When you say nothing at all September 24, 2009

I’ve been tardy on the writing front. No words on the blog, no words in the pretty journal. No words even for Raeann’s little book. No words. We were busy meeting babies and mommies and families and friends (primary schoolmates! bloggers! bandmates! good goblins! gideon! wow!), and at the end of the day, I’m just too fuzzy-brained to create.

While breastfeeding just now, I had a moment to slow down, a moment to myself. I relished in the familiar sights and sounds of the homeland – Latte’s barks, the humidifier puffing out cool white mists like low clouds, the clatter of the ceramic bowls in the kitchen. I told myself I’ve got to blog these down. For what, I don’t know. Maybe that’s just me – the mundane stimulate me. The mundane’s brain-numbing, in a good way.

And then I looked down at the little bub suckling away. Her baby hair, too soft. Her legs, wrapped up snuggly in her jammies. Her long eyelashes forming little shadows on her little face. She’s turning one soon. One year old, you know? One year old, can you believe it? One year old!

I’m praying that she’s not going to blame us for a low-key first birthday. There isn’t going to be any party. No fancy cake. In a reverse fashion, we’re making cards for the folks – this will be our birthday ritual for Missy Raeann. A reminder for her to give thanks to those who have given so selflessly, to those who love her so muchly. We’re going for lunch with the folks, and spending the day out in the sun. I’m baking her birthday cake – nothing pretty, just good old chocolate cake with peppermint frosting, with a few rainbow-coloured candies thrown in for good measure. (I always like my cakes old-fashioned, imperfect-looking – I even like bumps and cracks because they look just so homey.) Daddy’s making her something (it sounds really exciting!), Mommy’s writing her something. We’ve a grand plan to paint her a mural on her wall, though till now, it remains a plan.

An intimate celebration it will be. For our little girl who’s the biggest thing in our lives. She’ll learn what it means to be contented. A sort of peace that is lasting and pure. A gratefulness for things and people that should never be taken for granted.

Taken by D at Elliot's party.

Another one by D.

In the dress lovingly sewn by my lovely mother-in-law

Pretty, drippy Sunday August 30, 2009

It has just rained, and the air is cool to the skin. Outside, the garden smells fresh of mint growing gloriously in the garden. How lovely it is to sip tea (from Gen!) from a pretty cup (from Bemused!) on this drippy Sunday! I sit on the couch by the window, Janet Seidel tuned on low. The after-rain slightly-chilly breeze blows in, and I shuffle my feet gently to keep them warm.

We are going to the nursery later, for more herbs in the garden, and flowers on the table. I know exactly where I’ll put the fresh blooms – in my watering pot in the middle of the antique-stained dining table. And a small pretty one for the little missy in her hair. The cushions on the white wicker bench need some new covers – floral-patterned I hope, but none too feminine. And our family photos, big and small, waiting to be hung up on our pink wall.

This beautiful weather makes me dream. And it makes drinking tea so so lovely.

See how they drift on by August 22, 2009

The rewards of going to work early are aplenty.

We saw the sky doing its thing, allowing the clouds to arrange and rearrange themselves in some random yet spectacular manner.

We saw how the ridiculously neat round of palm trees nodded in the cool morning breeze, gleeful as can be.

And best of all, I got to hold the huddy’s hand before the route to campus became thronged with students.

Just another day June 4, 2009

I opened the door this morning to a surprisingly balmy weather. Hello June.

So today we decided to stay home. I couldn’t take anymore of Missy Raeann in my pouch. She has taken such a strong liking to it, she wouldn’t sit in her stroller. My back, my back.

I let myself ooze into the couch while the huddy and the baby take an afternoon siesta. Outside, the children in the playschool are singing. Our cream sheer curtains move like gentle waves in the light June breeze. Latte watches me, then nods off to sleep under the white wicker bench.  With a mug of icy cold lemonade (with grapefruit pulp!), a cranberry cream cheese bun and a thick novel, I’m having just about the perfect home-day.

Tell me, what makes your day at home?

Let’s take it s-l-o-w April 16, 2009

I’ve got the little bubba sitting right next to me on the bed as I type away. The huddy is away on his me-time, drinking happy-hour beer and slurping ramen. There’s a soft russle of breeze coming in from the hall, the droning hum of the fan in the corner of the room, and a sense of tranquility I do not quite know how to describe. It’s rare, an afternoon like this.

The vacation break is coming to an end, and I’m excited. It makes me happy to realise that I’m psyched up about working, meeting new students, facing new challenges in a new centre. I’ll miss her dearly, but it helps to know it’s only three days away from her each week. And there’ll be an electrifying buzz of anticipation as I head back from work, knowing she’ll be in my arms again.

Tomorrow, to celebrate the birthday of a dear friend, we’re infusing the kitchen with divine scents of spices and sweets. We’re baking, we’re cooking. Always a wonderful thing to do as a couple. I can’t believe I found someone who’s into the creation of food as much as I do. Now, I’m happy to tinker with my batter and doilies, while he gets himself dirty and smelly with all things garlicky and oniony. A few years later, I’ll take the little missy fabric-shopping – for her handmade apron! I know she’ll be one fine helper and the perfect companion in the kitchen.

And you know you’re a contented soul when mushy funky poop of spinach and barley cereal doesn’t even get to you.

I love the magic of languid days.

There’s more I can do April 7, 2009

For some reason, the huddy’s most recent post set off a tiny ripple of thoughts in me.

We had grand plans to write the little missy a storybook, complete with whimsical illustrations and poetic testimonies to her cute antics. We never got down to doing it. To my credit, I have sporadic drafts – potential titles, two-liners for three chapters, and maybe five verses. But nowhere near a complete book. I now stew in my own guilt.

The huddy got more going on. He whisked off to the bookstore one day, got his drawing supplies, and sat quietly at the coffee table to draw. I know I’m biased, but I’ve never seen anything sweeter.

That’s how he is. He sings into the iPhone to record songs for our babe – “So she won’t be bored in the train,” he says. He dreams of opening an ice cream parlour – “So little missy will be the most popular girl in school.” He cleans up Latte’s pee tray every morning, just so I don’t need to get dirty. And he stocks the fridge with cakes, ice cream and cookies, because his wifey has a tooth sweeter than sweet.

Mommyhood has been merry, but I know it wouldn’t have been so easy if not for him.

This ethereal life is mine to keep, but I want to do more. To be a better wife, a better mommy, a better daughter, a better sister, a better friend.

Can I?

I must. And I will.

Pink and brown and white March 21, 2009

What a wet month. Gone are the long, warm, golden days. The hallmark of March this year is torrential rain that strikes in the most unpredictable of hours. The maddening idiosyncracies of the local weather.

So we spend the grey-hued Saturday afternoon in the nursery listening to the rain outside, the homeland smelling of mango and camomile – Latte’s bodywash. The boy’s getting some soft stools, and the huddy is one tired man cleaning up after him.

I settle down with a book on the bed beside Raeann’s bouncer. The nursery is pretty – stripes on the curtains, flowers on the cushions. There are lovely shades of pink, brown and white, some of the yummiest colours ever. And best of all, it’s filled with handwritten cards, toys and gifts with love from all around. And Raeann’s playtime squeals.

I can’t believe that it won’t be long before she wakes up in this very room, to morning light sliced in from underneath the drawn curtains, to Latte scratching at her door. And she will soon learn to embellish her room with our country finds, and be enamoured of all things country and pretty.

It’s a nice thought for a quiet Saturday afternoon at the homeland.

What did you think about this Saturday?

Yours and Mine March 5, 2009

I am liking the rain that swishes down in the dark – nature’s lullaby for my little missy.

Tonight’s story is Thumbelina. She understands none of it, but she smiles when I read.

I think, this is love.

I love you too, Missy Raeann.

When words are not enough January 29, 2009

I wish I had more time for writing. I want to be consumed by words. But these days, I’m surrounded by sights so brilliant, emotions so strong, words fail me. And these are the things that make me tap my feet in joy.

Maybebabe got me country teacups from London, and a droolicious recipe book so filled with childlike innocence and wholesome goodness. She’s like a santarina who fills my home with pretty gifts every time she jaunts back to Singapore. Babe, I really can’t say enough thanks. I love them, and I love you even more.

The sweetheart is growing so fast. She’s grabbing, she’s slobbering, she’s cooing. And as always, she razzle-dazzles my life.

Raeann’s suckling hard under the cover, and thriving with each drop of milk. It makes me smile.

I’ve had tough days of sleep deprivation, of sore throat, of endless tasks. But it’s all good when I have someone(s) to keep my perspective where it belongs. I’m holding on tight to my postcard-worthy moments, and doing all I can to return the enormous love that I’m receiving.

It’s not too much to dream, is it? January 20, 2009

The uptempo beat from last week left me a little worn out. But nothing a good sleep can’t fix. Just in case my body gives in, I’m indulging in summer fruits and icy water. This morning, I had a white peach, so sweet and juicy. And while breastfeeding the little one, I had time to read her a nursery rhyme, then immerse myself in Country Style. I didn’t get far – I looked at the lavendar fields in shades of mauve, purple and white, the pups frolicking in the front porch, and I’m lost again in my wonderland of country hues. What is it like to live in a place where I can pick berries, and stroll back home with a basket of berry bounty? Is the sky eternally blue? Will I ever get to ride a bike with a load of fresh-bake in my basket, and wild flowers for keepsake?

One day, we’ll be there.

Till then, I’m content to live my ordinary blessed life. One that takes much joy in watching the little missy do her tummy-time on the huddy.

Twinkle twinkle little star January 7, 2009

One of those classics I wish I had known the full version of earlier. Beautiful.

Twinkle twinkle little star!
How I wonder what you are,
Up above the world so bright,
Like a diamond in the sky.

When the glorious sun is set,
When the grass with dew is wet,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle twinkle through the night.

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.

As your bright and tiny spark,
Guides the traveller in the dark
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle twinkle little star!

H.O.M.E. November 25, 2008

The homeland isn’t big. Modestly small, actually. It isn’t luxurious either. No plush couch, no lush toilet paper. The television set is the tiniest of its model even. The floor isn’t parqueted nor laminated. Molds find their to way to us when we allow the bathrooms to get moist over the night. And with a furry boy at home, the homeland isn’t exactly spanking clean too.

Despite all these, I’m fiercely attached to this space. In the evening, the last rays of sunlight reflect off our pink walls and give the hall a glow so warming, romantic even. Very often, there is the smell of cheese on toast hanging thickly in the kitchen air. The garang guni man walks past and Latte sets off a cacophony of barking. A few evenings ago, a family we haven’t seen before entered the lift, smiled at us and our sleeping baby, and said good night as we stepped out.

And now, I sit at the round dining table typing, drinking root beer from the bottle, eating ice cream from the tub.

This is home.

Words on a Wednesday November 5, 2008

• Breastfeeding gives me time. Time for myself, time for my baby, time for reading. After the jaundice scare and endless references to baby care books, I am hungry for fiction. I want to read ferociously. I want to rid my mind of sluggish thoughts. I want to sink into a world that is not mine. I wonder, what books should I zoom into?

• This girl, she’s grown. She’s turning one month. Too fast, too soon, I think. But yet at the same time, I can’t wait to do so many things with her – Bake the first cupcake, take pictures of our chocolate-smeared faces, plant the first seed in a new pot, watch the first bloom, and make Daddy a fabulous cup of morning brew.

• I’ve been caffeine and chocolate free since Raeann entered the world. It’s a personal challenge, this cold turkey thingy. It doesn’t help that I’ve half a bar of rich fudgy chocolate, and a cookie jar of chewy caramel tim tams from lovely Gen, sitting prettily in a corner of the fridge. It’s tough, so tough. I might just succumb.

• My favourite smell now – the muted, babyish, milky smell that lingers after she just has her feed.

It’s raining. And I always feel like writing when the day is drippy. It’s strange.

Today October 29, 2008

Today – John Denver

Today, while the blossoms still cling to the vine
I’ll taste your strawberries, I’ll drink your sweet wine
A million tomorrows shall all pass away
ere I forget all the joy that is mine, today

I’ll be a dandy, and I’ll be a rover
You’ll know who I am by the songs that I sing
I’ll feast at your table, I’ll sleep in your clover
Who cares what the morrow shall bring

Today, while the blossoms still cling to the vine
I’ll taste your strawberries, I’ll drink your sweet wine
A million tomorrows shall all pass away
ere I forget all the joy that is mine, today

I can’t be contented with yesterday’s glory
I can’t live on promises winter to spring
Today is my moment, now is my story
I’ll laugh and I’ll cry and I’ll sing

Today, while the blossoms still cling to the vine
I’ll taste your strawberries, I’ll drink your sweet wine
A million tomorrows shall all pass away
ere I forget all the joy that is mine, today

Today, while the blossoms still cling to the vine
I’ll taste your strawberries, I’ll drink your sweet wine
A million tomorrows shall all pass away
ere I forget all the joy that is mine, today

My orbit has shrunk down to one that revolves round our little family, particularly the baby. I’ve had midnight meltdowns where nothing seems to come right – she nurses poorly, my nipples are hurting, I need more snoozing. I’ve had afternoon exhaustions when not even my favourite book pleases. But more often than not, the moments are perfect. She smiles, and my day is made right again.

Today, the huddy took over the early morning feed, brought Raeann down for her daily sunshine, and made me a most delightful breakfast of soft-boiled egg nestled in a bed of toast.

So today, I want to give thanks – to glorious sunshine spilling over the edge of my bed, to folks and friends pouring in with their blessings and well wishes, to a faithful boy keeping guard over his mommy and sista, to a loving husband who has been nothing but WONDERFUL, to a beautiful baby whom we love. Love love love.

My kind of food September 24, 2008

Dinner was smoked salmon pizza, two Beigian waffles with a big dollop of chocolate ice cream, and a glass of lemonade jingling with ice. Then a slow leisurely walk home with the huddy holding my hand tight.

I tell myself – I’m just a little more cushion-y. Not fat.

On a Monday September 22, 2008

• My sides are hurting with her twists and turns. Little tight knobs pop up and I’m quite sure those are her feet. My itsy-bitsy one, you really pack quite a punch.

• I’m sun-baked, though well nestled in the homeland. I revel in the splash of cold water on my bare skin. But there are only so many showers you can take in a day.

• Sundresses are a godsend. Nothing beats a cool cotton flouncy dress with jaunty birkies for a frumpy preggy.

• Slack skin around the arms. Stretch marks on the sides. Never a lovely sight. But the huddy gives me a hug and drops me a light kiss on my forehead. And I feel beautiful all over again.

How is your Monday?

Sweetheart September 4, 2008

This girl made me tear.

I’m like a tap these days with sweet girls and awesome dogs around.

Snapshot on rainy days August 26, 2008

• The after-drizzle air smells of fallen wild fruit, and I’m liking the slight breeze on my skin. But it’s bad news for Latte boy, who can’t have his regular jogs with the huddy. To make up for his loss of exercise, we hide his toys and make him search the homeland for them. The clever boy knows all the names of his toys, which still amazes us to no end. Proud parents, we are.

• The huddy’s got a new toy and he’s quite contented to have the rain for company for the next couple of days. He’s one very happy man now, I must say.

• It’s strange how I’m getting cravings all over again. Today’s fudgy chocolate cake, which I hope to be able to bake tomorrow, unless there’s a new craving. One thick slice with a cup of English Breakfast. And a good read. And more drippy weather.

• My feet are sore from the shopping for Raeann (short trips only, really!). Nothing that I own seems to be able to support my weight these days. There must be pretty, reliable, affordable shoes out there that can take the walking. Ladies, any suggestions?

• The last week before the new term begins. It’s all about friends, food and flowers (the duranta plant is blooming again!)

Still surreal July 7, 2008

Mondays are usually languid for me. I grade my last class, do the light chores, run some errands, and the time is mine and all mine. Sometimes I’ll bake, sometimes I’ll read. Today, I couldn’t quite find it in me to stand for long since the leg is still hurting a little from yesterday’s fall. So I sit snug on the couch and start thinking about the baby. She’s quite a handful today, moving non-stop, and I find myself wondering many a time if I’m simply hungry or she’s just exploring.

I think about how unexpected this whole miracle is. Really, a Latte junior was in the works, not an Auyong junior. Then I think about how the huddy, despite all the apprehension at first, has grown into this amazing doting father-to-be :: he talks to the baby gently, whimsically, feels her kicks and goes, “like an alien in your tummy!”. I think about how the little one would look like. His eyes, my nose, please. I think about how lovely it is to have Latte boy and baby girl in the homeland, growing up together. I think about whether I can spare enough space in my heart to love another one the way I love my two boys.

On days like these when I feel like a whale and look like one too (today I scared myself when I looked into the mirror – flabby arms, bulging belly, bending knees – not a pretty sight), I think and I write. I tell myself it’s alright to feel befuddled. I eat a cookie. And I feel heaps better.

Home is where the dog is July 5, 2008

There is nothing quite as lovely as snoozing and snuggling in the plush bed on an idyllic Saturday morning, with only a slender shaft of sunlight slipping in. Even baby seemed contented enough to sleep in with only some gentle stirs in my tummy. Then the raindrops fell, and we slouched back against the soft cushions, reading the morning papers. I couldn’t help but be distracted by the darling boy. He stared outside, lulled by the rhythm of the falling rain, then walked over to the huddy, and settled down on his side. The huddy gave him a quick peck on his head and said, “You are so deserving of a kiss”. This is just so so lovely.