Yakkers & Languages

Donkey years ago when I was pregnant with T, I made a pact with the Husband to educate T bi-lingually. (does this word even exist? If it doesn't, heck. It's my blog and the English language is mine to corrupt for the moment, thank you very much!) This form of education will take place through the use of 2 extremely specialized language departments: namely me and the Husband. He shall be the Head of the Mandarin department and occasional bellows of 'listen to your mother or I will tan your hide with a belt d***mit !', while I shall be the Head of English and frequent yells of 'listen to your mother or I will tan your hide with a cane d***mit !'

 

 

That was 3 years ago. 3 years down the road, I have kept up my end of the pact (yes, frequent yells included) and kept up an incessant patter of English when talking to T. This has resulted in the scales tipping too heavily for English and not a hell lot for Mandarin, which he is seldom exposed to unless talking to the grandmothers or grandaunts. I despair over this, cos I believe that he should be able to speak his mother language as well as English, which is apparently the common denominator for most conversations with Singaporeans nowadays. I shudder to think that I have raised a child who is unable to speak the language of his roots or even worse, deny this language completely.

 

Thankfully, he is given Mandarin lessons in childcare and even better, his Chinese teacher hails from Taiwan/China (more authentic Mandarin, rather than the corrupted version of Singapore Mandarin, I like to think). Though T still shows more interest in learning things in English, I am grateful that the exposure to his mother tongue has not be obliterated completely. And through observation, T is a fella who behaves differently for different audiences. For example, he will always speak English to his grandfather and myself yet switch smoothly to halting Mandarin to his grandmothers and grandaunts. I console myself about his 'half bucket water' Mandarin by resolving to speak more to him in Mandarin. It is early days yet.  

 

For all the deficiencies in T's ability to speak fluent and proper languages, another issue surfaces. The Husband and I are not naturally out-going people who can carry on conversations with anyone and everyone under the sun. Yet, the fruit of our loins yak. A LOT. As a baby, T did not belong to that category of babies who babble and squeal incessantly the whole day long. But as he grows into a toddler, he is unable to restrain his vocal cords and finds it necessary to fill his immediate surroundings with the notes of his dulcet voice.

 

Examples:

 

(in the car while making a left turn)

T: Papa why you turn left? Why not turn right? Papa, why?

 

(at the traffic light)

T: Papa red light stop. Green light go. Papa, why u stop behind the ___ (insert color) car?

 

The above situations are often met with silence or mumbled replies from the Husband. And woe befalls us if T was unable to hear/solicit a reply from either of us as he will just keep repeating the same question over and over and over again till one of us responds. For all you folks sniggering out there, this is not funny. The Husband and I are either (a) too worn down by T's game of Twenty Questions or (b) unable to find a logical reply, in which case we will reply by posing another question to T. It goes on and on and on till I am ready to cut my own throat with a blunt knife.  

The inspiration for this blog:

http://www.offsprings.blogspot.sg/2013/04/learning-mandarin.html

 

On Turning Older

The horsey sight that greeted us when we got to our destination

Today marks the day where I turn younger by one more year. Wanting a novel experience, we decided to go for breakfast in Bukit Timah Road at 8am in the morning, an unearthly hour by most Sunday standards.

 

Eagerly waiting for breakfast (one gu-ni siew dai please!)

 

 

Having done intensive homework the night before, we decided on the Riders' Cafe for its unique scenery, potential animal lessons for the Rascal (we spotted monkeys, cats, horses and even a humungous python!) and breakfast menu which got rave reviews.

 

When our orders were served, we were not disappointed. The adults got 'The Usual', which comprise of scrambled/fried eggs, sour dough, garlic mushrooms, bacon, chicken sausage  and roasted tomato, something we could have done without... *gag*. My scrambled eggs were oh so moist and fluffy and the sour dough + mushrooms were divine!

 

 

 

The Rascal got a mini-version of our breakfast - sausage and scramby on toast.

 

The testament to the delicious-ness of our breakfast? A satisfied Husband who in his normal habitat, does not take breakfast and when he does, will deviate more towards more hearty Asian meals like wanton mee or fishball noodles. *burp*

 

The restaurant itself is situated right in front of a horsie exercise ring and we were lucky enough to catch one in action as we enjoyed our balcony view of the surroundings.

 

The Rascal getting restless after his yummy breakfast and peeking at a horse getting bathed.

 

Satisfied customers who will be back again

 

Having sated ourselves on a more than satisfactory breakfast, we headed out  of the place and along the way, saw a huge dead python on the road. Pity it was already covered in black flies and goodness knows what else, or I could have gotten myself a new bag...*wink*

 

 



 

From Cot To Bed

I had originally wanted to continue my blog as Part 3 of the Furgie trilogy (Twilight and Narnia has nothing on us!) but decided to dedicate this space tonight to announce that T has made the transition from cot to toddler bed as last.

As T is fast approaching the big 3, his weight is increasing disportionately to his age. By that, I mean that I am no longer able to lift him up and set him into the cot like when he was a little baby. Well, I could but a trip to the nearest hospital for a broken back doesn't sound quite appealing, pardon the self-preservation! This simple transition does not sound terribly exciting but to me, there is a certain tinge of wistfulness attached cos it marks yet another milestone that my baby is no longer a tiny helpless being. A cheeky, mischievious boy stands before me now, someone who is more than capable of climbing in (and out) of bed by himself.

When he got home from Granny's house earlier, T was pretty excited to see his 'big-boy' bed and could not wait to clamber onto it. And off. And on. And off again - you get the picture.

Furgie (Part II)

Furgie was officially introduced into our newly minted household sometime in early Oct 2009. We did not know at the time that it was to be a significant year for us, nor did we expect to be welcoming TWO new members into the folds of our home. In just under 2 months of Furgie setting paws over our threshold, I found myself accidentally pregnant (the pregnancy I mean, not the finding out part though that was very accidental too!).

 

From looking up books on understanding more about the breed, I found myself back in the bookstores reading up about how to aclimatise Furgie to the idea that she is going to have this Hobbit-like fella as a companion around the house. Our main fear was that we should be so "lucky: (lucky lucky lucky! I should be so lucky in love! So says Kylie Minogue...) to have gotten a pooch who is hostile towards incontinent Oompa Loompas covered in regurgitated milk.

 

Fast forward to 02 June 2010: T. Yeow was officially drop-kicked by the stork into the hallowed wards of Mt A, into the arms of a woozy mum and a (???) dad. One of the research materials I read suggested that new parents gently introduce the new wrinkly arrival to a pet already residing in the house by letting it scent objects belonging to the said wrinkly bundle. That was exactly what we did. The Dad snucked used baby clothing out at night while I was still recovering in hospital and let Furgie sniff them to her heart's content.

 

On the day that T was brought home, the first thing we did was a Divide & Conquer - Mum going down to dog level (with a corgi, that was a very low level indeed) with T and Dad hung on to Furgie for dear life while simultaneously allowing her to sniff T's tiny feet and bum. As tired as I was then, it was kinda funny to see Furgie very curiously sniffing out T's diaper-clad bum, the same way a dog will check out another dog. I dunno, it could be the lovely pungent smell of baby poo that aroused Furgie's interest...Happily enough, Furgie displayed no sign of hostility towards T and went on her merry way after the initial introductions were made.

 

(to be continued....)

Furgie (Part I)

This blog entry is dedicated to a family member whose perceived image is divided into two main schools of thought:

 

1. Rambunctious bundle of energy who strikes terror in non-believers; or
2. Rambunctious bundle of fur who is oh-so-adorable

Yup, you have guessed right: that would be the only furry member of the Hougang household - Furgie.

 

It has always been a childhood dream to have a dog of my own but due to parental objection, that dream was to be fufiled only after I set up my own home. Luckily enough, I also married  a man who is (1) an animal lover (sort of) and (2) not allergic to dog hair. With all angles covered, we set out in search of the Perfect Dog. 

 

Before setting out on that journey, we had debates on which breed of dog we wanted. Unfortunately, YSY and I had widely differring views on this.

 

"Pug?" Epitome of fugly. 

"KC cocker spaniel?" Too pansy-ass.

"Boston terrier?" See 'Pug'.

 

The debate went on and on cos basically my idea of a pet dog ran more along the lines of cutey-pie-lapdog-ish while his was anything with perky ears and pointy snout. Digression: I like my Men In Black while he watched The Mask one time too many - animal cum movie buffs will remember Frank and Milo well.

 

Anyway, to cut a long story short, we settled on corgis after months of debate. Next came the issue of where to source for one as corgis were not (and still is not) a popular breed in Singapore. Purchasing one from a pet-shop was not one of our favoured options as we have read about the horrors of puppy mills and the terrible conditions in which dogs are bred. To buy from a pet-shop will only encourage the financial motives for which puppy mills are set up for and that is not something that we want though the cost of a dog from the pet shop will probably be easier on our wallets. To find a specialised corgi-breeder in Singapore (who hopefully is ethically responsible as well) was almost impossible because as mentioned earlier, corgis are not a popular dog breed here.

 

By a stroke of luck, we found an online ad by a home-owner looking to sell his corgi pups. This fitted our goals exactly: not from a pet-shop where the corgi could possibly be puppy-milled and it was not bred with the intention of profits thereby compromising the dog's health. We arranged a meet-up with the uncle to assess the corgi's 'buy-ability' and Furgie was presented to us for the first time in a carton box, sleeping soundly. Our concerns that the uncle was home-breeding for monetary gains were allayed when he told us that if we wanted to buy Furgie, we could only bring her home after her second vacination (this would be when the puppy was around 4 months old which conincide with the minimum legal age requirement for which puppies can be sold in Singapore).

 

When Furgie was finally ready to be taken home in October 2009, she has changed radically from the tiny bundle of sleeping fur when we first saw her to a playful puppy who is eager to jump all over us (unfortunately, this trait has remained with her till this day. Trust me: being jumped on by 2kg of fur is waaaaaaaaay different from being ambushed by 25kg worth of muscle - I have the bruises to prove it.) Her ears which were droopy at 2 months of age, had also stand to attention in the characteristic 'antenna ears' of corgis all over the world. I fell in love again...

 

 

(to be continued...)

 
 

 

King Of The Throne

Hellooo! I am back in the blogging world after a 2 month hiatus! Many things have happened in these 2 months, including the Chinese New Year frenzy and a deeply personal situation that I may one day feel brave enough with the outside world. Till then, I will stick with the story that light-bulbed in my head today.

 

Hear ye, hear ye! The Rascal is officially potty-trained after some false starts and much utilisation of our otherwise leisurely mop (yep, this tells you pretty much about the state of cleanliness of my house. All 121sqm of it..). To be fair, we had attempted to get him to be King of the Potty long before he started childcare in Nov 2012. This included preparation of a traditional plastic potty circa our grandparents' time, loads of briefs a la toddler style and bankrupting NTUC of its entire stock of floor detergent.

 

Armed with grim determination to never have to change a stinky/soggy diaper again, YSY and I morphed into walking alarm radios which went off every 15 minutes to the dulcet tune of 'Boy, do you want to pee? Must tell mama/papa if you want to do so k?' Repeat process a gazillion times and you get 2 extremely thirsty adults plus a toddler thinking: 'Man, can someone turn off the Repeat mode on these 2 bozos? They are making me look uncool in front of the girls.' While we had a certain degree of success in getting the Rascal to pee in the potty, it was getting kinda tiring to have to repeat the Pee Mantra over and over and over and over and over (you get the picture) again without any initiative from the Subject to inform us that he wants to pee.

 

Despite what the experts say, the crash course on learning to pee in 2 days with intensive training did NOT happen. Nor did it happen in the next 3 weekends which was the only time we can give him 100% of our time to learn potty-training. I even ventured to buy him a musical potty which sings and makes flushing sounds when peed / pooed on correctly (parallel imported no less, for all the good that it did), in the waning hope that he will be incentivised by the new 'toy' enough to be successfully potty trained. No such luck, though he got himself a new singing toy complete with toilet paper.

 

After that, we decided to shelve the potty training for a while as he did not seem mentally ready for it despite all the physical signs of readiness. Fast forward to January 2013. In a rare chance for me to chat with the Rascal's cc teachers (rare cos YSY is usually the one who fetches him to and fro from school), I remarked to Teacher J that he is actually physically ready to be potty trained but did not seem to want to do so. Could the cc see if they can help in this aspect? Little did we know that this little discussion helped push the Rascal to his next major milestone of being potty trained (finally!) when one day, YSY came home and told me that the cc proclaim him toilet trained (the Rascal that is, not YSY. I sincerely hope that he has been potty trained 20 plus years ago. If he hasn't, it will explain those wet patches in front of the toilet bowl...)

 

There's an old saying: ' Man propose but Heaven dispose'. I find this pretty true in the Rascal's potty training saga.

 

1. We set out to train him but he wasn't mentally ready at the time. 
2. We 'invested' in a pricey, fun potty to get him interested but as of today, the only thing in use is the detachable potty cover which can be used on other adult-sized toilets as well.
3. Even the said potty cover above is being gradually ostracised by our post potty-training purchase: toddler ladder (to facilitate their climbing onto the throne) which comes with its own attached potty cover.

We are happy to say that the Rascal is happy to go about daily in his 'big-boy' briefs instead of 'small baby' diapers and eliminate in the 'big adult' toilet bowl without much fuss or accident. The fact that we do not have to risk being fumed by his adult-smelling poo when cleaning up doesn't hurt too bad too! =)

 

 

Pregnancy Memories

In true Huixuan style, I did not realise that I was pregnant until I was nearly out of my first tri-mester of pregnancy.

 

In my defence, I did a pregnancy test in what must been my second month but as the results were negative (either that, or the urine fumes must have really blinded my eyes), I didn't think much of the missed periods as I was undergoing a very stressful time in work and wrote the missed periods off as stress-induced. Neither did I realise that those massive heaving of saliva after my morning cuppas and falling asleep anywhere at the drop of a hat (note: I am usually pretty picky about where I sleep and have been known to survive a 13-hour flight to Europe without sleep) were anything pregnancy-related.

 

Wrapped up in blissful ignorance, I jetted off on a company trip to Taiwan and frolicked about in hot springs (well, the pathetic excuse of a cubicle which passes off as a hot spring room anyway), inhaled sulphuric fumes of the hot spring spas and feasted on BBQ sotong, fat juicy oysters and pigs' blood in Taipei. The only difference was that I could only collapse onto the hotel bed in exhaustion every night after a full day's activity while my colleagues went on to drink and basically turned late nights into more rounds of shopping, body massages and more shopping.

 

The shoe finally dropped when I went to the doctor after my Taiwan trip for a bout of flu. Innocuously, I asked her about the strange bouts of saliva-spitting in the mornings that happen always after my cuppa as I was concerned if it was a gastric problem. She asked me if I wanted to do a pregnancy test and not thinking much about it, I took it with earth-flipping results. My mouth literally fell open and I could only look at her in bewilderment when she told me: 'You're pregnant!' To my credit, I mustered enough coherence to utter: " Are you joking??" and proceeded home in a daze.

 

I broke the news to my partner in crime Mr Y and the look of pure happiness on his face told me what I needed to know - no other words were necessary. For folks who know Mr Y personally, they will all tell you that under usual circumstances, his expression is usually expressionless (yeah, I get the irony of those words too) and one can hardly tell what he is thinking or not thinking at any given point in time. If I had a camera to capture his expression when I broke the news, it will be an expression of pure delight and if Instagram was invented then, there will also be a warm soft glow to it. So there was that.

 

At our first visit to the gynae, we caught an ultra-sound scan of this beautiful little being who was fully formed and appeared to be sucking his hand with the gusto of SMRT trains breaking down on Singaporeans at peak hours. There was no doubt about it: we have been blessed with a wondrous little life and he is for keeps =)