Happy Birthday Matthew!

5 years ago at around this time, I was probably attempting to provide that mystifying colostrum to a little baby while blinking in tears of pain as he tried his darndest best to latch.

All that is but a blur now.

What I see today is this little boy staring right back at me, all 5 years of age, full of life, full of energy, full of cute nonsense that is sometimes outright irritating, but a lot of the times, nonsense that fill our lives with laughter and a sense of awe.

How quickly 5 years have gone by, and my first-born has taught me so much.  Parents often say that children do not  listen to them.  But I think we have a lot to learn from our children.  To learn to live and enjoy the moment more.  To be filled with enthusiasm every day.  To have a renewed zest for life every morning.  To live and let live.  To love unconditionally.

My darling Matthew, you bring so much life, so much joy and laughter into our family, and we love you so so much.  Happy 5th birthday!  Mama is proud to call you son, a true blessing from God indeed.

The Month After

The month post-delivery has been tough and a real challenge. We thought lightning wouldn't strike twice but it did. I was plagued with the same pee problem, marginally more manageable this time, but still problematic nonetheless. I had urine detention. Unable to pee, I had the catheter on twice, which completely killed me emotionally and physically. It hurt when I moved, it was messy when I breast-fed, it stopped me from moving freely when I carried Lucas, it was dreadful when I sat or laid down. I hated it.

The pain affected breast milk supply since it was hard to have a letdown. I told myself, chill - you've been through this before. But it was a mental struggle every time. I wanted to succeed with total breast-feeding.

Between dealing with my post-delivery complication, maintaining a punishing schedule to up my milk supply, being sleep deprived, and trying to be the super mom for Matthew as well, I fell into some sort of emotional yo-yo.

Then Lucas developed an abscess under his armpit, which had to be removed by a pediatric surgeon, so it was in and out of hospital 3 times for him. The procedure was painful for him as he was too young to have any form of anesthetic applied to him when the abscess was cut in order that the pus could be drained out.

I was in a mess. I was a mess.

Glad to have moved on and put the whole drama behind.

Staying Home

So the decision has been made.

I am going to stay home full-time to look after my children.

And honestly, it scares the shit out of me!

I love Matt, I will love my akan datang baby boy, and I love being a mother.

But I do not know if I can cope.

You see, I have a big problem.

I am a very fang bu xia person, and I am capable of killing myself trying to do everything to perfection. Well, kids never let you have perfection, yet I am known to try till I become miserable, knowingly or unknowingly. That is my greatest pitfall.

And I do not t know if I will do a good job.

How do I know I am doing good? What will be my new Key Performance Indicators, KPIs as known in my job? That my kids know A,B,C and 1-100 by a certain age? Or if they get As, Bs or Cs in school? Or I guess I could possibly create some form of yardstick by pitching my kids against their peers?

Oh! God forbid that, considering how much emphasis I place on my children staying goofy!!

And not to mention this new job, if I may call it "a job", has no tangible benefits yeah? No annual leave, no MC days, no money.

What if my kids drive me mad? What if I am a horrible horrible mama as a result of staying full-time at home?

Well, it's not like it's day 1 that I am a mother. It's just that suddenly I am frightened, maybe so much so that I lost sight of why I am doing this in the first place. To manage my own family so hubs can go hunt in peace knowing that the home is in good hands. To have time with Matt, with di di, to look after them with my own bare hands. To enjoy time with them. To be there for them. To fully live the reason why we decided to have kids in the first place!

I don't know.

I guess best to do is not to over-think things.

I must have faith that I will be able to do it. Positive thinking. I must constantly remind myself that I must be a happy mother, above all else. And learn to laugh at myself a little, let go a lot more.

Apprehensive as I may be, I am very much looking forward to my new role. Wish me luck!

Nasty Cough

Matt developed a rather nasty cough where he was hacking almost every second, literally. It got so bad that his throat and stomach hurt each time he coughed. Temperature yo-yo-ed for days on end, and he could hardly sleep at night despite medication which made him drowsy. He would look at me with sad eyes and repeatedly say, "mama, please help me!"

But nothing I did could soothe him or made him feel any better, and it sucked! :( All I could do was spend time with him, give him cuddles, although it was also hard to do that with a bulging tummy.

He finally showed signs of recovery after 3 such days, and I am relieved beyond words.

I developed fever myself from all that lack of sleep and managing the ship on my own while hubs was traveling, but it is always easy to manage my own discomfort. Just seeing him happy and himself again already made me feel better. My fever has since subsided, just a looming sore throat that is slowly but surely going away.

What Is Wrong With Me?

It's Friday night, and I am home alone waiting for Matthew to come home from my in-laws. I have been expecting him for the last 40 minutes but he is still not back.

I was supposed to have a date night out with hubs and some friends. I have been looking forward to it. I put on make-up, all ready for a nice dinner after a hectic week. Hubs have been working late a lot. We only manage to talk on the way to work.

But date night didn't happen. In-laws wanted me back early. So I asked hubs to go ahead, he needed a break, too. I came home to eat a lonely dinner of tuna sandwich and a sweet potato.

I am emotional. Doesn't help that hubs already has 3 trips lined up for next 2 weeks. Which means he will be away. Which means I will go at everything solo.

I don't know how to handle this well. I am tired. I am just feeling very emotional. I want to take it out on someone, something. I feel a lot of angst in me, wishing for more support from the people around me. Is it right to expect though? I think I may have too much on my plate - heavily pregnant, mom not tip-top and me feeling lousy I am so far away from her, hubs extremely busy at work, my boss working me hard ahead of my maternity. But everyone has different things on their plates, too.

Sometimes, I am so tired I even feel like "hiding" from Matt. Like when I get to leave work early and reach home ahead of the usual time, I don't want him home just yet. I want to lie down to stone for a while. But I remind myself he is my son, my responsibility. And really, he brings cheer to me. So I get him home.

But tonight I wanted a break. I didn't quite get it. And it sucks.

Am I normal to feel the way I do?

The Little Boy

During my down time recently, my two boys have been amazing! Lets start with Matthew.

This little one surprised us with his maturity. When I was hospitalized, we wondered if we should let him come visit me given his stickiness to me. Hubs decided to bring him anyway, but not without explaining in depth what was happening. While he wasn't sure if the little one understood completely (or whether he would accept the explanation when it was time to leave), he also felt that it was plain cruelty to not let him see his mama for days.

I heard his voice outside my room, and when he toddled in, the joy on his face ... oh my! Ok, maybe mine, too. He hugged me, kissed me, sayang-ed my face before he got busy with the up/down lever on my bed, the movable food table, the tube going into my hand, and the works. After about 45 minutes or so, when it was time to leave, he started to protest with incessant chants of "I want mama!" but reluctantly toddled over and hugged me with a downcast face after a session of pep talk. No tears.

After I was discharged from the hospital, we naturally had to make adjustments at home. One was sending him to my in-laws after school every day till after dinner. Two was having hubs go through the whole bedtime routine with him and putting him to sleep. Matt really did not like it initially and struggled to fall sleep, resulting in late sleeping nights. He accepted it over time, but it didn't stop me from feeling guilty.

Whatever it was, he knew "mama is sick", "mama needs to rest" and "I cannot disturb mama", phrases he would repeat to himself as he goes to his room with papa.

We struggled somewhat when he fell ill, and in his sleep / naps, he would sometimes cry "I want mama!" There was even once in his groggy state (from his medication), he toddled over half-conscious to my room and clambered up onto my bed to sleep on me.


So so tired, and a little insecure


Every night when he came home, he would run up to check on me, and if I was awake, he'd ask for me to rock him. Completely broke my heart.

But given his character, I am very proud of him for coping pretty well with the abrupt changes in our family.

All For a Good Reason

The last 7 weeks or so have been rather trying.

I was hospitalized over CNY. I threw up every other hour, and when I saw blood in my vomit and a pee that was orangey red, I knew I had to seek professional help. I was admitted to A&E, and was diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum - extreme, persistent nausea and vomiting that led to dehydration. 2-nights at the hospital and 8 packs of drip later, I was discharged and sent home to rest. I was also administered jab to ease the severe gastric spasms. I have been on home rest since.

The weeks that ensued were so tough, I look back now and wondered how I survived. I continued to throw up every day, up to 7 times a day. By evening, vomit would be bloody, which by then I learnt was a result of my oesophagus having been burnt by my stomach acid. I could not eat a thing, which resulted in a mad cycle of gastric spasms, stomach churning which rendered me literally paralyzed in bed, except for the quick dashes to the bathroom when the urge to throw up came. My blood pressure was extremely low.

I tried to eat, but it was impossible with my burnt throat. Not eating exacerbated the gastric. I forced myself to eat, only to throw up again. I found respite in sleeping which came easily because I was so weak. When I woke up, I paid the price - I could feel the acid all the way up to my throat.

I was too weak to even cry. Or pray. Except to cry out in my heart for God to help me and give me strength.

I got friends to pray for me. I asked my parents to make a trip down from Malaysia and stay with me. I sub-contracted Matt out to my in-laws every day after school till after his dinner. On days when hubs travelled, I felt like dying.

I tried to stay positive. All for a good reason, I tell myself. But it was really, really trying. After 5 weeks of throwing up and gastric spasms, I started breaking down. Every day. Each time that I puked, I'd cry. At times, I wasn't sure if I could take it anymore.

But I also knew God would not lead me to where His grace cannot sustain me.

Faith brought me this far. Friends' prayers. Support from parents and in-laws. And love from hubs and Matt.

And also the visits to the gynecologist. At 9 weeks scan, the little one waved at us, as if assuring me that despite it all (me not eating or drinking, me vomiting), he/she is doing okay. I almost wept in the clinic. At 12 weeks scan, the little one somersaulted right in front of us, facing down when the scan started, and doing a run-about turn to face up as the gynae prodded at him/her. Active one I've got :)

Things started easing up in the last 2 weeks or so. I now puke max of twice a day, and can stomach more food. The gastric is gone. The throat still feels parched, that will take time to heal, I suppose.

I look forward to better days ahead. And I praise God every day for this precious gift.

Motherhood

A friend shared this note by someone on FB by the name of Amanda Motl, a note she wrote about motherhood which I thought was beautifully written. Sharing it here ...

We are sitting at lunch when my daughter casually mentiones that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family."

"We're taking a survey," she says, half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"

"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral. "I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations ..."

But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never again read the newspaper without asking "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your own child die.

I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub.

That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.

I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood.

She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of her discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.

I want my daughter to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, the issue of independence and gender identity will be weighted against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom.

However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.

Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years - not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.

I want her to know that a cesearan scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honour. My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the babr or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find unromantic.

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving.

I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children's future.

I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or a cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts.

My daughter quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I finally say. Then I reach across the table, squeeze my daughter's hand and offer a silent prayer for her, for me, and for all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings. This blessed gift from God ... that of being a Mother.

I Have Become My Mom

I remember trips home to my parents' when I was a little girl (since I was 13!) during my schooling years in Singapore. I would step off the train - my ma would hug me and cry. For one, she was very happy to see me. Two, she always felt I was malnourished, not getting enough food staying in the hostel, and would always beat herself up for sending me away so young!

So she was always on a mission during these school vacations - to fatten me up in that one month, twice a year. It was a joy to her to put food into my mouth. I think I ate 5 meals a day. It was as if I ate 6 months worth of food in 1 month. As I grew older, we would inevitably fight. Cos the amounts were impossible, and I didn't want to grow fat! And it would always end with her saying, "you don't understand, one day when you are a mother, then you will." In my angsty teenage ways, I would just stomp off after eating some.

Then I grew even older.

I began to understand that it was her way of easing her pain of not being there for me when I am so far away. It was her way of telling me she cares. It was her way of showing love. Till this day, she still feeds me more food than I can possibly eat each time I head back to my home town.

Still, I rebelled against her whenever I got sick of eating, although I try not to.

Now that I am a mother, I completely understand.

It counts as one great joy to be see Matt enjoy the food I cook for him. I am happy when I put food into his mouth. I am pleased and take great pride that the food I cook contain little or no msg. It makes me happy when I see him eat and grow physically strong. It saddens me when he doesn't have appetite when he is ill. I get stressed when he doesn't want to eat. Then I get happy all over again once his appetite returns.

It's crazy indeed. I guess I now feel what my mother feels each time she feeds me, as I do with my little boy.

Movie-Going

The very excellent Bourne Ultimatum was the movie I last watched. I enjoyed every minute of that heart-racing, non-stop action movie. Matthew was kicking inside me throughout the show, perhaps in acknowledgement that he felt the excitement I was feeling. I remember I was big as a whale pregnant with my boy, a few weeks away from full-term.

This was more than 3 years ago. Last Monday, we went to the cinema. Our first movie since Bourne Ultimatum. Since Matt was born. I escaped work early and and watched Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows at 4pm with hubs. We were excited like little kids, buying popcorn and drinks, and sitting in the dark theatre. Like good ol' dating days.

We haven't been to the movies for so long because it has been hard to afford that 2.5-hour stretch away from Matthew. We have our couple night every Friday night, but I have a curfew set by my little boy. After hubs get off work, we have a maximum of 2.5 hours to kill, just enough for a relaxed dinner and perhaps a quick errand before it's time to head home to put Matt to bed. I can push that curfew to past midnight, but it will involve him crying until he falls asleep. The tears are surely not worth a movie, me thinks.

Hopefully, we will watch our next movie in 6 months time, when Part II of the same movie is out. Well, even if we fail, there's always the DVD ... or read the book ...

In Time for New Year!

The stomach virus hit hard, but good thing about it is, it passes fast with medication. Matthew was prescribed motilium suspension (domperidone) which stops him from throwing up, and was given a suppository of the same substance on standby in case the vomiting worsens. Thankfully, we did not have to use it.

We found Hydralyte to be especially good in restoring energy and to keep him hydrated.

I was not aware of how contagious stomach virus is despite warning from a friend who is a "seasoned" daddy until I started having shivers, severe body ache, nausea and up down temperature reaching highs of 38.5C for 1.5 days. I did not throw up since I had zero appetite and hardly ate but I sure felt miserable. Caring for a sick child (or rather, the inability to effectively do so) while being sick must count as one of the most miserable things in a mommy's life!

This morning, we both woke up feeling much much better, so I hope we are well on the road to complete recovery, all in time for the New Year weekend!

Me Time

Once a week, I have about 3 hours of real me time, all to myself. Every Wednesday, after dropping hubs at the train station, then Matthew off at school, the 3 hours are all mine to do whatever I want. In theory, that is.

In practice, I usually find myself buying groceries for the week, organizing bills, teaching the helper this and that, going to the library to return and borrow books, preparing Matt's lunch, leaving enough time to do a quick log-in to kaypoh on other peoples' lives on FB, then it's time to head to school to fetch the little tyke. My Dan Brown book is still sitting on the bookshelf, untouched.

Sometimes, when I get lucky, hubs can afford to go in to office a little later, and we get to spend some time at our favourite haunt - Toast Box at Bishan. They recently upgraded their premise, and it's a really nice place to hangout for a quick morning coffee.



Yesterday was an anomaly. I had nothing to do. Zilch. I was at a loss for a bit. A bit not used to it. I mean, there is always something to do!

I quickly made myself a cuppa, found some butter roll that still looked good enough to eat, and read the newspaper from cover to cover, with time to spare for Her World. It was quite nice really.

Fix My Sleep

I used to sleep like a log. The worst thunderstorm may have happened and I would sleep right through it.

Motherhood has changed me. I don't sleep very well anymore.

I wake up on average 3 - 4 times a night.

While people complain that they do not have enough sleep hours, I actually do, I think. I go to sleep together with Matt between 10:30 to 11:00pm. And get up at 8:30am.

Yes, you heard right. 8:30am. That's like ... 10 hours of sleep.

But. I wake at 11:30pm, sometimes 2:30am, 3:30am, 6:30am, and finally 8:30am. Usually, it's easy to fall back to sleep. Sometimes not. More often than not, it is easy. I am so darn tired.

Mostly, I get up to check on Matt, although there is really nothing to check. He is usually sleeping soundly. I cover him with his blankie, check if the room's temperature is okay. Then I fall right back to sleep. Maybe this is a result of Matt's early years when he used to sleep badly, and I woke up at those frequency to tend to him.

When I can't sleep, it is because there's so much in my head. I wake up from dreams sometimes. Then I will think about things that I need to do. Errands I have to run. Things I must remember to tell my helper. Things I need to bring to work. Things I have to do at work. Groceries I have to absolutely buy.

I don't know how to kick this bad sleeping pattern. Once in a long long while, I crash big time. Usually when I am ill and am on medication. Sometimes, I banish hubby to Matt's room, and have the whole bed to myself in our room, and sleep in assurance that hubs is there with Matt. Even then, I would stir at those hours.

I am really in need of fixing my bad sleep habit. I want to have restful, uninterrupted sleep.

A letter from Mom and Dad

Hubs and I often go way way out of the way to get or do little things that we know will make our little boy happy. Sometimes, we would shake our head in disbelief, and one of us would say, "Matthew, you better be good to us when we are old man!"

The beauty of it is, we never really do anything in anticipation that Matt would care for us in our old age, although deep in our heart of hearts, we hope for Matt and our future kids to be close to us till the day we are old and toothless.

But for now, I am reminded to be there for my parents and my in-laws best I can, always.


Something that moved me to tears today. Wordings aren't exactly
the best, but comes across sincere and real. The music accompaniment is amazing.

Mama Ching!

Last night, Matt did something out of the ordinary.

Every night at bedtime, he would want me to lie down by his side till he falls asleep. Usually, he talks himself to sleep while I am out like a fly. Last night, though, after about 10 minutes, he said,

"Mama, chit up pwease!"

I groggily abided to his request, sat my lazy bones up, then in the total darkness, he found his way onto my lap, and said,

"Mama ching!"

It took me a while to understand what he wanted me to do, then I remembered I was singing in the car earlier in the day, and he had been smiling seeing me do that.

So I started singing some hymns that I know, then he rested his head on my chest and hugged me till he was sleepy and went to bed.

Sweet surrender.

My Sleeping Child

Yesterday, I brought Matthew out for the SSO Babies Prom, a concert featuring famous classical music specially tailored for young young children. After the concert and lunch, Matt and his friend, Izzy, ran amok around the Singapore River Taxi (another boat ride!) and all around the Esplanade. He knocked out as I drove us home.

As I carried him out of the car and up to his bed, he hugged me tightly and I could feel his little frame wrapped all around me, his weight completely slumped on me. I must've done this a thousand times, but each time that I carry him this way, when he is not struggling and trying to wriggle free, I would feel a rush of emotions that is pretty much indescribable.

Sometimes, as I lay him down on his bed, he briefly opens his eyes, sees me, and smiles dreamily and goes back to sleep. So serene. So innocent. It is in these quiet moments that I take stock of all things good and say a quick prayer, thanking God for all that He has blessed me with.

I could stay on forever watching him sleep, but errands beckon, and I quietly ninja out of his room, leaving him to his sweet slumber.

No Comparison Please

If you have been following my blog, you will know about me not wanting Matthew to grow up too quickly.

Of late, I have been thinking about that alot. Especially after swimming lesson 2 weeks ago.

A quick background.

Matt used to attend the class with an expat coach, who is way patient and very encouraging. Then he started school, and we had to switch his class to Saturday. Now, this coach's approach is more no-nonsense, as evidenced in my first class with her. There was 4.5-year old girl there for a trial, and she was very reluctant to swim away from her mom. So when the coach took her away, the poor girl yelled and wailed. I could tell that the mom was very pained and wanted a more gradual approach. The coach tried to persuade the girl, telling her it doesn't hurt, that it's ok. But when the girl cried louder, she reprimanded her. And the mom. We never saw them again.

While I empathised with the girl and her mom, I also felt that the coach is right to an extent, that she is old enough to take instruction and at least try to swim for that few seconds. If she then decides she hates swimming, well, at least she tried. But being a mother, I silently took sides with the child and her mom, and I hope they find a coach that clicks with them.

As I am writing this, I realise I am giving a background on this coach, maybe in defence of what I am going to be talking about next. Is she just a nasty coach, or maybe there is really truth in what she says?

Now. Matt is not very good yet at listening to instructions, not very aware of social space and his surroundings. Only recently did he started speaking more, but no "real" 2-way communication. But he is slowly getting there. All we do is speak to him normally, and we know he will eventually get there, speech, awareness and all.

During one of the lessons, he climbed out of the pool and was toddling in his baby way towards the slide

Coach: "Matthew like very blur ah? Like baby. How old is he?"

I nodded my head, looking proudly at my son, completely unprepared for what was to come.

Me: "Ya, like a baby still. He will turn 3 next month"

Then came the blow.

Coach: "In other words, slow lah."

What followed were some exchanges with me defending with arguments along lines of how kids develop at different pace, how girls and boys are different, and how every child is different; while she did a few comparison with the other kids in the class, and Matt turned out to be the youngest with the smallest gap of 5 months and largest, 7 months. It concluded with her somewhat agreeing with me that every kid is different, and gave me some tips as to how to help Matt improve with his swim.

But I was troubled by the exchange. I thought about it through the long drive home. I was bothered for the rest of the afternoon. I didn't know what to think. Or do. Is there anything I could do? Is there anything I have done wrong?

I have always reminded myself not to compare. Because really, every individual is unique. They each have their own strengths in different areas. I can easily walk this talk myself, but when someone else tells you otherwise and compares your kid to his peers and points out that he is lacking, it jabs you somewhere deep.

When Matt woke up from his nap, we played the whole evening, and he was his usual goofy self. And I thought to myself, I am being silly. Matthew is my son, and I love him for all that he is. The goofy, sensitive boy that he is. And everything that he is not, too. And I have to keep reminding myself when others compare him unfavourably to not be too affected, hard as it may.

Mama No Present

Whenever I was upset, Matt would run to me and hug me, sayang me, asking me to be happy. And if it was pretend play, I would sometimes work in a crying episode, and he would ask me not to. When he is stressed by his lack of success at comforting me, his "don't cry" becomes "don't kree". When he is at his wits end, he actually breaks down and cry with me.

I wanted to record my sweet little boy in action.

During our vacation in Japan, we bought him 2 little Tomika toys as presents. He was happily playing with his new pressies when I pretended to be sad I had none.

A Tall Order

It was one of those things I took for granted of on the plane. I listened carefully once in a while out of boredom while waiting for the flight to take off.

"If you are traveling with a child, attend to yourself first, then to the child."

I am not sure how other mothers would react to this, but I find this particular safety command in the flight safety demonstration seriously challenging. I know it is what's right - I should put myself "in order" first before I am able to help another.

Akin to a happy mother maketh a happy child and a happy family.

But I just cannot foresee myself doing that in such a situation. I will bet my last cent that I will put on the safety jacket for my child first. And if the oxygen mask should drop from the cabin top, I will bet my life that it is my child I attend to first.

It's natural. A mother's instincts.

Anyways, I hope I do not ever have to lose my last cent or my life proving the points.

Fare ye well, Little Penguin

The crazy parents went crazier. What turned out to be a short evening trip with Matt, and his cousin Heather, to Sengkang Riverside Park to fly kite turned into a competition.

The hubs excitedly tried to fly the kite. It went up, but did not go too high. "No wind leh," he said. I looked up from throwing pebbles with the kids, and saw loads of kites flying up in the sky.

"Let me try!!"

I managed to get the kite up fairly high, after which I threw hubs a smug look :p We established who is the better one at kite-flying in the family.

For the records, hubs was really excited when the kite went up so high. He took over, and almost as if in a bid to de-throne me, attempted to fly my already-high kite higher. I voiced my concern that the little knot I tied to the kite might not be enough to withstand the strong strong wind up there.

I was fooling around with the kiddies when there was a yelp from hubs. Our kite has flown away. Far far away. Up and up and up into the sky. Further and further away. Apparently, the kite just slipped away as the end of the string was not attached to the kite line reel.

We tried to make a chase for it. But our little penguin rode with the wind, floating higher and higher towards the clouds in the horizon.

Adieu little penguin We miss you already ...