My Little Miss Bossy Boots!

Tee invited a school friend round today. The girl had been asking Tee for the last few days if she could come over so we finally invited her. She came with her Mommy and her elder 5 year old sister.

The girls had a blast playing really hard and drinking lots of Ribena and eating more snack at wipe out pace than I could dish out.

Whilst I frantically prepared more grapes, I heard a scream.

Then a wailing cry. I immediately popped my head out of the kitchen to check if Tee was OK only to be shocked that it was the 5 year old that was crying. Oh dear…..did the two under threes’ cause this?

The other Mommy was already on the way to find out what the problem was. Apparently, younger sister had pulled away a stethoscope from elder sister whilst they were in her ears. Okaaaaaaayyyyyy………

So the Mommy starts warning them that they need to play together and share toys. All this while the two girls in the toy tussle kept interrupting their mother in explaining themselves whilst my little Tee looked on, turning her head to each voice that spoke. Then the Mother tells younger sister to return the thing to elder sister and goes on and on in an authoritative tone of voice, and at one point said, “If you two girls cannot learn to play together, I shan’t bring you to Tee’s house anymore!”

“YES. This is MY HOUSE. This is MY TOY!!!” sprung a tiny familiar voice trying hard to be important.

I burst out laughing in the kitchen and the Mother who was quickly prompted by Tee continued, “Yes. This is Tee’s house and this is Tee’s toy so you shouldn’t even be fighting over it in the first place. I am giving the toy back to Tee now.”

When I popped my head out of the kitchen again, little Miss Bossy Boots had both her hands on her waist with a smug expression on her little round face still observing the trio debate.

What a little opportunist!

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One Pet Peeve of mine

For as long as I can remember, I simply CANNOT stand it if somebody comes over my shoulder to read the newspaper that I’m reading; or grazes my arm to peer into the magazine as I turn the pages, or watches my pen move as I write or sketch. I don’t mind giving it to you if you want to read it first but I do NOT want to read it together!

Same applies with my laptop. I do not like people curiously watching what I type or where I go in cyberspace. You can check back later if you need to know or read what I write later but for now, PLEASE! Just leave me alone!!!

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Advanced toddler speech

I took Tee for her Hepatitis A jab yesterday and her Paeditrician was really impressed at her level of speech. She is forming grammatically correct sentences of 7-10 words and he was just like “WOW!!!”

I wasn’t sure how to feel. Pride would be the most natural thing to feel, right? But I didn’t feel anything.

I guess it is because I believe that any kid would be just as advanced with his/her speech if his/her parents spoke up to them and not use ‘baby’ language. When I was single and babyless, I remember being terribly impressed with my friend’s four year old girl using the word irritating. My goodness! That is such a big word for a little girl, I exclaimed to my friend who laughed explaining she told her daughter frequently not to be irritating.

But now little Tee at two and a half years old, uses four syllable words in the correct context all the time. Words like observation, stationary, invincible, necessary. No wonder people fall off their chair sometimes when they hear her speak! Her pronounciation’s not quite there yet though. She cannot pronounce her ‘L’s and ‘R’s still so it’s quite cute and funny when she speaks. Also hospital recently gets muddled up as ‘hostipal’.

I guess making the effort to talk continuously to a baby really does pay off.

Bloody exhausting!!!

But if you want a toddler that talks a LOT, start talking now to that baby in the womb. Non-stop!

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The view outside my Lanai

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This is my Lanai – the covered indoor balcony that looks out into lush greenery, the reason we bought this place. We used to have lots of parties here sans baby. It is very cool being next to the jungle and in the evenings, there is no need for air-conditioning nor the fan. The view is so stunning, one can just sit on a lazy chair and watch the squirrels, birds or monkeys on trees. After Tee came along, we used it as a breakfast area, reading space and chatting corner.

Now Tee has overtaken the space to put her new toy which I shall show you soon. It takes up half the Lanai. And definitely blocks the view out!

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Tee’s Playground – part 1 of 3

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This is Tee’s play area – one of…..She is the luckiest girl on the block. Practially everything here has been given to her by her Nana or presents from Birthdays – just in case you were wondering what an over-indulgent Mom I am. I only buy her books. The Hubs made her the petrol tank that you see on the extreme right with the ESSO logo. It’s made out of foam board and a plumbing hose. She uses it to fill up her car. She also has a bicycle. She is awaiting a motorbike. We don’t even have space for her to ride around in her vehicles yet…..she will be getting a motorbike. There are already 2 other vehicles – a fire engine and an animal bus. The motorbike will add to the grand vehicle total of five. We don’t live in a house. People who have been here lately say my home has more toys than a kindergarten.

Someone stop my mother, please!!!

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I should have been a Doctor

I always wanted to be a Doctor. I wanted to be a Doctor because I wanted to be in control of life. Medical life.

As a young girl, I had several ailments – sinusitis, asthma, hemaphlegic migraines, stomach cramps, anaemia. I saw a lot of Doctors. Throughout my life, I always seemed to have some medical problem or other. I got tired of depending on Doctors and wanted to be one myself.

Yet when I finally signed that UCCA form for University application, it was not Medicine I had applied for but Architecture. 90% of my A-Level class were applying for Medicine. What happened? I decided I was too lazy to mug for a whole 6 years. Laziness is in my genes. I am more a thinker, an analyst. So the thought of reading and reading and reading…..completely put me off. Little did I know that Architecture took 7 years albeit 2 are training years. If I had known, I probably would’ve stuck with Medicine. I certainly had the Grades for it.

I spent RM500 on Doctors today. Mind you, I’d already spent close to that 2 weeks ago on Doctors. If I was a Doctor, I’d be getting free consultation and discounted medication. And I may not even have to have seen so many Doctors.

Nose cauterisation – painful. The Doctor never warned me that once it was cauterised that the problem wouldn’t recur. He told me AFTER the procedure that it may recur. Hell, if I’d known, then I wouldn’t have put myself through it! He wasn’t a very good Doctor. He gave me medicine without teling me what it was for or how long I should use it. He said it was painless. It was not. My nose still hurts today.

Twisted Ankle – the problem is improving. The Doctor sent me for physiotherapy but do you know that it cost RM110 per 30 minute session and they wanted me to come 3 times a week for a month? I told them straight that I couldn’t afford it so tough shit, ankle! So the Doctor made me buy some special slipper today for house use. It helps. And he told me to get more Birkenstocks – ouch! I have flat feet. Period. And I need to lose weight.

Thyroid problem – still awaiting results.

PAP Smear – to make appointment.

I should have been a Doctor.

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After watching Spiderman 3

I take back what I said about our DPM’s wife. I really shouldn’t judge or comment. I came to this after watching Spiderman who said “We have a choice, to be good or bad.”

I choose to be good.

Although it’s so much easier to be bad. MUAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!

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Protective Mother

I got news today that there have been FOUR ‘incidents’ outside Tee’s school in the last 2 months. House opposite was robbed at knifepoint, maid’s bag outside school got snatched, mother in car waiting for kid with engine on got mugged, teacher’s car got stolen. WTF! So the school has stationed THREE security guards outside the school.

FOUR units at my apartment block have been robbed too. At broad daylight. And we have a handful of security guards doing their rounds throughout the day. And we pay RM700 a month to the management for WHAT???

It is not news to me that the bad guys are targetting Mothers and Babies EVERYWHERE IN KL. And if you think it wouldn’t happen to you, think again because it has already happened to more than a handful of mothers I know, in various locations – while strapping the kid into their car seats, while crossing the road, while shopping, while dining. Mothers are easy targets and the buggers have caught on.

Whilst I know I cannot watch my two and a half year old’s every move, I am still concerned. Very, very concerned.

What happens when petty theft like this happens and the assailant gets caught? He gets thrown into jail for 6 months. That’s it. Big shit. He gets free food and accommodation for 6 months, then he’s out free to start disrupting society again. No wonder it is so rampant in big city KL!

Think. Think. What can I do? What can I do? What can we do to make KL a safer place? What can we do to ensure the safety of Mothers and Babies? Think. Think.

Ideas welcome. I’m desperate. I want to do something.

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Is the grass really greener???

There are times when I tell myself enough is enough – I really want to live somewhere else.

Times like today.

I got news about a road accident I witnessed yesterday on my way to work. For some reason, God has given me the spy camera eye for witnessing accidents because I seem to be doing a lot of that in the last year. Or maybe, there are just so many fucking accidents in Malaysia that one just brushes it off, you know…..like taking a dump. Whichever. Whatever.

Yesterday. On my way to work on a Public Holiday, there was a traffic jam on the highway just outside my home. What the fuck. I’m going to be late! As I drove closer, I saw policemen, ambulances, tons of curious Malaysians and 1 dead body. He was an old Indian man in his 50s, black wavy hair, dark grey office shirt with black pants. Sprawled on the ground. Definitely dead. You might wonder why I can describe him or why I even looked – it was because the cars in front of me weren’t moving and in a stationary car, I was as nosy as the next person. I also happen to have a photographic memory.

He didn’t look like one of those psychotic Mat Rempits (illegal Malaysian motorbike racers) who fly down the highways ala Superman with their legs straight back in the air and bellies perched on bike seats. He didn’t look like a burly, rough, Harley rider who drank Guinness and has black leather as skin. Nor was he an innocent, underaged lad trying out his Daddy’s bike unknowingly without a helmet. No. He looked like a decent, responsible man with a decent job and responsibilities. But of course, looks can be deceiving.

It must’ve been a recent accident as they hadn’t yet covered his body as they normally do with dead bodies. Yet I was perplexed that if it had been recent, then how is it there were already 2 ambulances present? (familiarity with Malaysian response time to emergencies, which I hear is miles better than the Indonesians – but that’s another story) So I remember that it is because the nearest hospital to the accident site is only 5 minutes away. But of course…we couldn’t have progressed this fast.

Today, I was told what happened and it really affected me.

Along Jalan Semantan as you come down CIMB on your left and hit the big roundabout and then Jalan Duta? Well, some dumb maggot infested brain fuck (and believe me, there are SOOOOOOO many in KL as I have witnessed first hand and I do not exaggerate) was driving down Jalan Duta from the Indian High Commission direction and realised that he’d missed his left turn into the roundabout. In true Malaysian fashion along a 110km/h highway, he suddenly stopped and started ‘inch’ reversing, so he could make the missed left turn rather than drive along, and make another round to get back.

No. Short cuts are easier. After all, I’m reversing soooooo slowly, what harm can that be, right? WRONG.

Mr Innocent on his motorbike comes down the roundabout and because the sun shone brightly that day, and because cars on a highway move forward, not backward, didn’t expect to crash into a dumb fucker’s reversing car. And then if that wasn’t enough, a car flying down the highway from behind (again from the Indian High Commission direction) is suddenly shocked to see these stationary blurs in front of his fast vehicle, SLAMS his brakes, but unfortunately not fast enough, and sends Mr Innocent flying up his career ladder as an acrobat in his new life in Heaven (I’m sure that’s where he’s headed).

But wait. Guess what happens next?

Dumb Maggot Infested Brain Fuck speeds off. He what? HE SPEEDS OFF, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!!!!!!!!!!

So what does this have to do with me wanting to move away from this madness? Well, for one. If signage had been better placed, perhaps Mr Dumb Fuck needn’t have missed his left turn. If perhaps there was a better education system, maybe Mr Dumb Fuck might’ve been more accountable, more responsible, more intelligent? If the Government actually penalised offenses more severely, or rather…..penalise at all, run enforcement as per the law, maybe people would’nt be so quick to do wrong. I mean, as it stands currently, anyone can commit murder and get away with it. Malaysia Boleh!

I am patriotic. I am patriotic to the core. And I love Malaysia for so many reasons. Always have. But having lived in London, Milan, Paris, San Francisco…..I can’t help but wonder. If the grass is greener…..

*********************************************************************

Let’s take what I did today as an example. I organised a fashion show for an event for which the Guests of Honour were the Malaysian Queen and our Deputy Prime Minister’s wife. So many things, where do I start?

At rehearsals, the hotel, my cosmetics client, and everyone else involved in the event, were totally inefficient – it seems to be the Malaysian culture of ‘lepak’. They talk slowly, they run through the protocol of how to greet the Queen, they discuss who ushers the Queen to the washrooms, they discuss sequence of events that they are unsure of. Like hello? You’re supposed to have thought about all this BEFORE the rehearsal and not keep the rest of us waiting. Honestly, after working for International corporations locally and abroad, I would just kill myself working under these lackadaisal attitudes.

All I could think of was the thousands of dollars that were being spent on the flowers for the day. And how half the population suck up to the Datins that day, and every other day for that matter. It was grossly sickening. Maybe it’s just me.

I’ll give you an example. The washroom outside the ballroom was reserved for the Queen only. Fair enough. After all, it is not right to share bog seats with a Royal Bum. But then, at the washroom maid’s pure discretion, ladies who appeared to dress ‘Datin’ enough were allowed to have a sneaky “pee” before the Queen’s arrival, whilst the rest of the non-Datiny guests (who were really the VIPs for the day as the event was commemorating Mother’s of Achievement) were told to go to other washrooms in the hotel.

And then I thought. With all the socio-economic problems that we are facing here locally, what the hell is the Deputy Prime Minister’s wife doing wasting precious 4 hours at a party when she could be helping her husband do something more useful for the country!!! Pardon me for saying but her one foot tall hairsprayed hairdo must’ve taken another hour to style. And how old is she exactly? Her plastic surgery in London was paid in pound sterling which I hope to God isn’t part of our tax money. With so much speculation about her husband and the Altantuya case, I would certainly lie low if I were her. Oh, I could go on and on about her and I’ve never even met the woman.

Gosh. There is more but I will continue later as I am so tired now.

xxx Good Nite.

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Embarrassing moments of armpits and groins

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I was told this was a true story of an Australian Mother.

She has three kids under five and is busy as hell. One evening, she is just too bloody exhausted for her daily shower and sinks into bed without even brushing her teeth. After a great nights sleep, she bounces out of bed LATE the next morning, in taking her kids to school and then rushes to an appointment with her gynaecologist. But before that, she rushes home just to have a quick wash of her private parts. In her haste, she uses the first bath sponge at her nearest reach and is out the door feeling more confident. There is just nothing like having bad breath when you visit your dentist. The same goes when you visit your gynae. At the gynae, the Doctor inspects her legs wide open, pauses. Then takes a closer look and sums it up, “So we’ve gone the extra mile today, huh? You have the all clear. I’ll see you next year.”

Feeling relieved that she had made the extra effort to go home to wash before seeing the gynae, she made her way to pick the kids up. While preparing lunch, her three year old asks, “Mom, have you seen my paint sponge?”

“What paint sponge?”

“The one I use for my glitter glue…I can’t find it”

Mother goes with three year old to look for paint sponge. Negative.

Later that evening, when she is about to have her actual shower, she notices her daughter’s paint sponge. She picks it up and turns it over and sure enough, it was drowned with silver dust.

Slowly remembering that she had used that same sponge earlier this morning to wash her vagina, she sprung out of the shower in search for her compact mirror and AAAAKKKK!!!!

Her vagina looked like a sparkly silver decorated Christmas Tree!! She went through the Yellow Pages in search for a new gynaecologist that very day.

***********************************************************************

As far as I can remember, I have always used talcum powder on my body after a shower. It’s just a life long habit that has made me feel more silky, more fresh. I use it on all my joints, including my underarms. For those of you who do this, you may know what happens when there is too much powder mixed with sweat. Not a pretty sight.

So imagine my embarrasment when a friend asked in horror as though thoroughly concerned for my well-being when she accidentally caught a glimpse of my armpits during a group lunch, “Oh My God, what is THAT on your armpits???!!!”

It sure freaked me out. I immediately looked without being discreet and almost died of shame when I saw the white clumps of powder pattern lacing my foldy fat underarms.

“Oh, it’s just powder, haha…” and changed the subject with the speed of light.

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Nose cauterisation HURTS!!!

I just read that nose cauterisation actually hurts!!! The Doctor warned me of no such thing!!!

Shall I cancel? Shall I? Shall I?

2 more days to decide.

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Of Twisted Ankles and Nose Polyps’s

Finally!

After 5 weeks of off and on limping and spurts of sharp and dull pain on my poor abused twisted left ankle, the Hubs tonight found the exact spot where it appears to have twisted.

He massaged my left foot for two hours with some special smelly alcoholic oil that my grandmother recommended from the Chinese Medicine Shop. The foot feels much better. Let’s see how it feels tomorrow!

….and I thought I was going to have to face the inevitable of visiting a Doctor and then spending copious amounts of money on Xrays, orthopaedic fees etc. Phew.

I am also getting my nose cauterized next Wednesday. Wish me calm luck….as I am the biggest chicken ever.

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Childhood Reminiscence

I love being a Mother.

I listened to the Sound of Music every milli-second I was on the road today. It’s funny how when I was a little girl, the movie didn’t have such a big impact on me as other childhood movies did. I knew one song from the soundtrack that I carried for life only because I am a Grade 8 pianoforte student.

Yet now that I have become a Mother, I know the lyrics to seven, yeah SEVEN songs from the Sound of Music soundtrack. That’s pretty impressive, by my standards, considering I learnt it all within the last 2 weeks. And suddenly I feel so much more connected to the movie.

All for the love of T.

Raindrops on Roses and Whiskers on Kittens……we have a beautifully illustrated book on My Favourite Things. We even substituted lyrics with T’s favourite things, some of which include Mummy always and forever, Daddy the Hero, Nana who loves her always, Bubbles in water and blowing bubbles, Ice-Cream Oreo sandwiches, Pink Wellington Boots……..

Oh, I so love Motherhood….*sigh*

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Protected: Protected: Entertaining the mind of a restless toddler with limited resources

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Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend

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Many little boys’ mothers have already decided that their sons will not be dating my T anytime in the future. This is because not only does T have an incredibly demanding personality, she knows how to sing the chorus to Marilyn Monroe’s Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend song. She even knows how to yell out “TIFFANY’S! BULGARI! CARTIER!”

Scary huh? At the rate she’s going, she’ll most likely end up a spinster. She learnt the meaning of diamonds before she could even crawl from her beloved Nana. I can’t say if it’s a good thing or not.

My brother on the other hand is currently searching a diamond for his sweetheart that he wants to propose to. His meagre salary from one of the top agencies will go as far as half a carat. That’s ten grand! I asked him why he is shopping for a ring together with his sweetheart and not left it to be a surprise. He said he didn’t want to get the wrong thing. I told him that if a girl loved you, she would say yes even if it was the wrong thing. And so the hunt for that half carat ring continues.

What is it with diamonds? My mother LOVES them. And so do many women…..

I have one but it sits in my drawer safely locked away. My personality doesn’t warrant the desire to wear one, so it is really quite a shame that it is sitting lonely. I can’t exactly give it away, can I?

I still remember the romantic soul of the Hubs many years ago when we first met. After I’d moved in with him, he plucked a weed out of the garden, tied it into a little knot and put it around my finger. Then he told me, “it’s just a prelude to the real thing”. Many months later while we were window shopping, he bought me a two dollar plastic ring. It was a pretty ring and I liked it. Then I saw this gorgeous Bulgari designer ring that had a blue and pink stone set in platinum and liked it for a very long time. Not exactly a typical engagaement ring but I didn’t care. It cost RM5,000. Eventually, he didn’t get it but instead got me the real thing……

Moral of story – great things come to those who wait 🙂

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Handphone relationships

Our dependence on technology is astonishing. Twenty years ago, a handful of KL-lites had a mobile phone. You know those large black ATUR hand carry sets that double up as weapons? Today, everyone has a handphone. Six year old children, maids, the bus driver, market sellers, babies, dogs…..What has happened?

Handphones have made our brains lazy. We take everything for granted that things are only a phone call away. We fail to plan in advance. I wonder to myself sometimes, how old will T be before she gets a handphone?

Then every handphone owner seem to have a unique relationship with their handphones. Whether it be aesthetic, function or pure entertainment. Some have Hello Kitty trinkets attached to their phones. Some carry their phones in baby blue furry phone bags/holders/cases. Some have glow in the dark stickers and funky hands free kits. Some have expensive multi-gadget type phones. Some use it only for their secret lovers. Some use it still as weapons ala Naomi Campbell. Some can’t get off their handphone game addictions.

What interests me most is whether you live for your handphone or if you live your life. I say this because I know people who cannot live without their handphones! They either have them around their necks or carry them everywhere they go within the house. In the shower, the loyal handphone sits on the dry vanity counter and watches your naked body. During a smelly poop, the handphone is privileged to revel in such personal space, albeit malodorous. Some people have to read every text message the moment they get it, like when they are in the cinema. They need to hear every call they get, as though their lives depended on it. Their relationships with their handphones are sacred.

Me on the other hand, depend on my handphone for emergencies or messages for quick communication purposes. I don’t like phones. Actually, I detest phones. I’d much rather talk face to face. My handphone burns up if anyone started talking more than five minutes to me. That to me, is already way too long. Sometimes, we (the Hubs, T and I) leave the house without my handphone. To me, as long as the most important people are with me, everything else can wait. Most of the time, my handphone sits in one location of my house. For all intents and purposes, I am not the best person to contact if you wanted an immediate response. My family knows how to reach me and that’s all that matters.

Just for the record, I was once talking to a friend who is an electronics engineer at Motorola during a function and asked him about the dangers of phone radiation. I said that out of the more popular brands (Sony/Ericsson/Samsung etc), it seems that Motorola is supposed to be one of the safest phones around in terms of damaging human cells. I asked him if all this talk about handphone dangers were really true. His answer was slightly worrying.

“Even Motorola handphones are bad for you”

*NB – Naturally the scenario changes if one is in business or the corporate world where speed of communication is the key to a done deal. Those were the days I had the phone around my neck. Thank God, those days are over.

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MILK rejection in toddlers

Little T has decided that she is now a big girl and no longer needs her milk.

My mother and grandmother had always stressed from Day One that milk was very important for babies and children. They warned me not to take away the bottle as it formed a risk of milk rejection. Unfortunately, T was only breastfed till she was 6 months old after which my milk dwindled into boob desert. Pfffftttt……

When she was nearing a year, other mothers told me I should start T on a sippy cup because bottles weren’t good for her teeth. They gave me all sorts of reasons and I wondered how resourceful these mothers were at researching what’s good and what’s not for their children.

So we introduced the sippy cup which she had no problems drinking from and then soon a proper cup. But her milk she maintained that she would only drink from a bottle. But at two, I decided to secretly stash the bottles away. There was a huge protest with her being the leader of the milk bottle union comprising all her teddy bear friends but I held firm.

Till this day, I do not hear enough nagging from my mother and grandmother about how I should NOT have taken away that bottle. When I try explaining that it might have destroyed her teeth, they regurgitate solid evidence of how my younger brother who was shamefully on a bottle till he was seven, has the most perfectly straight teeth. And not only are they straight, they are super duper tough. They can probably uncap coke bottles for all I know. Now at 25, a lover of dessert and cigarettes, he still doesn’t have a single cavity. And being the lazy sod that he is, I cannot imagine him taking that good care of his teeth.

I wish I had not removed the bottle because now I have the challenge of pumping calcium into this little willful imp! Milk, yoghurt and cheese…..it all depends on her mood. And she is 100% female, y’know…..moody as hell.

So really, the bottle and teeth thing is a myth. Does anyone have any milk bottle experiences to share?

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Inconsiderate Bastard at RSGC

It was a scorching afternoon with a hungry toddler in the car. I followed at 5 kilometres per hour, a big guy (Jack Nicholson with an extra foot) pushing his golf cart to his car and parked mine twenty feet away from him with my indicator on. And waited……

He opened the boot of the black Mercedes. Then struggled to fit a 4 foot golf umbrella into his golf bag. Then struggled to dismantle the golf bag out of the cart. Then wiped his golf bag with a grey tattered rag. And after about twenty three ‘thens’ later, placed the bag finally into the boot.

As each ‘then’ step progressed, imagine my excitement that the end of this golf movie in slow mo was nearing. My eagerness to dive into that parking spot trebled.

But wait. He has to clean his golf cart too. And then fold it. There’s more? Yes, he takes out a few mega plastic bags (the type you get from Toys R Us when you buy their largest sized toys) and puts them all over his cart before lifting it and placing it into the boot.

Surely you know what happened next? No? Let me tell you. He walked to the driver’s seat door, opened it, sat inside and did something with his shoes. Then the fucker came out, slammed the door shut and started walking in the opposite direction!

I was fuming like a dragon on heat who’s mate had escaped just before orgasm, floored the accelerator, made a big round just in time to catch Mr Fuckwit on the other side just about to enter the club. I horned and summoned to him. Then I ripped down the window and shouted across. The moron fumbled with his speech claiming he didn’t see me. I gave him a piece of my mind and dared him not do it again to the next person.

His car number is WLK 5151, by the way.

Bastard.

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A scene from LA Law

Bring it on, I say.

I am currently in the process of taking legal action against a public relations company who tried pulling a fast one with me over a writing assignment.

I never in my wildest dreams imagined that I’d be entangled in a legal suit ala LA Law (well, I can dream; it used to be my favourite flick when I was 12).

The hours I have to put in into getting every single detail of what transpired is enough to send owls sleeping. I want the fuckers to rot in hell so whilst I am hoping we go to court, chances are we will possibly reach a settlement.

Watch this space……

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Don’t pretend you didn’t see me?!

You know the feeling. That when you are out in public minding your own business, doing your own thing, when suddenly you catch a glimpse of somebody you know. And that same person’s eyes dart away the moment your both eyes meet in a flash. Is that her? Sure it is. But before you can walk over to say hello, she either scuttles away avoiding your path or worse, totally ignores you as though she doesn’t know you from apple.

Have you ever wondered why?

These are some reasons why I do it. (see *guilty* on my forehead)

One: I don’t have my fake eyes on so I really can’t see you clearly hence haven’t the faintest clue.

Two: I am in a life-threatening rush and even a two second hello to explain I am in a rush would send me to the morgue.

Three: I really, really, really think you are a maggot-infested dead rat. So let’s avoid the confrontation because I have a caustic tongue.

Four: I feel like Barney without make up and unshaved armpits on that particular day hence don’t feel confident enough to approach anyone nor want to discomfort you with my foul BO.

Five: I’m feeling anti-social and down because I’ve realised that my fat arse really is here to stay, and I just DON’T feel like doing the smiley, chatty, how are you thing!!!

I am far from perfect. I know.

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SHAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaarRK !!!

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My Little Rapper in Daddy’s Office

My little rapper made a visit to Daddy’s office the other nite and complained that his office was too messy with work in progress presentation boards and materials spread out all over the floor.

“Ooooh….this is a messy awea. Where am I going to walk?!! Do you think it’s messy, Mummy?”

So the next day, the Hubs told his colleagues what little T complained about and they burst into hysterics. Just a week ago, there was a request that the office needed a spring clean from the DC Lord (big boss of DC global). The office is now convinced that little T is a spy.

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Here she is arranging Daddy’s magazines to perfection.

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Figuring out how a compactus works

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I’d kill to know what goes on in that little head of hers. Just what on Earth is she doing to that little bear? Don’t kids have such an imagination???

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We have the same new hobby, my daughter & I…

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Slithery Snakes

While putting on shoes for school today, T stuns her father.

“Daddy, when you have more money can you please buy me a snake?”

Shocked and at the same time drowned with killer curiousity as to what his precious daughter might want with a snake of all things,

“A snake?” Perhaps he’d misheard her….

“Yes, a slithewy snake. Ssss…..Sssss……” she puts both hands in front of her little body (like giving a high five instead that it’s a high ten) and does a wiggly, jiggly, slithery snake dance. No amount of words can describe how ridiculously funny she looks doing her snake dance.

“Why in the world would you want a SNAKE?”

“I want to bwing it to school.” Ahh….a toy snake.

“Did someone bring a snake to school? Is there a boy in school with a snake?”

“Yes, a snake. I want to scare my teacher.” and she continues her wiggly, jiggly, slithery snake dance with sound effects, Sssss…..Sssss……Ssssss………

I am dying to ask the teachers tomorow what brought this about. Sorry, T…..but Mummy’s about to give away your delayed April Fool’s prank 🙂

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It’s April already???

  1. T has settled really well at school after 7 days. I owe it to her teachers, all British and Australian graduates in Masters of Education and Child Psychology; all well travelled. I expected her to take a whole month to get used to the school thing since she was soooooooooo clingy and has never really been without Mummy before. The Hubs was convinced it’d take a year. Well done, T. We are super proud of you.
  2. I have a new toy. *wink* A DSLR which I haven’t mastered. Yet.
  3. I have started exercising now that T goes to school 🙂
  4. My Grandmother is getting old (85 years). She stayed with me for a week last week and did not stop talking. At all.
  5. My Mother gave us a big interest free and time free loan. Bless her heart forever and ever.

I am going to play with my new toy now.

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Happy Birthday, Samantha!

Happy Birthday, Sam. I received a really nice surprise today. What a coincidence too, on your birthday? Did you set it up?

I hope you have a really happy sunshine filled birthday in your world. I miss you dearly, and needless to say, you will never be forgotten. Hugs, hugs, hugs and more hugs xxxxx

ps – I hope I dream of you tonight….

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Credit Cards, Golf & Photography

I asked T’s grandmother today if she had been teaching T about Mr Visa or Mrs Amex.

Negative.

Then she quipped that T needed no explanation as she was a natural information baby magnet. (*Note to self – no more bitching about anything that would cause me to want the floor to swallow me with super strength suction, if repeated).

We spent the last week in Kota Bharu on the East Coast of Malaysia at my in-laws. My FIL (the only dad I have ever felt some form of relation to) is an avid golfer who plays every single day. Rain or shine. Even if his dick were to fall off, he’d need his golf marijuana fix. That’s the way with addicts, you know. He is so tanned that you’d never believed he was pure Chinese. Hell, you wouldn’t even believe he was Indian. (pun intended)

After stealing a wonderful idea from scribbit, I made it my mission to introduce the world of golf to little T during our holiday. Alas, I could not emulate the perfect home-made golf set but we did the best with what little resources available, which wasn’t much at all. An unused section of a plumbing pipe of 1 metre (perfect length), a few golf balls and a metal dustbin placed horizontally. Hey, it’s the concept that’s important, right?

Wrong.

After five failed attempts of scoring a hole-in-one, T requested for a hole.

A hole? What hole?

“This one is not nice. I don’t want this.”

“It’s not good. I want a hole. A real hole.” T explains to her eager audience in exasperation.

Not ever having exposed her to golf before, we were perplexed as to what she was trying to tell us and kept reinforcing that the circle around the dustbin WAS a real hole. See? It’s a HOLE!

More head flinging shaking ensued whilst she got more flusterred.

“NO! I want a real hole!!! HERE! In the ground!!!” T said angrilly.

The Hubs and I felt like total idiots whilst both her grandparents scurried like slaves to a dictator, to search for a spade to DIG her a real hole in the ground. Not just any ground. It was the ground of a perfectly landscaped garden with a beautiful blanket of green turf.

Whilst trying hard to convince T that the dustbin really was more fun and dissuading my old in-laws to please NOT spoil their perfectly laid out grass, I was again perplexed as to where she had learnt about golf.

With glee and her newfound hobby, I immediately asked my mother if she had exposed T to golf. For T’s whole existence, I pretty much control what goes on in her life and thus know what she knows and what she doesn’t apart from those odd occassions when she gets dumped at my Mother’s. My mother again claims nescience so without us knowing, somehow or other, T must have caught a golf game on the idiot box.

Which brings me to this: my perennial problem with the Hubs. Being the nominated and accepted family photographer, he did not take any shots of our budding pro at her game. Can you fucking believe it? He did not even take a single shot of our whole week of holiday. Do I need a new photographer or a new husband???

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What’s the youngest age for a credit card holder these days?

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On the train back from the airport today, I moaned to the Hubs that my slippers were peeling off at the front. He then cautioned me that I should be more careful about kicking things from here on as they were an expensive pair of slippers. Bugger….

Then chirped a little voice beside me, “You can buy a new slipper, Mummy?”

“No, Mummy doesn’t have the money to buy another pair of slippers.”

“I will buy for you, Mummy. I have lots of cwedit cards.” She smiles and nods adoringly….

Since when did this two and a half year old learn about credit cards??? It’s time I had a chat to her grandmother. And Daddykins? You’d better speed your shuttle into millionairedom fast as apparently your daughter has golden genes OR teach her the value of $$$ fast.

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A crazy thing I used to do

When I was growing up, I was always left to my own devices. My parents were never around and didn’t have any rules for me so it is suffice to say that I turned out pretty good considering the circumstances.

I had an Italian Muslim boyfriend who lived in a mansion at the age of 16 whom I spent 65% of the year with on his bed. That’s a lot of time spent overnight on his bed considering we both had school to attend everyday. Our relationship was frowned upon from the start by the school and his parents. We were too ‘young’ to be in a relationship but being the rebel that I am, soon found ways to meet.

All I had to do was tell my parents I was sleeping over at a friend’s place – honestly, they didn’t care who, what, why or when. I would take a taxi out to his place just before midnight when people usually settled into their bedrooms. When I arrived, I’d stop the cab a few blocks away from his house and walked. I’d hide in the drain outside his house (it was a big drain which I climbed into and out of a lot!) and wait for his signal that his parents were safely in their bedroom.

Once the coast was clear, I would leave my school bag in the drain (too heavy with books) and climb his electrical gate that he had disconnected including all house alarms. It was like something out of Alias and I did it so well, watching quickly around for cars or people, even people looking out of neighbourhood windows, before I made the quick climb and drop off.

Then there was a detailed track that I had to follow in the grounds avoiding potential disaster areas to get to a huge overturned flower pot which encased the rope to my paradise. It was a one and a half inch diameter rope of eight metres long with boyscout knots at every two feet taught to us by a classmate of ours who was a pro at knot tying. Carrying the heavy rope along my treasure trail, I would barefootedly creep to just under his bedroom window at first level and wait for the next signal.

Directly below his window were the maids’ rooms windows which I had to pass vertically each time I made the army climb up which I mastered with my then athletic body. The knots allowed a grip for my big toe and second toe while I pulled myself up after he had released a nylon string with a weight so I could hook the rope onto and then he could pull the rope back up in order to fasten it to a construction piece on his planter box to take my weight. After I climbed into the planter box, we pulled up the rope and hid it in the high cupboards above just in case any of his parents decided to do a midnight search.

In the very early morning, I would make my descent in darkness and return the rope to the overturned flower pot and do exactly as I’d come in, except the opposite. I then got into my school uniform in the hidden drain and walked out to catch a cab to school. Hey, at least I didn’t miss school!

Once, a friend of mine who was so enthralled by the whole drama of my misadventures, wanted to try climbing my secret rope. We crazilly agreed but at first attempt, she had already swung and banged the wall which garnered immediate suspicion from the maids. Plan aborted pronto.

I wonder, what are some of the crazy things you used to do as a kid?

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Two things I’ve been putting off

  1. Seeing an ENT to check my nose out. I have suffered from sinusitis for the longest time and know my nose inside out pretty much. Of late there has been a perpetual scab on my right inner nostril that bleeds every now and then. It is not like a normal nose bleed that comes from within (which I have never had a problem with, by the way) but rather a bleed that derives from exactly the same spot each time. It is bleeding again now, alot. Previous casual enquiries to Doctors have suggested I have a nose polyps. I have no idea what that is.
  2. Seeing a Doctor to get my Thyroids checked specifically. I have tried reducing my intake of food phenominally and improved the quality of food too for a test three weeks but still not an ounce of weight loss. I also sweat when everyone else is cool or am cold when everyone else is hot. Some say I have a thyroid problem. We’ll know soon enough.
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Separation anxiety at Playschool

Yesterday, I left T at school for an hour and a half by just walking out casually from her classroom. She bawled for a long, long time but because I only heard it, I was OK. At the end of the day, she was all swollen eyed but smiling. And even said she would come back to big school.

Today, without warning, two teachers unclawed her four limbs from my body, and as I walked out, her arms reached out to me as though she was drowning, her eyes terrified with fear as she screamed, “MUMMY, DON’T LEAVE ME!!!!!”

As I descended the stairs, my eyes watered and I wondered if I was doing the right thing. She is only 2 and a half after all. The teachers naturally assured me that it is normal. During playground time, I managed to spy on her and she was happily playing away, cackling with teachers and friends, bouncing furiously on the trampoline, picking jasmine flowers for a teacher and most importantly, smiling. Her face told me she was genuinely having fun.

However, towards the later part of the day (after 3 hours), she turned all weepy again so the teachers called me in for an early dismissal. She ran to me, hugged and held me as though it was our last day together. She now says she doesn’t want to go back to big school and regards her teachers as bad people (the ones who took Mummy away).

My saving grace is that at least she is adjusting better than I expected, which was to scream for three hours and vomit. Phew!

Tomorrow is another new day…..

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I have so much money!

Oohlala!!!

In my thirty five years of existence, I have seen how money has the power to destroy relationships, the tightest of families and the closest of friends. Yes, money can be all-empowering like water or fire, when it gets out of hand.

Whilst reading one of the many tabloid gossip magazines that my beloved mother subscribes to, I had this sick inclination to slap some of the ladies sparklingly decked in Cartier and Bulgari, veiled in Valentino or Chanel, strutting in Jimmy Choos and Mahnolos. RM40,000 for a handbag? Excuse me? The latest must have?

Fuck, did these women ever go to school?

Some admittedly load generously onto charities, with whatever objective (yeah, not all charity givers have good intentions), but even then. Out of the 200 handbags that are locked in your gold plated ironmongered wardrobe, how many children’s mouths could you feed?

Think about it. This is relativity. Whilst an underweight child sick with pneumonia fights for his life, Madam is freaking out because her manicurist missed a millimetre of nail varnish on her last toe. Whilst a dying AIDS victim works to feed her three children with a stigma of abuse thrown at her on a daily basis, the poor lass cries a dozen buckets because Daddy hasn’t agreed yet to the new Aston Martin to replace the old Masserrati that she crashed. Whilst the blind man can no longer have the chance of watching his five children grow up and got robbed of his life savings, the celebrity downs Margharitas by day and cocaine by night for depression triggered by the lack of attention on the red carpet this year.

Seriously. Get a life.

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Hypocrite Type 1

Hyposcrisy n The practice of professing beliefs, feelings or virtues that one does not hold or possess.

Last night I perfomed my husband’s worst nightmare and tuned in to Konsert Akademi Fantasia, which is our local excremental version of American Idol. OK I really shouldn’t be comparing it to American Idol because it really is no comparison. And yes, I wonder too what my husband would do if he was mugged at gunpoint, got his entire belongings stolen, got buggered by an elephant then left stranded in a pool of quick sand, except it wasnt sand but shit.

This local flick consists of a daily diary where young wannabe’s live together in one house, practising their vocal talents or lack of, working their throat muscles, polishing their vocal cords, leading up to a weekly concert where participants are eliminated.

What I really don’t get is. EVERY SINGLE WEEK, there will be crying. It is perhaps understandable if the tears are of the family of the eliminated participant but no. These are tears from the remaining paticipants who were NOT eliminated. Every single one of them. Well, maybe not. But from the 29 inch screen, it sure looked that way.

Errr……..why are we crying? If we felt so bad that our fellow participant was leaving the competition, then why not give up your place instead, fuckwit? Doesn’t the fact that your fellow competitor gets kicked out mean you are on step closer to being the winner? Isn’t that why you joined the competition in the first place?

I just don’t get it!

So I must qualify that the reason I even switched to the said channel in the first place is because a friend of mine is in it. Not as a participant but as a tutor. I haven’t seen her yet but when I do, I hope to get some answers.

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Our first real fight – shame on me!

I love my daughter to bits. I really, really do. But there are days when I want to make her disappear. Such as last night.

After spending two whole hours trying to get T to sleep from 8-10pm, I finally lost it. I had things to do. Lots of things. And she really needed her sleep to be alert for school the next day. She was tired but kept pushing my limits, an inch further, every half an hour or so. Whenever I raised my voice a little, she would quickly scurry into her pillow and pretend to sleep. Minutes later, there will be movement on her bed, legs kicking like an octopus poked with cactus.

Another warning.

Then, “Mummy, why did Paddington Bear spill hs marmalade?”

I raise my voice again. This continues for TWO whole hours. Why did I even bother?

So I lost it, walked out of her room and shut the door behind me.

T screamed bloody blue murder. If you ever saw a cat being skinned alive, she was it, in flesh. I have never heard her scream so loud before. Crying is one thing. But screaming the screech of hysteria was enough to make me mental. Poor neighbours. I let her out of her room (mind you, this only happened for five seconds) and locked myself in her room instead. I needed that separation in case I grabbed her and flung her out of the window. She ran around the home screaming for her Daddy, who incidentally wasn’t home.

When I came out I summoned her to face the wall, all this while yelling my head away. I was SO mad. I was SO mad that this two year old thing was stopping me from carrying on with life. I was SO mad that this two year old thing was totally disrespectful and disobedient. I was just SO mad.

She finally fell asleep at 10.45pm.

What am I doing wrong? Today, my paeditrician friend asked when she saw very clearly that T was totally oblivious to my commands, “Isn’t she scared of you?”

Are they meant to be?

I’ve tried the soft approach, talk to her nicely and get no results.

Do share….

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A toddler’s definition of a fight

“I want to bathe in the bath tub.”

“No, we are having a quick shower because we need to hurry.”

“No, I want to bathe in the bath tub.”

“No, take your clothes off now. Hurry. We need to go soon. Hurry. We’ll have a shower in the bath tub, OK?”

“NO, I WANT TO BATHE IN THE BATH TUB!!!”

“WILL YOU GET YOUR CLOTHES OFF NOW BEFORE I LEAVE YOU AT HOME!!!”

“We are fighting, Mummy!” *giggles*

Infuriated and shocked at the same time, I said calmly, “No…..we are not fighting. We are just disagreeing. Can you say that? Dis…a…gree….ing.”

“Disa…ghee….ying”

“Yes, that’s right. We are not fighting. We are disagreeing.”

Later, at dinner out at a local kid friendly restaurant, I yell out for T to STOP climbing the wooden fence barrier meant to enclose kids and with legs perched on the 2nd horizontal bar balancing her hands on the fence, she sniggers, “We are disagheeying again, Mummy!” smiling away.

And so the journey of disagheements begin……..

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Toddler Discipline

Today I went for lunch with a Doctor friend whose little girl is exactly 1 month older than T. That’s two and a half years old (Gosh! Is my little girl that old now?). Mel since a baby, was the most well behaved baby I ever knew. Her mother being a doctor et al knew exactly how to train her to have good sleeping and eating habits from very early on. But surely, even a doctor would get resistance from the terrible twos? Apparently not.

Mel sat down with legs together on the restaurant chair for the whole time until the food arrived. She did not move, jump around, remove her shoes, bang her cutlery, whine, run around the restaurant, whine nor climb. The girl is two and a half years old!!! I was clearly embarrassed that my own daughter was the source of entertainment for everyone when she turned a deaf ear to my every request.

“What do you feed her?” I asked my friend for her secret.

She shared that she has just been extremely strict and denied Mel any of her favourite things should she disobey and to always follow through with what you threaten the kid with.

For example, if she takes her shoes off, tell her that if she takes it off again, you will take her shoes AWAY and do it. This will leave her walking all the way home without shoes and if you’re heading home from a shopping mall, would leave your kid walking on different surfaces, maybe the fear of toes getting stuck in the escalators, and then show how dirty their feet become when barefoot. Also explain how worms can go through their feet if barefoot.

Do the same thing for food if they refuse to eat. Tell them that if they do not eat, you will remove their food and no snacks till the next meal. They learn fast enough apparently. I don’t know. I haven’t tried but am dying to.

If they do not want to shower, give them the option of them walking right now to the bathroom or you will drag/carry them there and do it.

Do not make empty threats like telling the kid you will leave them when you are clearly never going to leave them.

What do you think? Does anyone have any tips for toddler discipline?

My problem with all her suggestions is that T will happily do whatever it takes to get her own way. She doesn’t mind not eating, she doesn’t mind not wearing her shoes, she will not listen if I tell her to sit and stop climbing. I am at the end of my tether. It’s just too tiring talking to a wall, repeating myself over and over like a recording. Do I have to raise my voice before she will listen? Even THAT doesn’t work!

Later in the day at someone elses home, I told T not to put something into her mouth. After warning her again not to put that blasted thing into her mouth, the girl put the whole fucking thing into her mouth on purpose and I had to jump over and hook my finger into her mouth to prevent her from choking. I went ballistic. I yanked her to the naughty wall and made her stand facing the wall. She threw a fit and ran off. I picked her up and placed her back angrilly telling her that she has to listen to me when I tell her not to do something dangerous. We played back and forth wall for awhile before I finally caved in when she displayed remorse and yell cried, “I’m sorry, Mummy…I’m sorry, I’m SORRY!!!”

Five minutes later, we’re back to square one and she is doing all the things I tell her not to do again.

WHY??????????

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Heartbroken

My heart crashed into a million crystal pieces when I heard of a couple whose family disowned the son because he is dating a girl not of his family’s choice. Typical of Indian upper crust society, this Indian family goes by the traditional cast system where one can only marry from one’s cast. A prominent Indian family of doctors with so much face to preserve and hearts as black as crows, this family has gone around demonising the couple beyond belief. They have even pulled strings in high places to ensure that their son’s life is a living nightmare. The son is completely distraught to the point he has drunk himself silly and struck the one he truly loves. Yesterday was the 7th time.

I want so much to help but I just don’t know how.

Why do people do what they do?

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Mummy Cliques

It is interesting how different people have different ideas and perceptions of the world. The Mummy world is no different. When I first heard of XXX (a local mummy and baby group), I asked around to find out what it was and considered joining it but was told only negative things about it. Naturally, I didn’t join it. But as my new Mummyhood gained me new Mummy friends, another group of Mummies explained how brilliant XXX was and how I should join it immediately! Being the most nosy chick on the block (subtly, of course – do it with style, babe) and having the curiousity that could kill ten cats, not nine, I joined XXX to experience it for myself.

I realised that it really is who you are and what you stand for that would make one perceive XXX to be a good thing or not. I gained a lot from the group and made many friends. Probably because I am so laid back and easy going that I don’t rub anyone up the wrong way. It has been the same for most situations that I have been in, whether in business or with friends.

Of late, I found myself being the floater of several Mummy cliques. I get invited to everything. Or perhaps, T is the one everyone likes. It gets akward when Mummy Clique 1 has a problem with Mummy Clique 2. Invariably, I don’t like lying, being dishonest or even avoiding the subject. So I speak my mind. For example, if I know that Clique 1 has an issue with Clique 2, I will outrightly mention to Clique 1 that I am seeing Clique 2 the next day; which almost always brings a moment of akwardness. But you know what? Life is too short.

If Clique 1 has a problem with me hanging out with anyone else, then they are most welcomed to stop inviting me to their parties. At the end of the day, I want to live. If I didn’t like someone, they’d almost know it because I am not good keeping up with pretenses. C’est la vie. Enjoy….

I am proud that I am strong that way. Yet I can’t say NO to helping out with the charity organisation that I volunteer with. Argh!!!

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My Day

It started off with the Hubs being late for work as usual. As we share one car, T and I have to rush like mad fools every morning that we want the car, to send the Hubs to work. Otherwise, no car. He gets really annoyed with us not because he cannot be late for work but because he just is so damn busy and has five million five hundred things to complete within a set deadline. Working for Middle Eastern clients, the deadlines are anal. Even if you told the client, this is not possible. They’d say, just do it (yeah, they take their cue from Nike, not very original init?). And because they dangle the gold carrot within sight, everyone just scrambles into mad mode. It’s crazy but it has also shown me how much you can really achieve when put under immense pressure. Remarkable results.

After dropping the Hubs off, we went to the hospital to accompany my aunt have her eggs removed from her ovaries. She is 46 and trying to get pregnant. I wish her well.

Then my beloved mother calls to give me this dreaded task of URGENTLY going to my old residence to collect mail that has wrongly been sent. I hate it when she does that. I have a baby in tow and it is not the easiest thing in the world to run your urgent errands, mother. It was only last week that I had to drop everything and run another urgent errand for my mother. I swear, not having an office job makes her think I am her PA. Which I am not.

For lunch we went to Bangsar for an Italian host playgroup where I finally got to sit and drink a glass of water. T had a wild time playing with four other kids her age and we finally ended up leaving at 7pm. Needless to say, she has not showered today but has already passed out cold.

*sniff* I think I’m sleeping with the Hubs tonight. Perhaps we can work on that new baby 🙂

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Shut Down

“Shut Down Now!! Mummy!!” That was T yelling over the last two months for the lack of attention from her mother as her mother glued herself to her faithful Dell. I worked through two whole months without an ounce of quality time for my dearest and I so much regret it now. It’s payback time yet she will be starting playschool soon full time so then we will both get what we want. I hope 🙂

The book is finally over. I totally underestimated how much it would take from me. I am exhausted. Yet, the moment I finished and swore I would take two whole months off just to be with my daughter and play with her non-stop, the volunteer organisation that I volunteer at hounds me to pick up all the back logged work that I’ve missed in the last two months.

I haven’t seen anyone nor spoken to anyone in the last two months. I haven’t gone out of the house, I haven’t written any emails or blogged. I became a total hermit and just worked till 3-4am every morning. It was a frigging nightmare and despite a good fee, it still wasn’t worth it.

The one thing I gained from it though was a measure of how much time really I could work without breaking. I also learned about how terribly slack Malaysian companies are. It’s no wonder most of them don’t make it into the International World of Business. No chance. The best part? By staying home and working, I saved RM800 a month! Gosh, is that how much I spend when I go out with T for her little playgroups?

So I’ve been real busy. It actually feels good to be busy. I had less than a week’s break before I was asked to be the PA to XXX. It is the perfect job as I don’t need to go into the office. As long as all my tasks are done to perfection, that is all that matters. Then today, I was asked to do another writing job that came from a spin off of the book job. I had to decline of course. Because there just isn’t enough time for everything.

As of next week, T starts playschool full time and I start my PA job. I wondered if I should shut down this unhappening blog……since T always tells me to shut down.

Let’s give it another month and we’ll see where we are.

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Are you an observer or an observee?

Yes, I made that word up. It doesn’t exist – I checked.

I’ve noticed that some people stay in the background and are sensitive to their surroundings. They watch quietly; your bronze polished nails, your tattered bag, your scratched Chanel shoes, how you eat your food with large mouthfuls, the scaly condition of your skin, how you wear your clothes with selected style, they listen to the articulate words that you speak…….Then there are those who observe the slight chip of paint off the south corner of the wall, how the door creaks only at the beginning when it is opened, and how the conductor twitches his eye whenever the orchestra hits the 3rd octave.

And then some. Who are so busy with themselves, they notice nothing. I for one, am guilty for being this observee. I sit, gobble eat my food, have fruitless conversation and go home. If you asked me what colour the waiter’s uniform was, I’d be darned. The fact that my dinner partner was taller than me….she was? Did you see how big that rose was at our table? There was a rose? I thought it was a table lamp!

And so. I intend to change this. As it has been a long time since my brain actually did some work.

I feel I need to be more aware of my surroundings. I need to think more. I need to cross reference ideas. I need to find humour in everyday objects and events. It is all practice. And practise I will.

Mind you, I have already started powdering my face everytime I leave for a public place. Those who know me know this is a real achievement. 2007 really is the year of change.

Baby steps……..

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Protected: Putting ink to paper….keyboard to screen

In researching for my book (which I have been commissioned to write and because I was selected amongst local journalists, is really not a big deal to me), I have been thinking a lot of about writing. Writing styles, the use of language, expressions, thoughts behind a writer etc.

Having read some really good writing and then some fantastic bloggers, I started caving into my insecure shell. Despite having won some writing competitions (again local, albeit at national level). Despite friends and colleagues commending my work. Despite being published.

But no….I am just your average Joe because you see. I am a fantastic salesperson. A proven marketer. In fact, a publisher has told me I have clever ideas but my words need to be……more….tight. My vocabulary is atrocious for the lack of reading and hmm….my spelling?

My brother is a copywriter at Leo Burnett. My mother speaks better than I do. Hence the insecurity.

So I asked the Hubs today. “Do you think all these people who blog just write away or do you think they actually think first, then write?”

He pondered for a second as if to decide if he should offer me a politically correct answer or to be blatantly honest.

Then nodding, he said “I’m sure they think first.”

Well, thank you, Hon, cuz’ I am famous for shooting before the brain actually ticks, if ever.

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My current favourite dish

It’s the mackerel teriyaki set at Lake Club. I can eat 3 servings! But I’ll bet it raises my sugar levels unhealthily, which explains why I get on a high whenever I order it. Bummer. Thank goodness, I am not pregnant or that would be a no-no dish.

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1 of my husband’s 10 developments in Bahrain called Tala on Amwaj Islands

bahraini-apartment.jpg

These are a block of apartments facing the sea……

houses-that-need-to-cater-to-very-hot-and-cold-weather.jpg

Parking lot to a Villa – that also faces the sea……

bahraini-houses-very-close-to-each-other-cuz-not-enuf-land.jpg

Houses are really in close proximity as everyone wants to have a villa by the sea & of course, there is only so many miles of beachfront. If only, architects got a discount off 1 of these properties. I could have a holiday home in Bahrain!

Before you start a design critique which is what I immediately did when I approached these projects, bear in mind that these guys are forced to design a whole development in like a week. Or a hotel in a day. I kid you not. The Arabs are mad! So now you know why….. 

So if you could afford living in Bahrain, you may want to check out:

www.ossisonline.com

www.tala-amwaj.com

www.amwajgateway.com

There is another development called The Lagoon and Zawya but I can’t find sites on them.

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“Yo, Mama! Digg it!”

T

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“I’m going to play sand now!”

cute t

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The good, the bad & the downright nasty! (snippets from Bahrain)

The good – Weather is not hot

The bad – Weather is cold

The downright nasty – You can’t feel your fingers

The good – The bouncy castle that T loves at the mall is FREE of charge!!!

The bad – It costs RM100 for a return taxi ride to the mall

The downright nasty – Thug resembling taxi drivers from the mall refuse to put their meters on & try charging you double seeing you’re an easy target

The good – Food is great, with lots of salads & fruit & perfect bread

The bad – A lousy stall hot dog with ketchup and mustard costs RM15 and a steak is RM80

The downright nasty – T did not know how to appreciate expensive Bahraini food

The good – Buildings are beautiful and high-tech giving the impression of an international, modern city

The bad – The taxi drivers give the country away by trying to rip you off charging 3 times more than normal

The downright nasty – You never know when you’re standing beside a terrorist

The good – There is sand all around, lots of beaches and T LOVES sand!

The bad – There is also lots of sand storms, blowing sand into your eyes & we didn’t bring goggles unfortunately

The downright nasty – Bahraini’s are building more & more reclaimed land, piling tons & tons of sand, building new crazy dangerous islands just outside of Bahrain

The good – everyone dresses really well and appears affluent (yes, I know they all look the same in their black robes but they do appear clean, ironed & very well accessorized)

The bad – We may not live to see ourselves that wealthy…….

The downright nasty – If we did become that wealthy & started dressing that way too

The good – Shopping is like shopping in London – every London high street brand is available, it brings back fond memories…….

The bad – the prices are also comparable to London, sometimes more!

The downright nasty – Looking Asian, customers assume you work at the store as you shop with toddler in tow (*Note to self* – time for New Year wardrobe change from sloppy Mom to ‘chic & slick’ Mom)

The good – It’s more liberal than Malaysia, with articles on boob jobs in the newspapers and sexy celebrities publicised everywhere

The bad – women in public are covered from head to toe

The downright nasty – they are really sex sirens underneath

The good – T called out “Mummy! Look Santa Claus!” when she saw the Bahraini King on a billboard

The bad – We had to explain that this King didn’t wear a crown but an Arabic turban instead

The downright nasty – When T pointed to a group of women walking by and asked innocently, “Mummy, where all the ninjas going? Go where?” at which point I wished the floor sucked me up faster than a Dyson super powered hoover.

The good – T got to play sand everyday as the beach was 20 steps away

The bad – T had to play sand in 5 layers of clothing, not exactly our idea of sun, sand & bikini

The downright nasty – With all her little pockets and layers of clothing, comes so much sand back to the bedroom

The good – Our hotel balcony had awesome views of the Bahraini sea with ferries, boats, ducks & seagulls

The bad – The view gets stale after 14 days when you are confined to a hotel room

The downright nasty – Housekeeping got a taste of what kind of tornado a Malaysian kid could whip up

The good – The hotel really knows how to make French toast the way it’s supposed to be (some Malaysian hotels still can’t get this basic skill right)

The bad – The hotel is not so good when it comes to promoting Bahrain tourism i.e. they couldn’t advise us what to see and where to go, maybe because it was winter and there is really nothing much to do!

The downright nasty – Hotel staff get treated snootily by upper crust Middle Eastern patrons, it’s all in their attitude

The good – T got lots of Mothercare clothes on sale PLUS a mobile potty due to bad experiences of rushing frantically in search of mall toilets then having to wait in queue…..enough is enough

The bad – I’ll be carrying a mobile potty from now on *double boo*

The downright nasty – Just wait till the reality of carrying an ‘On-the-Go’ potty in my handbag hits me

The good – people in Bahrain commented how ‘gifted’ T is because she can converse so well and draw amazingly well for a 2 year old, like she can draw a whale, a bicycle, clouds, dinosaurs, some alphabets..

The bad – Her conversation skills also adds to answering back and twisting logic until we have no more answers. What would we have to deal with in the next 20 years when she can already outsmart us now?

The downright nasty – We have a future terrorist on our hands to manage

The good – T looks so cute bundled up in layers like a baby Michelin with ski hat, scarf and gloves

The bad – the cold doesn’t work well with her skin, she breaks out in eczema

The downright nasty – if we stay here much longer, we will have a walking baby crater hulk

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The Kingdom of Bahrain through the eyes of 1 Mom

1.       The only public form of transport is expensive taxi. A 5 kilometre journey costs RM50.

2.       There are no pedestrian pavements and even if there were, I wouldn’t be caught dead walking on them with maniacal drivers on the loose.

3.       Apartments are costly and it doesn’t get any cheaper the further out you go. You can either afford it, or not.

4.       Food is very expensive. But so are the portions – an order of chicken bryani rice costs RM50 but with it came 5 fistfuls of chicken (my fists) and 4 metric cups of heavily spiced rice that could have fed me for a week.

5.       The views are like what you see in brochures of Dubai – lots of clear blue skies, clear turquoise seas & clear glass on every building.

6.       There is nothing for kids entertainment during the winter apart from shopping mall amusement parks and summer only starts in April.

7.       Bahraini women are covered from head to toe but carry luxurious designer handbags and shoes.

8.       Bahraini men are decked in long white robes and what resembles table cloth on their heads.

9.       The temperature is January was 5-10 degrees Celsius, with this year being their coldest winter ever.

10.   Everyone speaks superb English.

11.   There is a huge population of Filipinos & India Indians in Bahrain working in the services industry.

12.   Most people in Bahrain are men. The women are usually at the shopping malls. Only.

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Resolution #1 – 2007

OK – I’ve thought about it. My first resolution for the year has to be working hard.

Working hard enough till I can implement my invention of the T-1703 MUM – every mothers’ dream machine. The T-1703 MUM is the latest user friendly device of the milenium that will help mothers globally maintain control of their toddlers. A mechanism that can be customised according to your toddler’s temperament, all from the comforts of your favourite place in the home – with the click of a series of buttons. How cool is that?

Yup. This will definitely be my ticket to multi-millionairedom.

The T-1703 MUM can within seconds :-

  1. Send your toddler to bed, with 2 settings – day sleep (2 hrs) or night sleep (12 hrs)
  2. Ensure your toddler plays quietly by him/herself beside you for a whole hour
  3. Make your toddler perform acts of affection in abundance – 15 kisses, 5 hugs and say “I love you to the Moon and back, Mummy! For ever and ever!”
  4. Turn on the hearing and understanding power of toddlers by 15 decibals and 30 metric intelligence quotients ratings
  5. Turn on toddler self-cleaning mechanism for bathing and other toilet activities
  6. Induce toddler’s inner ability to recycle nutrients for continuous growth
  7. Make your toddler perform little favours, like fetching things or giving massages and walking the dog
  8. Say things you want him/her to say

And at all other times, just allow your toddler to be his/her natural self with his/her charming personality.

Oh and I almost forget! The T-1703 MUM also has an additional feature – a Mummy’s toy – AAHHHHHH!!!!!!!

What do you think?

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Tis I bid farewell to 2006….

and welcome 2007 with fresh perspective and positive spirit.

I had a beautiful family lunch today with my family – My mother (the anchor), the Hubs and T, my younger brother and his girlfriend, my youngest brother and his girlfriend and my mother’s god daughter and her boyfriend. It is rare that we get to sit down on 1 table without anyone missing. The lunch was to get together before we left for Bahrain, to celebrate the end of the year and to have a family lunch before my youngest brother went back to Melbourne for his studies. I wish we could have more of these lunches……it made me realise how having a close and loving family was the greatest feeling on Earth.

So I got thinking of resolutions since it was the cliched topic of discussion. Before I actually make any resolutions, I thought it’d be nice if I reflected on 2006….

Thank you God.

  1. For every single day that you keep my mother alive, just a phone call away, from her threat of cancer.
  2. For keeping my family all happy and healthy and not depressed and in hospital.
  3. For improving our financial situation through the return of my taxes and the commission of the coffee table book.
  4. For giving the Hubs such a great Boss, allowing us to follow him to Bahrain, and who keeps increasing his salary phenominally.
  5. For keeping Tee safe, healthy and happy despite this ever changing destructive world that we live in.
  6. For keeping the Hubs by my side. He is the best father and husband we could ever ask for.
  7. For my friends….they keep me sane when Tee doesn’t.
  8. For everything that makes me happy. For I am happy. Truly, truly happy….

Happy New Year God.

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