The Day We Went Shopping For Guns

The Day We Went Shopping For Guns.

Legos ones that is. 

The array of small, minuscule, tiny weapons laid out for his choosing was probably what a display of Japan-imported snacks and confectioneries was to me. 

He poured over the vast display laid out in the boxes as I stood there waiting impatiently for him to make up his mind. 

My tired legs ached. 

“Are you done yet?” 

The tables were now turned as it was my whiny voice that urged him to choose faster instead. I repeated my question three more times for good measure. Mostly to irritate him and pay him back for all the times he did that to me. 😂

He paid me no heed as he concentrated on the little pistols, ak47s and accessories. His little Lego men needed them. They needed arsenals, helmets, masks, bulletproof vests and goggles. 

And I desperately needed a seat and a nice cold drink. 

We left the shop an hour later with (according to the boy,) a P90 sub-machine gun, a G36C sub-machine gun and a Scar assault rifle. 

I have no idea what those are or where he gets those information from. But I do know that I left the shop a little poorer, and with renewed light for my boy. 

And that was the day we went shopping for guns.

Afternoon Randomness

I was looking all professional, typing furiously away on the keyboard like I was some certified typist with several National Typing Academy degrees under my belt. 

Click-clack-clack.. click-clack.

In truth, I was typing as fast as I could and making a string of spelling errors, and then having to furiously depress the backspace bar to re-type the words again. So there I was, in a constant state of typing and deleting and typing again. 

The arctic temperature in the lands of the Eighth frozen tundra didn’t make it any easier. My fingers all stiff and numb and frozen, were akin to icicles extending from my palms. It was a great opportunity to blame my lousy typing skills on the office ac. 

Just then, my phone rang and I dove to pick it up before it’s fifth ring. 

Oh hang on - That was my own handphone, and not the office line. 

I answered the call and a little voice on the other end greeted me. 

“Hello Mom! It’s me! Wanna hear a joke?”

Puzzled stunned for a moment, I answered her. 

“Oh hi sweetie. Sure!” (I guess..)

“Okay. Why was the pelican chased out from the restaurant?” 

Without pausing for my reply, she carried on, 

“BECAUSE it had A HUGE BILL! Geddit??”

And then she went laughing hysterically all by herself on the other side of the phone. 

Well. So much for 冷笑话 and afternoon randomness. 

Frozen tundra and all, her random call this afternoon brought a much needed ray of sunshine and warmth to my soul. ❤

SA2 papers upon us!

The exams are upon us.

I made full use of the psle marking days and the brief days before that by throwing paper after past paper at S to complete, then spending my nights after dinner dragging my feet around to mark those scribbled answers, before going through together on those questions answered wrong, in equal amounts of exasperation. (His, because he doesn't understand what I am trying to explain, and mine, because I don't know what I'm explaining to him either.) 

The way the questions are phrased in the papers these days already pose a challenge to a general number of kids. For a boy with language processing difficulties, this challenge is easily amplified threefold.

In my moments of weariness, I raise my voice unintentionally as the frustration of having to repeat my explanations over and over unsuccessfully to him, get to me. In his moments of exasperation, he yells back "Mom, I don't understand the questions! Can you make the English easier so I can understand?!!" 

And I'll try explaining the answers to him again. Nicely. 

As the SA2 draws its net nearer with each passing day, the sense of fear and dread and impatience that is welling up inside of me has become a ripe bubble on the cusp of bursting. 

Today was the final dash we had before his papers start tomorrow. But instead of being in a state of anxiousness, a sense of impatience bursts through and on impulse, I think to myself 'F*ck this sh*t!' Let's just get the exams over and done with. We are so not doing any more mugging.

So today, the kids went for a leisurely swim, we then went out for a wonderful dinner, gallivanted briefly in the mall and went for a fun filled spin at the car wash before finally heading home to end the day. 

I needed this sanity just as S needed a break. 

"F*ck this sh*t!" I say to myself, imagining me throwing the papers away like the internet meme. 

Give  me a minute as I bask in my false sense of bravado. 

And then, before the minute is over, I'll quietly pick those papers up. 

I know I'll need them again tomorrow.

Against the swelling tide of education, there is only this much bravado I can retaliate with before reality sets in.

***********************************

To my dearest boy, 

The exams are upon us. 

So here's the strategy -

Don't leave any questions blank, read carefully, check through your answers again and good luck!

Think of the PS4 waiting for you at the end of the storm. 

Think of the treat at Saizeriya you made me promise you after your papers. 

Think of all the rolling good times that you will get to play during the holidays. 

Keep your eye on the prize Son, and go do your thing. 

I love you and all the best!

Little L going places

I never did like cycling. 

And my late-dad, the traditional man that he was, was never nurturing or patient enough to teach me how to cycle. 

The first time I rode a bicycle was during my first year at poly. I lost my balance when the bike hit a drain and ended up dislocating my wrist bone when I fell. 

It was around noon then, with the sun high at its peak. I left for home but was afraid to tell my parents of the incident. It was only at night when my dad urged me to shower that I had no choice but to tell him the truth. I couldn't move my wrist, much less manage in removing my sweat-dirt stained clothes for a shower. 

We promptly took a bus to a sinseh where the very painful treatment left me nauseous with black spots of dizziness. I recovered after a few weeks but I never touched a bike again until many years later. 

I suppose in part, that with such an unpleasant experience, I felt it a necessity for my children to learn cycling (and swimming). These were life skills that I wanted them to acquire. 

So when Little L displayed a willingness to stop piggy-backing on Papa's bike and to try learning cycling, I jumped at the opportunity to teach her. With Papa leading the rambunctious boys away for a ride, I stayed behind with her. 

She was a ball of nerves as she sat on the bike - hesitant and tense and fearful. The park was dark and with not too many people around, which was good for someone wibbling widely between both lanes. 

For the good part of the hour long rental, she was just trying to find her balance, cruising along by pushing the bike with her feet. Only in the last 20 minutes did she managed some semblance of balance and attempt to start pedalling. 

I at first held her seat and handlebar while running along sideways like a crab. Her fear was palpable as she pleaded repeatedly "don't let go, Mommy don't let go." 

I tripped over her feet several times and nearly fell, bike and all, for another few. When my stiff waist and back finally protested enough, I assured her that I would always be close behind her but she would have to continue trying without my assistance.

For her small frame, she was soon exhausted. Her legs hurt and her arms and back were strained, but she never wanted to give up. She just kept going and trying, wobbling around until suddenly, she could. 

As I was frantically snapping photos of the monumental moment, I realised that I could not stop smiling. Every time I caught myself grinning like an idiot, I made myself stop smiling only to have the corners of my lips lift automatically up again. So there I was, standing behind her with this big, goofy smile pasted on my face. I was so very proud of her and of the determination and grit she displayed that night. 

So here we have her, just succeeding in learning how to cycle. It was an achievement unlocked. A new milestone. A proud mama moment. A start to night cycles as a family; something that Papa had always wanted to do. 

Little L will be going places.

Fifty Shades of Bangkok

We were indeed smiling in the land of smiles.

The minute we left the comfort of Suvarnabhumi Airport, my lips were automatically stretched upwards into a smile-esq looking squint. The sun was hard at work welcoming our arrival with its usual, overly warm embrace.

While Bangkok was hot in general, the heat that was felt during the few days we spent there could be broadly categorised into three different levels. We had the shopping-centre-hot, the street-level-hot and lastly, right at the top of the scale was the sibey-tekong-chatuchak-hot.

Shopping-centre-hot was optimal temperature for me. Like Goldilocks with Baby Bear's porridge, I was most comfortable in this 'not warm; not too cold' category. This level of heat only afflicted hubby who would counter check with me if the a.c. was turned on low, or if his senses were slightly haywired. (He wasn't feeling well before and during the trip.) Of course it didn't help that we were having steamboat at Koka then. The steaming hot pot right in front of us that if I put my face nearer, it would have been just like a steaming session during those facials.

The Goldilocks syndrome also stuck with us as we methodically weaved our way through the many different (but same-same) stalls at Platinum Plaza. Meticulously combing the floors, we ended up at the food court as our last stop to refill our tummies and rest our feet.

We would later do the ultimate Singaporean thing by sweeping down the aisles of Big C supermarket for their cartons of assorted Pocky and Mama instant noodles. Shopping-centre-hot was perfect for fickle-minded shoppers like me, generally needing a longer time to come to a decision but spared from the heat of the sun.

Street-level-hot was the generic category used to describe the heat while we were traipsing along the dusty streets of Bangkok. This heat level was hot, but relatively bearable and usually felt when we were heading to and back from Erawan Shrine. During such walks, we would often escape the heat by hopping into Starbucks for a nice cup of mocha while we watched the world go by. As the afternoon melted into slightly cooler evenings, we would resume strolling down the streets onto our next destination.

Chatuchak-hot was when we visited the weekend market one very sunny afternoon. The heat at this level was intense, burning, relentless and ruthless. Beads of sweat formed persistently, constantly dripping down our faces and backs no matter how we wiped them off. Under the scorching sun, we trudged down the maze of stalls with sweat-soaked shirts. Chatuchak's renowned humidity and heat were a formidable combination zapping away our energy levels. For respite, we sought refuge at a random massage shop in exchange for one blissful hour of cool air. We napped as the masseuse attempted their skills to sooth our tired feet.

Exactly an hour later when the massage ended, we awoke slightly rejuvenated but with feet that continued protesting. That impulsive day, we trundled from noon until evening under the unrelenting hot sun, nearly killing our feet at the end of the day. We decided simultaneously then, that age was truly catching up with us and that we would be highly selective in our market jaunts for our next visit to Bangkok.

All too soon, the holiday finishes.
And now, as we sit in the comfort of our home, in the not-as-hot Singapore, the after effects of visiting Bangkok lingers.
Aching feet, check.
Pining for street food, check.
Hole in pocket, check.
Unpacked luggage, check.
Reluctance to return to daily duties, check, check, and check.

I miss mostly the street foods of Bangkok. The varieties of the morning snacks hawked freshly fried from the vendor's woks, the savory crunch of fried chicken paired with square blocks of glutinous rice, the sour spiciness of mama salads, and the very affordable freshly squeezed pomegranate juice. My mouth waters at the thought of these foods.

We had heartlessly left the kids behind for a short getaway, for the aroi mak mak food, and for prayers to the four faced Buddha. In spite of the blistering sun and its 50 other shades in between, it was a well-deserved reprieve for us and although not nearly enough, we have to go back to home, to the kids.

The many boxes of slightly squashed Pocky still sitting in my luggage is a harsh reminder that life has returned to normal and that I must now unpack.

As I kissed the kids goodnight and tucked them in to bed, I know Klab ban di mak.

It's good to be home.

From Planet A to the Land of Pau.

Up Up Down Down Left Right Left Right B A Start.

In Nintendo, 30 extra lives would have magically appeared on my next screen.

30 new lives.
30 re-starts.

In real life however, our closest restarts would be the brand new day that welcomes us every morning. And come tomorrow morning, I too will restart a new ‘game’ at a new department.

New beginnings are not always scary. But they often encompass unknown changes.

And changes are uncomfortable.
Changes are unnerving.
Changes are intimidating.

I may sound dramatic. Exaggerating even. After all, we do get posted around pretty often so it's hardly anything new. But still, it’s hard to remain stoic in the face of such a change, especially when this change will bring me away from the familiar circle of comrades that I have grown with since the beginning of my time.

With the coming posting, the current working culture so deeply embedded into my life must now be re-adjusted. Embarking onto this new phase will mean stepping into a totally different environment, with new roles and responsibilities, with unfamiliar faces and working systems. The change is vast and I am apprehensive, hesitant and nervous to say the least.

As I join a new team of colleagues, I will miss the comforting presence of the comrades that I have grown along with throughout all these years.

I will miss the boisterous atmospheres, the bawdy jokes and jibes exchanged, the constant chattering and bantering going on everyday.

I will miss the informal environments that I have gotten so used to. The many offices that I had been previously posted too were each different but similar in its own way. What they differed in, they made up with in similarities of offices filled everyday with noise and never a dull moment.

I will not miss the never-ending man hours we had to put in to do our job. But I will sorely miss the camaraderie and unity forged during those difficult times. Whether we were dealing with problematic ‘customer’s or achieving our KPIs, those days and nights were long and tough.

In place of these wistful memories, I welcome regularity, which will translate to better time with the kids, and a job scope that I had been initially interested in eons of years ago.

I may only be shifting to another wing in the building, but it certainly feels like I am moving galaxies away to another planet.

And so, although I will miss the many little things that I once took for granted, I must steel myself to face the many changes seemingly ahead, and move onwards in my journey.

Change is inevitable.
Change is coming.
In fact, change is tomorrow.

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※
 
Re-starting in progress.
※
※
※
Up Up Down Down Left Right Left Right B A
.
.
.
(deep breath)

Start.

Newbie P1 Mommy (part 2)

3 years ago, we did the P1 newbie anxious mommy thingy. It was a big milestone for us and S. Watching S go through little things like orientating himself during recess, or making his hesitant way to the hall literally brought tears to our eyes.

3 years on, it is now Little L's turn. Although we are anxious parents no-more, we did have our worries. Indeed L is better at articulating herself. She makes friends easier too. But she is every inch a princess. Delicate (read small-sized), fragile (read thinned-skin), and demure at eating (she clocks 2 hours per meal seating), we were worried about how she would adapt to these aspects in school. But again, whether she was ready or not, school beckoned with its open arms.

The day started off with her all bright, chirpy, eager and excited to go to school. With her spanking new water bottle, bag, uniform and shoes, this Little Chatterbox seemed all set for this new phase of life. She was, in my own proud mama's bias point of view, the epitome of the most adorable P1 student I've ever seen.

Looking back, if the doors of the school bus closing in my face signified the letting-go moment with S, then Little L's moment was when the bag straps were placed onto her tiny shoulders. The added weight made her stagger backwards and she nearly lost her balance. It was literally a new load of responsibility added on to her tiny frame and life.

Once again, I had to struggle to quell my protective instincts from jumping into action to carry her bag. Instead, I let her to do it herself. She managed soon after.

And that was when I realised my 小不点 has grown up.

We did the same thing, trailing behind her bus and watching her make her way to the hall. We are thankful that she doesn't feel like a stranger to her school for when Big Brother had school functions, we often brought her along for the exposure. And now, carrying those experiences with her, she seems to acclimatise to Primary school life with relative ease.

As she sets foot onto this new phase of life, there is so much in store to uncover. I shall look forward to growing with her on this journey and watching how my little baby girl progresses.

~~~~~~  On a side note:

"I went to the toilet by myself today. My friend said I'll race you there, so I followed her."

The start of the female groupie toilet-going culture. I never hear S tell me about going to the toilet with his friends.