Working hard

Sara has decided that she wants to finish all her letter tracing worksheets before her Papa gets back from his trip.

“I’m going to work SO hard. I will use ALL my muscles.”

Responsibility

Today, we finally did what we’ve been wanting to do for a very long time. We finally kicked Nathan out of our bedroom. Sara had her own room by the time she was six months old, but Nathan’s exit has been much later due to (a) no free room available; (b) eczema and resulting mad midnight bouts of scratching; (c) bad temper and endless screaming when wakeful; and (d) family staying with us which means I feel compelled to drag him to our bed just to shut him up in the middle of the night. Finally, however, we’ve decided enough is enough. He’s finally moved over to Sara’s room.

Sara has been thrilled by the prospect. In fact, she’s been asking for this move to happen ever since I first mentioned it months ago. She’s been assuring me how she will get up and “pok-pok” Nathan (pat him on the bottom) back to sleep in the middle of the night. She was so psyched to see his crib in her room when she got back from school.

Until this evening. There she lay in bed, eyes wide open, staring at sleeping Nathan while sucking her thumb. About five minutes after I tucked her in, she called me back in the room.

“Mommy?” “Yes?” “What if I’m asleep, and you’re asleep, and Didi wakes up? Who’s going to pok-pok him?”

Ah, I see. She’s worried now about what she promised to do. I assured her that if he got up and screamed and woke her up, she should come and get me straight away, if I wasn’t already there. She seemed happy enough with that answer and I left.

Five minutes later, she called again. “Mommy?” “Yes?” “Can I still come to your room at morning time? If Didi wakes up?” Hm, she was now worried about not being able to leave Nate in the room alone. So I assured her she could come to my room in the morning, regardless of whether Nathan was up or not. She seemed happy enough again and tried to get to sleep.

Ah, poor thing. Such a heavy thing responsibility is on shoulders so small.

Even and Steve

How about Even and Steve? Sara wants to know.

Danny and I are like, huh? Even and Steve? Who’s that? Danny’s just been reading to her from the Children’s Bible. The question is not only seemingly out of context, it’s plain baffling.

Sara heaves that big you-are-really-so-slow sigh and takes the bible from Danny. She flips a few pages back and points to two characters on the page.

There, she says, Even and Steve.

Ohhhhh….. she means Adam and Eve.  

And like I haven’t said enough today

(1) My toes are dying. Shrivelling up like dead bits of flesh at the end of my feet. This is a sure sign that I’ve been out of work for too long. Three hours in court shoes and my toes are in protest. I can only hope amputation is not necessary. In the meantime, I will live in slippers.

(2) I do love my other child, even if it seems all I do is blog about my firstborn. He just doesn’t do anything hugely exciting other than grunt and point. We don’t get any more gobbling these days. He’s no more the Turkey Man. He’s now exactly like every other male we know – he just grunts what he wants.

Oh, but there is one bit of vaguely exciting news – he now points to his diaper each time he pees and poops. It doesn’t mean he wants it changed (he’ll fight me to the death to change his diaper), but he does know something is going on there. Child genius? I wish.

(3) If you’re wondering what’s up with this blogging OD, wonder no longer. I should be working, but instead, I find myself suffering from verbal diarrhoea, but not of the useful sort. I really must work now.

Never again

Or maybe I’ll just wait till she’s six or seven.

I’m not sure what was going through my head when I agreed to have Sara perform in her ballet school’s annual ballet show. Some of her classmates’ more sensible mothers refused to sign their daughters up, but here I was, thrilled to relive my performing days through Sara, happily paying up for tickets and costume.

What a mistake. Mind you, she does talk about it very fondly, now that it’s all over. But anyone who’s ever been in a performance will know. There is a lot of hanging around and waiting to be done. And usually in cramped conditions. And with strict limitations on where you can go and how loud you can be. And you aren’t allowed to be anywhere near the stage to “watch the show”. So imagine this, a gazillion little people milling all around, being told to shush, not run, not move and stay put in their changing rooms. There was also a technical rehersal before the show, so end-to-end, we were there for about four hours. FOUR HOURS, PEOPLE. Sara was so exhausted, but I was lucky. At least she was willing to go on stage during the actual show. There were many more kids in tears, refusing to go on. They had had enough and I don’t blame them. I was exhausted too.

That said, Sara only remembers the good bits. She’s one of the little snowflakes in that badly taken photo below, dancing to music from Happy Feet (taken during the rehersal when all other rabid parents were madly flashing their cameras too). She did get to watch some other dances during the rehersal and decided being a snowflake was uncool. She now wants the lime green leotard with the tutu next time round – the 4-year-olds doing Under the Sea. Good choice, girl. 

Say what?

Sara: Today at Chinese school, I will be fah-poo-las. (Chinese school is what she calls her Mandarin playgroup.)

Me: What???

Sara: FAH-POO-LAS. (Every time I don’t understand her, she repeats herself, but louder and slower than before, as though you are a retard for not understanding.)

Me: Fabulous??!?!?!?!

Sara: *satisfied smirk* Yes.

Me: What do you mean?

Sara: Mean I will be the prettiest girl in the class.

Hm. Obvious ego issues aside, I am not only proud of her vocabulary, I am also bewildered. She claims I taught her this, which cannot be true because I cannot recall what context I would have said this to her. Then again, she tends to attribute all new words to me, which I know for a fact isn’t always true. Still, she did look quite nice today (she usually doesn’t because I’m not the sort to dress her up), and she liked the clips in her hair, so she did get her context right.

Now to figure out who’s been teaching her words like “fabulous”. 

You can’t argue with that

“Don’t turn on the aircon, Mommy. Don’t waste the batteries.” – unnamed small person living in my house

A day in the life of me

Ange impressed me with her well-organized day with her four children. I must say I accomplish much less with my kids, but here it is anyway.

Our day starts at about 5 to 5.30 in the morning. Nathan gets up, potters around his crib and throws everything out (and pulls up bedsheets) before yelling for me. I grudgingly get up, feed him his milk and change his diaper. Before I can even contemplate coaxing him back to sleep, Sara’s up. I let the kids muck around and play in Sara’s room for a bit. I finally agree to move to the kitchen when Sara declares loudly in my ear she WANTS HER MILK.

Our helper is up in a little while and we get on with feeding the kids. By 7am, Nathan and Sara are out in the patio wrecking havoc under the watchful eye of our helper while I eat my breakfast and scan the papers. At 7.30am, we’re back in Sara’s bedroom for some story book time and dancing (and playing catch) time. Danny usually is up and showered about then. He pops by to play with the kids a bit and then it’s off to work. I sometimes send him and take the kids for a joy ride.

By 8.30am, it’s time to shower Sara and get her ready for school. We carpool (or buggy pool) with our neighbours, so our helper walks her next door at 8.45am while I put Nathan down for a nap. Then begins my morning of “work”. I get all the usual paperwork and other exciting admin stuff (emailing, phone calls, filing) done at this time. If I’m on a job, I also try to squeeze some work in. And of course, I’m on the internet.

Nathan usually gets up after an hour and a half and I play with him. I hand him off to the helper about half an hour before I’m due at Sara’s school. Our helper feeds him and plays with him while I do the marketing and get the girls (Sara and the neighbour’s kid). Once we’re home, Sara’s down for her nap and I take over Nathan after taking my sandwich lunch. By about 2pm, Sara’s up and Nathan’s down. She takes her late lunch with our helper while I get a few more minutes on the internet. Nathan’s nap is much shorter and before 3pm, I’ve got both kids on my hands.

On the days Sara has Mandarin playgroup, I usually take Nathan along when I drop her. It’s usually too painfully hot to be out, so we head home for a little bit more play and tea time. We turn around to get Sara about 4.30pm and then we just hang around the plaza (the social centre of Smallville where we live) for the kids to run wild. Sara can almost always find more than a few classmates hanging about at that hour. We head home about 5.30pm for baths and dinner.

On the days we have no playgroup, it’s usually indoor play and some time on the computer for Sara. Sometimes I get a bit of craft work in, other times we blast music and dance. Usually by about 4pm, it’s less sunny outside and we’re ready to go out. It’s off to the playground, the pool or the beach till 5.30pm. 

Typically by 6.30pm, both kids are washed and fed and we settle into quiet play till bedtime.

Nathan goes down for the night at 7pm and Sara’s back on the TV with Jeff Corwin on Animal Planet. I get my dinner while she’s absorbed in snakes and monkeys. Depending on how interested she is in the episode, she will sometimes not finish the programme and we head off to bed. We clean up, read stories, say a prayer and it’s off to bed by about 8pm. Danny sometimes gets home early enough to plant a kiss on her head and wish her goodnight. And then “me” time finally begins: I catch up with Danny, do a bit of reading and surfing, blog if I have the time, work if I’m on a project and take a leisurely shower.

That’s it. Not very exciting, but someone’s got to do it.

Drama mama

Sara walks into the kitchen this morning,

“Oh, Mommy. I’m s-o-o-o-o-o thirsty. I have NO water IN me.”

Rejection

Sara and I have been exploring the whole subject of marriage. She’s upset to learn she cannot marry her Papa nor her Didi. She also realizes she’s in a bit of a pickle, seeing how she does not approve of any of the boys in her class. After much discussion, we’ve narrowed it down to one boy – Bertie, her good friend Tabitha’s 4-year-old brother. Alas, one of Bertie’s best friends is a girl, whom his mother has informed me is the target of his affection. Needless to say, Sara’s now crushed to learn that the one boy she deems suitable will not marry her. “Why? Why won’t Bertie marry me???” I’ve assured her she has plenty of time to choose, but she’s not listening. 

Rejection at age 3. Life’s tough.