with all over again;  sponging his forehead, rinsing the warm damp handkerchief and sponging his hot skin again.   His eyes were closed, and his breathing was heavy.  He lay down still as quiet as a mouse.  I continued sponging his  slightly cooled body now, trying my best to make him as comfortable as possible.  Mummy is here, I whispered.                

He caught the fever last Monday night.  It was like a tide that rose and fell.  Sometimes it was a low graded one, and other times, it soared.  Five days later, on Friday morning it was still very much present in our son’s physical being.  I decided that he should see his regular doctor for a diagnosis.

I drove him to the hospital that morning.  There we were in the car, just me and my son, or perhaps I should say, just the three of us.  Me, Brian and my pregnant belly.   It was also on this trip that I wished I had asked another competent adult to tag along.  Brian decided that he was too ill to walk, so I had to carry him, myself and my big belly around the hospital.  Then, the doctor requested for a urine sample from the boy which required me to do some heavy duty lifting in the washroom.  She also took a blood sample from him.  I panicked when I saw the size of the needle.  I was greatly relieved that he behaved wonderfully when she poked the oversized needle into one of his veins to draw out blood.  He bellied out loud cries but sat extremely still on my lap to allow her to finish the procedure.  Brian really was a brave boy.   I couldn’t be any prouder of my son.   Mummy is here, I whispered to him wiping away his tears. 

And then, it was waiting time.  The doctor sent the blood sample to the lab to run some tests and we had to wait for at least an hour for the results. Our little boy was running a spiking temperature of thirty nine degrees and had already endured too much already in the doctor’s room.  He closed his eyes and slept heavily on me chest to chest.  Time reduced to a crawl.  I sat perfectly still outside the doctor’s room patiently waiting, just the three of us once again; me, my little sick boy and my pregnant belly.  Mummy is here, I whispered again gently stroking his hot forehead .

It turned out that his urine sample was clear and the blood results did not indicate anything serious.  My doctor sent me home with no antibiotics and only a cough mixture together with an assurance that his persistent fever will eventually subside.  I gladly paid her bill in exchange for this piece of information.  She gave me back my peace of mind.          

Two days after our doctor’s visit, the fever did leave our son permanently.  He has phlegm and a chesty cough now.  After having his cough mixture tonight, he is now sound asleep.  I just checked on him.  His body is cool, and his breathing is deep and regular.  Apart from the occasional cough, he has physically improved tremendously.  Mummy is here, I whispered to him with a smile in the dark cosiness of our room.
 
If there is anything I learnt from this episode, it is that the baby in the belly is as strong and resilient as our little Brian. 

And to you my friends, here’s wishing you a great week ahead minus the flu and the fever and the coughs!!  Cheers!

It all started around midnight.  The children were asleep and at last, mummy got to take a break. 

My spouse and I were watching Indiana Jones downstairs when we heard a whimper coming from the stairs.  I kicked my spouse on the leg which prompted him to check out the situation upstairs.  I heard him carrying Brian back into the room. 

I waited patiently for my spouse to join me again but he didn’t come down.  Something must be brewing upstairs, I thought.  With a sigh, I turned off the television at an exciting part where Indy was fighting off snakes in a dungeon.

I went into our room and found Brian lying awake in his bed.  He was holding on to his stomach and complaining that it was too full.   He was a happy healthy boy before he went to bed, so I didn’t think it was a serious issue.  After smearing some ointment on his tummy to pacify the little boy, I tucked him back to bed. 

Satisfied with what I’ve done, and seeing that he was in good hands with his papa, I tried to catch some sleep.  Soon, the lights went out in our room, and papa and Brian were sleeping side by side of each other on his mattress.  I was sprawled on our queen sized bed nearby. 

Minutes later, Brian sat upright and didn’t say a word.  Thanks to papa and his quick thinking, he quickly carried the little boy straight into our attached bathroom where the boy threw out his dinner.   

And this was how it was that whole night through.  Into the bathroom, throwing up, washing up and into the bed again.  The little boy also had diarrhea and soiled his diapers.  Thanks to my spouse’s quick thinking again, he discovered this only when his nose informed him of a stench that wouldn’t go away.    

Our little boy was visibly upset.  He wailed every time he needed to throw up and none of the adults got a good night’s rest that night. 

As if it was a domino’s effect, James threw up whatever he put into his stomach the next day and thereafter Daniel followed suit.  My spouse was next to experience an unsettled stomach and I didn’t know if I had in fact, fallen ill or it was the puke that made me green. 

For the next two days, we quarantined ourselves as a family in our home not knowing what had caused this abrupt illness which gave no symptoms whatsoever.   The first day of quarantine, all of us were too ill to do anything.  Daniel didn’t say a word that day, and was contented lying in bed the whole time which was so unlike him.  Papa also did nothing except stayed in bed with Daniel and he kept running to the bathroom back and forth to throw up.  When James didn’t climb our window grills that day, I knew that energetic boy of ours was down and out.  I didn’t feel like my usual self as well.

The second day of quarantine was like a resurrection.  Miraculously every member of our family ceased running to the bathroom to throw up, and the activity level at our home was almost normal.  It was obvious that we started functioning as a regular family unit again when the boys resumed their fights among themselves and their parents started bickering at each other.         

Papa worked a bit from home on his notebook, taking intermediate rests.  At least, he was not running to the bathroom every two minutes anymore to throw up and complaining of a tummy ache.

We didn’t get a lot done that day but it was nice enough to have all of us physically close in one location.  It created a sense of togetherness that we so greatly miss due to our daily obligations and responsibilities.  It was nice to have papa for company at lunchtime instead of just mummy.  It was nice to see our three boys playing and fighting together instead of just the two of them.  

Indeed, it was a pleasant unexpected family get together ironically caused by an unpleasant viral infection.

Cheers! And a good day to you. 

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