One day, I peed on a stick and behold! The stick turned blue!
Friday, November 06, 2009
Tell me a story
Okay, I know I need to get more photographs of Evan. He's been out of the picture (literally speaking) because he's recently become a big bundle of energy and is often off somewhere, doing something like sweeping the floor with the broom and dragging the dustpan round the house or trying to toss balls into dustbins, pretending he's really shooting into a basket (much to the pride of Packrat).
Anyway, to his credit, he has taken to books like a fish to water. In fact, both of them have, wanting to look at books, wanting us to read to us (often not letting us finish though). Evan has also developed a great memory for the books we've read to him. He can complete sentences from the books, repeating them verbatim and actually making references to them when he's out and about. His favourite book to date is of course, a book to do with trains. It's the Little Engine That Could. There are others but there are too many to name.
Both of them have their favourite books and favourite parts of books.
Jordan, like her brother enjoys books but in a different way. She loves flipping through them, looking at the pictures, making up stories for herself and carrying books around. She sometimes demands to go to bed with a particular book, pacifier in mouth, one hand clinging on to her teddy bear or her stuffed elephant, the other hand holding a book with iron grip, lying down with her eyes closed. She isn't as attentive as her brother though when we're reading to them. She knows the bits as well as he does but isn't all that enthused about calling out the bits she knows unless coaxed. She does however have an affinity to rhyme; she loves Dr Seuss and loves the cadence of his nonsensical writing.
Another thing she enjoys, is pretend reading. She mimics us. She doesn't know enough to actually 'pretend to really read' so she does it in her own language. But she's got the tone, the expression and everything down pat! Even at 20 months, she loved doing this!
It hasn't changed much, all the gibberish. Although this time, she sounds like she's saying "I eat biscuit" over and over again.
Now she just needs to put real words into it and flip the pages the right way and she'll be set.
My aunt, an early childhood specialist told me sometime back that it didn't matter all that much if I couldn't spend all day with my children. This was after I'd gone back to work and was narrating what my day was like. I think she got breathless listening to how I would wake up in the morning, get the twins ready for school, have breakfast, pack lunch, get dressed and be out of the door all in an average of an hour and a half and then proceed to pick the twins up from school during my lunch break, drop them home, go back to work, and get home in time to bathe them, read to them, sing to them, pray with them and get them to sleep only having dinner after 9 and passing out shortly after. Ok, admittedly, I got breathless writing that sentence too.
Anyway, she told me that it was unnecessary to break my neck trying to do everything and be everywhere and do everything with the twins, including taking them to the bathroom (I think I was bemoaning the fact that Evan preferred my helper to help him with his bathroom needs). I know that is true although it doesn't stop me from trying to be Super Mom.
A common theme in the last few posts has been my need to rest, my not feeling well and still trying to do things with the twins. Yesterday, I decided that since I was trying to teach our helper to make baked rice and Evan was off having some father-son bonding time at the video store, I would include Baby J in our preparation for dinner.
Okay, I know the images and video are of a two-year old with a knife but this was under adult supervision (3 adults actually) and I can attest to how "un sharp" the Ikea plastic knife is. Anyway, our little Nigella (or is it Jamie) was off trying to slice mushrooms and also stir the mushrooms into the mixture. She did have a bit of issue with getting bits of mushroom stuck under her nails or sauce on her hands but she was a game little chef.
Obviously she was full from dinner because she didn't even bother to try what she was 'cooking'. But she seemed to have had fun and was proud of the fact that the bits of mushroom she sliced went into the main mixture as well.
When Evan came back, I tried to get him involved too. But boy as he is, slinked off the stool in a jiffy and went off looking for Papa and demanding for him to sing the "Thomas his friends" (Thomas and His Friends) song.
For those who are interested, here's the recipe for Baby J's Baked Rice.
Slices of chicken fillet marinated in oyster sauce and honey. We used 4 chicken thighs. (Grilled beforehand) 1 punnet of mushrooms to slice. 1/2 bottle of any pasta sauce. 1 can of Campbell's Cream of Chicken/ Mushroom sauce 1 big yellow onion to slice thin. Fresh chopped up herbs/ dried herbs (oregano, parsley, corriander, basil) (Whatever you like actually...if you use dried herbs, use more!) 50 g cheddar cheese 50 g mozzarella cheese (both shredded) Rice cooked in chicken stock
Mix pasta sauce and cream sauce together. Mix mushrooms and onions into the sauce. Lay the rice into a bake dish. Pour mixture over the rice. Cover top of sauce with cheese mixture. Sprinkle generously.
Bake at 180 degree celsius for about half an hour or until cheese is browned.
It's a great comfort dinner to have. Sausages can be added in as can other types of vegetables. We've tried with zucchini and peppers. I was tempted to chop in spinach but we didn't have time.
I am sick. That's not surprising considering I have been running myself ragged. Anyway, I've been trying to stay away from the twins as much as possible, despite the fact that it fills me with guilt and I miss them terribly. Our alternative caregivers, Grandaunt and Grandma have been telling the twins repeatedly that Mommy is sick, Mommy needs to rest, Do not disturb Mommy and Mommy cannot carry them. It doesn't work. In fact, it makes Baby J attempt to seek me out at any given chance and literally cling to my leg. We've taken to calling her 树袋熊 (shu4 dai4 xiong2)~ koala bear, after the koala bear in the ONLY Chinese book (to date) that I've read to them.
But I guess, it is just her way of digesting what she has been told.
Evan does it in a different way. He isn't as koala bear-ish but has, in his own way, told us that he gets what he's been told about Mommy.
Conversation he had with me on the way to school this morning.
Evan: Mommy, Evan don't go school. Me: Why? Evan: Cos Evan sick. Me: Evan is sick? Evan: Yes yes yes. Evan sick. Evan must rest. Me: What is Evan sick with? Evan: Evan coughing. No eat banana. Me: So Evan cannot go to school? Evan: Yes yes yes. Evan sick. Evan no go school. Evan rest. Evan tired. Me: You can rest now, on the way to school. Evan: Evan sick. Evan rest. Evan sleep now.
... Leans his head against the side of his car seat and pretends to sleep for a good 30 seconds.
So, my son, at the age of two has learnt how to malinger, using words taught to him, describing the fact that his Mommy is unwell.
I always knew he was clever. I had better get started on writing all those excuse letters he's going to need when he doesn't want to go to school for real next time.
The twins went to school by bus today and it was the biggest treat for them. Their video of the month is The Wheels of The Bus and they have always had something for buses. Recently, it's evolved into Evan constantly asking us to tell him the numbers on the bus. So far, his favourite is 62 although there is NO bus number 62 anywhere near our house and I don't even know where 62 goes to or comes from. In my opinion, that's a perfect reason why he should learn his numbers soon. Just so that we don't have to keep reading out the numbers to him and he can do it himself.
Given a choice, they would rather take the bus. They would have not cared very much if we didn't buy a new car to fit everyone in and that would have saved us a pretty penny. Although I suspect part of the novelty of taking the bus is that they don't do it very often and if we subjected it to them everyday, they'd be begging to go in the car. As is, when three 95s, two 106s, one 61 and one 48 passed them by before our bus actually came, they were getting impatient and made as if they were just going to get onto the next bus, regardless of bus number.
But their sense of adventure soon came back to them when we sat separately on the bus and the two of them decided that it was going to be a big hoot yelling to one another across the bus aisle, much to my embarrassment but thankfully, much to the amusement of the other commuters on the bus. There really was no sense of lowering their voices and Baby J thought it was hilarious when I tried to muffle her by putting my hand over her mouth and that just made her yell even louder and Evan replying in kind.
I think I can do this as a treat for them but not as an everyday affair because the trek from the bus stop to the school is a tad bit far and even though Baby J is light for her age and Evan is mostly game to walk, we still end up carrying them quite a fair bit. And all the women older than I am out there keep telling me I shouldn't be carrying anything heavy.
A dear friend of mine said without a hint of malice in her voice a few days ago, that she was saddened that all her Mommy friends seemed to have lost a part of themselves when they became mommies. It got me thinking. No one I know enters motherhood thinking that motherhood would be a time to shed the old skin and grow a brand new one. Most of the changes that occur, occur involuntarily and often without notice. The more self-aware among us also know that we are bound to change and what defines us as a person often changes. Some resist the change, some are resigned to it, some attempt to compromise.
But whatever it is, change does occur. Often because we end up juggling so many balls (roles) in the air and something has to give. I've faced this dilemma many times and the most recent encounter with this loss of identity, loss of self thing happened yesterday.
I've been feeling extremely run-down. I'm back at work, I'm entering my third trimester, I spend my days running all over the island on top of trying to spend time with my twins. Generally, I sleep about 5 hours a day, uninterrupted if I'm lucky (although often I'm not). That led to cramps round my belly for days and an episode of bleeding yesterday while I was at work. Any pregnant woman knows, blood of any kind is bad and the minute I saw it, I couldn't breathe. I knew what brought it about and I knew I had to go to the doctor as soon as I could.
Naturally, the doctor took a very serious view about my running about and lectured me about staying in bed and looking after myself. He admitted that it was easier said than done, especially when I explained my obligations to him, but intoned repeatedly that I had to at least try.
2 hours of contraction tracing later, I was discharged and ordered to be on bed rest. Packrat was extremely concerned and also chided me again (as he'd been doing repeatedly over the week) for running around as if I had no children and wasn't pregnant. All this made me feel extremely blue and depressed. It made me feel that I really wasn't living for myself and that I really was in over my head.
That thought, about having more than I could juggle was a thought that just resounded through the day and evening. And it really made me think about what my friend said about how moms lost part of themselves. Yes we do. And sometimes the problem is that it's not on purpose.
I know what I need. I need a break. I need time to just sleep and rest and kick my feet up and do nothing. But I have obligations. Obligations to work, to students whose exams are less than 2 weeks away. Packrat thinks that we should send the twins to their grandparents for a few days because then, I won't have to spend my nights looking after them and chasing their nightmares away. But how can I do that however tired I am? They are my children and unloading them on others is something I desperately want to avoid as far as possible. Is it because it makes me a bad mommy? Perhaps. Perhaps because I know I will be judged by the Nazi Moms out there as well as by myself. Is it because I want to martyr myself? No. But I do want to make sure that my children are ok and when they're away from me, I feel that I cannot do that.
Packrat suggests that we take a short break. Just so that we can finally spend some time together as a couple, to recharge, to encourage and love one another instead of just being on the merry-go-round as parents. I want to, but I worry about our finances, stretched as they are because we've been MPVed and other things. And is it fair for me to dump my children and think about myself? He thinks it's a fair thing because I am absolutely running on fumes but I cannot bring myself to.
So, have I lost myself? Yes, possibly. If I were really selfish, I would tell all the kids that need help to f&*( off. If I were really self-indulgent, I would get Packrat to book us into the Banyan Tree for a couple of days. If I were really self-centred, I would ship my children off and see them for an hour a day. If I really didn't care, I would spend every single cent of pampering myself. It's not unreasonable. Other people and other parents do it. And if I did all that, I would be swinging free Ondine. But I'd imagine, that the Ondine who was single is different from the Ondine that became Mrs Packrat and similarly, the Ondine that was Mrs Packrat, has had to change because Ondine is not just Ondine but Mommy Ondine now as well as Mrs Packrat as well as being JUST Ondine and I guess I will continue to change.
Sometimes, I hate who I have had to evolve into. I hate having to worry about money or in my most selfish moments, hate worrying about my husband or my children or about the baby that is gestating in me. And in these moments, I feel like I spiral into an abyss because these worries will get bigger. The bills will skyrocket as the children get older, as things get more expensive in Singapore and the demands are greater. And it never seems to end. That thought is depressing, sickening and absolutely demoralising, that it is just a downward spiral from this time.
Then, my children come and hug me tight for no reason and my husband wipes away my tears and takes the day off just to ferry me around and take me to lunch and I know that even though I am different and have lost bits of myself, I have gained other pieces that make it less gloomy and less abysmal. And then, I'm just about able to give the tiniest of smile and see that there is a silver lining.
I AM
still Ondine but I have discovered a new facet to myself. I find myself now in a position where I might possibly be breeding future gamers. This blog is in an effort to keep the two blog personalities separate since there might be people out there who might feel extremely grossed out by pregnancy and all the yucky things that follow.
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