I love our little breakfast sessions on Saturday mornings. Just baby Vader and me, because Vader's still fast asleep. It's the only day he gets to sleep in :)
At the moment, baby Vader is still very much entertained by breakfast time, just sitting there with mummy, feeding himself his corn pops / cheerios / biscuits and being fed cereal / yoghurt / fruit by mummy. He allows me to eat in peace as well, as long as I'm facing him and talking or singing to him. I do hope our family comes to enjoy meal times together, at least once a day in future. It's not just about the food or even the quality of the conversation, but just the sitting together as a family at home. Of course, baby Vader will have come to realise by then, that conversations are commonplace at the dining table, since he often watches Vader and I talking and frequently interjects!
My faithful breast pump needs servicing soon. Since I've done a fair amount of work today and I have a couple of hours to spare, I thought, why not be efficient and squeeze in a visit to Medela's showroom today and get the pump serviced? Should be a breeze.
Thing is, I know I'll need the warranty card. I'm pretty confident I can just reach into our "warranty card / receipts / instruction manual drawer" and grab it to go. Vader and I are very organised, or at least Vader keeps the house organised. Tip top condition. We even have a designated drawer for all these important documents. The drawer is relatively large, 32 inches wide, 20 inches long, 5 inches deep. Our documents are safe and secure.
I open the drawer.
:
:
:
:
:
:
Looks slightly daunting, but nothing I can't handle. I take out the receipts / instruction manuals / waranty cards one by one and stack them neatly on the table. I keep stacking...... and stacking
I think, one minute later, I start hyperventilating. This is not good.
I give up and text Vader.
Me: Do you have any idea where the Medela pump warranty card is? (I send him a picture of the drawer)
Vader: Probably in the dresser drawer.
Me: I searched the drawer but started panicking. (realising he's not yet seen the picture)
Vader: Nonsense.
Me: :(
Vader: Look again lor. Either that or we never got it. Ahahaha.
So much for being organised and efficient. Hopeful little me will try looking again tomorrow and tell myself I still have months to look for it.
By the way, I don't even know if the warranty has already expired. How long is the warranty? One year? We got the pump late October 2009..........
So I'm hoping that:
(1) the warranty period is not over
(2) I can find the warranty card and / or
(3) the nice folks at Medela will service the pump without the card because they have my records somewhere and can retrieve it with some magic serial number that might exist on some obscure part of the pump
Hope against all hopes.... Medela folks, please be nice.......
Dear Vader,
remember this when you gave it to me sometime back? I found it in my drawer (the one beneath your clothes in our bedroom). Had to put it away because otherwise a little boy would have found it and tried to eat it.
This thing is meant to be hung right? Please give me a space to hang it at home.
Also the message on it?
(1) Loved it, still loving it and breathing it in everyday.
(2) Right back at you!
P.S where is our camera cable? Our camera is sitting pretty in the study and I'm going to use her.
Love,
Just me :)
So I'm sure mainstream society must be right, my own mother must be right. Society encourages us to make more money, so we can buy things we want, buy bigger houses, and by doing these, we inevitably provide a comfortable living space and life for our spouses, our children. My own mother spends time looking to grow her money (already quite a tidy sum, I think, but will never really know because it's always been hidden from us), tells me about new shares she's buying or how much she makes, tells me about how a property can now make a couple of millions. I'm sure it makes her feel good, because growing wealth makes us feel more secure, feel more at ease.
I think the problem comes when growing money becomes the main preoccupation (even if we are not aware of it). When it supercedes our interest in what we do, when it overshadows the essence of a person or family / religious values. At times, even more horrifying, it is couched as a value. You must make more money so you can provide for your parents / children, that is what makes you a filial child / responsible parent. Bollocks! That's my instinctive response. But within my twisted mind and in the constant struggle to be a good daughter and a good mother, a voice tells me:
- If mother wants me to make more money, then I should, I should make her happy and not question her intentions or methods.
- If I want to be able to buy things at a whim for baby Vader without having to worry about the balance in my bank account, then I should be making more money. If I were constantly worrying about money, I wouldn't be able to focus on spending quality time with him right?
Yet, another voice screams at me to not succumb to the pressure, to remain faithful to what Vader and I consider important to our family. Genuine interest, passion for what we do, love (for each other and our children). There is no need to impress, no need to 'save face' , because these masks do not stand the test of time and only function to tire us out needlessly.
Because I am now 18 weeks pregnant with our second child, and because I stopped working to turn free lance prior to finding out I was pregnant, I now worry about the finances alot more. I am not as active and mobile as before, so I can't do as much work, and due to the terrible first trimester morning sickness, work came to a standstill. Almost on a weekly basis, I complain to Vader about the money, and he tells me there is nothing to worry about because we have more than enough to get by. Then he said, maybe my obsession with hoarding money has been inherited. He's right, I constantly need to see the numbers growing in my bank account balance or panic starts to set in. I desparately try to scrimp and save (it makes it easier because I am not drawn to shopping or luxury items) so I have more to save each month, on top of what I already put aside, I try to set a record each month, to save more and more, and to look at the numbers and relish in them. When I am able to step out of this haze, I realise how childish and ugly this obsession is. It was someone I never wanted to become and I will continue to fight this tendency.
I also want to remember, more importantly, that my children do not need to impress me. That I do not want them to grow up fearing that I will be disappointed in them if they do not attain a certain status or earn a certain amount of money. That they were perfectly made and they will be loved for who they are instead of who we want them to be. That they will live in this knowledge of love and not in fear.
When Vader is away from home for work, the house seems so much more silent. I suspect because his voice is so much louder than baby Vader's and mine, so are his movements around the house :)
So when he was away last night, there was much silence, except for .......
Baby Vader repeatedly pushing Vader's bolster off the bed and chuckling softy
My attempts at trying to calm baby Vader down so he can fall asleep - this I did by singing, patting him softly and making the "shh shh" sound when the singing seemed to get him more hyped up.
Baby Vader constantly babbling, something which sounded like "shabu shabu" over and over again as he rolled around the bed, pulling pillows and bolsters out of their place and creating a huge pile around him and myself, then getting frustrated finally, because there was no place to lie properly.
Baby Vader's whining (and pulling at my arms) as I put all the pillows back
Baby Vader chuckling again as he tried to poke my eyes out, dig his fingers into my nose and / or mouth and tug on my earrings.
Baby Vader chewing on his little stuffed frog and going "Aiyayayayaya Aiyayayaya!"
Baby Vader's soft sighs as he slowly falls off to sleep.
My tummy growling becase I had had porridge for dinner, and the little one in me can't seem to stop eating, although he / she can only take dainty portions at one sitting.
My mind screaming out for scrambled eggs, bacon, waffles, chocolate eclairs, salmon sushi, jam filled crepes, fresh fruit with yogurt, cold crab, marshmellows drenched in thick chocolate sauce and hot, fudge filled brownies - all of which were unavailable to me.
My mind screaming out for any food in the house, a corned beef sandwich, a cheese sandwich or ice cream - I oblige with a cheese sandwich because I imagined a crying baby in my tummy if I didn't eat there and then.
My soft singing to baby Vader even though he was already asleep. My whispering "Mummy loves you" into his ear, because I think I must innately believe in some form of subliminal messaging or at least want it to work hahhahahah
Baby Vader shuffling in his sleep to reposition himself whenever he realises he's not lying on Mummy or at least squashed right up against her. This goes on every night by the way.
Ah! What joys the silence of the night brings :)
I love weekends, because then I get to spend the entire day with baby Vader. Here's some dress up he got up to last Saturday morning.
I thought I would get used to not being with baby Vader during the day on weekdays, but I haven't, and instead of getting easier, it gets harder to walk away each morning. Baby Vader has a sissy mummy.
A comment by an acquaintance on the following ban surprised me. Wait, not surprised, but annoyed actually. The comment was about how more Singapore restaurants should have this ban, because it is more supportive of dating couples, including married couples with no children.
I wonder if you would feel the same way once you have your own kids. I'm not saying I support having kids running amok in restaurants. I personally might not even bring my kids to this particular one just because it is so out of the way and am aware the restaurants along Ann Siang are not particularly spacious to begin with. I wouldn't even fault the restaurant owner/manager for coming to this decision. It is after all, business, and if they are in a position to choose who patronizes their eatery, good for them.
What annoys me is the seeming notion that married couples with children in tow do not need to date at nice restaturants and so MORE restaurants in Singapore should ban children. Is going out as a family not considered a date at all? So when the children are around, the parents don't talk to each other? Are there that many restaurants in Singapore crawling with screaming children that warrant that hope? If there are, then should the blame lie on the absence of the ban or the negligence of the parents? How about parents who genuinely put in the effort to and succeed at educating their children to behave well at restaurants? Are they and their children to be put at a disadvantage? This is like saying, since fire is dangerous and my child does not know how to handle fire, so I should not expose the child to any form of flame whatsoever. After all, he can learn all about the properties of fire from books and documentaries right?
Just because our generation has grown up a certain way doesn't mean we cannot be critical of the methods used by our caregivers. In the name of blind submission, or perhaps laziness, couched by the term "Respect", we perpetuate what we innately disagree with because of convenience.
So I hope for the person who made the comment, that he/she feels the same way after the kids come along.
P.S. Yes, I am annoyed and it shows in this entry, and so the argument might not be water tight or even complete. I'm happy to leave it as that, just a commentary. It is, after all, my blog :)
