Save it for an Emergency

The Son has so far received more song requests than Billy Joel in a karaoke pub and has yet to fulfil a single one of them.

Then last week our wildest dreams came true most unexpectedly at Katong Shopping Centre. Yes, that old building. Yes, there's lots of really seedy shops in there, but also a rather nice chicken rice place.

After the chicken rice had been consumed, I was inexplicably drawn to a Chinese antique shop just next to the chicken rice place, whilst The Husband was inexplicably (well maybe not) drawn to a toy car model shop. The Son decided, also less inexplicably, to follow The Husband.

15 mins later, I meet up with the two of them again, and suddenly every one is looking grim and nobody is talking. Take your son, said The Husband. When The Son misbehaves, he is never referred to as "our son" or "my son". He is "your son". So I asked The Husband what happened.

Well, he said, we were at the toy car model shop and I told Your Son not to touch anything then I turned away for a minute to talk to the shop keeper and there's a huge crash and Your Son has dropped a model car in its plastic case on the floor. The case broke. I had to pay for the case and the car inside. Don't ask me how much it cost, I've already peeled off the price tag.

How much is it?

S$143.90. We even got a proper tax invoice fer it. I'm keeping that invoice - when The Son starts work, I'm going to bill him.

So what did he do when he broke it?

Well what do you know. He started to sing. He sang "Happy Birthday".

Escuse me but can I have my privacy back please

There's really no warning. One day they're too small to even reach the doorknob, and the next day they can open the door and just waltz in unannounced.

That's when you also realise that so many different parts of a toddler's brain are developing at the same time, that some parts (regarded as less important) will necessarily give precedence to other parts which are much more important.

Like the part of the brain that reminds him to shut the bathroom door after he's opened it to find Mummy having a shower. That part has given precedence to the other part of his brain that teaches him to leave the door wide open.

And the other part of his brain that tells him to listen to Mummy screaming at him to come back and please close the bathroom door. That part has given precedence to the other part of his brain that reminds him Mummy said never to close the door by himself because he might close it on his finger just like the last time and you cried so much remember?

In other news, we now have 2 Tow Maters and it just kills me how much I had to fork out for each of them. If anyone heard a woman screaming in a toyshop last Friday afternoon well that was me coughing up S$19.60 for the second one.

Btw, the Husband owes me S$50.

Soliloquy of a Small Person

It was just about a year or so ago when The Son started putting 2 words together, and it's really amazing to watch how his sentence structure ability increases literally by the day.

So today I'm getting ready for work, and The Son comes around to ask me to put my pajama pants on and come with him to the Living Room to watch Bob the Builder for the 10th time. I told him no, Momma is busy, and cannot put on her pants now. Then Some People got all uptight and let loose a soliloquy fit for a play.

No! You must! Put! On! Pants!
You must put on your pants!
You must listen! To me!
Must listen!
How many times! I tell you!
Must listen to daddy! (*taps one finger on his ear for effect*)
You! Are very naughty!
Must! Go! And think about it!
You must think about it!
I! am very angry! with you!
Must! Say sorry! (*waggles stubby index finger*)

Quite a mouthful for a 2.5 year old, and all this before I've even had my morning coffee.

The Wonderful Adventures of Joshun Kadisoo

The CD shop wrote me today to confirm that Painted Desert Serenades (the album) has arrived and is ready for collection. Judging from the way he wrote the sms, he appears to have long ceased to care whether he spells the name of the singer/ band correctly or not. I guess if I'm eager enough to place an advance order, I'll figure it out.

In other news, the horrible 6-degrees-of-separation-nightmare that is Facebook has exhumed yet more incredibly embarrassing photos of yours truly at 10, 12 and 14, all taken by a classmate of mine who everyone remembers vaguely (as being a nice girl) but dammit did she have to spend her entire primary and secondary school career with her hand on the camera trigger. I mean, who trusts a 10-year old schoolgirl with a camera anyway? Film is expensive! Am still waiting for this Facebook fad, or maybe just the CHIJ on Facebook fad, to pass. I guess I shouldn't hold my breath.

Coincidentally, had a really fantastic dinner at Carnivore in Chijmes last Friday evening with friends, and sat, almost literally, on the very same spot where one of those photos was taken. How surreal. I walk around the place, and it's like an episode of "Missing" where I don't see the buildings, shops, restaurants that are currently there, I just see my old school benches with the IJ girls playing hopscotch and five stones, next to the St. Nicholas girls doing military-type mass calisthenics to a very scratchy Chinese revolutionesque song. I see Denise trying to play five stones despite her limited motor abilities. I see Choi Ming and Marlene sitting together on the second and top benches doing their homework and chatting. I see the girls from the other session getting dropped off by the school bus. I see myself in my little Bata shoes trying to get a spot in a game of Four Corners, or playing Crocodile with Marianne (who cheats, btw).

The amazing thing about Chijmes, which I don't think the casual observer would see, is that the floor tiles of the chapel and the orange tiles near the restaurants are the original ones used when the place was a school. The chapel columns are originals, lovingly repainted so that our little shoeprints are gone. The spiral staircases are also originals, given a nice paint job (although the painters would have been surprised to find stair no. 13 very clean and untouched since we all refused to step on it).

Yep. It's confirmed. I'm becoming a relic.

Uncool again!

So it was the great idea of IJ Class of 19XX to hook up on Facebook, rather than email, because it's a more interesting medium blah blah blah. Sure, I can subscribe to that. But what I didn't realise is everyone is going to carry on like we're all still 15 and a half. If yet another person send me a virtual hug, a virtual drink, a virtual soft toy, a virtual flower.... I am going to punch them. And not virtually.

Ok. Cranky me. If you want dancing under the rainbow, singing songs and holding hands like smurfs, it's my sister you should be looking for.

Anyway, that was phase 1. Now everyone is putting up photos of all of ourselves, back in the day, and I'm forcibly reminded every other day that I used to be a real geek. And that I could possibly be the only person that went through the ugly awkward railroad track braces phase. Also possibly the only person who used to wear orange leg warmers to class parties but that's another story I'm never going to tell.

Having been forced to confront photos of all the popular girls in my class (now available online 24/7!) I find myself remembering all the things I hated about that embarrassing gawky painfully awkward phase. Mainly the very obvious lack of any male admirers whatsoever (including a couple of guys who ran for the hills once I indicated interest) and the couple of incredibly horrifying moments when another girl (?!!!!!!!!!!!) would confess a "crush".

Oh God. Am incoherent with horror.