Here comes the summer sun!

(yet another b.p)
Hot on the heels of Summer are long lovely maxi-dresses, flipflops, sunbathing in parks, splashing around in paddling pools, tall gorgeous glasses of Pimm's, and of course, hot, flammin' Barbeques!!!!

We were invited to one at the end of June. Our hosts were the very lovely Ongs who organised a mini housewarming shindig at their swanky new pad a stone's throw from their previous apartment.

Val looking gorgeous in her polkadotted green dress
& Alan the BBQ extraordinaire!

With her new bowls
We got them as a housewarming gift for the Ongs :)

Dearest Ros with her new Cath Kidston oven mitten

The Ongs - they ALWAYS spoil us rotten with their smorgasbord of delectables! That day, we were treated to thick slabs of chargrilled beef from M&S, well marinated chicken pieces, bamboo clams from their local fishmonger (Steve Hatt, I think?), succulent lamb kebabs. We imbibed glass after glass of red/white wine and tumblers of juice as we sat chatting under the warm blanket of the Saturday afternoon sunshine. (Well, at least the men did. The womenfolk opted to keep fairskinned by escaping indoors. Heh.)

Everything was pretty darn awesome.

Dee, Alan, and Adrian

Jac, Val, me! (in mirror) and Ros

While we tucked into BBQ food, the kids, in the meantime, got busy upstairs with Luke's toys. The poor little tyke, however, was a tad unsettled by the sudden surge of estrogen in his house so spent most of the afternoon napping downstairs.

ducking the gaggle of screaming women by snoozing.
Wise choice! :P

Later however, all the children got into their swimsuits and played at the fountain located in the apartment compound. They ran round in circles, splishety splashed in the water, and had themselves a swimmingly good time.

the bevy of beauties in their bathing suits!

Now this is going to sound rather odd - especially coz we're moving back to tropical weather - but we'll miss Summer in London. It's the ability to experience the 4 seasons, really. Makes one appreciate hot summery days knowing full well temperatures will dip the rest of the year...

3 Fs*

(yet another b.p)

This photo, taken last Friday, is my current favourite with Cheeks.

It shows us sitting outside some random Chinese diner at Leicester Square, waiting for Papa. We were in Chinatown to meet Aunty Mimi who had kindly organised a farewell dinner for us. She'd invited her son Pat and his gf along so that she could introduce us all (the adventurous couple went on a year-long sabbatical to travel the world). Papa had called earlier to say he would be early and would see us at the arranged meeting point. Clearly, he's not (bah!).

It was tough finding a good spot to wait for him. We were forced to uproot ourselves several times because typical chinese men were lighting up everywhere and blowing clouds of bad, BAD SHS in our direction (bah bah!). If SHS wasn't bad enough, it had to rain as well. It was a good thing we went to a box-office outlet earlier to get some brochures on the musicals. We covered our heads with them. To amuse ourselves, we made up silly songs (shasha white sheep have you any wool? Beauty and the fish...lalalala... Beauty and the goat, Beauty was a dope (just joking! heh)), we commented on the pictures on the brochures, we watched people dart in and out of shops, desperately trying to find shelter from the rain.

That's when I took the photo.

As we sat there waiting, I thought about something Zubeyde said to me - that Cheeks will not remember any of this. Not her life in London, the holidays here and around Europe, not Leicester Square, not this moment we shared under the rain.

I suppose that's why I'm a firm believer in taking photographs. A moment, however fleeting or inconsequential, is immortalized - forever captured in print or stored in softcopy, on a harddrive somewhere.

We need triggers.

Because, we forget. I forget. Although I take a gazillion photos a day and blog about some of my experiences, some events have already started to fade into oblivion...

And I think of how Life goes one full circle.

Eversince Cheeks was born, I have been stocking up memories for her. I know she won't remember her early years so the onus is on me to do the remembering for her. I'll tell her what her first sounds were, the blood transfusion she had to go through as a 5-day old infant, her first cruise and how tiny she was that we could bathe her in the bathroom sink, that Nainai was the first to introduce dragonfruit to her, Gonggong and Grandma had to tie the handles of ALL the drawers and cabinets in the house when it was their turn to babysit her, her favourite phrases at age 3 - 'because that's why' which later became 'because you see'. How she loved to end her sentences with 'alrighty!', say hi to Anna at the drycleaners every time we passed her shop, look out for Blendina at Tesco, loved the kids meal at Bertie and Boo's, the many, many happy moments Mummy spent with her while looking after her full-time...

In time to come, as my own memory starts to ebb - dates I once remembered at the back of my hand, holidays, family anecdotes, daily happenings - they will suddenly be a strain to remember. By that time, I hope Cheeks would have accumulated a treasure chest filled with lovely, precious family memories.

I hope she will take my old, wrinkled hand in hers, and walk me through our happy past. Remember, Mum? she'll ask. She'll search my face for some sign of recollection but I'll (probably) display none.

But it won't matter. Because I have her to rely on for all our memories.

Her memories will be mine. As mine are hers.

And they will be enough for the both of us.

* Favourite Friday Fotos

Gao Tu (The Art of Procrastination)

(yet ANOTHER backdated post)

Heh heh heh.

Ho ho ho.

Kekeke.

Oh please let me tell you why I'm chuckling to myself. Please please please? I'm just dying to tell y'all.

...

Okaay. Am deafened by the deathly silence from the other side (yes, I do mean you lot). What's that phrase? I can cut the silence with a knife? I can hear a pin drop? The silence was broken by a slow, fizzy, poofy noise because someone failed to raise a buttcheek?

I feel déjà vu-ish.

This feels familiar.

Ah yes. It's reminiscent of the MANY times MOM (how's that for a reference, QL!!!!) does a strange little soliloquy over MSN whenever I skirt off from the IM without telling her. Ho ho ho.

Anywayz, I'm wonderfully adept at changing the subject so let's get back to it already.

Chuckling. Why? Because I have a whole backlog of entries which I am looking at in utter disdain. Oh, the tribulations of tu-ing!

So excuse me while I gather bits from here and there and try to piece my life - as of last week - together...

Thursday:
Dennis' cousins, Enrica & Eudora, who were in London/Paris for a 2-week holiday, treated us to a night off and tickets to see Avenue Q.

It was a riot! (the musical that is, not that Hubs and I staged one. Although quite frankly, I wouldn't mind protesting the need for more nights off ! :P)

Critics hail it as 'an irreverent parody of Sesame Street'.

Spot.On.

Brash, totally un-PC and absolutely unapologetic about it, I soaked up the ribaldry, gawped at the salacious scenes, and marvelled at the skilful puppeteering. And all the songs were catchy and rip-roaringly hilarious! A must-see on Broadway!

I was happy to enjoy a nightout with Dee. Occasions like these are so hard to come by, so few and far between. Sometimes I forget how it is to be just us - where conversations are not laced with anecdotes about Cheeks, work updates, or family. We walked hand in hand, snuggled in our theatre seats, finished each other sentences, enjoyed us.

That night, we were simply Saggs and Dee, not Mummy and Papa.

The other guy...

JH called me today. Out of the blue.

To see if I was ok.

And just like that, he made a difference to my otherwise doldrummy day.

So thank you, bud. It meant alot to me.

Do I hear pratas and milo dinosaurs?

Openings & Closures

A few months ago while on our way to the supermarket, Cheeks and I noticed the beginnings of renovation work taking place at a long-vacant corner shop.

We were curious, if not a little excited.

We watched the shop slowly take shape. Every chance we had, we'd peek inquisitively through openings left by the dog-eared newspaper sheets plastered over its windowpanes. We'd eye the woodplanks that leant against walls, cans of paint, bags of cement/plaster, wiring, boxes of store fixtures, piping that littered the pavement.

It wasn't long before we realised the shop was going to be a - very much hoped-for - cafe.

As fresh cafe posters replaced the crinkled newspapers at the windowpanes, I began to wonder whether we'd have a chance to sit and enjoy a cuppa at the cafe before leaving London. Opening Soon wasn't precise enough.

But Soon came sooner than expected and the cafe opened its doors to us on 21 May 2008. Dee's birthday. I remember the day well as it was the day chichi arrived to London.

Thank you...

I know it sounds awfully trifle - even shallow - to be happy over the opening of a cafe. But in a way, I felt we were given time - time to enjoy that bit more of London living.

The cafe is certainly nothing to shout about. In fact, it's a coffee chain that's a dime a dozen in London. But every experience seems impossibly precious now. I find myself clinging possessively to every sight, smell, taste, sound, memory, and finding it so very hard to let go.

I'm not quite ready to close this chapter of my life just yet. I'm not ready to say goodbye. So I think I'll linger a little longer.

(I really want to apologise for the incessant moping on this blog. But if you don't like what you read, just close the blogsite. It's that easy.)

Shiver Me Timbre(s)!

Astounding but true.

Hubs and I LOVE the way the Prince of Wales speaks. Yes, I do mean HRH Prince Charles, the Heir Apparent, husband to CPB, father to Wills & Harry, The Royal who advocates talking to flora etc etc etc.

And now, I'd like to give you all a moment to gawp like freshly caught fish.

...
...
...

Done?

...
...
...

As we explored the grounds at Windsor Castle on Saturday, we found ourselves unexpectedly 'seduced' by HRH's crisp, private school influenced, ultra-polished, Queen's English- accented voice through our hand-held audio guides. So beguiled were we that we actually replayed his segment twice. Ok, thrice, but who's counting?

I think neither of us remembers what he rattled on about. He was waxing lyrical about something. What was it? The splendid tapestry hanging in the staterooms? The proud history of the castle?

I don't remember! All that comes to mind is the rich timbre of his voice, the beautiful way he enunciated his words... *sigh*

Oh. Help. Me. God.

Now here's another man who's been equally successful - if not more - in bowling us over with his verbal delivery - Simon Woods. He played the v dishy Dr Harrison in BBC's successful adaptation of Elizabeth Gaskell's 'Cranford'. This man's elocution is oh-my-gawd-I-can't-even-say-it -- pure, molten chocolate. Rich, smooth, utterly irresistible. *swoon*

Please, allow me to convince:

+++

In related news, we've done it. We've visited every royal castle in London. Windsor's the last.

The Sun wasn't in its most cooperative mood that day but we went ahead anyway. We weren't going to let a little weather blip scupper our plans, come hell or high water!

We weren't particularly impressed with the Queen's actual residence though I suspect it was a case of 'you've seen one, you've seen them all'. Cheeks did enjoy Queen Mary's Dolls' House though. The lavish opulence of the Doll House was dumbfounding. Besides the meticulously crafted furnishings and ornaments, the Doll House is equipped with electrical lights and plumbing - hot and cold water run in all the bathrooms!

There was a strong sense of déjà vu as I traipsed over the cobbled pavements. I watched Cheeks quietly listening to her special audio guide and marvelled how much she's grown. Before, she was a mere tag-along. Now she's an active participant who's able to follow the audio guide and walk through staterooms and galleries without too much complaint.

Anyway, here's a look at us - then and now. Our 1st palace visit (Tower of London) and our last (Windsor Castle).

Same people. Same jackets (me and Papa! totally unpremeditated!). Same photo taken with guard wearing bearskin headgear. But how we've all grown... in big and small ways. :)

Tower of London Sept 2006

Windsor Castle June 2008

The best bestest play

(a backdated post)

After weeks of eager anticipation, we brought Cheeks for her first play (not to be confused with musical. No animated artists gesticulating wildly, belting out songs using their diaphragm - don't play play!) at Polka Theatre in South Wimbledon. It was a deliberate choice - Cheeks hadn't yet been to a play so I thought what better way to introduce her to that aspect of the Arts than through... Charlie and Lola!!!! Whoop whoop whoop! (seriously, I sometimes wonder who the real fan is here!)

Even Papa tagged along, quite chuffed to be part of the event.

We bought tickets for the 10:30am show. The play, lasting just over an hour, left us ample time to send Cheeks to nursery after. Super!

The theatre was all I expected a childrens' theatre to be - an inviting facade, a friendly cafe for one to grab a quick nosh before a performance, an 'exhibition area' with displays of props and puppets from past productions, a selection of rocking horses for children to climb onto, a crafty corner stocked with picture printouts and colour pencils to do colouring in, rows of shelves packed with popular childrens' literature. There was also a Toyshop, which sold toys (du-uh!), books, show programmes, and a panoply of C&L merchandise, which, after the show, I felt impelled to buy. Dang!

Despite arriving early, the theatre lobby was already teeming with schoolchildren. I muttered a prayer hoping they wouldn't cause a ruckus during the show and ruin it for everybody. Thankfully, they behaved beautifully. Phew.

--spoilers ahead--

The play was done 'puppet-style', i.e people holding up cardboard cutouts (?) of the characters. Because of this, I felt the characters' expressions were limited, although not entirely compromised. The 'puppets' were able to display different expressions - happy, sad, shocked - which weren't great, but all in all, they sufficed.

It was a thrill for me to observe the kids. The moment the lights dimmed and the oh-so-familiar themesong resonated through the speakers, the young audience leapt up and let out claps, squeals, screams, and cheers of rapture.

It was a mini rock concert.

Favourite bits
When coloured, paper butterflies were released. They flitted gently from the ceiling into the eager, outstretched arms of the children below. Truly a wonderful, magical moment.

The discoball that lighted up and spun from the ceiling, throwing tiny orbs of white light onto the walls of the little theatre, transforming it into a sparkly, dazzling wonderland.

Not so favourite bits
The puppeteering took away some of the 'magic'. I suppose they couldn't have done it any other way - 2 live size dolls on stage would've made certain scene changes a logistical nightmare. Not to mention, cumbersome.

And finally.

Did Cheeks enjoy it? I certainly hope so! But I really can't say. I surmise she did although she was a tad quiet towards the end. I snuck glances at her throughout the play and caught a smile here, a chuckle there, but she was rather reticent for most of the 2nd half. Certainly not the reaction we'd expected especially after successful outings to see Mary Poppins and Mama Mia, both of which she enjoyed.

Perhaps she's more a song and dance girl. Perhaps she was disappointed she didn't get to catch one of the paper butterflies during the performance. Perhaps she was tuckered out.

Regardless, I'm still glad we were able to bring her and I hope, in years to come, we can relive these memories through our library of photos.

On the goodbye trail

There are so many things I want us to do, so many places I want us to visit and re-visit before we leave London. On my lengthy list:

• Hampstead Heath (never been, would love to bring Cheeks to see the bathing ponds. Heard so much about them)
  
• Windsor Castle (to catch a glimpse of the Queen (!) who actually resides there, and not Buckingham Palace as is the popular belief)
• Richmond
• Brentcross
• Browse vintage boutiques at Angel/Covent Garden
  
• Brighton (walk on the famous pebbled beach)
  
• Climb to the top of St Paul's Cathedral for the breathtaking view of London
  
• Catch another musical/play
• Visit Columbia Road Flower Market
• Stroll down Portobello Market/King's Ave/High Street Kensington/Hampstead/Regent-Oxford Street

Truth is, I know I'll be unable to complete the list even if I were to stick to it slavishly. I'll have to be content with whatever I can manage within our limited timeframe. As it is I'm already feeling the stretch - a classic case of wanting to do too much in too little time. Besides the list, I'm feverishly trying to set aside time for friends who've been so much a part of our lives here.

Because I want to, and because I think they're important.

Surprisingly absent from the list is perhaps a visit to the museums. I took that out because I managed to bring Cheeks to the National Gallery on the spur of a moment today. I'd love to bring her to all of them again if I could - the Tates, British Museum, Horniman - but I can't.

So I picked the grand old dame. She who houses almost everything.

We made a beeline for the Impressionists.

They were all on proud display - Monet, Pissaro, Cezanne, van Gogh, Degas, Seurat, Renoir - names that have, in recent times, become familiar to Cheeks because of the 'Katie' series by James Mayhew. She paused to ask questions about Henry Rosseau's 'Surprised', Degas' 'Ballet Dancers', Seurat's 'Bathers' and Renoir's 'An Evening at the Theatre'.

But the painting she lingered at most was one by Paul Delaroche, 'Execution of Lady Jane Grey', one of my favourite paintings at the Gallery. This was the running dialog while we stood gazing at it: (pardon the lengthy exchange, i'm writing it all down so I don't forget)

D: Mummy, why is the lady blindfolded?
M: Because she is going to have her head cut off.
D: Why?!!!
M: In the past, when the king was not pleased with someone, he would give an order to have their heads cut off.
D: That's not very nice!
M: No, it isn't. But because the king was very powerful, he could do pretty much what he wanted. I think this was King Henry the VIII.
D: I think he is a very evil king! We should cut off HIS head!
D: (scans the painting) Mummy, why is that lady on the floor?
M: She fainted, I think.
D: Why?
M: I think it's because she was overcome by sadness that the young lady is going to have her head chopped off. I think that old lady is her lady-in-waiting.
D: And what about that man at the pillar? What's he doing?
M: I don't think that's a man Cheeks, it's another lady-in-waiting.
D: Why is she turned away?
M: I think she's crying against the pillar, sweetheart. She's probably very sad that the young lady is going to die.
M: How do you think the blindfolded lady feels, sweetheart?
D: I think she must be very scared.
M: I think so too, Cheeks. Look at that big axe. (we both turn to look at it)
D: That king is an EVIL man. I don't like him! He should NOT chop off people's heads! *growls*

Before we leave, we browse the Gallery bookshop. I buy Cheeks a chocolate coin, a 'Katie' book, and a print reproduction of Picasso's 'Child with a Dove'. As we descend the stairs at Charing Cross station, I find myself... a little overwhelmed.

These museums will no longer be at my disposal. I can't amble through gallery after gallery any time I want to, or bring Cheeks on mini excursions to see 'the Greats' on a whim.

I guess it's true what many friends have been telling me of late - that it was good while it lasted.

In our case, perhaps a little too good.

Father's Day (in pictures)

Cheeks proudly hands Papa the card we picked out for him

behind it she's drawn our family and ... Bambi!

Helping Papa blow out the candles...

...then helping him cut the cake

Happy little family!

Happy Father's Day, Dee! We love you.

and

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY to my Bapak di Singapura!!!
xxx

Remembering... How Great Thou Art

So there we were - half sprinting, half briskwalking, trying to get ourselves home in record time to unlock the main door, hurl our grocery bags onto the carpet, slam the door, lock it, then dash all the way to Cheeks' nursery. Hopefully, in time for school.

Despite the flurry and fluster, Cheeks, between pants, was able to conduct a (rather one-way) discussion with me regarding God:

D: Mummy, God is great, isn't He?
M: Hhehh hheh hhehhhhh. (this is me panting, btw.)
D: He knows what's good for us, right?
D: He knows what we should eat.
D: He knows what's best for us.
D: Mummy, without God, we'd be human bones.
M: Bo...? (silenced by sheer exhaustion *pant* from all that sprintwalking. *pant* Therefore *pant * unable to articulate. *pant* Manage to look quizzically (enough) at her to *pant* signal my incomprehension regarding her last statement. *pant pant*)
D: (mildly affronted) Ye-ess?! If God didn't make our bodies. We'd just be bones! Right? Huh.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh. Nod. Nod.

+++

Later, as I take the Tube to Leicester Square to buy some fresh supplies for the steamboat we're having with the Lanes tonight, I think to myself how incredibly simple yet true her words were/are.

A waft of something familiar distracts me. I watch a fellow commuter peel the skin, then chomp carefully on her ripe banana. And I thank God for my sense of smell and for the delicious fruit He's provided for us all.

I think of my conversation with Mona (Jelani's mum. Cheeks' friend at nursery). She tells me today that she'll 'miss us' when we return to Singapore. I think of all the kind, sweet words from schoolmums/playdates/friends here, telling us our absence will be felt, and our presence missed.

And I think about all the lovely messages from friends and family in Singapore, telling us how they can't wait for us to be back.

Then, for the first time after (what's been) a loooong time of feeling sore about it, I thank God for 2 of the BEST years of my life. Although I know I'll still miss the family life we have here, I am finally submitting it all to Him. Because He knows what's best. So I'm thankful for having had 2 wonderful, close-knit years with my Cheeks and Dee.

2 years of priceless, happy, cherished memories. Together.

And I think of how timely this reminder is. How glad I am that my 3YO can talk to me about God.

How in her own little way, she's prompted me of God's promises and His love for us. Jeremiah 29:11~13.

Raising a toughie

Children are injury-prone. I'm sure parents the world over would concur.

On our way to nursery today, Cheeks struck her foot against an uneven slab of pavement, tumbled and landed - knees first, then palms down - before ending up completely prostrate on the ground.

...

Eversince she was a wee thing learning to totter about, Dee and I have assumed a 'go on, pick yourself up, dust yourself off, no need for tears' stance whenever Cheeks has a fall.

Or bumps herself.

Or suffers a scratch.

Or takes a knock to the head. (Unless they were super-duperly hard knocks, of course.)

As a result, (we think) Cheeks has grown up to be rather... sturdy?

Or perhaps there is some measure of truth behind the nutritious properties of durians? It's been said that pregnant women who consume durians throughout their trimesters will give birth to robust, bah-bah (firm-skinned & meaty), hardy offspring.

I followed the advice, seeing my ex-boss' 3 strapping, healthy, energetic boys. On a wild night of unstoppable gluttony, I'd wolf down 5 packs of durians on my own. At a go.

So yes, I do wonder whether it is the durians or our low-fuss attitude that has helped Cheeks become the stalwart she is today.

Anyway, I inch closer to take a look at her wounds. As I do so, she begins fishing for sympathy by crying piteously. I notice a few tiny spots oozing with blood on one knee. I wipe them clean. I take a look at her hands. No cuts, grazes or scrapes. Just dirty with bits of gravel.

I'm certain the fall isn't bad. I give her knee a quick peck to kiss the pain away, then tell her everyone trips and falls once in awhile. Even mummy does. But few have red polkadots on their knees like she has.

At the mention of spotty polkadotty wounds, she stops sniffling immediately and manages a chuckle. She likes the sound of that.

She takes one last, cursory glance at her wound, wipes her hands on her jeans then tears down the pavement again.

Pain (if any at all) and injury are clean forgotten.

Effects of Time

I'm still finding London chilly at night. Me toes are turning ghastly blue as I squat here, perched on my stool, attempting to blog after the looooonnnngggg-ong-ong-ong (echo echo echo) hiatus.

It feels like a long time. And yet, it hasn't been. Has it?

I no longer see it fit to use the phrase 'Time flies'. Because to me, Time doesn't fly, it's evanescent.

A 13 hour flight, a one-way plane ticket, that flight across continents are all that separate me from here and there.

First Chichi was here.

Now, she's somewhere out there, in the clouds, snoozing as she flies over some country? Or perhaps she's keeping herself entertained with inflight movies. I hope they are good and make up for the undoubtedly horrendous service she'll receive from BA.

Sometime tomorrow, her almost 3-week holiday will come to a close. She'll be reunited with family.

Before long, so will we.

...

Every holiday earns me a new stamp on my passport, a new 'momento-magnet' on our fridge.

Every step I take now brings me closer and closer to home.

I loved having Chichi here. I loved throwing open our doors and showing her what life in the UK is like for us. I loved being able to show her around, cook for her, share experiences with her. Just having her around to talk to, and being a little sister all over again.

But this 'now you see me, now you don't' disappearing act is getting a bit too achy-chokey for my fragile fraying nerves.

Our last day is coming soon. It'll soon be our turn to be here one day, and not, the next.

...

Now here's a newsbreak. The good people (note the mild sarcasm) at the real estate company have lay claim to the apartment. Notice the hard-to-miss 'TO LET' sign that's been hammered into the ground right outside our soon-to-be-ex flat? A stark reminder that, yes yes, we'll be vacating soon.

them vultures. Bah!

Now, music moments!

Do you ever wonder why certain songs pop into your head? For no apparent reason? You've not heard them lately - not a single note, bar, section of melody. Nothing! Nada nyet nein.

Once in awhile - and if you allow it to - the past finds ways of creeping up on you. In my case, through music. This tune's been filling my head all night. I don't know how or why I pulled this out from my memory vault. I have trouble remembering personal events, much less songs from days of yore? Anyway, despite keeping it in cold storage - gathering cobwebs in some remote part of my grey, no doubt - this song remains an evergreen and I love that I can effortlessly belt out its lyrics despite the memory lapse.

(So it's teeny-bopperish. Stop them eyes from going all rolley polly on me.)



* oh, and I promise the next entry will be more upbeat!