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Showing posts with the label becoming Mum

Six inches of time and 20 centimetres of parenting left

Son's piano teacher tells us that he has "lazy fingers" and should consider playing the organ. Is he joking or what? Dunno. But some time back he brought to my notice my son's tendency to "swap fingers" and I blogged about it here . Then he organized for us to go to his church where he is organist for son to try out the organ ( here ). The conclusion was son is a 'natural' on the organ. Okay. What do we do? It's good news, but let us not be rash about anything. My feeling then was: thankfully we still have six inches of time. Son was too short to reach the pedals and we will just carry on with his piano and clarinet. He's had a growth spurt. First he was tall enough for us to despatch with the car booster seat. (We highly recommend Freecycle.) Then last week even other parents started telling us that he had "shot up". His mate who has been much the same height as him suddenly looked small. I measured him a couple of days ago and he

Domestic Goddess -- not!

One of the mums from my toddler group came in some time with a box full of popular magazines she rescued from the bin at her office. There was quite a scramble as mums tried to pick a magazine either for themselves or for their children. I got myself one on home decor. Me, home decor? Ha! Before we got married I made it quite clear to my husband-to-be I am not the proud house-owner type (ie: don't expect me to keep the house spotless, etc, etc.) Thankfully he was of the view that it is no fun living in a showroom. We can boast of living in a very 'lived in' house. Toys everywhere? That's only because my son had not tidied up. I do not go tidying up after him. Anyway, I spotted this section on covering up an 'open cupboard' (ie open shelves) with a patchwork curtain: "Sew together fabrics until you have a piece one and a half times the length of your worktop. Stitch a narrow casing at the top and hem the bottom. Thread curtain wire through the casing and fix

Becoming More Like Mother

Because we don't collect pl-st-c carrier bags any more (except for the rare occasion when we get 'caught out') I now find myself keeping bags from loaves of bread, potatoes, etc for re-use. I'm afraid some of the organic staples we buy come in pl-st-c because the supermarkets want to make sure we pay the premium for them Our meat and fish also come in pl--tic trays. Sometimes these are recyclable, sometimes not. Whichever way, if they are left in the kitchen bin, the kitchen would start ponging very soon. So we put these out in the bin as soon as possible. But I also do not like the meat/fish juices to run into the bin as that means a long-term pong problem, or water wastage to clean the bins. So the bread and potato pl--tic bags are kept for such occasions. And I see pictures of my mum carefully washing out pla-t-c bags and hanging them up to dry. I'm getting to be more like her every day!! Back to Organic-Ally .

Becoming Mother

Mum used to have this habit of working on her sewing machine between all her essential chores (buying food from the fresh market, cooking lunch, serving lunch, cooking up the fatty leftovers from my father's market stall into lard -- very popular with the char kway teow sellers -- and going to the bank to bank his takings and getting his float ready for the following day) and cooking the evening meal. When I say 'sewing' I don't mean anything fanciful. Mum used to cut up tiny bits of scrap cloth into rectangles. She would then match these up in size, roughly, and pile them up. Then she sat at her treadle sewing machine to sew these bits two by two together into a long, long line, not cutting the thread in between to save on thread. If two bits did not fit together nicely after sewing, they were trimmed into a rectangle. Now armed with larger rectangles, she again arranged these bits two by two together again into a neat pile. She would then sew another long line of rec

Remembering Mother

Yesterday was Mother's Day in Singapore (and America and the rest of the world). UK's 'Mothering Sunday' follows the (Anglican) Church calendar and comes a few weeks before Easter. Tomorrow would be eight years since my mother died. I'd been married eight months. I had just completed a first draft of my PhD thesis, writing a chapter in two weeks, about nine hours every day, Monday to Friday. I planned to visit her in Singapore in June, but when news came that she was unwell and had been in Intensive Care again, we decided that I'd fly back a month earlier. While I was in Singapore she got well enough to leave the hospital, but only for a couple of days, if that. I soon had to order a private ambulance to rush her back to the university hospital where all her records were. Dialing emergency service would mean her being taken to the nearest hospital on the wrong side of the island and that was no good to her. I spent most days by her side, reading my drafts of con

Another letter in The Straits Times

Someone responded to my last letter in the press and my response was published on 5th May 2007. Spread the 3R message - reduce, reuse, recycle MR CHIA Hern Keng raised a very good question to my letter, 'Live without plastic bags? Here's how it can be done' (ST, April 28) about whether biodegradable bags are any better. I, too, have my doubts. Older versions of degradable bags require light to degrade. So putting these in landfill is no good. Newer bags made from corn starch are touted as a greener alternative. Between the devil and the deep blue sea, however, the biodegradable bag is 'better' than the conventional. But I think it woeful that food that can be grown to feed the starving millions is used instead to feed our insatiable habits for convenience. By the same token, I think it is undesirable that bio-fuels are promoted as the alternative to fossil fuels. It is not ethical that even more (subsistence farmers on little family plots) will starve as their lands

Missing 'my boys'

Our church missionary to Spain was bringing a group of young Spanish people to the UK and we were asked to provide accommodation for them. I had refrained from offering because I knew we were going to be just back from a trip and there will be lots of unpacking, laundry, cleaning, etc. But husband agreed when approached ('cornered'?) by the minister's wife. Our two young Spanish lads, the only boys in the team, came on Wednesday and left yesterday. They were no trouble at all and now I miss them. (I say 'lads' and 'boys' ... they are in their early 20s. Yeah, husband and I are well old enough to be their parents.) Though speaking little English (which was one of the reasons they are visiting the UK), we managed to communicate adequately, if slowly. They left early each morning and let themselves in whenever. On the first morning they were so shy they did not dare eat anything more than a bowl of cereal. On the second morning they learned to use the toaster a

See how they grow

Just back from a much-needed break with husband and son, to a holiday place with lots of children. 'Family-friendly' they are called these days. It was fascinating to see very tiny babies being taken on holiday. Some didn't look more than two or three weeks old. We didn't go any where when our son was that young. I think my first trip out of the HOUSE was going to the local sub-post office two minutes walk away. Son was about three weeks old. Even then it took me a long time to pluck up enough courage to do that. I was so nervous. Never used that pushchair before. Not sure how things click and unclick in and out of place. What if I failed to secure the seat and baby falls out? After 30-plus hours of labour and an emergency Caesarean-section I was still feeling a bit sore where they had cut me open, and I wasn't sure I could lift the pushchair (just one end of it) across the threshold to get out, and then to come back in again. It was like I had to will myself to com

Truancy, poverty and food

The title to this section of Letters to The Times is 'Poor kids can't have their cake and eat it'. One letter-writer pointed out that the 'humiliation of poverty is a reason for truancy' as poor families 'are unable to respond to the peer pressure in the playground that results from brand targeting by advertisers'. When in my first year of school in Singapore I was asked to bring in twenty cents to buy a plastic cover for a workbook. My mum could not find those twenty cents. Instead my eldest sister sacrificed an old plastic cover from one of her old books. A wealthier girl at school laughed at me. I was so embarrassed I went home and cried my heart out. The following week, Mum squeezed twenty cents from the housekeeping money and I had my new plastic cover like everyone else in class. So I understand where this letter-writer is coming from in terms of peer pressure. But he goes on to note that the same single mother of four children on unemployment benefi

Stomach Ulcers and Barry Marshall

Dr Barry Marshall has just been awarded a Nobel Prize for Medicine for his work (with colleague Robin Warren) in the research of stomach ulcers. Having injected himself with the bacterium Helicobacter pylori , Dr Marshall developed the symptoms of stomach ulcers and then proceeded to treat himself with antibiotics. I've come across the name Barry Marshall about ten years ago when I saw a documentary featuring his work. I was interested because my selfless mother nearly died from stomach ulcers back in the 1980s. Thankfully her doctor managed to control her condition by drugs, but she was then put on a very expensive drug for years. Dr Marshall's finding suggested that sufferers of stomach ulcers could have lived in poverty at some point where a combination of poor nutrition and bad hygiene could have allowed the bug to enter the body. The bug could lay dormant for years and manifest itself only years later. Mum fitted this profile exactly. During the Japanese Occupation, Mum,