When I first got my hands on the iPhone, I resolved not to let my kids play with it, knowing that they are likely to chuck it, smash it, dunk it in water and basically make me regret ever letting them touch it in the first place.

But kids, they have a sixth sense for all the things they are not allowed to touch and you know how it is. After a day of constant badgering, I finally surrendered my spanking new phone. Also, I heard other parents raving about how incredible some of the apps are, with its educational and keeping-kids-quiet capabilities. I was mostly sold on the second part.

Once they got it, they proceeded to submerge it in water and use it as a weapon of destruction just as I expected but I suppose I only have myself to blame for it. Although that’s not really the point here.

The point is that in the process, I also discovered that the phone was truly unparalleled in its ability to prevent meltdowns. Every time I saw a tantrum coming, all I needed to do was pull out my trump card and… instant silence. I know, I can practically sweep best parenting awards with this move. Stop judging me.

It’s not like I don’t try other methods. My car is filled with different toys to keep them quiet but each one usually lasts for 60 seconds tops before it gets flung out of the baby seat. Even daddy’s Omnia doesn’t make it past the 5 minute mark. It’s like they know it’s inferior.

With the phone, baby girl watches Youtube quietly on the go and Tru, he’s addicted to ALL the games. He can fiddle with the phone for a whole hour straight reading Dr Seuss, singing the Wheels of the Bus and playing that spelling game he’s getting quite good at. He’s also got a signature move to go with it, where he grips the phone with his left hand, sucks his right thumb and uses his pinkie to navigate the phone. That boy redefines the meaning of badass.

Recently, we’ve been trying to figure out a way to reduce Tru’s playing time. Every time I tell him time’s up, he goes all screamy on me and he’s like “forget it mom, you’ll have to pry this from my grip of death”.

Until yesterday, that is. Tru was with me at the wet market, seated in his stroller with phone in hand while I was trying to do my marketing when he suddenly threw down the phone and unleashed the mother of all screeches. Everyone within a 5 meter radius turned to look and we were all trying to figure out if he was injured or something. I couldn’t find anything wrong with him and he was crying too badly to explain. Eventually, I figured it out. The source of the distress: Talking Carl.

Let me qualify by saying that I got this app because it was highly reviewed by one of the Mac sites. This little guy supposedly repeats everything you say with a hysterical voice and it is claims to be able to provide me with hours of peacefulness. Apparently, my son disagrees. Turns out, it’s his greatest nemesis. He’s terrified out of his skin and freaks out completely whenever he so much as sees the icon of Talking Carl. He also made me throw the app away, which I was forced to do immediately.

I was sure he was overreacting and it was one of his bizarre quirks. Then I saw this clip and it all made sense.

*For best results, crank up the volume or use earphones.

Talking Carl from yann le coroller on Vimeo.

I’m sure this violates some parenting theories but I’m totally getting the app back on my phone for the next time he refuses to stop playing. I’m all about results.

What are your meltdown-prevention methods?

Last Friday, I was invited to test drive the Subaru Forester for a day. Generally, when somebody asks me to take their car out for a spin, I try not to refuse. I’m accommodating that way.

When I told my mom, she was all like “what do you know about cars?” and I admit, I was stumped for a while. Cars fall into the category of things I like to pretend I know a lot about, so I have all the handy key words like torque and fuel injection but I’m not very sure how it differs from the regular injections I try to stay away from. For a long time, I thought the boot was the thing in front with all the engine parts.

So I guess that makes me a very bad car reviewer but I did some very extensive research on google beforehand to make up for it. I also made up a list of all the things to look out for in a car. I wanted to bring a clipboard along and put a pen behind my ear to look more professional but the husband said I’d only look like a douchebag so I ditched it. Then when I reached the Subaru showroom to pick up the car, the guy behind the counter looked at me very dubiously and that’s when I knew I probably should have trusted my instincts and brought my clipboard.

Me: Hi, I’m here to test drive the Forester.

Counter guy: Are you from the media?

Me: Er…yes?

Counter guy: *looking suspicious* Which media are you from? SPH?

Me: Daphne Media. It’s kind of like SPH, just a lot smaller, but totally works the same way.

He looked even more suspicious but then he made a phone call and I was ushered to a waiting area to snack on some pastries to wait while they brought the car out.

But back to the car. I knew the Forester was an AWD so I wanted to take it out on some rough terrain to give it a go, but I couldn’t find any dirt tracks so we decided to head out to Sentosa instead. We loaded up the kids, two car seats, a stroller and about 10 bags into the car and drove off with the wind in our hair.

You can check out the specs of the car on the website but I’ll summarize the good stuff here for you.

1. Acceleration

There’s only one way I like my cars – fast. I also like them big, but fast is way more important, especially if it makes that low rumbly sound when I floor the accelerator. With a 2.5-liter engine, I can already feel the difference from my trusty Honda Jazz. The moment I hit the expressway, I couldn’t resist stepping on it to feel the surge of acceleration. Let’s just say that hypothetically, if I was driving at 130km/h, the car didn’t even flinch, which I can’t say the same about my 1.5-liter Jazz.

2. Sunroof

I actually didn’t notice the sunroof until we were almost at Sentosa. I was waiting at a traffic light so I started fiddling with all the buttons and next thing I knew, it was like my Batmobile transformed. There’s something about having a sunroof that makes you feel like James Bond. All I needed was a tux and a fake accent and I would have rocked the look. Although we decided to close it after 2 minutes because it was messing up my hair, and all the cool air was escaping and we didn’t want to arrive at Sentosa looking like a couple of sweaty hillbillies with big hair. Still, it was fun while it lasted.

3. Generous boot space

You probably won’t appreciate the need for a large boot if you don’t have kids unless you’re a serial murderer looking for somewhere to stash those bodies, but take it from me, when it comes to space, bigger is always better. At one point, we had two strollers, two car seats, a mountain of toys and a thousand bags squeezed into the boot. Sometimes, I’ve got stuff stacked so high I can’t even see out of my rear mirror, which I’m fairly certain is a traffic offense.

4. Cruise control

I didn’t quite figure out how to work this but it would have been a nice feature to have, seeing that you can actually take your foot off the accelerator without crashing to a halt. So if you ever need to change your pants in the car, like I sometimes do, then you can do it discreetly while driving. Definitely a plus.

On the flip side, I was hoping the back would be a bit more roomy. With two Maxi Cosis behind, there wasn’t much room left for ferrying passengers. At best, only a very thin person could squeeze in from the front and even then, the ride would be quite uncomfortable. The accessories inside weren’t spectacular and I was only ok with the design. I prefer my cars curvy like a blonde bombshell, and the Forester, it’s more like a lumberjack, all masculine and dripping with testosterone.

Also, with the skyrocketing COE prices, it’s hardly easy on the wallet. But it’s also not extortionate so if you have the moolah to spare, it’s probably what they call value for money.

Then again, you might want to test it for yourself first.

This is not really a post as much as a desperate SOS and a final note in case I disappear from the blogosphere completely tomorrow. And I’m not even *really* kidding. Seriously, if I suddenly stop blogging, somebody CALL THE COPS. Because I’m likely to be held captive by the creepy stalker loitering at my void deck. So I’m leaving a trail of bread crumbs on the Internet so that you know where to find me before I get fed to wolves. The key word here is before, in case you’re wondering.

Obviously I can’t post his *actual* photo here because it’s like asking to be kidnapped but he looks something like this.

creepy old dude

For several days, I’ve noticed a middle-aged guy with a walking aid idling at the benches downstairs. It’s not like handicapped people make me uncomfortable or anything, but handicapped old dudes who stare at me while I’m carrying two kids give me the creeps.

Also, I have a nagging suspicion that he’s not really handicapped, like the guy in the Usual Suspects who walks with a limp throughout the show but actually can run faster than Forrest Gump. You know, like a decoy to throw you off and make you think they’re really slow but then suddenly they pull some deadly ninja moves when you least expect it. Yeah, exactly like that. But then society frowns on attacking random handicapped people even if I know that they’re bluffing so it’s not like I can expose him. Thanks a lot, society for the physically disabled, you just signed my death warrant.

Every time I come home with the kids, he’s there with his fake walking aid and creepy eyes just staring at me. I suppose it’s not everyday that you see a frazzled woman carrying two babies and a giant bag at the same time and I would probably stare too but wait a minute, you do see me carrying all that everyday and you still stare. All. the. time.

Like this afternoon, I brought Tru down to tidy up the car and pick up the crumbs before it gets infested by pests and lo and behold, the creepy old dude was there again. Pretending to do some stretching exercises on his walking implement as usual and of course, I could see him staring at us as we walked past. 15 minutes later, we’re done cleaning up the car and he was still there waiting for us to come back. The moment we walked past, he quickly got up and followed us to the lift.

My momma always told me not to enter the lift with creepy guys so I distracted Tru with some excuse of going to the playground and sure enough, creepy old dude ambled back to his usual spot to do more exercises. At which point, I promptly grabbed Tru and ran into the lift, jabbing violently at the door closing button.

The husband says he lives in our block with his kids and is probably harmless but he obviously haven’t watched Silence of the Lambs because the craziest psychopaths are the ones who live down the street. Ok, so the kids downstairs seem to know him and I’ve seen them saying hi to him from time to time but it doesn’t make him any less creepy and I’m still calling his bluff on the handicap. One of these days I’m going to take his photo just to show you what I mean but it’s kind of difficult to take a discreet photo of someone who is staring right at you. Especially not when I’m carrying a kid in each arm. Also, I really don’t want to encourage the staring just in case he thinks I’m into him too and am taking his picture as a memento.

I’m getting some pepper spray tomorrow.

Part of my idea of providing a holistic educational experience for the kids includes bringing them out to learn through exposure. I try to bring them down for walks around the neighborhood couple times a week. And I show them stuff like flowers, benches, playgrounds, bugs, sand and all.

If you must know, Tru’s getting really good at identifying objects and colors so I’m giving him an A+ for my course on Naming Objects 101.

Now I’ve seen a lot of crazy stuff, including that one time when a dude squirted milk out from his eyes. But this makes it easily into the top 10.

Warning: This may not be safe for work.

um, what?

No, I’m not referring to Britney because that’s obviously badly photoshopped in so that I don’t get hate mail from the cat-walker lady. Please draw your attention, however, to the animal on the left hand side.

So, as usual, Tru was naming all the objects like he was teaching me.

Tru: Mom-myyyy…

Me: Yes, sweetie?

Tru: See dog!

Me: No, that’s actually a cat.

Tru: No, dog.

Me: No, CAT. Say cat, baby.

Tru: Mommy, DOG.

Me: Ok fine, you win. It’s a dog.

My parenting philosophy is to NOT teach my kids stuff that’s clearly wrong. So if I insist that it’s a cat, I’d be saying that it’s alright to leash a cat and if he grows up to be a crazy cat-leasher, it’ll be traced back to me. Because I mean, WHO LEASHES A CAT?

Then I casually sneaked up closer to take a photo and the cat unleashed the mother of all hisses at me, which resulted at me grabbing the kids and RUNNING for my life. And I realized, this cat actually deserved to be leashed or maybe it’s so cattish because it’s leashed. Either way, there’s a lesson to be learnt here, which is to stay the hell away from a cat on a leash.

UPDATE: Apparently, lots of people leash their cats and in some places, it’s considered normal. I think this would be a good point to tell you about Hammie. So I have a friend who decided to leash her hamster and bring him for a walk. She scoured the Internet for a hamster leash and when it arrived, she was so excited that she tried it on for him immediately. It was all good and she actually convinced herself that Hammie was enjoying the walk. Two minutes in, some kid ran over Hammie with his bicycle. True story. I suppose the same lesson applies for hamsters too.

UPDATE x2: It’s official, then. Bunnies are the new dogs.

Please tell me these have not been the most insanely sweltering days we’ve ever had. It’s so hot that I can’t think straight and I can feel my brain cells being massacred.

Tru’s words of the week are hot and sunny because that’s the only safe-for-children words I can say all day. The moment he gets into the car, he starts shouting for “air con, air con” and it’s only because he’s my son that I’m even sharing my cool air with him. All you other folks, stop hogging my air, you are killing me.

On my way back from my *elitist* luncheon yesterday, I had to swing by Subway to get a sandwich for Kelvin as wages for taking care of the kids while I attacked my mini cheeseburgers and pretended to look thoughtful and contemplative for two hours. It was all terribly intense so it’s not like I had a lot of spare brain cells lying around by the late afternoon.

In my experience, most respectable car parks have a cashcard top up machine located near the entrance or lobby area so that people don’t have to run helter skelter scrambling to find an ATM machine. Naturally when I saw a little device with the cashcard logo on it, it was perfectly understandable to assume it was in fact, able to top up my cashcard.

worst cashcard machine EVER

Ok, upon closer inspection, it does look rather shambolic and there isn’t even a keypad to type in my pin but between the heat and all that mental exertion earlier, I was totally on autopilot by that point. So I shoved in my cashcard and jabbed furiously at the giant button in the centre because the heat makes me daft and impatient – not a good combination at all.

Next thing I knew, water started gushing out from a tap sticking out from the wall. Directly at my shoes. Did I already say gushing? Because the sheer force of it was causing water to ricochet up my jeans all the way to my knees. I jumped back several steps but then the floor was all wet and slippery and I almost fell backwards on my ass but thanks to my incredible sense of balance, I managed to regain my composure after doing a few deadly arm-flailing moves.

Of course, I chose to do it at a very busy carpark because a sizeable crowd was starting to gather around my immediate vicinity. And of course the machine had to dispense gushing water for 40 seconds while my cashcard got lodged inside and I couldn’t even grab it and run. It was a very long 40 seconds as I tried to *look* like I was enjoying an afternoon shower fully-clothed in public.

Seriously, it’s like this heat is trying to destroy me. You win this round.