My grandma turned 86 over the weekend, which was reason enough for the entire family to gather for a massive celebration. This sort of shindig only happens 3 times a year – on Chinese New Year, my grandma’s birthday and Christmas. We had 4 generations in 1 chalet at Downtown East, now that’s what I call a par-ty!

I also finally managed to get a chance to jam on Rock Band (because despite my awful psychomoto skills, I’ve always wanted to be a drummer and if I wasn’t doing the whole kids thing, I’d run away on tour and be a badass drummer, or maybe just a bad one)

I think my grandma was happy though, with the whole family around. When I turn 86 (oh that’s a scary thought!), I’ll throw a blowout party and make everyone dress up as the Brady Bunch (with the hair and everything), it’ll be so much fun. For me.

That’s the whole family right there.

We don’t really do posed group shots but it was nice to finally get a picture of all the cousins (Gen 3, we call them) together. Here we’ve got Gen 1, 3 and 4, like some cheesy new age Chinese action movie.

Some great shots of the kids with their great grandmother.

One word: priceless.

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.

It’s a big day today, y’all. Today, I’m a proud momma because my little girl turns one.

Yeah, ok, so we’ve all turned one at some point and it wasn’t a big deal like inventing a cure for cancer or going to the moon. Except it’s a big deal for me.

Did you know that statistically, once they’ve made it past the first year, they’re more likely to survive into adulthood? I can finally heave a sigh of relief and not worry that I’m going to accidentally press her brains in if I hold her too tight, or have to rush into the room every 5 minutes to check if she’s breathing while sleeping face down. I’ve realized that as a mother, I never stop worrying. Ever. But after the first year, they’re less fragile and I get to worry about other stuff like how to make them eat vegetables, or anything else that is not yoghurt. Yay me, I guess.

This time last year, I was screaming bloody murder in the delivery ward, thinking that nothing could possibly be worse than childbirth. Turns out, childbirth was the easiest part after all. The first year of baby girl’s life, it was all about cleaning poop, ultrasonic shrieks, breastfeeding, whining about poop and shrieks and breastfeeding, and so on.

But now that I’ve made it past the first year and I’m standing on the other side, with two toddlers in tow, it’s almost surreal. I can now offer sagely advice to sleep-deprived new moms who look just about ready to eat their babies and say irritating things like “it’s going to get better, just hang in there.”

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As always, here’s a letter to my sweet little muffin, whom I love more than I thought was possible.

Baby girl,

Happy first birthday. You woke up this morning with your jammies scrunched up and your hair all messy and sleep lines on your little cheeks and all I could think of was how thankful I am to be your mom. You know how I’m supposed to be crazy about you because I’m your momma? Truth is, if you were someone else’s baby girl, I would have been totally jealous and I would have formulated an elaborate plan to abduct you because you are that awesome.

In the past 3 months, you’ve developed a real personality, wagging your finger and shrieking at Tru when your’re upset. You’ve learnt to be affectionate, snuggling and cuddling and nuzzling her head everywhere. I love the way you hold on to me extra tight when you’re shy. I love how you sing so terribly and bob your head like a geek and do that trademark herky jerky hand flail when you hear Lady Gaga. I love your toothy, girly grin that turns me into mush and best of all, I love the way you make me feel like a rockstar. Every. single. day.

While we’re on the topic of my infinite wisdom, here’s the thing. I know we’re probably not going to have it easy all the time, especially when you start to turn into an angsty teen and read the entire twilight saga and look all nonchalant.

Mostly because much as I want to be your girlfriend, I have to first be your mom, which means I’ll be uncool by default.  I’ll be invading your privacy because you’re too important for me to not care. I’ll always err on the side of caution and tell you all the stuff you’re not supposed to do because I’ve sort of done them before and gotten messed up in the process. I’ll always be overly protective and watch out for you even when you think that you don’t need me to. Also, I’ll be making snide comments about sullen teenage vampires because, well, it’s like they’re asking for it.

But after I do my mom thing, I’ll try to be cool so I can do the girlfriend thing. I’ll be here when you make a mess that’s too big to clean up on your own. I’ll always have ice-cream and sappy dramas on hand when you get your heart broken. I’ll  be on your side no matter what and I’ll always think that you’re the best kid in the world. Because you really are.

Have a good one today, sweetheart.

Love,

Momma

This weekend is Fathers’ Day, so today we bring you a special daddy edition.

There’s something about fathers that make them so special. Mommies are good for nap times and fixing snacks but when daddy is around, it’s all about piggyback rides and wrestling and fun outings.

And why is it that daddy’s approval seems to be worth a lot more? I’m always telling the kids that they did a great job and momma’s so proud of them and they’re like “Sure, mom, whatever.” But when daddy says the same thing, they’re look all pleased with themselves.

Although, I can’t really blame them because growing up, I thought my dad was the smartest, strongest, coolest person in the universe. He was more awesome than Superman and Batman and the Hulk all rolled into one. When I got pushed around by other kids, my trump card was to yell out “I’ll ask my daddy to whip your ass“. And I really believed it. In fact, I was also certain that my daddy could whip the other kid’s daddy’s ass too. I never got around to witnessing it, mostly because the other kid would usually shut up or leave me alone after that.

I have a feeling my kids feel the same way.

Case in point: baby girl. Kirsten is a classic daddy’s girl through and through. She’s totally biased and I KNOW YOUR DADDY IS SO SPECIAL BUT YOU DON’T HAVE TO RUB IT IN. Even though she’s capable of calling mama (she does it when the stars align), her favorite word is dada. No prizes for guessing who she’s referring to. As I was changing her diaper today, I tried my luck again.

Me: Say mama, baby girl. MA-MA

Kirsten: Dada

Me: No, MA-MA

Kirsten: DADA

Me: You’re rubbing it in, aren’t you?

Kirsten: DADA, DADA, DADAAAAA *claps her hands to emphasize her point*

Me: Dada is at work. You’re stuck with me.

I can just see it. One of these days, she’s going to climb onto the husband’s lap, gaze into his eyes and say “When I grow up, I’m going to marry a boy that is just like you, daddy“, and the husband’s heart will instantly melt into putty and he will buy her anything she wants, including every single piece of that ridiculously exorbitant Sylvanian Families dollhouse set.

Tru is less obvious because there’s that alpha male vibe going on but I bet he secretly wants to be just like daddy when he grows up. The way he looks at daddy is so different from the way he looks at me, like he’s observing everything daddy does intently. Then next thing I know, he’s doing the exact same thing.

He’s got this tool box set that looks like a briefcase and from time to time, he arranges his toy cars inside neatly, gives me a kiss and announces, “Bye mommy, Truett go work.”

Most of his minor boo boos are easily solved by momma but the really serious ones, we have to bring out the big guns – daddy’s giant biceps. They are strangely effective in making them feel better. It’s either that or daddy’s masculine smell that’s the secret. Whatever the case, it works and that’s good enough for me.

Typically, Fathers’ Day comes with less hype and fanfare as compared to Mothers’ Day. I’m guessing that’s because us mothers are very protective of our turf when it comes to the kids and also, most fathers are happy to take a backseat because there are more pressing matters to attend to, like killing zombies and watching soccer.

While I agree that dads are less inclined to be maternal (they’ve got less of those soft bits that are oh-so-comfortable for babies), they’re no less important to a kid’s growth and development. They add that little extra – the stability, security and giant biceps. Of course it helps that daddy can change a diaper in 30 seconds flat and hold the fort while I go out for a shopping spree.

In short, Happy Fathers’ Day, sweetheart. You rock my world too.

When I was busy making babies, I forgot to read the memo on planning their birthday parties. It goes something like this: “It’s like planning for a wedding, except worse.” Or “Party planning: NOT all fun and games.” Or “Kids parties, just don’t do it.”

So we went right on ahead and held a party for Tru in his school on his birthday. It was supposed to be a small affair, with a combined birthday bash coming up (God help me) for both kids sometime later in the month (a mid-point between both their birthdays). But small affairs are never quite so small for us because two days prior, we start getting into a frenzy like “Get the party packs, food, snacks and don’t forget the cake, WE NEED A LARGE CAKE FOR A SWARM OF HUNGRY LITTLE PEOPLE.”

Knowing us, we really did forget the cake and Kelvin had to run out to the store the night before the party at 9.30pm to beg them to keep the store open so that he could buy the cake.

About the party packs, I was always under the impression that the birthday person was supposed to GET presents, not give out 30 presents to his friends on his birthday. See, I didn’t get that memo either, and good thing Tru’s teacher reminded us about the party packs, because we would have ended up as the only scroogy parents who didn’t give out presents.

We decided to give out stuff that parents wouldn’t secretly chuck into the bin when their kids got home. We got them character-themed A4 folder, customized name stickers, a crayon set, a stationery set, cute paper clips, milo, raisins and a snack.

Tru got to dress up all nice and preppy for school that day, just in case his friends got confused as to whose birthday it was. I almost wanted to get him a crown and a scepter so that he could order all his friends around and make them clean his toes because that’s the kind of thing you should do on your birthday, but it was also the kind of thing that would get you hazed in the toilet the next day. So I went conservative and stuck to a white shirt and jeans.

During the whole party, Tru went around looking like he was on a lot of weed. He was walking around in a daze, not sure why he was getting all the attention, and more importantly, why he had to serve cake to all his friends first before he could have any. After giving out the sixteenth piece of cake, he was all like “come on momma, get a move on and give me my cake NOW!“

After he finally had his cake and ate it, he was back to being happy as a clam, and moved on to happier things like nose picking.