I can’t say if it’s an Asian thing or a generational thing, but there are these adults who tell kids who undress that they’re “shame shame”.

It infuriates me.

I was at the library with the kids a while back and there was a mom who was reading to her kid. From what I could gather while sitting across the room, it was about a kid who was learning to take a shower. While reading, she would pause and comment on the illustrations. So she got to this portion where the kid got undressed and she pointed at the photo to her child and said, “so shame shame right?”. Her 3-year-old responded with a giggle but after a stern look from his mom, became decidedly subdued and said, “the boy never wear clothes, so shame shame.”

Ok, first of all, where I come from, people get naked when they have a shower. There’s nothing shame shame about it.

And second of all, even though I haven’t actually read the book, I think that’s not really the point the author was trying to make.

The lady was reading loud enough for my kids to hear but since they didn’t really seem to hear it, I decided to leave it alone. Besides, I try not to comment on other parents’ teaching methods because I know how sensitive it is.

Then a couple of days ago, I was showering Kirsten when she turned to me and said, “See, I shame shame.” I was taken aback for a while so I asked her where she learnt it from and she said her teacher in school told her about it.

“Sweetie, listen to me, you’re not shame shame ok. You’re beautiful. If teacher ever tells you that you are shame shame again, you say “I’m beautiful” and then tell mommy when you get home.”

“But teacher said if I never wear clothes, I’m shame shame,” she said.

“That’s not true baby. Remember mommy told you that you’re not allowed to show your vagina to other people? It’s because it’s special and you’re supposed to keep it secret. But you’re not shame shame and if you have to bathe, it’s fine to not wear clothes ok.”

It was hard explaining this to a 2.5-year-old and I was mad at the teacher for making it worse.

Ok seriously, this whole shame shame thing has got to stop. I know why adults do it – to discourage kids from running around stark naked in public but there has got to be a better way to do it than shaming a child. They’re going to have to deal with feelings of inferiority and self-doubt and shame soon enough, they don’t need to feel ashamed about their bodies when they’re 2.

Besides, if there’s anything I’ve learnt from parenting toddlers, it’s that they’re compulsive little people. It’s like they can’t help themselves. If they want to get naked, THEY WILL GET NAKED. We try to contain it and scramble to make them put their clothes back on but they will do it until they’re old enough to control their impulses. And they’re not doing it to be bad or intentionally flashing their penises at you to make you uncomfortable. They’re just compulsive and all we need to do is give them a little time to learn that their private parts should be kept private.

But you know what really gets me? When teachers or adults in positions of power do it, the kids under their care will think that it’s ok to “shame shame” their peers. The kids who are waiting for their turn to shower will see the naked kids and think it’s funny to point and say “eee, shame shame”. And maybe even laugh.

I’m all for being fully clothed in public. I mean, I do it all the time. But there are situations in life which requires us to get naked and showering is one of them. My kids don’t need to feel ashamed when they undress to bathe. And so what if they do a naked streak around the house right after their shower? I doubt they’re going to be doing it when they’re 14, so if this is the way they need to express themselves right now, I’m ok with that.

So now every time I shower the kids, I make it a point to tell them that they’re beautiful the way the are.

Today, when Kirsten got into the shower, she said, “I’m not shame shame, right? I’m beautiful!”

Damn right you are, princess.

photo credit: Lynn Davis

Boogers. We’ve all eaten some. And by we I really mean me.

I was about 4 and I had discovered the simple satisfaction that is nose-picking. I didn’t care much for cleanliness in general but I was um, picky about nostril hygiene. The quality of my life at that point was easily determined by how booger-free my nose was. The problem was that all this gold-digging left me with a by-product that I had to dispose of.

I could smear it, wipe it, flick it, wash it away or roll it around while thinking of more efficient ways to discard it.

It wasn’t long before it occurred to me to eat it. It seemed like such a good idea at that time because it did after all come from my nose and the proximity to my mouth made it practically edible. It’s all connected inside anyway, isn’t it?

I have to admit that my first booger bite wasn’t great. It wasn’t terrible but just very meh. With all the other snack options available to me, eating booger was way down the list, occupying the spot below wholemeal bread but above celery sticks.

The response I elicited from my bite of booger, however, was far more interesting. Grown ups seemed to find it a vile and disgusting habit. Some told me that it would give me a tummy ache and others even told me that it would make worms grow in my stomach. To the 4-year-old me, it was equal parts fascinating and terrifying. While I wasn’t entirely keen on the idea of having worms grow in my stomach, the rebel in me was already plotting to make it a regular snack option just to call their bluff.

I’ve since stopped it (seriously, I have) but it took my several years before I realized that me eating booger just to disprove a theory was dumb on so many levels. Plus it wasn’t even that nice.

Several days ago, I spotted Truett picking his nose and putting it in his mouth so now I’m considering my options on how to deal with the situation.

1. Leave him to outgrow it. I’m fairly confident that the taste of booger pales in comparison to Ruffles chips and ice-cream. which means that if I offer him tastier options, this gets phased out quick and easy. But then again, he might find it delicious and never stop.

2. Scare him into change. I could go with “son, that’s a vile and disgusting habit. You will get worms in your stomach that will eat their way up to your mouth” but off the top of my head, I just came up with many viler and more disgusting habits that will require this approach. I should probably save this for the day he attempts to eat someone else’s booger.

3. Tell him my booger story so he doesn’t have to learn the hard way. But any story that begins with “mommy used to eat booger too...” doesn’t make me sound very credible.

4. Get some worms for a live demonstration. It’s likely that my kids inherited my rebellious streak so this will probably backfire.

5. Tell him to stop it because mommy says so. Hah. Right, if only this ever works.

Any ideas?

Tru’s down with HFMD.

He woke up with a temperature yesterday and was complaining about having pain in his mouth. We thought it was a just bad throat but we found his mouth covered with ulcers in the evening and a trip to the doctors confirmed that it was definitely a case of HFMD.

In parentland, that’s cause for panicked hand-flailing and large amounts of distress. Not so much because it’s life-threatening but because it’s extremely painful and aggressively contagious. Plus there’s the 7-day quarantine that’s most certainly going to drive me a little mad.

Usually by the second day, the parent starts to display signs of insanity, like bloodshot eyes and aimless shuffling. By day 4 or 5, it will progress to full on crazy and symptoms include straggly hair, hair eating, insomnia and random outbursts.

Obviously, I did the only logical thing and turned to google for help but then I immediately regretted doing that because all the photos that came up – ewwww. I had to cover the pictures with one hand while scrolling the text with the other. Also, trust me on this, it’s not suitable bedtime reading material because you’ll dream of getting chased by legions of giant ulcers and blisters.

To be fair, the H & F part isn’t that bad because the blisters aren’t the itchy sort but the mouth full of ulcers, that’s the killer. I have one tiny ulcer and I feel positively miserable so I can only imagine how difficult it is to have 22 ulcers all at once.

Truett tried to be strong but he would stop in his tracks every few minutes, grab his mouth and cry because of the pain. He couldn’t even close his mouth so he was drooling all day and had to talk like he had a lisp. Coming from the boy who didn’t flinch while taking 5 stitches to the head, it was heartbreaking.

It was too painful to eat so I kept him on a diet of ice-cream, chocolate milk and iced water. By dinner time, he was ravenously hungry and he stared at the fish porridge with a look that can only be described as anguish.

“I want porr-age. I’m wear-ee hungee… bwahhhhhhhh, pain pain. My mowf is so painfoo.”

He would bring the spoon of porride to his lips, peer at it and start to cry. Finally, he stopped, braced himself and took a bite before quickly swallowing and bursting into tears.

I can’t believe it’s only day 1 of the quarantine.

More often than not, having a toddler (or two) running around the house is a basket of awesome.

They walk around wearing 15 articles of clothing (some of which belong to me), put stuff in their nostrils and spend way too much time trying to fit into little boxes. They know when they’re doing something cute and will often draw attention to their cuteness with a “MOMMY LOOK AT ME!” followed by a fit of giggles.

That thing they do where they hold your ears and kiss you all over your face (2 on the cheeks, 2 on the eyes, the forehead, nose and chin)? Totally makes you want to buy them anything they want. “You’d like that $200 doll house that’s basically made of paper cardboard? Of course, pumpkin!”

They dazzle you with their cuteness, smother you with hugs and flash you those innocent peepers to make you feel like having them around is the best thing in the world.

Which it would be if not for some of the things they do that make you want to stab yourself repeatedly with a blunt object.

Stuff like…

1. Pee everywhere. The one thing that toddlers lack is focus and we all know (I’m mostly referring to guys here) how important that is when it comes to the fine art of peeing. It looks easy enough to me – just aim and fire. But apparently it’s harder than it looks because just when about 87% of the pee goes into the toilet bowl, they inevitably start to lose focus and it ends up everywhere else but the bowl.

One time Tru was doing his thing and I wanted to show him something really cool so I was all “Tru, come quick!” He turned and ran out midstream and I watched the pee fly all over my toilet in slow motion as I screamed “NO NOOOOOO TURN BACK YOU’RE STILL PEEING!!!” So he got even more confused and turned around 360 degrees, all the while still peeing. Fun times.

2. Hide everything. That’s actually ok if they remember where they put it. But they don’t. And in an emergency (which is like all the time), they stare at you blankly when you ask “Where’s my car key? Mommy’s late we have to leave now.” Then again, it’s possibly worse when they know and think it’s funny not to tell you so they look at each other and giggle while you panic and threaten to withhold gummies for a month.

3. Stick their sticky fingers on things that should not be stuck. They’re like spiderman, except much less cool and somewhat annoying. I pick up my phone and it’s sticky. I open my macbook and there’s a layer of sticky. I pick out my shoes and yes, they’re sticky.

4. Dunk my stuff in water. I get why they love water so much. Really, I do. It’s WET! It’s SPLASHY! It makes things float. It makes things sink. It’s SUPER FUN! It’s just not as fun for me when I have to fish out my phone from the bottom of the bathtub to watch the screen flicker until it breathes its last and dies in my arms.

5. Talk in that high-pitched nasally voice when they don’t get what they want. There’s the normal voice that normal people have and there the incessant, high-pitched hypersonic version that toddlers have. It’s like a special power that nobody wants.

Toddler: Mommy can I have gummies?

Me: No.

Toddler: Please, just one?

Me: No sweetie, you just had TEN “just ones.”

Toddler: Iwantgummeeesmommyiwantsomanyilikegummeeeeeeeeeeeeeee… 

Me: *stab* *stab* *stab* *stab* *stab*

I really don’t like to do the putting people in a box thing but let’s just say that if I absolutely had to do it with the kids, I’d put Truett in a box labelled “Not Likely to Get Stuck in Sticky Situations” while Kirsten would end up straight in the “Look, A Sticky Situation – LET’S GO THERE!” box.

I’m speaking metaphorically of course, but now that I think about it, it might not be such a bad idea to put them in a real box like this when they’re being difficult.

Relax, I’m not going to call it the Box of SHAME. I’ll christen it with a cute name like Time-Out Corner and paint pretty little pink flowers on it. I’m considerate that way.

So back to my story – there are these elevators at my block that are mental and I suspect, a little evil. The button that’s supposed to keep the door open works sporadically at best, meaning that the door shuts anytime it damn well pleases. I’ve been attacked by the crazy doors on numerous occasions and one time, the door shut right after Tru stepped in even though I was pressing the button to keep it open.

Good thing it decided to open again after a few seconds but those few seconds must have been an eternity for him because after that incident, Tru is extremely cautious when it comes to elevators.

Kirsten, on the other hand, does not care about getting lost or injured or trapped in confined spaces. She’s 10 times more likely to disappear into a drain while walking (true story – she’s like 1 of 5 people in the world who managed to graze her armpits) or run into a wall.

A couple of days ago, we were on the way back when Kirsten suddenly decided to dash into the lift. I was several steps behind and I was about to run after her when out of nowhere came a flying ninja tackle from Truett. It all happened very quickly and next thing I knew, they were both on the ground with Tru grabbing her in a stranglehold inches away from the evil elevator door.

Kirsten was obviously upset at being tackled but it was nowhere near as upset as Tru was. He was furious at me for letting her run unsupervised and upset at his sister for being so reckless. “You don’t ever do that again, you understand?”, he yelled at her.

Then he turned to me and said sternly, “Mommy you carry her now. You must take care of mei mei better and don’t let her get lost.”

Yes, sir. 

Tru came back from school yesterday looking a little troubled. After some probing, he said that his *friend* called him stupid and pushed him.

Before I rained curses on the offending child, I tried asking Tru the context of the incident, like if he was the one who pushed the kid first or snatched his toy but he wouldn’t say.

So far, we haven’t really had to deal with the issue of bullying or dealing with mean kids. Apart from one or two incidents at the playground under my watchful eye, they’ve never had to deal with bullies on their own. I’m also well aware of the fact that kids will be kids and they do all kinds of batshitcrazy stuff all the time, even mine. Much as I teach the kids not to hit or bite or shove, they still do it to each other so I have no illusions that they’re perfect.

However, hearing that my kid got bullied in school and seeing him so troubled got me a little miffed.

Obviously, it was time for the bullying talk. The husband did a piece a while ago on how to deal with bullies but those things could only be done by an adult so now I’m coming up with a kids edition.

1. Tell the teacher. 

But we all know how this usually turns out. Without witnessing the actual incident, the teacher can only issue a lame command for the bully to stop. And he will pretend to stop – for five minutes – before resuming his bullying ways.

2. Ignore the kid.

It’s true that these kids thrive on attention so when they see that they’re not getting a response, they generally get bored and stop. However, this only applies to when you’re dealing with verbal abuse because it’s hard to ignore a fist to your lower jaw for extended periods.

3. Run away. 

There’s no shame in running away, like when you’re faced with a flesh-eating zombie or a hungry T-rex or a Dudley-sized bully. Except that in a confined space like a school, there’s only so far you can go before the bully catches up and whips your ass till you cry uncle.

4. Tell the kid to stop it. 

This is a long shot but one that must be attempted nonetheless. But really, if  the bully was someone that listened to reason, he probably wouldn’t be throwing his weight around and shoving kids randomly in the first place.

5. Stand up to the bully.

Well, this depends on how big the bully is. Let’s face it, my child is not Bruce Lee and he does not possess the necessary skills to beat a monster of a child to a pulp.

No, dealing with bullies requires more drastic action.

6. Direct bully to mommy.

When all else fails, there’s always the super secret back up plan, which is to point out the bully to mommy, who will taser him when no one is looking.

You’d think I’m kidding but I’m already shopping for tasers on ebay.

I woke up this morning planning to write about a trip to the dentist. When I was about done, I looked at it and I was all “that’s not particularly exciting, I should probably trash it. I bet nobody’s going to want to read that.”

While I was still mulling over whether or not I wanted to go ahead with it, Tru fell while chasing Kirsten around the house and knocked the back of his head against the door so we ended up in the emergency room instead. And now I’m writing about a visit to the hospital. Funny how life turns out sometimes – and I don’t mean ha-ha kind of funny but “hey, that’s weirdly coincidental I SHOULD NEVER SAY MY LIFE IS BORING EVER AGAIN.”

What’s that they always say about being careful what you ask for in case it turns out to be your child splitting his head open and bleeding all over your living room floor?

Speaking of coincidental, remember the time I smashed my head at Ikea and bled so profusely I had to get it stitched up? Well, I do. Rather vividly, I might add so this was a bit like deja vu. Wait, does deja vu count when it’s happening to someone else? This is all so confusing and I’m a little exhausted from the entire night’s drama. Anyhow, I’m now like an expert on head wounds so I knew I had to bring him in for stitches.

I suppose the one good thing that comes from bleeding from your head is that it counts as a real emergency so we didn’t have to wait very long at the emergency room. The doctor assessed the wound, cleaned it up and applied some anesthetic cream on it. At one point, he showed us how deep the gash was was and when he pulled apart the skin, I could almost see part of his brain. This is not one of those things they prepare you for when you have a child. “Oh btw, one day, you’re going to see the inside of his head, no big deal.”

There were 2 ways to do the stitching. If Tru could keep still during the procedure, we could be done in 15 minutes. If not, they would have to sedate him and it would be a very long night.

We went for the *awake* version first. Once the anesthesia kicked in, Tru had to be straightjacketed like a wormlet and pinned down to the table. It was all quite surreal. I have to admit that I was a lot more anxious than he was because HELLO, STICHES. SHARP NEEDLE. IN MY POOR BABY’S HEAD. THE PERFECT BABY HEAD I GAVE BIRTH TO. Tru just lay there calmly while the needle darted in and out of his flesh.

When the doctor was done, he said Tru was the coolest kid he’s ever stitched. So either he’s very new at this or my boy is some kind of awesome. Although I’m pretty sure it’s the second one, mostly because there were 2 interns watching the whole time and I learnt from Grey’s Anatomy that you don’t get your own minions unless you’re pretty good.

And this is where I get to be all emo because I just watched my baby take 5 stitches in the head. I think I’m going to need some ice-cream.

Last week was a bit of a whirlwind. There was the SG Blog Awards on Saturday and the day before that, I was invited to attend a lunch with Dr Tony Tan. And I’m not referring to my general practitioner who happens to share the same name as The Dr Tony Tan.

Apparently, I was there because I wrote this piece on the General Elections that went viral and almost 5,000 people liked it on Facebook. They said that according to several sources, I was some sort of a trailblazer in the online world in Singapore. So not making that up.

From the invite, the purpose of the lunch was to discuss how digital channels are transforming discourse and opinions locally and internationally. I had to read it many times because I have no idea what many of those words meant and the only transforming I’m good at has to do with Optimus Prime and his gang of Autobots. But then I couldn’t pass up a chance to get up close with The Dr Tony Tan, so I turned to my good friends, Google and Wikipedia for help.

I figured there’d be lots of important people there and I could sneak in behind to blend in with the wallpaper but when I reached, I was brought to a room with a round table and 12 chairs. 12 chairs. Plus, there wasn’t even wallpaper for me to do the blending with. Or there was, but I couldn’t be sure because I had a mild panic attack and things got a little fuzzy by then. It was a good thing I arrived 15 minutes early so I had plenty of time to sneak off to the bathroom to throw up a little.

And then people started arriving. People who were like the biggest shots in the digital media scene, all of whom I stalk on a regular basis. People like Alvin Lim, Ravi Philemon, Pat Law, Mr Miyagi, Cherian George, Alex Au, Mr Brown and Kien M Lee.

They all looked like they came from very important meetings so I tried my best not to look like I came from a very important diaper change. Next to the table with 12 seats was an important chart with names and designated seats, which meant that I couldn’t skulk away and pick the least conspicuous seat. Not that there is such a thing as an inconspicuous seat at a round table anyway.

During the lunch, I wrote a mental journal in my head so I’m just going to post excerpts from said journal.

I’m supposed to choose between salmon carpaccio and goose liver. I’m not a fan of liver but I’ve always been taught not to order food I can’t pronounce. Is it kar-pa-chio or ker-pay-chio? What is carpaccio anyway? I’m going to be the dork that makes a wrong order. I’m just going to say salmon and hope for the best. Oh wait, Alex said kar-pa-chio. Guess I was 50% right.

Dr Tony Tan has arrived. I’m so close I can actually touch The Hair. Must. Resist. Temptation. Now’s not a good time to get myself incarcerated.

Oh, oh, oh, round table introduction time. Now’s the perfect time to start panicking.

Why are there so many forks and knives? I should casually stall for time and pretend to drink my water so I can observe what the others are using. I knew I should have paid more attention when I googled fine dining cutlery. All these tiny forks are so confusing.

Did Dr Tan just direct a question at me? I think that’s why all these people are looking at me. I generally don’t throw my hands up and shriek but I think this is one of those moments in life when one is allowed to. OK THINK, WOMAN, THINK.

Crisis averted. They are now looking at someone else.

I’m fairly certain I didn’t silence my phone. There is no discreet way to do this with my bag on the floor. Maybe if I step on it hard enough, it will disable the ring function.

Why is it that everyone else here is insanely smart? They are all taking turns to say things that I don’t understand. Now I’m torn between nodding thoughtfully or raising a questioning eyebrow. They may just see right through too much nodding. I’ll go with the eyebrow to mix things up a bit.

I really need to pee but nobody is moving. Hopefully this violent shaking of my legs will make it go away.

I actually came prepared with a question but it has to do with Dr Tony Tan’s hair and Mr Brown beat me to it.

I think I made it out from the lunch unscathed. As a reward, I totally managed to score a photo with Dr Tony Tan. Which I’m going to frame up and hang in my living room.

Question: Anyone else ever felt as inadequate about being a mom as I do? I mean, I love kids but I’m terrible at teaching them phonics or nutrition or how to make the toilet or being responsible and all that.

Last week, I’ve been trying to get Kirsten to pee in the toilet. I psyched her up about being a big girl and wearing Hello Kitty panties instead of diapers and put her on the toilet bowl. She was all “mommy do” so ok, I figured since kids learnt through imitation, I’d do a live demo for her.

And she just stood there and laughed – nice one, baby girl.

It doesn’t really help that every other mother I know seems to have their act together. They potty-train their newborns and their kids can draw a straight line by 11 months. I’m obviously way behind because I’m 29 and still can’t draw a straight line. After that, they move on to advanced topics like feeding organic vegetables that they’ve grown by hand in their backyard and teaching their kids to perform cardiothoracic surgery.

Then I come across sites like these and I feel so. much. better.

I’ve picked out some of my favorites here. I may or may not have done these at some point.

1. Everyone thinks I’m such a great mom for teaching my daughter how to read already. It wasn’t me. It was the Leapfrog pen. I had no idea she could read.

2. Since it’s summertime, about once a week I take the kids for ice cream… for lunch.

3. I forget to brush my 1- and 2-year-olds’ teeth. I am not sure why it’s so hard for me to remember, but it’s a good thing that these teeth will fall out.

4. At the end if the day, my needs are really simple: To be able to shit in peace.

5. At the end of a long challenging day, I’m apt to call bedtime half and hour early. It’s not like they can tell time yet.

6. I used bandaids to cover my nipples when I weaned my children. See? All gone.

7. I joined a gym just for the free daycare. I drop the kids off and read magazines and blogs in the locker room.

8. Questions of the day: 1) How did the pepperoni get stuck to the ceiling? 2) Why didn’t gravity kick in & make it fall? 3) How did I not notice this? 4) When did we have pizza last?

9. I confiscated my teenager’s stash of pot, gave her a lecture, and have been smoking it ever since myself.

10. Last week, my hairdresser asked how far along I was. I’m not pregnant, but I pretended to be 4 months. I can never go back there.

11.  Mother dropping her kid for a sleepover at my house: “No food dye, no dairy, just soy milk, only organic food, and we don’t eat ANY fast food.” I let them eat all the junk they wanted. They seemed fine.

12. My kids hardy bathe in the summer. The pool totally counts.

13. When my daughter asked me what comes after a trillion, I told her “a gazillion.” Um, we are homeschoolers. Not supposed to just make shit up.

14. My baby is not spoiled, she just doesn’t like you.

15. I confess that most days, I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing. Everyone thinks I have it all together — good wife, good mom, successful career — but I really don’t. I’m ready to stop pretending to be perfect now.

What’s yours?

A while back, I did a list of Top 5 Asian Parenting Faux Pas (Passes?) and one of them was to threaten kids with scary uncles. Being one to practice what I preach, I’ve made it a point never to scare them with policemen or hobos.

Regarding the former, we tell them that policemen are very kind and helpful, so if they ever get lost or need to rescue a cat from a tree, they should not hesitate to approach a friendly neighborhood policeman. As for hobos, we buy them a cup of coffee and remind them to say no to drugs.

The other thing you should know is that my son has a thing for big red buttons. Like the power ON/OFF button on remotes, or the emergency alarm button in the lifts, which he has to press repeatedly. It’s like he can’t help it and if left to his own devices, would probably end up as an evil villain with a secret lair filled with giant red apocalyptic buttons. We’re getting him tested for villainous tendencies.

Several nights ago, we were at the airport doing our usual rounds and on our way down an escalator, Tru suddenly reached out and pressed the emergency stop button. The one that gets you fined like $5,000,000 or thrown in jail or something.

Naturally, the escalator came to an abrupt halt and the husband said “OH NO TRU! You can’t press that! Now we’ve got to explain to the police what happened.” Before he completed his sentence, Tru promptly burst into tears and in the minute that followed, proceeded to have a complete meltdown. In between sobs, I could make out the words “I’m sorry…don’t want police to catch me.”

As far as we can remember, we’ve never even once used the police as a threat but he must have overheard us talking when we got that ill-fated warning letter from the police.

We hugged him and said it’s ok, we would never let anyone (no, not even the police) catch him. Like if there was a grizzly bear attack, the bear would have to first eat the husband, followed by…ok, let’s hope the bear gets sufficiently nourished by then and decides to lie down for a bit. Or if anyone needed to take the fall and go to jail, it would be the husband first, then me. Although the husband says I should take this one because I could blog in jail anyway or maybe even find the time to write a masterpiece like Jeffrey Archer.

Anyway, Tru didn’t seem entirely convinced because he spent the rest of the evening pretending to sleep in the stroller looking noticeably subdued.

I like to consider life’s episodes as lessons and this one would be to never use the police to threaten my son. Or to buy a police uniform. I’m still pondering that one.