She ain't heavy, well, at least not for Jesus

I've been blogging alot about my conversations with Cheeks. I know.

To innocent byreaders, it would seem as though we sit around all day - twiddling our thumbs, twirling our hair, picking flossing our teeth - doing nothing remotely constructive except engaging in idle tete-a-tete.

Which, is true on most accounts. Ha.

Cheeks and I do talk to each other. ALOT. Eversince she learned to string sentences, we've been entertaining ourselves with endless palaver.

Who can blame us? 2 females shacked up in an old conversian flat, with wall-paper that's yellowing with age, shabby carpeting, and that many rooms. It's not like we can pretend the other doesn't exist, no?

But admittedly, we are a loquacious duo.

Besides, I reckon blogging our conversations is far more 'entertaining' than insipid ramblings about our weekly goings-on. But, for the sake of it, here is the week's update:

Mon- usual school day. Did very little before and after, probably doodled, read, played with dolls?
Tues - met V on Tues @ Covent Garden. Had dumpling noodles with her at Leicester Sq. Passed her her belated bday gift. Bought 70p red bean pastries in Chinatown. Strolled together for abit around Covent.
Wed - took a jaunt round Sloane Square. Bought 2 bottoms for Cheeks + some gifts for people back home from Zara as were on sale. Hoorah!
Thurs - Library day. Came home with a 'sackful'. All for Cheeks. Read half of them before bedtime. Also, dropped in at Waitrose.
Fri - going to meet Val & Luke for tea at Shipp's Tearoom, near Borough Market.

And with that, I realise I have strayed unbelievably from the aforementioned header. Apparently I blog loquaciously too?! Good grief.

The other day, Cheeks said something quite stifle-a-giggleish, after her bath.

D: Mama, Jesus can walk on water. (note: statement, not question)
M: Yes, He can. Can we walk on water?
D: Nooooo...
M: But you know, if ever Jesus asks us to 'walk' on water, I'm sure He can perform miracles on us such that we can walk on water too.
D: Then I will say 'whoooaaaa'! And ask Jesus to piggyback me.

I am so blogging these snippets of conversations as a way of preserving the otherwise forgotten chats with my 3YO who - let's face it- is only 3 once.

Bemoaning the speed in which they grow

Cheeks asked me whether she could have her eyebrows plucked today. She'd watched me pluck mine on a number of occasions so I suppose she finally decided that today, she too, wanted to be trimmed and pruned of 'em unsightly strands.

So there I was, having a leisurely shower when she sauntered in, unannounced and unperturbed (by the presence of au naturel *ahem*splendour), and promptly propped herself on the edge of our bathtub. Quick as a wink, she reached out for the bathroom cabinet, into my makeup pouch, then rummaged for my eyebrow tweezers.

In between shampooing my hair and keeping the soapsuds out of my eyes, I watched her with a (rather) 'foamy' hawk-like gaze as she sat there - pinching the tweezer between her thumb and index finger - poised and ready for the 'removal'.

D: Mama, do my eyebrows need to be shorter?
M: Neatened, Cheeks, not shortened.
D: Do I need my eyebrows to be neatened, Mama?
M: No, you most certinly do not. Only Mama needs to do that coz my eyebrows are a bit messy.
D: When I'm grown up and my eyebrows are messy, then can I neaten my eyebrows?
M: Yes, Cheeks, but only when you're all grown up, and if your eyebrows are messy.
D: Ok, I want them to be messy so I can neaten them.

Oh ho! You'd better think twice before you wish for anything, is all I have to say!

Aye, they sure do grow fast.

These tiresome, loathsome, straggly, overgrowth. And I mean them kiddos too. :P

Pillow Talk

D: Someone is squashing me, Mama!
M: Someone, Cheeky? Who are you referring to?
D: Papa.
M: But this is Mamma & Papa's bed! And by the way, why are you here? Go back to your own bed.
D: But I need to protect you.
M: This bed is only for 2 people, Cheeky.
D: (addresses someone imperiously) This bed is only for 2 people, Papa.
M: Eh? Why are you telling Papa? Where is he supposed to sleep then?
D: (matter-of-factly) In my bed!

For making me laugh out loud, she got to stay... that is, until her kicking, erm, kicked off.

Afterwhich, she was given the boot of course. Heh.

there was a time though...

Understanding what it means to be alone

For those who enjoy wholesome, well-scripted, old-fashioned movie classics, may I recommend 'Goodbye Mr Chips' (B&W) starring Robert Donat and Greer Garson? We recently acquired the DVD at HMV for 5 pounds and it is, in my opinion, worth every penny.

My love for movie classics began early and is attributed entirely to my dad. He would - and still does - fill his video library with a gamut of classics of varied genres - comedy, musical, drama, action, etc - making my siblings & I, the happy, fortunate beneficiaries.

Dad, I can't say this enough - thank you so much for enriching my life with these invaluable 'gifts'.

B-grader Dee - in a jaw-dropping moment - sat through the entire movie with me. So did Cheeks. I was pleasantly surprised that she was able to follow both plot and dialog. Intermittently, she'd turn to me and ask a question or two. Amongst them, this:

D: Mama, why did Dr Wetherby die?
M: He was very old, that's why. People die when they are old. When Mama and Papa are old, we will die too.
D: (sombrely) When you die, I will be all alone...

That one, single statement probably affected me more than it did her.

And it does nothing but strengthen my resolve that Danielle ought not be an only child.

** At this juncture, I feel it my moral duty to highlight the tiresome lamentation that is to follow. If you're unable to empathise with my pregnancy woes (not that you're expected to), do yourself a favour - navigate away now to spare yourself the annoyance at my endless drivel on the topic.

It has been over a year. Longer, if I choose to take count. But I choose not to. You understand why.

The start of 2008 has seen me question, increasingly, God's blueprints for my future. What exactly are His plans for me? Am I really to be a mother of one? I'd really like to know.

So many, many questions. I just wish I had answers for all of them.

I've been plaguing myself with these questions: Can I change the course of God's actions (i.e if His will is not what I desire)? Can I make Him change His mind and veer things towards my favour?

Oh I know, my thoughts are selfish and self-absorbed. Can I help it? I am after all human.

Do God's plans change along the way? Or are they etched in stone the minute we're born? I don't know. I'm conflicted.

And that sums up succinctly all that I've been feeling lately - I am angry, I am disconsolate, I am humbled, I am frustrated, I am lost, I am numb. I want to trust, but it's Faith I'm lacking.

I've been trying to talk myself out of this stupidity. Talking to Dee. Talking to God. But hey, He already knows.

I don't want to go against His best laid plans for me. I want to believe in His decisions. I want to accept them knowing they are what's best for me.

But I'm struggling. I'm trying to keep Faith and Hope afloat, but am finding it increasingly difficult to cling onto the lifesaver and simply 'leave things in God's hands'. And my 'acceptance' of the present situation is becoming somewhat perfunctory, laborious, fake.

Despite these, I know He's been reaching out to me. I see it through verses sent my way. Through sermons, hymns. Through the people placed lovingly in my life. That's just the way God is.

These messages leapt out at me the other day, and they definitely struck a chord:

• I know He will supply all my needs, so why can't I wait?
• I know He has a plan for me, so why am I rushing it because I am eager to do His will, when it is His time not my time? And,
• I know that whatever I ask of GOD, GOD will give me, so why am I scared to ask?

I know why, and I'll tell you. Because I'm afraid what I ask for is not part of His plan for me.

Thus, I've grown impatient and resentful. I have, up to this point, been asking unwaveringly for God to supply this one need, desire. Let me be a mother again. But my requests seem to have come to naught. With no positive response in sight, I've started thinking this is not part of God's plans for me. I am unwilling to wait. I don't want to be a mother to just one.

Which, in fleeting moments of lucidity, isn't so bad. At least I have one. And what a beautiful blessing she is in my life. I ought to be content.

I should be content, really. And feel blessed with all that God's bestowed on me.

I guess I could go on and on. But I think this has gone on for longer than it should've. I'm going to end off with this prayer. For me. To serve as a reminder to simply trust.

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

--Reinhold Niebuhr

...Faith is the substance of things hoped for,
the evidence of things not seen. (Hbr 11:1)

A word from the critic

When I uploaded a series of photos showing Danielle doing artwork on Facebook last week, I was sure to send the link to my parents. Afterall, the main illustration was done specially for them. Other than the badly-cutout paper clothes, everything else was done by our petit artiste.

Here's a mother's interpretation of the artwork:
"Grandma has stumpy legs and dorns an elegant pearl necklace. Gonggong sports thick calves and more hair on one side of his head. A bird hovers over GM's head because 'it was not being careful', and the Sun is green because the artist 'prefers it green'."

Most artpieces come under the strict scrutiny of art critics and in this case, Gonggong has taken it upon himself to critique this piece. Aptly so, since he was half the inspiration for it:

Commendable artwork from Danielle. We've become literally 'colourful' personalities. I spot a new face: quite grumpy-looking, it so happens. But the legs could be true me! Good to discover she's able to write the honorifics. I'm able to make out the spelling. Well done, girl!

Ahhh, my dad, forever the erudite commenter.

That's my niece, Huihui (Joyce) in the photo btw.
Danielle was not even born when that photo was taken!

Now, about that trail...

What do you do when you're unable to requite the affections of a besotted individual (NOT Hubs) who showers you with nothing less than undying adulation?

Why, you gift them a tape filled with soppy, tear-inducing, stab-me-in-the-heart-with-a-serrated-blade-why-don't-you, tottering-on-suicidal-type love songs. Of course.

Like this one...



...which I vaguely remember being set to 'repeat' mode and played over and over and over (coz that is what the repeat function is for, is it not?) the car music system. With me in it.

I was cruel. Or merely ironic. I am sorry about that.

But all this happened a very very long time ago, and thankfully people do move on...

Thankfully.

She's got me covered, alright

Gale force winds robbed us of our biggest, bestest umbrella recently. Despite gripping it with She-Ra-esque strength, our once sturdy brolly was turned inside out and left badly mutilated - its stretchers all bent and broken. So, I chucked it in the bin.

Then yesterday, when it rained again, Cheeks asked:

D: Where is your umbrella, Mama?
M: Remember it broke and Mama had to throw it in the dustbin?
D: Oh yes, you did. It was completely broken, wasn't it? Poor mummy.
M: Actually, you should say poor umbrella becoz it was the umbrella that was broken. Not mummy.
D: No, I think it's poor mummy becoz you don't have an umbrella to shelter you anymore. You might get wet. You might fall sick.

Who needs shelter from a storm when you have the warmth and love from your sweet, sweet, sympathetic child? I don't.

Mandy Moore does an excellent rendition of Rihanna's 'Umbrella' so I'm dedicating this to my daughter... because she can ALWAYS stand under mummy's umbrella (ella, ella, eh eh).

:)

Lodged somewhere in between

Had I started this blog earlier, I would've amassed a treasure chest full of memories by now. Which, is much more than this brain is capable of accommodating.

I need to write things down. Or they get tossed into my brimming bin of forgetfulness.

And that, ladies and gents, is what age, pregnancy, and motherhood do to you.

'Socks for Supper' was a book of my childhood past, an all-time favourite. But for the past year, I'd been wrecking my brain trying to recall its title. With nothing more than a synopsis, I had very little to work on to bring up a title in my head. So much for it being a favourite, eh?

So today, when it finally came to me, I lunged straight for my computer and did a hasty Google search. As the picture of the bookcover came up on screen, I actually let out a sigh of relief. Found, at last!

I'd hoped to purchase a copy for Cheeks. You know - share a slice of my childhood with her, show her the book Mummy spent hours reading as a child?

But cheezus! The book is practically sold as an antique on eBay/Amazon (UK & US)!!!! Check out the unholy prices. Am not quite sure how to plot my next move - do I wait patiently for prices to drop? Or purchase now before the book becomes a world treasure?

And...once again, YouTube never fails to amaze. Apparently I was not the only one who loved the book. Someone loved it enough to make a short video of this wonderfully sweet story that makes your heart swell with joy, and leaves a lingering smile on your face.

Watch.



Speaking of swelled up hearts, Cheeks drew me a picture at nursery today:

The drawing's a little faint but,
'It's Mummy, with a BIG heart!'

In submission

There's no use fighting it - once a Singaporean, always a Singaporean.

With another 6 months to go before we return to our sunny isle, I have already seen to it that Cheeks is on the waitlist for a very popular kindergarten, and secured a place in another. And, I'm still surfing the internet for better schools.

I'm trying hard not to, yet I can't help myself - I am morphing into a kiasu mum.

Things that make you go Urrggh

I have been driven to distraction by one of Dennis' workshirts! It refuses to be straightened of all its urrgghly wrinkles despite my painstaking efforts to spritz -straighten- iron- spritz- straighten- iron! Heck, I am relegating the darn thing to the far-flung corners of Closet(ia) so it can continue to revel in all its crinkled unironed glory with the rest of its workshirt mates. Seriously, I don't even know why I bother. They all end up looking crimpled and creased in that narrow, cramped up cupboard anyway!

Urrgggh x 1

+++++++

Wheet Wheet!

I am a wolf-whistling mum who encourages her progeny to shimmy and shake and basically get 'jiggy with it' when it comes to dancing. But I'm not quite sure how to react to the slithery slidey /playful belly-revealing movements we see in this next video:



When asked why she chose to choreograph her dance moves the way she did, in her own defense, she responded, 'I just wanted to show my belly like that lady in the video!' *flutters eyelashes oh-so-innocently*

Urgggh x 100 (a tad too OTT?)!!!!

Oh the perils of having a girl child!

:P

* Oh Gad! My bedroom looks positively hurricane-torn! Urgggh gaaaaah!

Down the milky way...

I am, perhaps, very late in implementing this but I've finally made the decision to wean Danielle off her milkbottle.

So far, it's been met with no resistance, which is fortunate.

Why did I take such a long time to wean her off the bottle? Oh I don't know. Perhaps, secretly, part of me wanted my baby to still be a baby?

Croakings and Postings

I think I've just about gotten the hang of singing in Mandarin.

For the past hour (Cheeks KO-ed early. huzzah!), I've been searching YouTube (oh ye beautiful wonderful website!) for Mandarin MVs painstakingly subtitled with pinyin uploaded by crazed music fans with nothing better to do. But I appreciate their efforts, I do. How else would I be able to croon croak heartwrenchingly in perfect Mandarin, and appreciate the lyrical poetry woven into some of the songs? I ask you.

'But that's cheating!', I hear some of you sourpusses bark. Well, it isn't! You think it's easy to sing along knowing what 'yin' to land on? Hmph.

And if you think that makes no sense at all - well, I could not care less. Wo bu guan?

Q: Would it be waaay weird if I printed out all the hanyu pinyin lyrics of my fav Mandarin songs and bring 'em (in a black ring file folder, no less) to an el dingy and el dimly-lit karaoke? Too uncool? Tak stylo? Jin boh sei?

Tell me!

I am also having a good time guffawing at some of the comments made by Jay Chou fans (?) regarding certain YouTube uploads. You should read them. That is, if you have nothing better to do, of course.

+++++

And now, onto more "meaningful" insights into the life of yours truly...

My mailbox has been coughing up lots of mail lately.

This stack of postcards, this thick wade of mail - printed & postage FULLY paid by the good people at STB - has been slotted fast and furiously through a hole in my door.

Every single one of them was sent to me by my very sweet future sister-in-law, Geri. On them she writes little anecdotes describing her day, encouraging bible verses, and personal insights into various topics.

If only ALL MY FRIENDS could do the same!!!!!!

Also.

Royal Mail take the words 'snail mail' to a whole new level. In fact, they epitomise that phrase. Can you believe how impossibly SLOW they are? Get this - my postcards sent from Belgium to Singapore arrived in the tropics BEFORE 1 arrived in London (I wrote one to self, see.)! I mean, SERIOUSLY?!!! And all this while, I thought London was in Europe = close to Brussels, also in Europe.

Well, I never. Must've gotten it all wrong.

Right.

Better late than never?

Love Hopelessly...

YouTube is A-absolutely-awesome-astounding-Mazing!

Seriously. You can find all manner of videos there. So after watching 'PRIME' for what HAD TO BE the 8,298,209th time (oh yes, I can watch movies I love over and over and OVER... Dee can attest to that - while tut-tutting and rolling his eyeballs at me and all), and falling in love with scene after scene again & again & again, I was spurred to do a video search of Rachael Yamagata's (oooh, I love her!) rendition of 'I Wish You Love' because that song was ABSOTIVELY apt for the last scene, which, j'adore. And by the way, to those who have seen this movie, don't you agree that the ending was sooo darn appropriate? And to those who haven't, for the love of God, GO SEE IT ALREADY! Sheesh. How many times do I have to repeat this over blogosphere?

So, anyway. YouTube. I managed to find not only the song, but my favourite scene along with it! I thank the person who put it up, who is what - spanish? Well, muchos gracias to that amigo!

What can I say - I am a completely and utterly (and embarrassingly) HOPELESS romantic. Someone should tag me that superlative on Facebook already. Speaking of FB superlatives, more on that in another entry! Soonish!



And here's a slower rendition which I also love:



I WISH YOU LOVE
I wish you bluebirds in the spring
To give your heart a song to sing
And then a kiss, but more than this
I wish you love
And in July a lemonade
To cool you in some leafy glade
I wish you health
But more than wealth
I wish you love
My breaking heart and I agree
That you and I could never be
So with my best
My very best
I set you free
I wish you shelter from the storm
A cozy fire to keep you warm
But most of all when snowflakes fall
I wish you love

The sweetest day

I am as rigid as a cadaver with rigor mortis set in.

I am an icicle.

Cheeks is a popsicle.

And Dee? Well, let's see.

Here he is - a picture of frost - wearing Danielle's balaclava, demonstrating how very cold it has been.

It has been, a very VERY cold January.

Inside the house, my crimson ponsiettas stand withering in their pots. I've started taking down the Christmas decorations - our little Christmas tree is packed, along with all the ornaments my MIL bought from Daiso, into a TESCO plastic bag. The party streamers have been rolled up and silver tinsel plucked from off the carpet floor.

I am finally ready to store away Christmas.

+++++++

Tonight I saw a woman bury her husband. On TV. The scene was so devastatingly painful it pierced my heart in more ways than I could ever imagine.

++++++++

But enough about finales and farewells.

Cheeks said the sweetest things to me at bedtime today.

As I tucked her under her duvet, calming her day down with a couple of bedtime stories, she turned to look at me and in all earnestness uttered, ' I feel safe with you, Mummy'.

She then interlocked her fingers with mine and whispered, ' Let's hold hands and close our eyes at the same time.'

As we lay in bed, side-by-side, with our hands clasped, I muttered softly in her ear, 'If Mummy is not here when you wake up, it's not because Mummy doesn't love you. It's because you're a big girl now and need to learn to sleep on your own.'

Wherein she replied, ' I want to be your little girl then.'

As her eyelids began to droop, her soft chattering replaced by gentle snores, I hugged her tight and offered her this assurance - You will always be my little girl, Cheeky. Always and forever.

Then I left her, alone in her bed, safe with the knowledge that I must be doing something good, up till this point, to deserve the sweet, sweet love of my child.