Sunday, May 31, 2009

Golden Goose under House Arrest

So apparantly an excess of carbohydrates, stress and goodness knows what else can increase the risk of premature labour.

According to The Gynae, I hafta go home and lie down. For 2 weeks. Otherwise the new chicken will hatch. I think the whole lying down deal was great for about 15 minutes, after which I started to go quietly, and then noisily, insane. And that was the easy part. The hard part is the new diet.

When it comes to the new diet, The Gynae is Hard Core. Rather than to waste half an hour telling me what I can't eat, she decided it was easier to spend 30 seconds telling me what I can.

Brown rice
Brown spaghetti
Brown bread

As she rattled off this very short and depressing list, I heard her say the magic word chocolate.

What was that you said -chocolate?

Yes. Chocolate. You can have none.

I didn't find that funny at all, and neither did she. I guess you could say that consult ended on a rather grim note. I left, holding my very short list, medical certificate and a sack of medication.

How come all my guests want to check out early? I asked The Husband when he came to pick me up. The Son checked out a little early too, four years ago, just not this early.

I think it's because they don't like the food, said our resident comedian. All the entrees come with 5 desserts.

While it can be said that I did develop a sweet tooth during this pregnancy and the last one, I still believe there is nothing wrong with finishing 2 cakes every 3 or 4 days. Especially when they're chiffon cakes, which are mostly air. After all, air is calorie-free. I had originally planned to buy and eat an Awfully Chocolate plain chocolate cake after my visit to The Gynae, but I guess this will have to be postponed. It does not help that The Mother's idea of a snack for me during a long car trip is an entire pandan chiffon cake.

Spoke with The Mother on the phone today, meaning to tell her about the medical leave/ premature labour situation but somehow the conversation was misdirected to a request for additional blank cheques and how much is in your bank account now.

But I haven't been to work for the last week, as I have been on medical leave, said the Golden Goose.

Oh. Well, have you banked in your paycheque or not?


Errr.. ok. Why haven't you been to work for the last week, she finally asks.

As The Husband likes to say, the milk of human kindness flows through my family like bean curd.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

And Now There Are Seven

A coupla weeks ago, The Son went on a school excursion to the Pasir Ris Kid's Kampong for which I had to pay S$15 and sign a consent form. Which is fine, except that nowhere in the consent form did I consent to him bringing home a bunch of pet fish in a tiny little bucket with his name on it. It's all very cute and everything, WHEN THAT HAPPENS TO SOMEONE ELSE. I am less than charmed when it happens to me and my kitchen.

Anyway, to cut a long and tedious story short, we had what appeared to be 6 live fish and 1 dead fish by the time I got home from work. 2 of the live fish were not actually in the bucket at that point - one of them was on the coffee table and another one was writhing on the floor ("MAMA !! LOOK!!") and about to be eaten by The Dog.

By the time the fambly woke up the next morning, there were 6 dead fish and 1 live fish ("Survivor Fish").

We waited patiently for Survivor Fish to pass on like his bethren. He was not fed, as the fish did not come with any fish food. Yet stupid Survivor Fish survived for another 16 days. Then finally, The Husband made a unilateral decision, completely bereft of any spousal support or encouragement, TO BUY A FISH TANK AND FISH FOOD. I think the last thing I said to him about this issue is why can't you put Survivor Fish into that big vase instead. No need to buy a tank.

If I had known this was going to happen, Survivor Fish would have relocated to the sewer or the chute 15 days ago. Now, instead of having no pet fish, we have another 6 new fish, 1 fish tank, 1 fish tank cleaner, 1 fish tank aerator, 1 fake aquarium plant and 1 real aquarium plant. And of course, we have Survivor Fish and fish food. I'm tired of typing the word "fish".

Of course now that we have spent money on all of this, I'm almost completely certain that all the fish will die tomorrow leaving us with yet another item to gather dust in the house.

Monday, May 25, 2009

Local Boy Enraged By Own Speech Impediments

The Son has grown from a baby capable of only mumbling the last syllable of only a few words, to a toddler with an awesomely adorable inability to pronounce "l", "th" and various other alphabits, to a little boy who can pronounce everything except "th" ("ss") and "security guard" ("sekittery gard").

So "with" becomes "wiss" and so on. I find it screamingly cute. In fact, The Husband and I have found all his speech impediments so screamingly cute that we have adopted them in our own speech. It drives The Son screamingly batshit.

So the other day when I said the taxi would be picking us up from the "yobby", he was at great pains to correct me.

"LLLLLobby, mama. It's LLLLLLLLobby".

That's what I said, Son. Yobby.


Yobby. Oh! Yook is that a yadder?

*shrieks from the peanut gallery*

In other news, the answer to the question: "how hard can it be to find a lawyer who can sit in for 4 months to replace me while I am on maternity leave" is "very very hard". I'm sure I cannot be the only person on the planet who has to deal with this issue - how come it is so difficult?


Friday, May 22, 2009

I've never had a dress named after me until now, and now I want to see it

Checked out the Pink Frangipani dress shoppe yesterday at lunchtime and found some pretty awesome stuff.

This is Gremlin's (from Gremlink) dream and creation and I had not realised up till then that she designs and names her dresses after her friends and known acquaintances.

I found The Stacie, a rather hawt black chiffon cocktail dress with an extremely flattering bias cut around the waist and hips, and also The Ciara, which is a deep red pleated silk dress, short, but also with a similarly flattering waist and hip cut.

Then Gremlin tells me that there is also The Jennifer, but IT IS SOLD OUT.

Eeeee!!!!!!!! (*flaps hands in front of face like a preteen girl*)

Need. To see. The Jennifer.

This is just (JUST) like Lorac cosmetics, where I found The Lipstick I Had Been Searching For All My Life, where the designer names her lipstick colours after various different famous Hollywood celebrities. OSOM!!!!

So what goes through your mind when you design something and name it after someone, I asked the Gremlin.

Well, I think of what she would most likely be wearing, like her favorite dress or her usual style.


I suspect The Jennifer is probably a very short dress, probably rather low cut, either in the back or the front but not both, very likely in black/ a muted colour or a deep satiny red silk. The last little black dress I wore out to the pub (or, as my mother would say, the nightcrup) was a short black halter dress, so short in fact that I could not use an escalator, only lifts.

Gremlin's stuff is inspiring because it's cocktail dresses, and tops and bottoms designed for professional women in their 30s and beyond, not just for women in their 20s.

What's the difference between these 2 groups? We are not going to Zouk anymore, we're not partying anymore, we are working women and mothers who go to houseparties, work functions, dinners and dances, and other people's wedding dinners. Or sometimes just dinner with the husband and friends at a nice restaurant.

And when we do go, we do not want to have to choose between the evening gown we wore for our wedding x years ago, or the same exhausted black dress we have already been seen in for the last 5 of these occasions, paired with the same exhausted pashmina. We would like, for once, to wear something new, not too tight, not too stretchy, something in a cut that will be kind to the waistline and hips and which will make us look hawt. Something which will not require me to hold my breath when I put it on, and then throughout the rest of the evening until I can sit down somewhere and put a napkin on my lap.

Something that will let me show off the assets I still have and the ones that I acquired after having a kid (more curves) while hiding the extra pounds that I put on in the wrong places after having said kid.

And it's got to be affordable. I'm not paying more than S$280 - 300. I've got to budget for kid stuff.

Also, I don't want the latest bright funky colours. I want the kind of colours I see in Boss (for their women's range), Chanel, LVMH, Celine and Gucci. I want black, silky satiny greys, whites, deep satiny reds that glow and shimmer in dim lighting - and that will not wrinkle if I bring the kid out with me for the dinner.

Is that a tall order? I don't think so. She's come up with just the thing, ensconsced in the 2nd floor of the Windmill Mall at Holland V. And there's an accessories and photoframe shop next door.

Monday, May 18, 2009

Local Woman Forced to Apologise for Misbehaviour in Toddler's Dream

So I was awakened this morning at the unGodly hour of 6.45am by a little Mickey Mouse voice in my ear.

Mama! Can you please say sorry to me? You have to say sorry.


You took my eggs. In my dream. You took my eggs away.


I had a bad dream. You took my eggs away. You must say sorry.

Oh. Sorry about that.

I'm still sad.

Sorry. Come, let me give you a hug.

Ok. Can I watch TV now?


In other news, I was reminded the other day of the wonders of modern banking. I waddled into the bank in my full third trimester glory one baking hot afternoon to extract some bank statements and other miscellaneous things, then queued patiently with everyone else till I got to my turn.

Only to be told - I'm sorry you can't get the bank statements here. You have to call our Hotline.

But I'm here, at the branch. Isn't there a way for me to get the statements here? I can wait.

No, we cannot get these for you here. You have to call the Hotline.

Then she paused, as she realised that I was so hot and bothered that I might deliver the baby at the foot of her counter.

In a more concessionary voice, she said, perhaps you can use our phone to call the Hotline. I will dial for you.

Which is fine by me, in terms of service. So I get a nice little booth with a chair and a phone, she dials into the Hotline for me, which is when I discover that bank officers get into the Hotline phone queue just like everyone else. She passes the phone to me, and I spend another five minutes pressing 1, 2, 3, 4 or 0. Finally reach a human and make my request for some bank statements, which must be really quite an unusual one, because I'm told:

Sorry ma'am, we cannot help you. You have to write in.

At that point, a mushroom shaped cloud appeared above my head.

Ok, said I to the poor Hotline person. Here's the situation. I am AT the bank now. They asked me to call the Hotline. I am now on the phone with you, while still AT the bank, and now you are saying that I may have to go back to my office to WRITE IN, to THE BANK. Is this correct? Why do I have to go back to my office to WRITE IN, when I am IN the bank and also ON THE PHONE with the bank's hotline? Can't you take my word for it that I need the statement?

Rage makes me speak in UPPER CASE; I probably sound very Dick and Jane.

In the end, the Hotline spoke with the Bank Officer and between them they made sympathetic noises to each other, and Bank Officer put down the phone before asking me to please write in, as nobody - NOBODY - had the power to process my request at that point without any written authorisation from me. But as a concession to the customer, they would provide me with a piece of blank paper, a pen and a desk from which I could prepare my written authorisation, and thereafter they would fax it out to the right person. I was made to understand that it would take at least 7 working days to process my request. I think this is probably because the relevant department is located 7 leagues below the sea, and since it's monsoon season, it would take a while for the Bank's seamen/ voyagers/ adventurers/ deep sea divers, bearing my handwritten request, to reach them after braving all the sea creatures.

I'm almost completely certain I could have gotten my bank statement faster in the 1920s, when there was no Hotline/ fax/ internet banking, just courier pigeons and morse code. It would also not have cost me S$25 by way of an administration fee.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

I really don't know the answer to this one

So we have an ongoing matter where Person A sold a company to Person B, and just before completion date, Person A withdrew most of the company's money for her own use, much to Person B's dismay and horror. There is now litigation to sort things out.

That's all fairly straightforward, then Person A sends an email to Person B directly (so far, all correspondences have been through the lawyers) to notify Person B that "I am praying for you", and that "God will right all wrongs." Also something about the money she took having been converted to God's use (to build God's kingdom).

Person B, who is of the view that he should have the same recourse to the Lord God as Person A (and maybe more recourse to the same than Person A) sends me an enraged email where he asks how is he going to respond to this.

I've looked up some Bible verses (Google) and I have to say that there is little reference that I can find at short notice to offences involving a criminal breach of trust and the position that God would take in such cases, particularly where He is also implicated.

Perhaps it's just me, but I think there's something truly objectionable when you confront someone who swiped money from you and they say "I passed it to God, perhaps you should ask Him for it".