First Day, Primary Two. Learning journey for Mommy.

The first day of school today.

Doubtlessly, many of my fellow parent friends have been busy posting pictures of their P1 going children. As I scroll through my news feed, delighting in the pictures of the many children in various uniforms, I am reminded of this same time last year when S first attended primary one.

Kan cheong and nervous as they were, I had posted my fair share of photos of S in his oversized uniform and huge Mcqueen bag, looking all uncertain, afraid, and a little excited. I didn't post a photo of myself then, but if I had, you would have seen me, anxiously wringing my hands and with tears in my eyes. And the smile that I mustered as I waved him goodbye while he boarded the school bus certainly didn't match the frown that I had knitted between my brows. 

That significant moment the automatic doors of the bus closed in my face, signaled the start of the letting-go process.

My child, who had been a baby in my eyes up until then, who had never left anywhere without me, was now boarding the bus alone, and away from me. The fact was made even more obvious as I stood there, waving as the tail lights became smaller and smaller.

Soon after, we had immediately scrambled into the car and trailed the bus to school. And from there, was another big moment in learning to let go as I forced my feet to remain still while watching my scrawny, unsure boy from afar, losing his way around the unfamiliar compound.

These scenes that I had described were just the surface ones. There were many other learning points that went on backstage before this big day. For starters, I had overlooked in teaching S the concept of money and of buying things, and only gave him a crash course the night before. That subsequently led him to be quite confused while buying food at the canteen. For months, all he could handle were two one-dollar coins because he only knew that he had 'one' or 'two monies'. If we gave him an assortment of change, he would only buy something to eat and nothing to drink, or vice versa. 

I also didn't tally his booklist and did not realise that the school diary was missing. I would later realise that the diary was an important bridge between parents and teachers because they wrote everything on that little spiral book. All the homework, assignments, tasks to do, notes and reminders were written in there. And because I could never count on S to relay to me the messages or homework that he had to do, that meant that I didn't know when spelling was, or that he needed to bring rags to school the next day.

As the months passed, S slowly settled into school and its routine in his own ways while I gradually learnt the ways of being a primary-1-mommy, although I still made several mistakes in the months that followed. 

In one particular incident, I had read in the weekly newsletter that S had to bring his apron to some sort of a home economics class every Thursday. At the back of my mind, I knew that he had a school issued apron lying somewhere unopened in the box but somehow, my mind didn't register that fact. I then went on to Daiso and bought him a nice, green polka-dotted one instead. Smugly packing that to school for him, I only realised my mistake two weeks later when in a chance conversation, he mentioned that all his friends had laughed at him. The guilt that I felt in shaming my son then was immeasurable. But now, I snigger to myself whenever I recall what I had put him through.

Fast forward one year later, I am no longer a newbie schooling parent as I prepare S for his journey onto primary 2. With one year of experience under my belt, I can now pack his school bags with surer hands and a calmer disposition. It is also much easier 'letting go' now. Watching my not-so-scrawny-anymore boy handle school with ease and confidence on his first day today, I am heartened and reminded by his progress.

He has improved over the year, and although not 'perfect', he is better at handling his money now, surer of his school's syllabus and has improved in answering questions. Beyond these, there is still much more things for him to learn and realise along the way and for me too, to learn and realise together with him. As I learn how to help him learn in managing school, I realise that the school is not only a place of learning for children, but for parents alike.

As we continue onto our second leg of his journey this year, I look foward to the progress that we may cover together, and the discovery of new wonders everyday.

Together, may we scale greater heights than the year before.

Happy schooling everyone.

Post christmas; Pre new year.

The list of parties that we had lined up over the period of christmas have ended one after another over the past few days. The feasting has also trickled down in accordance. The mountain of prettily wrapped presents that had been sitting in my room for the past few weeks have already been given away, and a pile of opened presents take its place. 

As I glance at the new boxes of toys stacked upon one other, it seems to me that the number of presents the kids received this year, doubled what we had given. I realise belatedly that most of the toys S had received were not of cars.

My son has this single obsession with cars since he was a toddler. His conversational topics often, if not always, revolve greatly around the subject of cars. Car models, brand names, racing terms and movies spew out endlessly and expertly from him while I listen on in befuddled confusion. The 101 questions that come from him are also often in relation to cars. ('Is the Acura NSX faster or the Nissan GTR R35?')

Due to his particular interest, we have amassed (both bought and received) countless toy cars throughout his growing years. In trying to 'diversify' his interest, we have experimented with buying him remote controlled cars, tamiya, and various sets of road and train tracks, on top of the many hot wheels and tomica that he already owns.

We have also tried buying him typically boy character toys such as Ben10, Ironman, Superman, TMNT, Maxsteel and the likes, but soon realise that non-car toys could only sustain his interests for a fleeting period of 2 days maximum. 

No matter what we bought, he would always go back to his little cars; running them along tracks, down makeshift slopes, pretend racing and drifting (complete with sound effects), watching the wheels turn. 

He especially liked the hot wheels and tomica range because they fit easily into his palm and/or pockets whenever he goes out. The number of 'travelling companions' that he brings along each time ranges from at least two (according to him 'one car cannot drag race') to six, or however many his pockets can hold. 

As such, we always fell back to buying him cars, or had people continually gifting him with cars simply because they were known to be his constant favourite.

This christmas however, he's received very little presents of cars, but we are thankful of it. We want to say thank you to each and everyone of you for the wonderful presents. But more than that, thank you for putting S's strengths and weaknesses into your thoughts, placing careful considerations in choosing him a gift that would help diversify and expand his interests away from cars, helping us along in our neverending efforts and attempts to exposing him to a wider range of experience. 

For those who had gifted him with cars, thank you, because you know he loves his cars best and that christmas for him wouldn't be complete without any presents of cars to open to. 

It's back to reality as I pick up remnants of torn wrappers strewn all over the floor, clearing (or attempting to clear) left over food in the fridge, and keeping away the presents that we have received. 

As the new year sets upon us, I bid a reluctant goodbye to the month long hols and prep myself and S for the new school cycle to come. Oddly enough, I (kind of) look forward to the beginning of the new school year, which will be re-opening in just a few days time. 

As S embarks onto a new journey in Primary 2, I am no longer the newbie schooling parent as I was at the beginning of this year. I shouldn't be nervous anymore, but yet I am. With bated breadth, I await with anticipation, the new experiences and challenges that may come, and hope to rise up to each one in my own way.

It is a mystery what 2015 will bring us. May it be a good and fruitful one for us and everyone around. Or with the recent trend on 'local upsize'; may it be a Great year!
Happy new year everyone.

Cinderella and a Christmas party

We arrived home at the stroke of midnight. As we turned into the driveway, the car was still a car, and not a pumpkin. And no one had turned into horses or mice. All I had were 2 sleepy children in the backseat. 

One fought sleep hard, but lost and was now exhaustedly sleeping away with her mouth wide open. The other looked on stonily, eyes kept wide open by imaginery toothpicks in the form of a mantra that went 'Go home can open presents. Go home can open presents.' Those words sustained him until we arrived home, torn paper wrappers and all. 

We weren't returning home from a ball. We had just came back from a yearly xmas gathering with my old school friends. Some of us had known each other for twenty three years. Some longer, at twenty nine. As we grew through the years, we watched alongside as each other experienced life going through the different phases. 

From individuals, we watched as some progressed into couples, and then to families of four, and some five. From childhood to awkward tweens, to motherhood and currently into middle age and beyond, we have certainly come a long way together. 

Our Christmas gathering has been a yearly affair for the past (six, maybe seven?) years. Due to various personal commitments, our meet ups throughout the year can get quite sporadic and random. It is also tricky trying to arrange a suitable timeslot for everyone. As such, our meetings are rarely in a complete group of six. But at the end of every year, we would all be anticipating and looking forward to this gathering where attendance was an (almost) unspoken compulsory. 

This year, to accomodate everyone's schedules, we had the gathering way ahead of Christmas. We spent a wonderful evening together with husbands and kids. The food that we had were simple; some bought, some made. But the conversations that flowed between us were rich. Good times, as always, simply pass by so quickly. 

Amidst rocking dining chairs and screaming children running up and down, we came together and shared, with the many years of our friendship, laughters, food and warm conversations all around. It was heartwarming not only to see and catch up with everyone present, but also to witness the growth of each others' children through the years. 

Some of them that we've seen as babies, have now embarked onto primary school. One is still in the crawling stage, and another has just begun to speak in complete sentences. It is a sobering thought to know that as we see these children growing and progressing differently every year, we too, age in return as the years go by. 

In time to come, perhaps our gatherings will come to a full circle, when these same little children that we now tow along, attend future gatherings together as young men and women and with their own friendships forged amongst them. It would indeed be a heartening sight. 

When I left the party last night, I didn't leave behind a glass slipper. Instead, I left with a tummy full of food, an armful of presents, and a heart filled to the brim with gratitude and love for each and everyones' friendship. 

Thank you ladies, for making all of these possible. 

May we have many, many more gatherings to come. 

Merry christmas, and meet up soon.

P1 Term 4 - end of school

I watched with pride as his little footsteps hurried across the stage. He shook his VP's hand and stood posing as the photographer snapped pictures. My boy was up on stage collecting his Good Progress Award for Chinese language.

For a child with speech difficulties, struggling with daily conversations and in relating events, it was an immensely proud moment for hubby and I as we watched the scene unfold before us.

This same boy had once dreaded going to kindy because of his fear in chinese lessons, even feigning illness on several occasions just to skip school. Subsequently starting primary one with only a smattering of chinese in him, he had progressed over the year beyond our wildest imaginations, improving little by little, to receiving an award on stage.

Although his report card pegged him only at 53 for his chinese, we were nevertheless humbled and touched by his efforts and improvements. His progress then at kindergarten 2 had been deproving. It was only after months of pondering and probing did the teacher and I come to the conclusion that because he lagged too widely behind his peers, he had totally given up on trying to catch up. His confidence suffered and as a result, he dreaded attending chinese classes. 

I wasn't exactly overly worried then because for a child with learning difficulties, I knew that we were able to get him excused for Chinese in primary school. But shortly after he started school, we made a decision to engage a chinese tutor instead. Our intentions then were nothing academic. We had only wanted to try to bridge the gap since he was 'starting on a clean slate' with new peers. We were hoping that at the very least, we could reduce the fear he felt in things chinese, and improve his confidence in learning and grasping the language. Ultimately, our hopes for him were that he would be able to converse in simple mandarin.

Engaging a tutor didn't come cheap. But in wanting to prevent S from dreading school once again, we decided to give it a shot. I'm not sure if it was because the tutor was effective, or that we began to put in more effort to speak more mandarin to him at home, or a mixture of all the above, but over the months we noticed his confidence level creeping upwards. 

His outright rejection towards things chinese slowly decreased, and he was gradually more willing to answer in simple mandarin. Although we were heartened by his progress, we didn't think too deeply into it. So long as he was progressing, no matter how slowly, we were encouraged.

Seeing him walk up the stage to collect the award was truly the icing on the cake. Since S wasn't very often relating school events back to us, we only got to know that he was an award recipient moments before stepping foot into the auditorium. The school had recognised the efforts he put in and the progress that he had shown, and so did we. As he stood on stage, I clapped as loudly as I could with tears in my eyes. 

All the sacrifices that were made, the cancellation of appointments, the rushes home after work, the tight squeeze of time after dinner and before bedtime coaching him on his homework, the endless frustrations and worries expended throughout the months, the scarcity of me-time, these simply melted away the moment we saw him on that stage. He made us very, very proud parents with his improvements and progress.

The fall of those red velvet curtains after the award ceremony and year end concert also signified the end of school for the year. Over the year, S has developed from a scrawny, unsure boy, into one who is more outspoken and confident, filling out (a little too) snugly into his initially over-sized uniform. His preference is fast angling towards somewhat of a thrill seeker and sports enthusiast, showing so much more agility and dexterity in his movements. Evident in his taking of steps two by two, sometimes in threes, he also enjoys jumping off from a (short) height, and in taking the road less travelled (read as manouvering grassy slopes instead of walking on flat cement ground).

As I watch S lounging on the bed at home, playing on the ipad with intense concentration and deft fingers, rationing the amounts of nitro that he has in manouvering his golden Ferrari on Need For Speed, I realise that time will slowly develop this boy into a child of his own character. 

He needs much improvements in his other subjects (he failed maths) and many other aspects such as his patience, span of attention, cognitive and social skills, and his initiative to help, amongst many others. The progress will be slow, but nevertheless, we will get there by and by in his own time.

The closure of the primary one journey opens a new chapter for next year with new sets of books and bigger-sized uniforms. There is much more to accomplish with him in the neverending journey of education. I'm not sure how our journey will go, or where the road will lead us to, but as I hold my boy's pudgier hand, I steel myself for the similar but tougher cycles to come in Primary Two. 

In the meantime however, all that I will be doing is putting up my feet and enjoying the December holidays. 

Till the next year.    

Little Boys Are Made Of These

Dirty fingers, smelly feet.
Homework writings never neat.
Sweaty faces, messy hair
And mealtimes are often a messy affair.
Sloppy kisses, unkempt shirts
Pudgy fingers smudged in dirt.
Toy cars, robots, jokes so lame
Snakes and ladders, racing games.
Train tracks, ping pong, baseball bats
Adores Cartoon Network and its silly cats.
Zombies, monsters, scary things
Jumping, knocking, scraping knees.
Monkey faces, big wide smiles
Raucous laughters, behaving wild.
Cuts and scrapes and carelessness
Smiles, and cheeks with rosiness.

Little boys are made of these.
We hold their hands, but they hold mommy's heartstrings.

Teochew Nang

Teochew Nang, kaki nang,

Heiyo heiyo...

Di gor liang, di gor zhor,

Di gor wu jee, di gor por.

(Old Teochew poem: sit where it's shaded, go where that is loaded.)

Teochew Nang, ka chng ang ang.

(Silly limerick: Teochew people have red behinds)

I am a Teochew. And I'm proud to be one. 

Thinking back, my biggest Teochew influence would have been from my Ah ma - Pa's mother. I don't have much memories of Ah gong as he passed away quite awhile back, but my mind oddly retains pretty vivid memories of his funeral.

Anyway, Ah ma was the eldest we had around and she was often dubbed as the 'Dowager' by my youngest uncle who lived with her. A matriarch in her own rights, she was a feisty little old lady who could be demanding, domineering, unreasonable and strict in her ways of thinking and in how she wanted things done. But to us grandchildren, she was always a doting Ah ma who had loved us all. Conversant only in Teochew, I had the opportunity to practise my dialect skills each time I visited her, and it was through those experiences that I am conversant in Teochew now.

I remembered going to her house every weekend when I was younger, to a riotous rowdy mix of adults gambling and cousins hanging around. There was always food on the table and loud conversations going on. I looked forward to those weekends. We didn't converse a lot during those occasions, but she was a 'fixture' there. I would always seek her out and shout an 'AH MA!' to her and she would acknowledge me with 'Oi! Le lai liao ah.' (Oh, you've come already.)

She loved to drink 'pok chwee' (soda drinks) but couldn't drink much because of her diabetes. So whenever I could, I would offer to share a can and a few sips. "Ah ma, wa ga le gong si jik kong ai mai?' (Ah ma, I share a can with you?) and she would reply with a 'hor la' (ok).

Every time I visit, she would always demonstrate her doting ways by insisting on making me a hot cup of milo, irregardless if I wanted to drink or not. And she knew that I loved dumping 'gems' biscuits into my milo and spooning them up to eat when they were all soft and soaked, so she often bought a tin for me. 

One period during my schooling days, Pa would dictate that I spend a few days of my holiday every year to stay with her. I dreaded those days because the thought of staying with her was honestly boring. But stay I did, and during those days, I would be her extra hands, accompanying her to the market in the morning, having our kway tiao soup 'jeng her yi' (only fishballs) and lugging big red plastic bags of her marketing home. There was once I remember, she wanted to buy durians. And we ended up carrying huge bags of the thorny fruits home. 'Wa lao, Ah ma. Jing dang leh,' (it's very heavy) I told her as we made our way back. I can't remember her reply then, but I was definitely relieved to rid my hands of the weighty bags once we got home. 

Stays with her always made me melancholic. Initially dreadful, renewed attachments were always formed during those stays, leaving me sad and pensive whenever my stay ended. When Pa came to fetch me home, I always left with a heavy heart. Looking back, I guess this was his way of making me spend time with Ah ma and although I disliked his decisions then, I've grown to be grateful for the intentions he had, and the ties that fostered me closer to her along the years.

As I grew older, the weekend visits to her house gradually lessened and stays with her stopped altogether. In the prime of my twenties, I was occupied with everything life had going for me then and I didn't notice the transformation. 

Over the years, her head of permed black hair had slowly transformed into silvery soft strands, and as her memories blurred, her once robust, feisty persona slowly toned down to a less domineering and demanding lady. I had taken for granted that my Ah ma would forever be young and healthy, and by the time I really took notice, she had withered and aged, and suffered from dementia. 

When dementia hit her, it was another chapter altogether. Some incidents that happened with her are amusing now as we look back. But when we were going through it, it was certainly anything but funny. There were times when she would call up my house looking for another auntie, or worse, not remember who she wanted to call.

'Ah ma' I would call her upon recognizing her voice, 'le chweh di diang?' (Who are you looking for) 'Aiyo, wa mm gi dek liao' (I forgot) she would tell me in an angry, confused voice.

Or she would call up my house and without so much of a 'hello', she would exclaim 'Oi! Wa ah buay jiak leh. Dou jing khoong. Le ga wa buay jik pao guay png. Wa ai guay twee hor.' (I have not eaten yet and I am very hungry. Buy me a packet of chicken drumstick rice). I had to call my uncle to realize that he had already bought her lunch before he left the house.

But I guess the scariest time of all was once when she called and immediately started shouting over the phone that she had slipped and fallen in the bathroom, and was now sitting on the floor. I panicked and told her to get the helper to help her up, to which she vehemently replied that she didn't want the maid to touch her. I called my uncle immediately to see if one could reach earlier than the other and made my rushing way down to her house. Huffing and panting upon reaching, I peered through the metal gates and spotted her sitting on her regular spot 'kiao kah'-ing (legs propped up). She returned my frantic calls with a genuine look of surprise and remarked 'Oi! Zho ni le gin nik ah ne wu oy lai toi wa?' (How come you so free to visit me today?) Exasperated wasn't enough of a word to describe how I felt then. 

My youngest uncle probably bore the brunt of her episodes through the years of her dementia since he stayed with her. Those times were trying and exasperating, but we were all happy to see her happy; occasions that were exceeding rare. And so, I had thought that my upcoming wedding would be an occasion enough for her to look forward to. We had consulted her several times for the proper wedding customs, brought her along for the food tasting sessions, and even custom-made a 'lao ma bia' (Ah ma biscuit) for her longevity. On the day of '过大礼' (bringing over of wedding dowry), the symbolic items were happily brought over to her house. 

It was a joyous occasion and I had expected smiles and happiness. But instead, a face that was very angry greeted us. I was hurt and offended by her reaction. My mind retraced, racing through everything that I had done. Did I miss on doing something or did something that was not according to the customs? I couldn't recall. When I sat down and greeted her, she rebuked me with her sternest voice and said 'Wa xiang siok le. Zho ni le geh nang bo ga wa ta.' (I dote on you the most. Why didn't you inform me that you were getting married). She left me speechless to say the least.

Thankfully, my wedding went along well and I shall always be thankful and glad to have her and Pa attend and be part of my joyous occasion. To those who didn't know, my Pa had been suffering from Leukemia then and Ah ma wasn't in her best of health. That happy occasion was the last time I had them together with me.

Not too long after my wedding, Ah ma had to be hospitalized due to water in her lungs. I would visit often and lay beside her holding her frail, small hands in mine. My Ah ma, as I realized, was really old now. She would lie on her hospital bed alert and at times, with cataract-covered seeing eyes, she would scare us with questions of 'zho ni jie joong zhor ah ne gu ah buay gao?' (Why is this boat ride taking so long to reach?)

Or 'zho ni ah ne zui huay xio?' (Why are there so many monks?)

And once she remarked to me that there were a lot of 'bee pang' (bees) flying around and that they were giving her money ('ee nang kor wa lui leh'). I told her that we should keep the money and slowly guided her hands from the air into her pockets to 'safekeep' whatever monies the 'bees were giving' her.

Shortly after, she slipped away quietly one night in her sleep. When I went to take my last look at her, she was lying there all small and frail and prim. In the times spent with her throughout my growing years, I always remembered her neatly dressed, her fingernails cut short and clean, and her hair seldom out of place. Prim in her lifetime and even in her death, I will always remember my Ah ma this way

The Matriarch of our family was given an elaborate Teochew funeral with 'big houses' and 'big cars'. Wearing only socks, we had to cross a bridge and toss out coins into a metal basin during the funeral ceremony amidst monks chanting and loud 'dong dong chiang's noisily blaring at the void deck. I cannot remember the significance of most of the procession, but it was a loud, noisy and traditionally Teochew funeral - the way that she would probably have liked it. 

A can of opened 'pok chwee' stood out among all the other traditional offerings at the altar in hope that she would now be able to drink all the sodas that she liked. And on the very last night of the wake, I spotted a single bee resting somewhere near where her body was placed, I hope, still giving her money in her afterlife.

I miss her curses of 'wa bear oy!' (Omg!) 

I miss her delicious fried yams. 

But most of all, I miss her unifying presence in the family.

Di gor liang, di gor zhor,

Di gor wu jee, di gor por.

Princess L's 4th Birthday

Four years ago, this little baby (quite literally) popped out of me. A bawling babe then, she has since grown (though by not a lot), into Little Ms Petite. But what she doesn't have in size, she makes up for in speech. 

Over the years, she has progressed from baby babbling to sentences that explicitly expresses her observations and wants, to vividly describing her thoughts and imagination, and to recent times of correcting us on our 'wrong english'.

A bite on her nugget later, she exclaims that it "looks like a boot. So funny right?"

Or when a piece of slightly chao-tah fried chicken is put on her plate, she tells us that she doesn't "want this piece because it looks so dirty."

To kor kor when he says a sentence wrong, "No. Not 'shot'. Its 'shoot'. Like 'you shoot me.'"

To her grandmother, who accidentally tells her to pass the phone to ah-gong. "No, not 'her'. It's 'him' because Gong-Gong is a boy!"

Sings "~Beauty and the maaan..." and when I correct her, she tells me that since the beast has become a man, we must not sing it as 'Beauty and the beast' anymore. 

And like all little girls, she dreams of being a princess and meeting her prince one day. With the latest craze in Frozen, she tells me she is Elsa while I am Anna, and points to Prince Hans as a 'bad prince because he pretend to love Anna.'

While I am continually amazed at her (at times rather astute) thinking, I am similarly aware that my baby girl is growing more and more as the days pass by.

This year as she turns four, her cake of choice is (no suprise) a Frozen cake. Sitting by the gigantic cake this afternoon, she smiled shyly as her school of nursery friends sang her the birthday song. And in tune with her current obsession, friends and family have also kindly gifted her with a variety of Frozen item-ed presents. 

I watched as she approached the small pile of presents with a mixture of surging happiness and shyness. And as she (with a lot of help from kor-kor) ripped open the presents with glee, leaving papa to collect the torn scraps of wrapper strewn all over the floor, I couldn't help but think that my baby girl has grown so much, so fast.

My little chatty, helpful girl, who complains incessantly about her brother, with the kooky thinking, quirky taste, two teeth less, who writes her 'a' lopsidedly, colours on her colouring book with only one single colour per page irregardless that there are seven princesses pictured together, says the funniest things I've ever heard, the one who shares her wild imagination, tells me 'I love you' and 'goodnight' multiple times before she sleeps every night, is already Four.

And the sobering truth that one day, she will grow up and then she wouldn't want to be celebrating her birthdays with us anymore, creeps into my thoughts. 

But I take heart because in meantime and for a few years more, I can still be her Co-cake-knife-handler, assistant candle-blower, be witness at her 'presents-opening-ceremony', and papa will retain the honorable title of the 'official strewn-wrapper-crusher'. 

So, Happy Birthday my Sweetheart! Don't grow up too fast.
Wishing you happiness and health, and everything good.

Love, Hugs and Kisses,
Papa & Mama.