They don’t need me as they once did

Two little girls were playing with a stash of cupcake paper cases that they’d stolen out of the kitchen drawer. They’d opened it up and emptied its contents onto the garden furniture, undecided upon what game to play with this newfound toy. The one year old decides to crumple them up in her stronghold. The four year old despairs at the diminished stash. “Play nice. Figure out how to share them!” Mummy calls out from behind the kitchen counter, unwilling to play mediator this time around. Big sister asks for half the cases politely. The little one, half her size, yells and gestures her fist determinedly, ”No!” Mummy and Daddy exchanges glances stifling the giggles that are bubbling to the surface as the little sister exerts her position once more.

That was a peek into one of our many lazy Sunday afternoons recently. We are currently enjoying communicating with the girls. The little one has exploded with a flurry of vocabulary, suddenly able to name a range of objects around the house, animals and food (making it hard to discern if she’s practicing her vocab or ordering food not served for dinner every evening meal). The elder one astounds us with her acute and cynical perception of the world from announcing that the teachers are having a lazy afternoon when they put on a video documentary for the preschool class, to correcting daddy when he claims he has cooked the roast that mummy marinated and prepped ready for him to put into the barbie.

When Michele Obama finished their two terms at the White House, she reflected that,” I have two nearly grown daughters who needs me less than they once did.” Reading this sentence sent me bawling on the plane as it made me painfully aware of how fleeting our moments are. Of how my one year old only whines because she is now too tiny to be able to be as independent and helpful as she’d like to be( e.g helping mummy chop carrots with her Global knife). Or why my firstborn gets on the defensive because she is trying to hold on to the known and reluctant to become the next progressive being growing up requires her to be.

I lay in bed cosleeping with my daughters every night currently with their little warm bodies curled up against mine. My husband abhors it and wants me back with him but I secretly adore the stolen moments I get watching them breathe peacefully or holding their little hands in mine or smoothing their hair away from irritating their noses. Cleaning snot, smoothing ruffled duvets. All precious. Even more I love falling asleep with them. The songs and little games we share as we egg each other on some nights fighting sleep. My elder one saying a million goodnights in multiple languages actively procrastinating bedtime. The merry mornings when they greet my eye opening with cheeky grins and a bright,”Minion!” Before the one year old correcting herself to say Morning! Their little cuddles and kisses for me and for each other. Watching my older one assume my role in singing to and bouncing her almost two year old sister. So tiring, but so fulfilling at the same time.

There isn’t any further point to this post other than to recognise that I am struggling to juggle and treasure all the good opportunities I have been given currently. A fun family, a beautiful home, a rewardingly challenging career and some budding friendships socially. They are all good struggles and I don’t want to be an ingrate. I am happily exhausted. And will likely continue to be so as we keep on.




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I took care of it

”Mummy I had a nose bleed but don’t worry I took care of it” announced the four year old 6 a.m. this morning? The groggy version of me scrambles to compute the words. Then I launch out of bed lurching my nipple twiddling nineteen month old out of her pre-morning trance. A deep breath precursors her waking. “Waaahhhh!” And there it is.

The start to our first full week in a while. A day after my first practice hike, I haul my recovering muscles into action. As the balls of my feet touch the ground, I realise they aren’t as sore as I anticipate they could be. Ahh well then I have no excuse but to get on with it eh?

A wet wipe to clean the residual blood from her face, a baby placed on my left hip we all then proceed into the kitchen where I promptly mix two bowls of warm weetabix. How can it still be so cold in May? But then again I am in summer pyjamas and the sun is shining fiercely already against the bright blue skies streaming through the skylight in the kitchen.

I plod on as the toddler throws her breakfast around, mumbling back responses to my chatty four year old. Something about how if she gets hit then she cannot hit back. Then she turns schizo and starts to tell me she loves me and oh no we forgot to go to church yesterday, I jerk my head towards her and gave a steely stare daring her trembling lower lip to not give way to a wail. I cannot abide another tantrum on this Monday morning. If I could have a better morning it will be easier to face the week I know it.

As they continue to eat breakfast I proceed to prep for dinner, putting the rice to cook and marinating some sea bream fillets to bake together with some asparagus tips as soon as I get through the door tonight. I am stopping by to see the nurse after work. I hope she isn’t going to run late because I can’t afford to be late picking up the girls either.

I check the weather forecast, quickly water the plants, and then pick out weather appropriate clothing and proceed to change the girls and myself. “Daddy!” I hear gleeful shrieks as I look up to see my partner in crime swoop down to pick up a delighted toddler to greet her. It’s always the case, they reward the one who has done the fun thing for them not necessarily the menial.

Ploughs on, packing bags, my lunch, mentally making lists of groceries I need to restock on my lunch break.

Right I am ready for my work week to begin. I call our little family together for a huddle. The little one runs to me declaring her blouse is wet. Never mind, I came prepared as I was packing her spare clothes bag. A change of blouse and a cuddle, an Eskimo kiss for my older one because well that’s her mode of farewell currently.

I walk out of the house and can’t help thinking just how much my family has grown in the past seven months since I had returned to work. A dumb smile spreads across my face because it is one of those rare moments where I do feel like I am winning at this Working Mum life.

A precarious position that is easily tipped over by any momentary loss of focus/ challenge to my mood( best kept temperate for optimal conditions) or distracted thought. So with a hop a skip and a smile, I charge onwards to start my Monday morning bravely knowing that if I didn’t take care of it( which I am 85% sure I have) then the other members of the family unit/ nursery/ society will do. I just have to have faith and keep positive about it. 

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Four years on

I know life is a dream for me these days. We are settling into some sort of new normalcy of what our life could be. We wake on a Sunday morning and the four year old requests birthday pancakes. Being a queen of my domain again I whip us up a batch and Daddy wakes in time to help crack the eggs and keep baby occupied enough for me to cook the batch. I even hand the girls each a plate with a pancake on it and watch them toddle off to set the table with their breakfast. This is sheer bliss. I love the new family life. The full kitchen table. The appreciative noms as my meals made are consumed.

I admit I am a lousy cook and I will need more practice to get back up to scratch again but bless my little family’s cotton socks. With a little bit of imagination; meals with bad food are forgiven. I made dark green muffins yesterday thanks to the amount of kale I dished into the TMX. Then I lied to my four year old in a stroke of genius when she teetered on making a scene about the green. “It’s Bogey-man cupcakes”. What does that even mean? But she makes up the stories as she goes. It turns little girls into monsters. It’s the food monsters eat. This morning for breakfast she demands a bogey man muffin and eats up my baked goods.

I cannot believe how lucky we are with our beautiful home. Our perfect lives with healthy children and a lovely group of people that surrounds us. I cannot allow myself to take this for granted. It’s been years in the making. It’s worth it. We’re worthy of it. We must keep on making sure we are worthy of it.

I love my cuddles with my girls and the chat from an excited four year old that remembers everything but makes up half of it anyways. It’s such an amazing mind that she’s developed. I know she knows the rules now and that she knows she’s not allowed to push certain boundaries. I trust her. Still, I find myself nagging all the time to remind them, “ Listening ears and gentle hands” is all I seem to be saying these days.

My four year old counts, sings, climbs, rides a bike and reads. Yesterday when I had had a rough night she served herself some breakfast to let me have a lie in. She’s independent, resourceful and thoughtful. Could I have asked for more? Growing up I thought I wanted boys, but now I can see the Lord’s plans are better. I needed my girls to teach me more about life that I didn’t even know I didn’t know.

On Friday I clicked Buy on four trees. I am doing that. Purchasing dwarf fruit trees for our backyard and a bay tree for our front porch. That’s the kind of life I find exciting these days. In my dream come autumn my little ones will be plucking apples from our own backyard orchard and I will be drying bay leaves and harvesting Sunflowers from the garden. Hah. I just know in reality it will likely be brown and shrivelled up shrubs that are overcrowded with weeds with my non- green thumbs. Stay tuned.

Another bit of news, I am doing things for myself again. At least it’s been planned. A solo trip to Sydney for a girly weekend for my Bestie’s wedding. And a 12 hour hike to Trolltunga on the horizon after that. It will be two bucket lists ticked. A yummy mummy’s getaway and completing one of
the world’s most beautiful nature trails. Whilst it isn’t quite my nature to be an outdoorsy person, I do enjoy solitude with Mother Nature and remember the rare moments fondly. Flashback to the cool soothing breeze in my hair as I cycled amongst the idyllic rice fields in Narita humming softly to myself, no soul,anger or anxiety in sight. Nowhere to go and nowhere else I’d rather be.

When the girls are older I’d like to take them out to the country and get them associated with that too. Until then, we conform, we abide, and try not to appear too unruly or out of place.

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Mid thirties

We arrive at this milestone with an understatement. I am a working mother of two under five with an Asian husband who chooses to embrace his Asian heritage in the household. All this, ipso facto makes getting up the hill extremely tiring.

Growing up in Asia I always knew I was soft. Not as sharp as I needed to be to survive, so moving to the west gave me an edge. I tutted at the ‘soft’ mothers knowing that I could do better than them. Then it became my turn and I was at the edge of multiple realities, I despised everyone but never myself. I became angry and cynical but I couldn’t wallow in self pity because no one would indulge me.

A reality check happened whilst instasurfing at a quick lunch break (non al-desko because I was ashamed that I had leftover KFC and deli coleslaw for lunch). I was trying to achieve it all out of context. I was trying to work like my mother but achieve it in a western society where we do not have the option of affordable live in domestic help. I was completely out of context.

Now to put it in my culture, if I was living in Malaysia, would my peers indulge me taking a whole year off work to take care of my baby? No. I’d be expected to be back at work already after a month, three months tops. Would my society laud breastfeeding for >6 months? No, my kids would have had to take formula from a very young age or starve. Then they’d be fuller and learn to sleep through earlier. Perhaps. And if that wasn’t the case I’d still have to turn up at work and be present for more than 7 hour days. It’d be much harder but somehow I’d be able to find more help that would allow me to go to wedding receptions, travel kid-free and work as many hours as I need to. Somehow the expectations are that a woman in that culture has to be the best at everything whilst maintaining their looks and they seem to be able to get the support they need to achieve that ( not necessarily from their own husbands though I must add).

My current context has been that I have been parenting like a Brit, and working with a drive and ambition that is at odds with my domestic lifestyle. My skincare and diet is European and my exercise routine is Malaysian aka non existent. At this rate, I project that I will end up being fat, old/ tired looking and with no energy, severely bitter about life. I am just not going to succeed despite my best efforts.

Moving continents has meant letting go of a lot. Some expats choose to hold on to some things, building their own antipodean or south East Asian communities to thrive in. Others break free completely and want to adopt what they perceive are the ways of the West. I chose an Asian husband who grew up in Australia. He abhors most things from our culture partially perhaps because my mother in law indulged him... you know made him pasta instead of rice because it was an easy way out. I don’t have the right balance perhaps but I will keep exploring and who knows, I may find it before the next milestone.




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HFMD

It’s nature’s way of telling me to slow down. We have had a glorious Chinese New Year in our new place. Far merrier than Christmas and it was due to all the relos flying in from all corners of the world.

I have had so much fun with a house full of children that the worries that come with overexcited children who are pumped full of sugar and lack sleep completely slipped our mind. The kids governed themselves and there were so many of them we often forgot at least one.

That week we had as usual a tumultuous reunion meal as an entire complete family and there were the usual condiments- tears, fights and tantrums. Thankfully no nudity and exposed nappies this time around but with five under ten it is almost impossible to guarantee that wouldn’t have been the case. We followed up with a lovely photo shoot taking inspiration from some famous family portraits. And then they trickled off to the airports, Heathrow, Gatwick... one by one our household of eleven reduced and the laughter diminished. I loved the jokes, digs and the stolen moments between the couples.

Amongst it all the littles demanded more of me. Fully worried they would be lost amongst the chaos, I had to give them even more attention than my usual. More cuddles, more laptime, more bedtime stories and more ‘Haks’ as my toddler would say with arms tightly wrapped around my neck. It is a humble moment. As I stoop bent down and she tips her toes to reach our embrace.

This CNY has been fraught with illness, death and worries in my Malaysian family and our little English haven has seemed quite cheery in comparison despite the cold and the unanswered rumination as to whether this could be our last time having everyone together.

I know I said I’ve had my last. And I know I really don’t think I could mentally and physically survive a third newborn, but I see my friends on social media in their pregnancy announcements of their third children and something about keeping up with the Jones tug at me regardless.

This household will be full of angst shortly though and the worries that come with raising wilful moody teenage girls will not escape us I am sure. Till then, it’s all I can bear to entertain. My Home, Family, Mothers and Dads journey has only just begun really as I let my toddler lie on me a little while longer, drifting away to reprieve from the multiple sores and ulcers on her hands, feet and mouth.






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