Amber, oh Amber! You should send this picture to all the husbands out there in the world.
‘Nuff said. I want all of the above today, tyvm.
Amber, oh Amber! You should send this picture to all the husbands out there in the world.
‘Nuff said. I want all of the above today, tyvm.
As a mother, you deal with excretions of every kind. You clean up pee, poop and booger. You wipe away sweat, swab off pus from blisters and scrape dirt trapped in nails. You drain off mucus coming from the nose and phlegm from the throat. You see, smell and even feel the vomit belched out with force from an upset stomach, then remove (with the help of lots of Dettol) all its content from body/ clothes/ furniture/ floor. Multiply that by the number of kids and the number of years before they can be trained to perform the above themselves (I’m thinking, by twelve?) and that pretty much sums up the length of time you’ll be spending on this unglamorous side of motherhood.
Except that you may also outsource the ear-cleaning bit to someone else. I have outsourced mine to this wonderful woman also known as the kids’ PD.
I love it when I don’t have to worry about this form of excretion because she does such a good job taking them out whenever we visit.
It’s gross. And it could have been my job.
It’s been an awful day.
First, I woke up at three in the morning because Ben started gagging, coughing and wheezing. Then I woke up again later in the morning to find a nasty virus attacking my throat.
Thanks to the thunderstorm last night, it’s one of those days I wished I could sleep in because the weather was finally *nice and cool* but no, I had to resist the beckoning of the bed because the boy needed the doctor.
To top it off, the neighbors one floor below decided that today shall be the day they will hack all their kitchen and bathroom tiles. Yippee!
So what do you get when a sick child, a zonked-out mother, a father looking forward to enjoying his day off (imagine his disappointment!), another constipated child and a two-month-old infant find themselves in an apartment where they can’t hear one another because the hacking, knocking and drilling downstairs is at least two (bloody) hundred decibels?
Plenty of shouting in the house and a nerve-wrecking helluva morning.
The poor kids were so snappy and cranky and stoned by nap time. But it was still bam bam! bam! bam! bam! – pause (for five minutes) – zvrooooooooooooooom! zvroooooooooooooom! zvroooooooooooooooom! (for the next twenty) – bam! bam! bam! bam! bam! zvrooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooom (multiply by infinity).
They drifted off to sleep only to be startled again with the drilling and hacking; and this dozing and waking happened for forever, until we decided we would not lose our sanity this way and that it was too cruel to subject an infant to this that we lugged three crying babies out of the house and headed somewhere where we could find peace. quiet. rest.
We found our haven at IKEA. We never found more comfort in a place that’s not our home and today’s the day. We didn’t even do the pretend-we-are-shopping-for-furniture thing; we just plonked ourselves on the next available bed/ sofa/ couch at IKEA the moment we got there. Talk about respite.
We could have gone to Courts next door too, if not for the super long nap we all took in one of those 55 square meter living space in IKEA. I’m sure the Simmons bed at Courts would be worth-a-plonking.
Note to self: maybe next time when another neighbor decides to renovate.
Friends of motherkao would know that I started my own matching wear t-shirt label last month. It was a steep learning curve for me but loads of fun. I wanted to feature in this label a range of matching wear for the family complete with happy and cool designs. Those from online stores at G-market are pretty cheesy and the slogans come complete with spelling/grammar errors. I once saw a matching set with the slogan ‘Belive‘ – what the hell is that? Be alive? Believe? If I ever wore that with my kid, the grammar police in him will arrest me for buying a t-shirt that has words spelled incorrectly. Besides, the quality of such off-the-rack t-shirts are appalling. They stretch easily, the prints feel like iron-ons and peel / fade over time.
When we started investing heavily in camera equipment and capturing photo moments with our children, we realised that childhood was the only time they would wear something matching with their dad / mom / sibling; surely they wouldn’t want to be caught dead wearing matching tees as teenagers! So for two Father’s Day in a row, fatherkao was presented with matching wear from the kids (I paid, of course) and we had a lot of fun taking photos. But the online store I bought from didn’t have designs for moms and babes and I felt very, very left out.
Since there’s no one selling matching wear for momma and her bubs, I thought I’d introduce my own. I shopped for good quality fabric and made sure every t-shirt was printed by silk screening so there wouldn’t be peel-offs and fade-offs. I chose colours I liked (wohoot! hot pink!) and made sure every tee for a lady had a fitting cut that accentuates the right curves. Yes, I am narcissistic that way.
And I ain’t gonna be contented being just ‘Mom’. When this photo runs its course in the history of the Kao clan, posterity needs to know that I was Supermom because I have gone beyond myself to love and raise my three wonderful kids to the best of my ability. Yes, I am not very humble that way.
So I’m selling matching moms and babes t-shirts to mothers out there who are also proud to be who they are, because deep down in every mother is the word Super – we have all gone beyond ourselves to do many things we never knew we could do, if not for our kids. Yes, I know I am brave that way.
***
Feel free to tell us what you think or contribute ideas for designs and slogans. We are also hoping to start a line of organic bamboo cotton tees (exciting times!). For the month of May we’re giving away five matching Supermom / Supermom’s Kid set if you’d tell us the bravest thing you’ve done as a mother. You can leave a comment here or email me at matchedmade@gmail.com if you’re shy that way.
When Ben turned two, he started asking why. His whys came fast and furious and it seemed like he wouldn’t really settle for any shoddy answers. We tried our best to encourage that inquisitiveness and not kill his curiosity. I sometimes lost my patience because I felt he asked for the sake of asking (most of the time). Still, I tried my darn best to answer his whys with a smile.
Me: Get ready to go to school!
Ben: Why?
Me: Because when you go to school, you’ll learn new stuff, play with friends and have lots of fun.
Ben: Why? I don’t want to go to school…
Me: I need to work…
Ben: Why?
Me: And there’s no one to take care of you.
Ben: Why do you need to work?
Version 1.0
Me: Because I need to earn money, and with money, we can put food on the table, clothes on your body and toy cars in your pocket.
Ben: Why? I can have more toys now? You have money?
Fatherkao overheard this exchange once and said this shouldn’t be the values we impart, so the next time he asked (we have this conversation on a daily basis, even now that he is three), I answered with v1.1.
Me: Get ready to go to school!
Ben: Why?
Me: You go to school and learn new stuff, play with friends and have lots of fun.
Ben: Why? I don’t want to go to school.
Me: I need to work and there’s no one to take care of you.
Ben: Why do you need to work?
Enter Version 1.1
Me: Because work is meaningful and our lives would be more fulfilling, and this is how God made us, to find work that is meaningful and be satisfied. At work, we can be the best we can be and use our God-given gifts and talents and…
Ben: (putting on his uniform) Can I bring a toy to school?
So besides imparting the value of work, explaining why the moon comes out at night and the sun in the morning, why all children need naps, why he needs to eat his food, how sweets destroy his teeth, I’ve pretty much covered all categories of questions he’s ever asked. Lately, he’s stopped asking why (I’m quite glad I get a little breather now that he’s out of the why phase). He’s now using the conjunction, ‘but’, and it’s annoying the hell out of me.
Me: Get ready to go to school!
Ben: But I don’t want…
Me: You need to go to school and learn new stuff, play with friends and have lots of fun.
Ben: But school is not fun.
Me: You mean to say you don’t have fun in school? You said you enjoyed music class and playing with Ryan yesterday.
Ben: But I don’t like my friends. They are not nice.
Me: What do you mean they aren’t nice?
Ben: But they bully me.
Me: Did you tell your teachers?
Ben: Yes, I did. But yesterday you said I don’t need to go to school.
Me: I say that on Saturdays and Sundays.
Ben: But today is Saturday.
Me: No, it’s not. Now get ready for school.
Ben: But I don’t want… (the cycle repeats itself)
Me: (exasperated, and thinking if I should use the ‘I’m your mother, so just listen’ option) Here we go again…
I’m waiting for the other coordinating conjunctions to appear in our conversations, like so, yet, and nor. I can so imagine what this boy would say:
I’m very tired, Mama, so I am going back to bed…
I don’t want to go, yet I have to…
I don’t want to wake up, nor do I want to go to school…
Kids, they sure learn grammar fast!
Here’s a list for the uninitiated:
10. Waterproof mattress protectors – you need them to line the mattresses for diaper leaks, milk spills, drool and in case your kid does the Merlion
9. Lots of spare kitchen utensils (ladles, spoons, whisks, tongs) tucked in every possible drawer and cabinet in the kitchen. It will be the most explored place in the house. Just keep all knives and scissors away. Don’t bother buying toys.
8. A ready and steady supply of all forms of cleaning agent (think Cif, Mr Muscle, Magic Kleen)
7. Contacts for cheap diapers and milk powder (check out forums and network with moms)
6. The number to your pediatrician’s emergency answering service so you can call him at one in the morning instead of rushing down to the A&E (unless there’s mortal danger, of course)
5. Google is your best friend
4. BabyCenter and Dr Sears are your next BFFs
3. A babysitter named Disney Junior
2. A maid of the Burmese kind (to do the three bagfuls of laundry daily; four if you don’t have waterproof sheet protectors – see #10, vacuum the soles of your shoes and be at your beck and call for diaper emergencies and Merlion experiences )
1. Buckets of salt to take with whenever anyone dishes out advice. Well-meaning or not, only you can figure out how to survive this leg of motherhood.
Just like that, overnight, my darling Becks has acquired the amazing ability to speak in complete sentences. Where once upon a time she was just saying two-word phrases (I want, don’t want, berries, poo-poo), she can now bark orders complete with the signature close-eyes-for-two-seconds-to-tell-you-I-mean-business look.
Crayons and sharing
Becks: I want to draw
Ben: I also want to draw (proceeds to take crayons)
Becks: (snatches crayons from Ben) Mei mei want to draw!
Me: (Ben whining in the background) Hey, hey, hey, share the crayons, please.
Ben: Mei mei share with me…
Becks: (still holding the crayons) No, kor kor SHARE! (runs away with crayons)
Don’t do that again
Becks: (having just spilt soup on the coffee table while prancing around) You don’t do that!
Me: Aunty cleans up the mess. She should tell you ‘don’t do that’…
Becks: Aunty, DON’T DO THAT AGAIN! Mei mei angry!
Unfinished business
Me: (Becks walks in while I’m expressing milk) Yes?
Becks: Mama, what are you doing?
Me: Expressing milk for di di
Becks: Are you done??
Ben and Becks are 17 months apart in terms of age gap. That’s like knowing each other forever. From the time he became aware of himself and his emotions, he’s already had a sister. And Becks has never lived a day without her brother. They’ve shared many wonderful memories together and I hope they will always be the best of friends.
There’s a huge hole in my pocket.
It’s a bittersweet feeling, I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. The Ear, Nose and Throat Consultant whom I paid $95.01 to consult did a series of Specialised Investigations (it says that in my bill) called Pure Tone Audiometry and Tympanometry, two Clinic Procedures called Clearance Ear (Simple) and Syringing and a Surgical Procedure called Nasendoscopy.
The findings: the left ear has wax that needs to be cleared and basically, sucker, you’re ok! If you wish to investigate further, I recommend a CT scan but that will burn a hole way bigger than this one, so ginormous you can fit my Nasendoscopy machine in it. So go home and take some extra strong painkillers if the pain bugs you.
So this entire experience costs me $374.55 just to see some earwax and hear a specialist say three magic words. You. Are. Ok.
Except that I went through this as the third-person and not the first.
Remember I mentioned the maid has been complaining of a earache for months now? She was pale as sheet on Friday morning and looked like she had cried her eyeballs out the night before. She said there was so much pain in her ears it felt like ten years of bathwater needed to be drained from them (ok, I paraphrased and imagined – all she managed to say with limited vocabulary was “pain. block. heavy. headache”). I decided that the visit to the ENT clinic couldn’t wait till May and if she were to go deaf in her ears, her entire Burmese village would probably come and hunt me down. So I called my lifeline from the hospital – this wonderful Medical Social Worker whom I’ve know all my life, also affectionately know as my mother – to ask if she could help me get an appointment to see a doctor immediately. And then I grabbed the baby and rushed her down to the hospital because the consultant would take a walk-in, like NOW.
After the whole ordeal, she was sobbing away, saying she was really in pain and still is (I just checked) and she was really sorry for everything. I tortured her with my nagging of how she is not my fourth child and why she must learn to take care of herself (she’s from a very well-to-do family and came to work here because ‘Singapore good!’) because she’s probably never taken care of herself a single day of her life (believe me when I say she used to stay at home and do nothing. But to her credit, some sensibility hit her one day and she realised she can’t be a bum forever so she decided to choose the fate of a housemaid! See, I told you she doesn’t have much common sense). I unleashed all my angst about paying so much money to hear the doctor say she was perfectly fine. She seemed grateful that I was willing to pay for her medical fees and asked if she could pay me back. I’m still undecided yet because dragging her to the specialist was totally my idea (she has seen the GP four times!) and it would be terribly unfair to make her pay with her wages although she totally does not need money (so she claims).
Nobody, not even a qualified person, knows what is happening to her ears. But at least I know now it’s not contagious and I did not get a earache from her – the GP said mine was a case of an external ear infection, easily resolved with a round of antibiotics and some eardrops. I joined her in her sobbing nonetheless. Three hundred and seventy bucks could have gotten me lots of new shoes (and soles) for her to vacuum.
Because I know you do. Even when..
1. you say you don’t want Mama
2. you say you want Dada when Mama is just right next to you and smothering you (with kisses)
3. you refuse to kiss me
4. you refuse to say sorry
5. you look away when I talk to you
6. you put the food you’re supposed to share with me in your mouth and run away
I love you, precious, and I always will.