For some reason, my kids really love playing pirates. Since the first pirate set my sister got for them from France, they’ve amassed all sorts of other pirate toys. Tru has this gruff, piratey voice whenever he’s in character and he goes “Truett pirate, aaarrgghh!”

This pirate book, which my mom got from Borders in Melbourne during her last trip, brings storytelling to a whole new level.

The storybook was ok (it got a little rambly at times), but the awesome part was that it came with lots of tiny little cut-out characters so you could reenact your own pirate story if you didn’t like the original one. I have a thing for paper cut-out characters, I’m nerdy that way.

Usually, I make do with telling them stories without any props but it was really fun to have all the pirate figures hold tiny swords and jump around while I made up crazy pirate tales for a change.

Well, maybe I had a lot more fun with it than the kids because halfway through, they got really bored from not being able to touch the fragile paper cut-outs and went on a rampage. One of my little pirate boys lost a leg in the process and I had to make them sit in their baby chairs while I told the story from 3-feet away.

Because it’s made of paper, the cut-outs are rather flimsy and they topple easily so usually by the time I set up all the characters in position, they either get blown away by the wind or trampled to death by my 2 Babyzillas. But hey, that gives a new twist to the story when I’m all out of plot ideas.

With the World Cup finally over, the spotlight is now on the big money transfers as clubs make their move for superstars to bolster their chance at silverware next season. I hear Liverpool fans are celebrating the capture of Joe Cole (aka tightpants) and Barcelona, they’ve added David Villa and Adriano to their scary list of big names.

On the home front, a little birdie tells me that Ferguson has his sights set on German captain Philip Lahm (nice!) to fill that problematic right back position. I am also still keeping my fingers crossed for Buffon, Ozil and Torres (just imagine a Rooney-Torres combo up front, oh sweet dreams are made of these)

Meanwhile, Arsenal, with Wenger’s ridiculous youth policy, are planning to lower their squad’s average age to 5. As a Mother, Inc exclusive, I’m pleased to announce their latest star signing, Truett Kao, who will be filling the boots of Barcelona-bound captain, Cesc Fabregas.

Thanks to my *contacts*, I’ve managed to score an interview with the hottest young thing in the footballing world.

***

Mother, Inc: I think the biggest question on everyone’s minds right now is why Arsenal, when there are so many teams to choose from?

Truett: Jersey soft soft. Truett like red color.

Mother, Inc: I think you’re forgetting that Manchester United is a nicer shade of red, but I guess you can’t argue with the soft bit. So what do you think of the Fabregas debacle? You think he’s going to stay or go?

Truett: GO KAI KAI!! Let’s go feed the fish!

Mother, Inc: That’s a nice strong throw you got there. Is that part of your daily training regime? Any fancy footwork to share with your fans?

Truett: Truett kick the ball… GOALLLL COMEON!!!

Mother, Inc: Oh, that simple aye? So what else do you like to do when you’re not kicking a ball around or busy feeding fish?

Truett: Sit train! Mommy can go sit train please, please?

Mother, Inc: Why yes, yes we can. But just 2 rounds and you go back to doing laps. And we also have to work on your choice of teams, I think we can start with getting you the latest Manchester United jersey, its quite soft as well.

You know what’s the one thing that I’m terrified of the most? Besides my extensive list of completely rational fears like being attacked by lizards, buried alive (because there is no way in a million years that I can punch my way out like Uma Thurman) and having my kids abducted by a kidnapping syndicate in Mumbai.

I’m talking about top of the list here, numero uno. It’s being redundant.

In the days of my youthful idealism, I was exactly like you. I wanted to change the world. I was planning to end world hunger or become obscenely rich selling a ton of useless stuff to people who probably wouldn’t need them just because I was that brilliant. Either one would have worked for me – I wasn’t picky about the details.

The truth is, being a mom doesn’t make it into the list of glamorous professions. I don’t care what they say on those overly-priced Hallmark cards on Mothers’ Day, nobody’s dream job is to be a poop-cleaning, booger-digging, frazzled, batshitcrazy chick up to her elbows in human excretions. Make no mistake, motherhood is noble and to sacrifice your own dreams for the kids is all great but it kind of sucks that 30 years down the road, all you get is “Congrats, none of your 3 kids turned out to be Hitler. Good for you!”

And really, that terrifies me.

Knowing that I spent my best years cooking vegetables (that nobody wants to touch with a ten-foot pole), washing tiny onesies and cleaning up spilt cereal for the fifth time in a day. Alright, the kids will have a decent shot at a happy childhood and they may grow up to be Nobel prize-winning physicists, rockstars and Supreme Court judges, but then again, they may just as well end up as a struggling artist or a troubled delinquent.

So I’ll come out and say it. I don’t just want gratitude, it’s overrated. I want the kids to grow up knowing that their mom was brilliant, and not at folding laundry. I want them to be proud of me, to go to school and brag about how their mom wrote the new vampire series that outsold Stephenie Meyer. Something like that. I want them to know that there is no excuse for not going after their dreams, no matter how tough life gets.

I’m starting to think that being a mom doesn’t have to make you redundant. Its easy to get swamped by the responsibilities of having to care for tiny human beings and lose yourself in the process but come on, there’s got to be more than getting a pat on the back and a fugly Mothers’ Day card. (except yours, kids, they’re lovely)

Maybe we can still change the world. And even if I don’t, I will sure as hell try.

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.

It’s Mothers’ Day today and I should be writing a heartfelt post about how motherhood is the best thing that’s ever happened to me and all that sacrifice is worth it, but I already do that all the time so you can just scroll down to the rest of the posts.

For a change, we’re going to do it a little different. Today, we sit back and drink it all in.

First, a shout out to all the mothers. Alright, even if you’re not a mother yet but hope to be one someday. What the heck, as long as you have those lady bits, you’re in too because one day, you might be holding one of those screaming babies in your arms and you’ll be all like, “it’s ok baby, you don’t need to thank me, I already know I’m a superstar”.

Here’s HAPPY MOTHERS’ DAY! You’re all rock stars so go on, pop some champagne and celebrate because you deserve it. Really, you do.

I’ve heard people say that Mothers’ Day is not a big deal because everyday is Mothers’ Day. That sounds awesome in theory but in reality, it’s just ridiculous. Everyday can’t be Mothers’ Day because if it were, there would never be a Mothers’ Day. It’s like how saying everybody is special is redundant because it actually means that nobody is. That’s why everybody *wants* to be special because special is special.

Today, we get to soak in all the adoration and gratitude we’ve accumulated throughout the year. Have breakfast in bed, take bubble baths in goat’s milk, go for manicures, smell the roses, read the cards, open the presents. Anything that happens only once a year should be celebrated with pomp and circumstance.

While we’re at it, you know all those Hallmark cards about how you’re the best mom in the world? It’s all true. I know we don’t always feel like we’re acing this motherhood gig and it’s far easier to feel lousy and inadequate about the job we’re doing. There’s always something else to feel guilty over, like we’re never doing enough. The other moms around us always seem to be doing a better job than we are.

When I first gave birth to Tru and feeling all nervy about being a mom, a good friend gave me one of the best parenting advice I’ve ever heard. It goes like this: Of all the parents in the world, God chose us for our kids because He knew that we would rock at it. That means you are the best mom for your kid even though you don’t feel like it all the time.

Me, I’m a great boo-boo kisser (my kids seem to have a lot of those), an awesome bedtime storyteller, a kickass chauffeur, and I also do some killer Mickey Mouse impersonations. That’s perfect for my kids.

You see, tomorrow we’ll wake up and the party will be over. It’s back to the grind again, except with a massive hangover and severe Monday blues because after a high, it usually only goes downhill. The kids will throw their hissy fits and you’ll once again redefine what it means to be frazzled. But when it gets really bad, remember that even with all our imperfections, to our kids, we’re still superstars.

And as far as being a supermom goes, that’s probably all that matters.