It’s New Year’s Eve, the one time I allow myself to look back on the year with fondness and regret. To over-analyze the decisions I made, to pat myself of the back for the glorious victories and cringe while reliving the sucky ones. I actually really like the idea of new years. To be able to close a chapter every 12 months and whether it was good or bad, turn the page and start a new one.

2011 was the year I found myself again. For the first time in 3 years, my life was not chopped up and divided between the kids, with the leftover scraps going to all the other responsibilities that clamored for my attention.

This year, the kids grew up just enough to take the pressure off a little. They learnt to depend on each other for entertainment and I stopped feeling like I was living on the edge for every minute of every day. Heck, I even found the time to go for coffee in the morning, have high tea with girl friends, rediscover my love for movies and even read actual grown up books with tiny words and too many pages. Who’s with me in feeling like if you had to read another page of “This is Peter, This is Jane”, your brains would melt into your ears and disappear from your head because it got upset at all the abuse it was taking.

In short, it’s the year I’ve enjoyed motherhood the most.

It’s also been a year of unexpected but awesome surprises. We went to Disney World, Orlando for the Disney SM Mom’s 2011 Conference, went to Melbourne with the kids, won the Best Family Blog at the Singapore Blog Awards, made it to the finals for Nuffnang Asia Pacific Blog Awards and the 2011 Bloggies, had lunch with the President, launched a business just so I could call myself The Boss and the most awesome of all, sent the kids off to school. I totally got my ass whipped by home-schooling and the best decision I made was to cut my losses and let school take over the schooling. Everybody wins.

The beautiful thing about the start of every new year is that it always brings hope. It could very well turn out to be the worst year of our lives but until that happens, there’s always hope that it could be the very best one yet. So c’mon, blow the dust off from your bucket list and at least attempt one. If you don’t have a bucket list, it’s probably a good time to get one started.

Do something for yourself. Do something for someone else. Do something that scares the crap out of you. Do something that everyone else thought you couldn’t do. Do something you’ll remember when the next new year rolls around. Feel alive. Love fervently. Laugh till you can’t breathe. Be furiously happy.

See you in 2012.

Happy Monday, you guys! Today’s post is a little late but it’s not because I was up late last night celebrating a magnificent Manchester United performance, even though the performance was in fact, spectacularly magnifient. By the time the 5th goal was scored, I almost felt sorry for the husband who looked like he was in severe physical pain. And then they went on to smack 3 more glorious goals in after that.

The real reason for the lateness is because we brought the kids out for a post-celebratory/mourning breakfast with the kids and a couple of friends to not talk about soccer.

And as the kids were off running doing their thing, it dawned upon me that my baby girl is well and truly not a baby anymore. She used to be the only one who would stick around wanting to be carried while Truett went off playing with his friends. Today, I was all “Mommy carry, sweetie?” and she looked at me for all of 1 second before shaking her head and sprinting off.

It was much easier to let go of Truett’s babyness maybe because he’s a boy and ever since he was big enough to go off on his own, I’ve always had baby girl’s babyness to hold on to.

The next chance I got, I picked her up and asked “can mommy carry my baby?”

“I’m not a baby, I’m a big girl.”

Today, she categorically un-babied herself. So I get to browse all her old baby pictures and feel wistful about missing my baby.

For the benefit of new readers who haven’t seen much of Kirsten as a baby, here’s a before and after.

My brother got married over the weekend in a gorgeous, gorgeous wedding. It’s been a long time coming and we’re all thrilled to have a new addition to the family.

My new sister-in-law, henceforth to be known as big sweep (it’s Chinese for your elder brother’s wife, don’t ask).

Truett was the page boy (his very first time) and I had to bribe him with peanuts to make sure he walked down the aisle exactly like he practiced. I was half expecting him to freeze or choke with all the attention but just before he was supposed to make his grand entrance, he was all like “Mommy, Truett walk very well can get 5 peanuts” and I was all “Tru, if you walk very well, you can get 10.”

My boy did such a fantastic job walking that he ended up with 28 peanuts. After he was done with the peanuts, he said “Truett need to walk very well again.” Um, nice try but that’s a one-time offer; promotion no longer valid.

Congrats, big brother. Now hurry go have some babies so the kids will have some cousins to play with.

2010 has been good to us in so many ways. It has also been so tough in so many ways. But I’ve come to learn that as far as the really memorable years go, they’ve got a lot of great moments and the overcoming of monumentally bad ones. And so I’m thankful for both.

This new year, I have a feeling is going to be a really big one. I can just feel it in my bones. Exactly like how I can feel it in my bones when it’s about to rain. It’s like a superpower, although the husband calls it a medical condition. Maybe I’m special that way, I have a feeling about things and I’m usually right 37% of the time, sometimes even less.

I jotted down several resolutions for the new year and you’re welcome to steal them.

1. I will not simply choose the path of least resistance.

Instinctively, I am averse to any sort of pain and hardship. Which is possibly why I managed to not exercise for an entire decade, with the exception of a couple of shopping sprees along Orchard Road. Tragically, all that got me was a 170-pound ass (at my heaviest), which as you can guess, created a hell of a lot more resistance.

This year, I’m going to embrace hardship and pain will be my best friend. Not because I’m mental but because it makes me stronger. What doesn’t kill you usually does.

2. I will not be afraid to fail.

I’ve always been the safe sort of kid, choosing to err on the side of caution rather than playing big and risking it all. I guess you can say that I’m terrified of failure. The good thing is that most of my life choices have been safe – the right schools, the safe subjects, the proper jobs. The bad thing is that there’s always a ceiling for safety. That’s just the rules in this game called life – those that win big have risked big.

3. I will pay for what I want in blood, sweat and tears.

Ok, that’s just a little overdramatic. But truth is, the really good things in life require a price, usually in the form of effort and sacrifice; while the things that come easy usually aren’t worth a lot. To quote my new Master Shifu, “If you want something, you got to fight for it. It doesn’t come for free.” Touche.

4. I will dare to dream. BIG.

Dreams can be worthless or they can be worth everything. Just ask Leo Di Cap. *Cue deadly voice: “I specialize in a very specific type of security…”

Also, a lot depends on whether they come true or not. Only thing is, without dreams in the first place, there won’t be anything to come true. Or to fight for, for that matter.

This year, I’ve got exciting things in the pipeline. Some of them awesome, most of them ridiculous, but all of them pretty exciting. To end with a cliche, the year is going to be as good as you want it to be. I used to think that was nonsense because nobody *wants* a crappy year but here’s a secret. If you’re happy to cruise, there’s not enough wanting. If you really, really want it, you will fight for it with everything you’ve got.

So here’s to a spectacular year, one filled with so much awesomeness you’ll have to beat it off with a large bat to make room for even more.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Every now and then, I still think about whether I should have left my job to stay home with the kids. Especially when I’m missing my holidays and I start reading all these studies that show how having mommy at home doesn’t necessarily make them smarter or more successful people and I’m like you’re telling me this now, after I spent the last 2 years thinking that me being home with them would be the reason they are getting into Harvard Law School. (No pressure, kids, Yale or Princeton are ok too)

Honestly, I don’t know how successful they are going to be when they grow up, but that’s not really the reason why I chose to stay home in the first place. The whole point was to be around for them during these years that they needed mommy the most. To clean their poop and fix them snacks and snuggle in bed and read stories after a nap.

Just because I’m their momma doesn’t make me their favorite person in the world. All relationships take time and effort and they’re going to be closest to whoever spent the most quality time with them, whether it’s grandma or the maid or the teachers in childcare.

Like yesterday, Tru woke up from his nap early and he was in a particularly snuggly mood. He made me put aside my laptop and said “mommy don’t do work, mommy hug Truett.” Which I did for a long time. At that point I thought of how immensely sucky it would be if he was home alone with a maid or stuck in childcare all day.

Bad scenario: He needs mommy to snuggle and ends up snuggling with Aunty Mina and one day momma comes home from work all ready for some snuggly time and he’s all like “don’t want mommy to hug, want aunty to hug” and I will go stab myself with a fork.

Worse scenario: He needs mommy to snuggle and goes to Aunty Mina and she’s too busy watching tv so he cries himself to sleep and grows up emotionally shut down and has to spend the next 20 years in counseling therapy.

So yes, I have to put up with all the tantrums and mess and screaming fits but I also enjoy the fun stuff like baby kisses and cuddles and I get to know that they mean it when they say “Mommy FAVORITE!”

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.”

***

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.