“MOMMY WAKE UP!!”

Baby girl was yanking open my eyelids as I curled up on the floor in the living room. We were playing a sorting card game and from a sitting position, I found myself progressing to propping up my chin on my arms while lying on the floor, to a curled up foetal position within a matter of minutes. It was one of those post-insomniac nights and I was exhausted.

Besides, sorting card games didn’t make for the most mentally-stimulating exercise.

I was hoping they wouldn’t notice my lack of participation for 15 minutes but seeing how closely they monitor my participation, they quickly did and before I knew it, my child was in my face screaming at me to WAKE UP AND PAY ATTENTION.

I mustered a lame “Can mommy sleep for 15 minutes please? I’m very tired.”

I fully expected her to do more screaming but she let go of my eyelids, glanced at Tru and said “Ok, it’s very bright, you go to the room and sleep.”

I couldn’t believe my ears but hey, I wasn’t going to wait around for her to change her mind. I hastily got off my ass and did a swan dive into my bed, making a mental note to blog about how considerate and AWESOMESAUCE my kids are.

Now one of the skills I’ve learnt as a mother is to fall sleep with my ears still open for suspicious sounds. I would know if they were playing with water in the bathroom, or climbing up the window grilles or stealing gummies from the fridge. My brain would register all these sounds as I slept, flagging up the ones in which I would have to intervene.

They were quiet for several minutes but then I heard an unfamiliar clink coming from the kitchen.

I bolted out of my bed to find the both of them standing on chairs next to the kitchen counter. They were breaking into the fried shallot stash and shoving spoonfuls into their mouths. My mom makes these fried shallots as garnishing for porridge and they usually only get one spoonful mixed in with their dinner. This “crispy”, as they like to call it, is the magic ingredient that makes them finish their food and we ration it out sparingly. So it was like they found their pot of gold (en brown).

“Orhhh, you guys are busted,” I said, pretending to look upset.

Truett looked a little nervous but Kirsten was unflinching. She looked at me innocently and said “Mommy you tired? You lie down I pat you to sleep.”

I look at my two-and-a-half-year-old and I’d like to think that she’s too young to be masterminding such an elaborate scheme of mischief but honestly, I can’t be sure.

It will always remain a mystery to me how I managed to make a girly girl. And not just any ordinary girly girl. The nail-painting, lipstick-applying, smiles-while-pointing-finger-to-cheek kind that walks around with more pink than should be allowed on any human being. Basically the kind that I used to mock mercilessly as a kid.

It’s like poetic justice coming to bite me in the uterus.

“BAM, here you go, you get the girliest of them all.”

When I was pregnant with Kirsten, I would dream of our all-girl dates which would involve throwing panties (not ours, obviously) at Jason Mraz from the mosh pit,  snowboarding down Mammoth Mountain, watching Manchester United tear Arsenal apart at Old Trafford (the husband gets excused from having to sit through the massacre), and eating profiteroles in Manhattan while rolling our eyes at girly girls that sashay past.

Guess I’m going to have to strike that last bit off my list.

Just over the Christmas period, Kirsten came home from school with a pink purse containing the following pink items: lipstick, compact powder, blackberry, car keys and credit card. It was her gift-exchange present and she’s been walking around touching up her makeup every 5 minutes “SEE MOMMY I’M SO PRETTY.” All I’m going to say is that pouch is headed for an unfortunate end very soon.

In other girly news, she’s developed a photo-taking craze. I used to be the one cajoling them for pictures, like “come on kids, just ONE picture, look at mommy HERE HERE! How about a smile? Ok fine, I’ll give you one gummy for every photo.”

But these days, she’s running everywhere asking me to take her photo. She’ll preen and pose and then proceed to check my camera before making me do retakes until she’s satisfied.

Like when we were at Sentosa last week, she ran up to each animal statue and insisted that she had to take a photo with every single one of them. After 2 animals, I was all “Ok, that’s cute, I got what I need,” but she was relentless. “How about the happy lionfish? And the octopus? There! There! Let’s go!”

For once, this girly thing is working out for me. And considering how much I’m going to save in gummies, maybe having a girly girl isn’t so bad after all.

Welcome to 2012. I hope the new year is treating you well so far and you’ve been enjoying every moment of it.

For us, the holidays are officially over and our merrymaking ways have come to a rather abrupt halt, which explains why I’m nursing a mild case of holiday hangover this morning. But then that’s to be expected on the first day back to work after a long break. It’s a good thing my work allows me to schedule an appointment with my bed at 2 o’clock this afternoon while the kids take their nap.

It’s one of the little perks of working from home, with another being the ability to spend the entire day wearing pyjamas and looking downright disheveled.

Anyway, since it was the last day of holidays yesterday, we told the kids they could pick their favorite activity and we’d bring them anywhere they wanted to go. They deliberated a moment before deciding on Sentosa, so even though we’d just been there 3 days before, it was off to Sentosa again.

They did have several specific requests, which were to ride the cable car, ride an orange (for Tru) and pink (for Kirsten) monorail train, ride the Luge, ride the Skyride and play at the kids area at Palawan Beach.

After each activity, they would ask “After this, where are we going?”

“To take the luge.” “To take the monorail.” “To get ice-cream.” “To the beach…”

“YAYYYYYYY!”

One by one, we checked off all the items on their list and watched their smiles get wider and wider as the day wore on.

They had so much fun that when it was time to go, they didn’t protest or negotiate for “5 more minutes” like they usually would. Kirsten put her head on my chest and said, “Ok, I’m very tired, I think I need to go home now.”

The husband has a little-known quirk when it comes to counting with his fingers. I first discovered this peculiarity not long after we started dating. We had a *study session in the campus canteen to mug for our finals and we were testing each other on one of those media theories I never really understood.

To illustrate point 1, he raised his thumb to form a “good” sign – which was fine and totally normal.

To illustrate point 2, he raised his thumb and index finger – also normal.

At point 3, he raised his thumb, index finger and middle finger. Which led me to assume that at point 4, he would also raise his fourth finger like most normal people would.

But at point 4, he raised his first 3 fingers and his pinky, like he was making a claw.

Me: What’s that?

Husband: *still holding the claw* What’s what? You didn’t understand content analysis?

Me: No, that. *pointing to the claw*

Husband: *still holding the claw* You mean point 4?

Me: Seriously, your point 4 is the spiderman claw?

Husband: How do you do point 4, genius?

Me: Like normal people do…with the pinky down. Or with the thumb down.

Husband: I am holding up 4 fingers, that counts as 4 right?

Me: I don’t think it works that way. That’s distracting, like you’re missing a finger. Just do this. *held up my first 4 fingers with the pinky down*

Husband: I can’t. My fingers hurt.

Me: Ok stop it, you’re making it worse. Now it’s like a chicken claw. How about you don’t ever count with your fingers?

***

What I forgot to add was that he’s also not supposed to teach the kids how to count with their fingers. Because this is what happens.

*By study session, I mean a session where we engaged in intellectual discourses on media theories instead of say, watching Will Farrell videos on youtube.

The kids are officially at an age where they enjoy each other’s company. They are now able to understand instructions, communicate effectively and recognize that having a sibling is more fun than playing alone. Which is not to say that they don’t still scream and fight over stuff, but they are able to sit together for extended periods without any bloodshed.

Naturally, this has led to many heartwarming moments where we watch them with pride, feeling like we’ve done a pretty darn good job as parents because even though we suck at a lot of things, it is clear that WE MAKE THE AWESOMEST BABIES IN THE WORLD.

Just last weekend, the kids woke up at 7.30 and instead of harassing us like they normally do, they played a horse game on the mattress for a full half hour. If you must know, the horse game is where they take turns being a horse to give the other person a ride. Kirsten was mostly a stationary worm when it was her turn to be the horse but hey, whatever works for them. Totally not judging.

This afternoon, they were clocking in some playtime before their nap and they had this complicated lego setup in the nursery. I say setup but it was basically lego blocks strewn everywhere and they were apparently building a castle. Being the supercool, involved mom that I am, I was all “Kids, are you building something? Can mommy play too?”

I expected them to respond enthusiastically with a resounding “WOW YES! YOU’RE THE BEST MOM EVER” but they just sat there and completely ignored my presence or my offer to grace their game with my lego building prowess.

So I tried again. “Mommy’s really good at building stuff, want me to make a castle for you guys?”

My son then turned to me and said, “Truett and mei mei are playing, you cannot disturb.”

“Ok fine, be that way. Mommy’s just going to stand here and observe the mayhem.”

This time, Kirsten stood up and pointed to the door. “Mommy you go outside, you are not playing, you cannot stay here.”

Great, this is what it’s come down to. There was a time not too long ago when you were bugging me to play with you and now I’m banished out of the room.

My head says this should be good because it does translate into some much-deserved quiet coffee time but I think my mommy ego just took a beating.

I haven’t done lists in a while so today’s list will be on the things you can’t do once you pop a child.

Ok, that’s a bit of an overstatement. You can probably still do them once in a really long while when the stars align and unicorns shimmy to the tunes of “What a Wonderful World” outside your bedroom window.

But we all know these sorts of days are rare, to say the least. And if you’re expecting to do them with the regularity and panache that you used to pre-baby, you’re in for a rude awakening. Let’s jut say that after being a parent for 3 years, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to take a leisurely shower without being yelled at to “COME HERE NOW MOMMY!”

Here’s my list of things I can no longer do after having babies.

1. Eat ice cream without sharing. 

The husband and I have a rule. We share pretty much everything except Starbucks toffee nut latte and ice cream. Yes, we can share dreams and jokes and a bank account, but not ice cream. The kids, unfortunately, have no regard for my ice cream rule. They alternate between looking at it longingly with those bambi eyes and going “please, mommy, please, you need to share”.

And even when I sneak a spoon of ice cream hiding in the dark, they sniff it out and come running.

2. Be anywhere in 7 minutes. 

That’s how long it used to take me to get out of the house. – 7 minutes flat. That includes bathing, changing and basic make up. With kids, it’s a physical impossibility because their dictionary does not contain the 2 words “HURRY UP”. We need a lead time of at least 45 minutes, and even that’s cutting it close.

3. Buy anything without thinking in terms of how much milk, food and shoes it’s worth. 

I see a gorgeous pair of jeans and I immediately think of how many tins of milk that’s going to cost. A pair of G-Star is 5 tins, a pair of F21 is 3 tins and the tights from the market is 1/2 a tin.

4. Rain curses on horrible, horrible drivers. 

I have since watered down my elaborate curses to a very harmless “UNCLE/AH SOH, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?? KNOW HOW TO DRIVE OR NOT??” Now every time I am forced to slam the brakes or swerve to avoid an accident, the kids throw out their hands and recite that line in unison and with much gusto.

5. Do the naughty naughty in the kitchen. Or the sofa. Or basically anywhere at all. 

These kids are like the sex police. One time, we thought we had some alone time for a quick kiss and Kirsten walked right up to us and asked “Mommy what are you doing? You cannot kiss, I want kiss!!” Truett, on the other hand, will just peer at us intently and that’s possibly even more disturbing.

6. Imagine my life without them. 

Ditto.

What’s in your list?

Update: The results the MLM giveaway are out! Congrats to Adeline, you’ve got a lovely new outfit coming your way!

The past few days have been totally insane. I’m just awed and humbled by all your comments and feedback on the last post. It’s very encouraging to know that so many Singaporeans are starting to take interest in the future of our country and whichever way the votes go, this can only bode well for local politics. Whoever said Singaporeans were politically apathetic, huh?

Right, enough of politics. After all that intensity, we’re all suffering from a bit of election fatigue so I’m just going to show you a photo of my kids walking a dog. Because you know how a bit of drivel is good for the mind. It gives us a break from important affairs like how to run our country.

So this is a story of how my kids met Hero (a friend’s Shetland Sheepdog) yesterday and fell in love. Truett spent the afternoon pretending to walk the dog and now I’ve got more pressing matters at hand, which is to explain to my 2 and 3-year-old why having a dog at home will drive mommy batshitcrazy even though they’re “SO CUTE AND FUN!”

I’m thinking of starting them off with something less labor-intensive like a fish but there’s a 97.5% chance they will go Darla on it, so on second thoughts, I should probably go for something more hardy like a worm or an amoeba.

Is it just me or is baby girl growing up way too fast? Ok, it was my fault for saying I hoped she would grow up faster just a few months back but she really didn’t have to take me so seriously. It’s not like she takes me seriously when I tell her to pick up her toys or not spit out food but this, she’s all like “WHEEEEE LOOK AT ME GROW MOMMA!! Before you know it, I’ll be off to college and being angsty and bringing boys home SO FUN!”

She’s starting to want to explore the world all by herself and every time I pick her up, she struggles like a wild stallion on meth and I just want to hold her tight and tell her that not too long ago, she wanted me to hold her all the time. Now it’s “WALK, WALK” while pointing to herself furiously.

She’s also asserting herself a lot more these days, choosing what she wants to wear and running away when I pick something she doesn’t quite fancy. Like this fashion disaster she has on. I wouldn’t have picked lilac stripes with flowery pink tights and cyan crocs (yes, I know that they are boy’s shoes; Tru used to wear them) but I’ve learnt not to squash her unique sense of style. I mean, look at Lady Gaga – I bet she wore something like this out at some point as a child.

So express away, my child, just as long as you don’t leave the house wearing nothing but raw beef. Your father will have a cardiac arrest and I will have to fight the urge to eat you.

I was just talking to a new mom last week and she was asking if the madness of having a newborn subsides. So I said the exact thing other moms said to me when I just had a newborn. Enjoy these moments of babyness because they grow up way too fast and one day you’ll wake up and realize that your sweet little baby is now a grimy, sweaty toddler. That’ll be fun.

We were just done with our usual weekend brunch at the airport when they saw this gazebo-like structure with lots of flowers and made the husband push them there in the luggage trolley. It’s this thing they do where they both sit on the ledge of the trolley with their legs dangling out and they shout orders to daddy to GO FASTER without getting caught by airport security.

I’m usually standing a distance away because those security guys walk around with large machine guns. I’m not about to mess with that. Also, a dude pushing 2 kids around can get away with being spontaneous and fun but a crazy chick running after them – kind of hard to explain.

Instinctively, he reaches out to pluck a flower for Kirsten. “For mei mei,” he says, gesturing impatiently like it’s something I should already know. Every time he sees bunches of wild flowers, he yanks out one and gives it to Kirsten or momma or grandma, looking all chivalrous.

But obviously these weren’t wild flowers and whoever planted them lovingly would frown upon having them murdered so I tried to explain that he wasn’t allowed to pluck these flowers. He nodded, turned to his sister, put his arm around her and I was expecting him to say something sweet like “it’s ok, Truett will get another flower for you next time” but instead he told her, “Truett cannot pluck the flower, mei mei go pluck for Truett.”

By the time I have 5 kids, I won’t be surprised if he has a whole child labor syndicate going on. This is how it all starts.

Yesterday was Kirsten’s first birthday bash and as first birthday bashes go, this went splendidly. The fact that we only sent out invites 3 days prior notwithstanding, we had all the ingredients necessary for a party – food, family, friends and cake. And also balloons, lots and lots of balloons. (thanks Kev and Anne!)

Baby girl wasn’t entirely sure what the commotion was all about, like “why are all these people making me wear stupid prickly hats, it’s making my ears itch eww eww eww.”

She’s in a no-headgear phase now and no amount of cajoling and bribery will make her put anything on her head. I try to make her wear these pretty headbands with giant flowers to draw attention away from her noticeably sparse hair and she yanks them off with a flourish every single time. The noggin is sacred, y’all.

And of course, miniature parties are never complete without miniature-sized friends, because it would just be a bunch of old fogeys rocking out to pink and purple balloons, which is just kind of creepy.

Tru was down with another bout of the flu, which left him pretty stoned the whole time but he was a real trooper, shuffling around distributing his precious collection of sesame street friends. Towards the end, he was all maxed out and he started telling everyone to go home like “Bye everyone, thank you for coming, see you soon, Truett very tired.” It was both very impressive and mortifying at the same time.

At first we thought of ordering one of those 3D cakes with castles and princess figurines but we figured that we will be having plenty of those soon enough, when the kids are old enough to want one. And since we have a weakness for this awesome home-baked chocolate-banana cake, we went and ordered a 2kg version, hoping that we would have leftovers for breakfast today but no, it was totally wiped out within minutes.

You know I don’t usually plug a lot of stuff here but this cake, you seriously want to try. Go check it out, she does the most wicked cakes ever, with the perfect combination of rich, chocolatey goodness without being an overkill. Sometimes, I plan events just to have an excuse to have more cake. And I’m not even kidding.

Best part was, both kids were so exhausted they went home and collapsed into bed at 7.30. Now that’s what I call a successful party.