"Hey Babykins," I call to Maddie as I have done countless times before. She is, after all, the baby of the family, and at 3-years-old it's a cute little term of endearment.
"Don't call me Babykins!" she replies, "I'm not a baby anymore, Daddy."
Maddie can't wait to grow up. And you can see it in every little thing she does. She feeds herself, what little of it she chooses to eat. She wears her own shoes, although once in awhile, she slips up and gets them on the wrong sides. She wakes up at night on her own to take a pee, and she wipes her own poo.
In fact, she so self-reliant that she's all but ready to move out on her own and never look back. And that breaks my heart just a little. Yes, yes, Daddies are supposed to learn to let go, but she's three I just need a little more of my Babykins just a little longer.
"Can't you just be Daddy's little Babykins for a little while more?" I pleaded. This was not looking good for me. This is exactly how Daddy get wrapped around their daughters little fingers. But alas, it was futile.
"Daddy, I'm a big girl now," she said as she looked earnestly at me, as though assuring me that Daddy's little girl is all grown up and that everything was gonna be alright. I was almost resigned to the fact that Maddie was never gonna be my Babykins anymore, when I remembered I still had a trump card up my sleeve.
"Ok Sweet Pea," I responded, "but how about Daddy bathe you now?"
"I want Daddy to bathe me," she squealed. And right there in the bathroom, we're back to being Daddy and Babykins once again. :)
Showing posts with label conversations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label conversations. Show all posts
Monday, August 27, 2012
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Under Where?
"Daddy," my son suddenly said in the elevator as we were heading out to school, a solemn look washed over his usually cheerful disposition. He continued, "yesterday was reaaalllly bad."
Jesse is 8 which, in my book, is still just a little kid. But sometimes he'd speak like an old soul, with all the right emphasis in just the right words, and the right look to match, creating all the right nuances in all the right places. Like this conversation we were having.
I was concerned, but I feigned a little callousness to diffuse the tension in the air.
"Why, what happened?" I casually asked.
"Yesterday, when Mommy took out my clothes for school," he explained intently, "she gave me Girl-Girl's panties." At that point, he started chuckling, "I didn't know until I got to school."
I laughed my ass off. How he managed to squeeze into his little sister's undies defies the laws of Physics. Maddie is just 3. Heheh.
And no, you're not allowed to embarrass him about it when you see him. That's his Daddy's job. :P
Jesse is 8 which, in my book, is still just a little kid. But sometimes he'd speak like an old soul, with all the right emphasis in just the right words, and the right look to match, creating all the right nuances in all the right places. Like this conversation we were having.
I was concerned, but I feigned a little callousness to diffuse the tension in the air.
"Why, what happened?" I casually asked.
"Yesterday, when Mommy took out my clothes for school," he explained intently, "she gave me Girl-Girl's panties." At that point, he started chuckling, "I didn't know until I got to school."
I laughed my ass off. How he managed to squeeze into his little sister's undies defies the laws of Physics. Maddie is just 3. Heheh.
And no, you're not allowed to embarrass him about it when you see him. That's his Daddy's job. :P
Monday, April 11, 2011
Don't Cry
Maddie is all of 23 months now. She's talking a lot these days, except the times when she actually wants something in which case she just wails her head off. *sigh* But yeah, she's picking up words and phrases and she parrots whatever we say to her.
But the cutest part of it is, she sometimes offers herself words of comfort, just like we would do whenever she was upset or afraid.
There was this episode when Mommy was leaving for work and poor little Maddie was being especially sticky. Mae tries to sneak out undetected, but unfortunately, the wife isn't quite cut out for such clandestine operations. Picture a buffalo stampede through your front door. Heh.
And so Maddie catches wind of Mommy less-than-graceful exit, and starts crying for Mommy. And in moments like this, I have a place in her world once again. I pick her up and she buries her face in my neck, sobbing her little heart out. And right there in between sobs and sniffles my cute, sweet little baby consoles herself. "Don't cry, Baby, don't cry".
Awwww.
"Don't you cry tonight. There's a heaven above you, Baby. Don't you cry tonight."
But the cutest part of it is, she sometimes offers herself words of comfort, just like we would do whenever she was upset or afraid.
There was this episode when Mommy was leaving for work and poor little Maddie was being especially sticky. Mae tries to sneak out undetected, but unfortunately, the wife isn't quite cut out for such clandestine operations. Picture a buffalo stampede through your front door. Heh.
And so Maddie catches wind of Mommy less-than-graceful exit, and starts crying for Mommy. And in moments like this, I have a place in her world once again. I pick her up and she buries her face in my neck, sobbing her little heart out. And right there in between sobs and sniffles my cute, sweet little baby consoles herself. "Don't cry, Baby, don't cry".
Awwww.
"Don't you cry tonight. There's a heaven above you, Baby. Don't you cry tonight."
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Jesse In Love
Who's this Carmen, and what spell does she hold over my boy? And yeah, pardon the voice if I sound like a wuss. That's my son's spell over me. :P
A little background to what you'll be watching: We're talking to my Jesse about a name for his soon-to-be-born little sister when I decided to mention the name of his kindergarten classmate, the object of his affection.
A little background to what you'll be watching: We're talking to my Jesse about a name for his soon-to-be-born little sister when I decided to mention the name of his kindergarten classmate, the object of his affection.
Friday, April 24, 2009
A Rose by Any Other Name
"I like Madeleine," Jesse proclaimed of his choice for his baby sister's name. Mae and I are not convinced that he could be so sure, so we decide to throw him a few other suggestions.
"How about Madison?" I asked the boy. I actually did like this one. It is a very cool, very comtemporary name, I thought. "That's a silly name," Big Brother said with a chuckle. Mae concurred, shrugging her shoulders. Mother and Boy were right, of course. Most Malaysians are likely to think we named our kid Medicine - and no kid's name should ever be associated with sickness and suffering. There was also that little issue of how it would sound with our surname. Unfortunately, Madison Tan would sound like "Maddie Lays an Egg" in Mandarin. *sigh* And so this one was out.
"How about Elena?" Mommy asked. As a kid, she had always wished that someone had named her Elena. Of course, she probably also wished that someday a prince on a white horse would sweep her off her feet. And look where that got her. Nope, I didn't like Elena. Neither did Jesse.
After that, we were just throwing names just to see if he'd change his mind about Madeleine. "How about Augusta?" I offered. It was just a name from a list starting with A that I had found online. "That sounds like Octopus," the kid countered. And he just went on and on with his smart-alecky answers for every name we threw at him.
"Annette?" I suggested, reading from the list. "Annette is for catching butterflies," my clever little son said. And if my boy can catch a humour in that name, so will poor little Annete's school friends, subjecting her to a life of taunting and teasing.
It was one of our major criteria of rejection. No taunt-worthy names. We've known of too many people with names they parents must have chosen for them when high on drugs. Like poor little Diana Saw, or sad little Harry Kok, or poor little Chow Chee Beng.
So Madeleine it is. Sure, some cruel (but wildly creative) kid in school will probably think of something, but for now, we're happy to be calling her that.
Ah, Madeleine. Sounds like a nice French pastry. :)
"How about Madison?" I asked the boy. I actually did like this one. It is a very cool, very comtemporary name, I thought. "That's a silly name," Big Brother said with a chuckle. Mae concurred, shrugging her shoulders. Mother and Boy were right, of course. Most Malaysians are likely to think we named our kid Medicine - and no kid's name should ever be associated with sickness and suffering. There was also that little issue of how it would sound with our surname. Unfortunately, Madison Tan would sound like "Maddie Lays an Egg" in Mandarin. *sigh* And so this one was out.
"How about Elena?" Mommy asked. As a kid, she had always wished that someone had named her Elena. Of course, she probably also wished that someday a prince on a white horse would sweep her off her feet. And look where that got her. Nope, I didn't like Elena. Neither did Jesse.
After that, we were just throwing names just to see if he'd change his mind about Madeleine. "How about Augusta?" I offered. It was just a name from a list starting with A that I had found online. "That sounds like Octopus," the kid countered. And he just went on and on with his smart-alecky answers for every name we threw at him.
"Annette?" I suggested, reading from the list. "Annette is for catching butterflies," my clever little son said. And if my boy can catch a humour in that name, so will poor little Annete's school friends, subjecting her to a life of taunting and teasing.
It was one of our major criteria of rejection. No taunt-worthy names. We've known of too many people with names they parents must have chosen for them when high on drugs. Like poor little Diana Saw, or sad little Harry Kok, or poor little Chow Chee Beng.
So Madeleine it is. Sure, some cruel (but wildly creative) kid in school will probably think of something, but for now, we're happy to be calling her that.
Ah, Madeleine. Sounds like a nice French pastry. :)
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Fat Hopes
"I know why you're trying to lose weight," the Wife said with a smart-alecky hmph, "Hmph!"
The fact is, I am.
When I hit my 30s, so did my waistline. And the way these things go, it just creeps up on you. One minute you're the kid everyone calls Bones, and the very next minute you're a tub of lard. I went from being a 50kg teenager, to a 60kg college boy, to a 75kg groom to a 91kg hippo during Chinese New Year this year.
For the last couple of years, I had been clocking in at 86kg - 88kgs. Wasn't going up, and I was certainly not getting any thinner. But then came CNY, the big-ass feast in my house, and I found myself at a whopping 91kgs. That's when I decided to shed some serious poundage. (But not before stuffing my face one last time on CNY leftovers, heh!)
Anyway, after weeks of counting calories, I'm now at 84kgs. It's That's 7 kgs down, but I'd really like to be 75kgs, or thereabouts. Or at least 80kgs by next month.
"You wanna be thin for your Baby Girl!" Mae said, as she laughed her ass off.
"Well, why not?" I asked the silly monkey woman. "Baby deserves to have a thin and handsome father."
Mae argues that Baby will never know the difference. But that's not true at all. Some day our little girl will grow up and when she gets her hands on her baby pictures, holding her in his skinny arms will be her thin and handsome Daddy. (Right next to her tubby Mommy, of course) Bwahahaahah!
It's probably time to hit the gym. Or I'll never hear the end of it.
The fact is, I am.
When I hit my 30s, so did my waistline. And the way these things go, it just creeps up on you. One minute you're the kid everyone calls Bones, and the very next minute you're a tub of lard. I went from being a 50kg teenager, to a 60kg college boy, to a 75kg groom to a 91kg hippo during Chinese New Year this year.
For the last couple of years, I had been clocking in at 86kg - 88kgs. Wasn't going up, and I was certainly not getting any thinner. But then came CNY, the big-ass feast in my house, and I found myself at a whopping 91kgs. That's when I decided to shed some serious poundage. (But not before stuffing my face one last time on CNY leftovers, heh!)
Anyway, after weeks of counting calories, I'm now at 84kgs. It's That's 7 kgs down, but I'd really like to be 75kgs, or thereabouts. Or at least 80kgs by next month.
"You wanna be thin for your Baby Girl!" Mae said, as she laughed her ass off.
"Well, why not?" I asked the silly monkey woman. "Baby deserves to have a thin and handsome father."
Mae argues that Baby will never know the difference. But that's not true at all. Some day our little girl will grow up and when she gets her hands on her baby pictures, holding her in his skinny arms will be her thin and handsome Daddy. (Right next to her tubby Mommy, of course) Bwahahaahah!
It's probably time to hit the gym. Or I'll never hear the end of it.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Things You Never Wanna Hear
Trust me on this. There are some things you never, ever wanna hear your pregnant wife say.
Number 3
"Honey, can you bring home my placenta, once I deliver?"
What is the protocol for such a thing? Are they gonna bag it, tag it and let me take it back home with me? Or do I have to bring my own Tupperware?
Number 2
"Would you cook it for me?"
Seriously. Where does one even begin? I'm thinking, this is gonna need copious amounts of peppercorn and probably a whole lot of vinegar. Perhaps we can just take it like that, with some fava beans and a nice Chianti. Do they have anything on this on the Asian Food Channel?
Number 1
"You can eat some too."
Look, I am of the opinion that every woman deserves to be eaten by her man (or woman, I'm not judgemental about anyone's sexual orientation), but this is bordering on good taste and cannibalism. "No no no no no!" I protest. "I'll be good for your receding hairline," Mae hits me where it hurts. But no. I don't care if it turns me into frickin' Brad Pitt, I'm not having any, thank you very much.
...............................
I hear it's an acceptable practice to eat your woman's placenta in some parts of the world, simply because it's good for you, but the whole idea is just plain icky to me. What happens if I develop a taste for it? It'll bring fresh meaning whenever I tell the silly woman, "I love you". It'll be like an episode of True Blood, minus any of the coolness and all the beautiful people in it. And of course there is that small detail of eating a placenta as opposed to drinking blood.
Anyway, as I write this, I have a colleague who has stated in no uncertain terms that she wishes to be invited, when we eat my wife. And we talk about it as though we're discussing livestock. Hahah! This is my wife we're talking about, not some pig, dammit. (I'm fighting really hard not to make some clever remark here, just so that I can live to a ripe old age. Haha!)
So, would you or wouldn't you? State your case in the comments, kiddies!
ADDED: Placenta cooking tips, in case anyone's interested. :P
Number 3
"Honey, can you bring home my placenta, once I deliver?"
What is the protocol for such a thing? Are they gonna bag it, tag it and let me take it back home with me? Or do I have to bring my own Tupperware?
Number 2
"Would you cook it for me?"
Seriously. Where does one even begin? I'm thinking, this is gonna need copious amounts of peppercorn and probably a whole lot of vinegar. Perhaps we can just take it like that, with some fava beans and a nice Chianti. Do they have anything on this on the Asian Food Channel?
Number 1
"You can eat some too."
Look, I am of the opinion that every woman deserves to be eaten by her man (or woman, I'm not judgemental about anyone's sexual orientation), but this is bordering on good taste and cannibalism. "No no no no no!" I protest. "I'll be good for your receding hairline," Mae hits me where it hurts. But no. I don't care if it turns me into frickin' Brad Pitt, I'm not having any, thank you very much.
I hear it's an acceptable practice to eat your woman's placenta in some parts of the world, simply because it's good for you, but the whole idea is just plain icky to me. What happens if I develop a taste for it? It'll bring fresh meaning whenever I tell the silly woman, "I love you". It'll be like an episode of True Blood, minus any of the coolness and all the beautiful people in it. And of course there is that small detail of eating a placenta as opposed to drinking blood.
Anyway, as I write this, I have a colleague who has stated in no uncertain terms that she wishes to be invited, when we eat my wife. And we talk about it as though we're discussing livestock. Hahah! This is my wife we're talking about, not some pig, dammit. (I'm fighting really hard not to make some clever remark here, just so that I can live to a ripe old age. Haha!)
So, would you or wouldn't you? State your case in the comments, kiddies!
ADDED: Placenta cooking tips, in case anyone's interested. :P
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Baby Wants Out
"Look, Look," Mae calls out to me excitedly pointing at her belly. She had pulled up her shirt to observe our little girl in action, and the little tyke did not disappoint.
Baby was moving about in the belly, her every move visible as she stretched her way around Mae's overtly bulbous belly. Every now and then, she'd even yank at the umbilical cord or something, causing Mommy's now protruded navel to sink back in. It was the weirdest thing! Just like that extra-terrestrial creature right before it popped out of John Hurt's stomach in Alien.
"She's always moving upwards too," Mae complains, "and that always makes me want to puke."
I think she wants to come out through Mommy's mouth. Either that or via the emergency hatch though Mae's belly button. Which explains why she keeps on yanking at the ejection seat lever.
This is gonna be one fiesty little monkey girl. Just the ideal companion for the agile little monkey boy we already have.
Baby was moving about in the belly, her every move visible as she stretched her way around Mae's overtly bulbous belly. Every now and then, she'd even yank at the umbilical cord or something, causing Mommy's now protruded navel to sink back in. It was the weirdest thing! Just like that extra-terrestrial creature right before it popped out of John Hurt's stomach in Alien.
"She's always moving upwards too," Mae complains, "and that always makes me want to puke."
I think she wants to come out through Mommy's mouth. Either that or via the emergency hatch though Mae's belly button. Which explains why she keeps on yanking at the ejection seat lever.
This is gonna be one fiesty little monkey girl. Just the ideal companion for the agile little monkey boy we already have.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Cookie
Baby is in her 25th week now and she would be starting to hear right about now. So we talk to her every now and then. And just like we did with Jesse, Mae and I ran some names by our soon-to-be little girl just to elicit a little reaction from her.
"Hey there Baby Madeleine," I called to my baby. "That's Madeleine with the French spelling," I tell Mae, "cos it looks nicer that way." But Baby couldn't care less, or otherwise.
"Then how about Amelie," Mae tried, digging the recesses of her faulty pregnancy-afflicted memory of French movies we had seen. Still nothing. Nothing too for Hayley, Elena, Jasmine and Emily.
"Maybe we oughta try names that have songs written about them," I suggested to the wife. I reasoned that when Baby grew up we could just tell her that there's a song written about her. Heh. But Baby wasn't cooperating with any of it. Not Layla by Eric Clapton, Not Jezamine by the Casuals, Not Amanda by Boston nor Deborah by the Crickets. (Yeah, I'm THAT old!)
Nothing too for the girls of the bible - Rachel, Naomi, Esther and Delilah. Okay, okay, I was kidding about that last one.
"Then I guess we'll just call you Cookie," I proclaimed. And there it was, a kick. Mae repeated the name, and Cookie repeated the kick. So yeah. Cookie, it is.
"You think she'll like cookies?" Mae asked with a chuckle. "I dunno, would she?"
"Well," the wife reminds me, "Noodle likes noodles, remember?" Indeed he does.
"Hey there Baby Madeleine," I called to my baby. "That's Madeleine with the French spelling," I tell Mae, "cos it looks nicer that way." But Baby couldn't care less, or otherwise.
"Then how about Amelie," Mae tried, digging the recesses of her faulty pregnancy-afflicted memory of French movies we had seen. Still nothing. Nothing too for Hayley, Elena, Jasmine and Emily.
"Maybe we oughta try names that have songs written about them," I suggested to the wife. I reasoned that when Baby grew up we could just tell her that there's a song written about her. Heh. But Baby wasn't cooperating with any of it. Not Layla by Eric Clapton, Not Jezamine by the Casuals, Not Amanda by Boston nor Deborah by the Crickets. (Yeah, I'm THAT old!)
Nothing too for the girls of the bible - Rachel, Naomi, Esther and Delilah. Okay, okay, I was kidding about that last one.
"Then I guess we'll just call you Cookie," I proclaimed. And there it was, a kick. Mae repeated the name, and Cookie repeated the kick. So yeah. Cookie, it is.
"You think she'll like cookies?" Mae asked with a chuckle. "I dunno, would she?"
"Well," the wife reminds me, "Noodle likes noodles, remember?" Indeed he does.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Que Sera, Sera
Whenever I put the boy to bed (these days, in his own room), we usually have these profound conversations about life, love and... Bruce Lee. Heh. That's his new idol, in case you're wondering. Anyway, yesterday's bedtime was again, occasion for some talking.
"So what do you wanna be when you grow up?" I asked the boy.
"When I grow up," Jesse carefully articulated, "I want to be a man."
Heheh. At his age, it's all very simple. I was half expecting him to say Bruce Lee or Iron Man or something, but instead, my boy just wants to grow up to be a man.
"Why do you want to be a man?" I chuckled, as I probed him further.
"Because I have short hair," my boy said. I was taken aback a little about his answer, but he was under no pretenses about what a man should look like. Not wanting him to have stereotyped ideas about people and the way they look, I decided to set him straight.
"Men can have long hair too," I countered, reminding him of an old photo he had recently seen of me. He couldn't recognise me under all that hair (which was then falling below my shoulders a little), and when Mommy pointed it out to him, he pretty much laughed his ass off about it.
"Daddy had long hair too, remember?" I reminded my son, "You wanna grow up to be a man like Daddy?"
"Nooooo," he said matter-of-factly, "Daddy was an ugly man!"
I dunno... I'm thinking of putting him up for adoption.
"So what do you wanna be when you grow up?" I asked the boy.
"When I grow up," Jesse carefully articulated, "I want to be a man."
Heheh. At his age, it's all very simple. I was half expecting him to say Bruce Lee or Iron Man or something, but instead, my boy just wants to grow up to be a man.
"Why do you want to be a man?" I chuckled, as I probed him further.
"Because I have short hair," my boy said. I was taken aback a little about his answer, but he was under no pretenses about what a man should look like. Not wanting him to have stereotyped ideas about people and the way they look, I decided to set him straight.
"Men can have long hair too," I countered, reminding him of an old photo he had recently seen of me. He couldn't recognise me under all that hair (which was then falling below my shoulders a little), and when Mommy pointed it out to him, he pretty much laughed his ass off about it.
"Daddy had long hair too, remember?" I reminded my son, "You wanna grow up to be a man like Daddy?"
"Nooooo," he said matter-of-factly, "Daddy was an ugly man!"
I dunno... I'm thinking of putting him up for adoption.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Old Guy
While waiting for my car to be repaired, I decided to take a quick breakfast at a Mamak Stall. When I got there, a little Chinese old man gestured to me to sit in front of him, and so I did. I have no idea why I did that, thought at the time I thought what harm could it do?
From what little conversation we had, it turns out that this Uncle lives in Jalan Ipoh, and every morning he'd hitch a ride all the way to Jalan Chan Sow Lin. It wasn't much of a conversation, since he didn't answer most of what I asked him but instead offered random bits of information. Like how Chinese New Year was 5 days away. Or how everyone should carry their IDs with them or risk getting arrested.
He also gave me the low down on public transportation fares. RM4.70 gets you on a bus to Seremban. RM70 is you take a cab. RM30 used to take him to Singapore where he used to work. But that was pretty much all the conversation we had, which he kept repeating, like how old folks are wont to do.
A hard-boiled egg cost 70sen at this mamak, so my new friend tells me. He then asks if I would treat him to one, to go with his Roti Canai and Kopi-O Ais. I obliged, of course. After all, how could you refuse a face like this. I did, however, evade when he casually hinted that no one had given him any Angpows for the Chinese New Year. I also took evasive action when he mentioned that he'd like a Chicken Rice lunch later. I thought that perhaps Uncle had identified me as his sucker of the day, for the day. (What can I say, I'm both cheap and cynical!)
When I got up to leave, I decided that I would pay for his whole breakfast and so I gestured the Mamak Guy over and asked him to charge me for Uncle's breakfast as well. But Mamak Guy would have none of it. Turns out that Uncle gets his complimentary Roti Canai and Kopi-O Ais from this Mamak Stall. Every single morning.
It humbled me. And completely restored my faith in mankind. Also made me feel pretty shitty about not buying him a Chicken Rice meal and an Angpow. (Although I rationalised that it was not CNY yet! Heh!)
Perhaps I'll try and bump into him this New Year and maybe give him an Angpow. And if conditions permit, a Chicken Rice meal.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Kickin' It Baby Style
Little Tyke's been at it all night, kicking away at Mommy's belly. By now, she's developed a hearing so we're talking to her every now and then.
We also get Jesse in on the action. But he's not awfully clear of the concept, so he'll bring along his toys to "show" Baby. "Look Baby, this is my Iron Man toy," he'd tell her in his most educational tone, "boys like Iron Man!" It's the cutest thing ever to see him slowly slipping into his big-brother role. He's already decided that he'd wanna carry Baby and bathe her. :)
One night we asked the boy to put his face on Mommy's tummy to speak to Baby. "Go on Jesse," Mae advised, "ask Baby to kick for you."
"Give Korkor a kick-kick, Baby," he cooed in his baby voice. However, Baby wasn't quite ready to do that and so Mommy had to intervene. Mae tensed her stomach muscles to "fake" a baby kick and the boy was all ecstatic, his face glowing in wonderment of getting a response from his little sister.
Yeah, we cheated the little guy. But he was far too thrilled to notice. :)
We also get Jesse in on the action. But he's not awfully clear of the concept, so he'll bring along his toys to "show" Baby. "Look Baby, this is my Iron Man toy," he'd tell her in his most educational tone, "boys like Iron Man!" It's the cutest thing ever to see him slowly slipping into his big-brother role. He's already decided that he'd wanna carry Baby and bathe her. :)
One night we asked the boy to put his face on Mommy's tummy to speak to Baby. "Go on Jesse," Mae advised, "ask Baby to kick for you."
"Give Korkor a kick-kick, Baby," he cooed in his baby voice. However, Baby wasn't quite ready to do that and so Mommy had to intervene. Mae tensed her stomach muscles to "fake" a baby kick and the boy was all ecstatic, his face glowing in wonderment of getting a response from his little sister.
Yeah, we cheated the little guy. But he was far too thrilled to notice. :)
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Sex Talk
Sorry kiddies, its not that kind of sex talk. :) But seeing as to how family and friends have been speculating about the sex of our 2nd child, I thought I'd talk a little bit about that.
My father is convinced that our new baby would be a girl. "Just look at Jesse," Pops said, pointing to that twist in Jesse's hair where his parting line began. "It's off to the side." Apparently, if a kid's parting starts at the centre of his head, his sibling will be the same sex as he is. At least that what my father says.
Mae has her theories too. "Look at my breakout," she says pointing at her less-than-porcelain complexion. "While boys will give you beauty, girls will rob you of them," says my still-lovely-and-beautiful wife. *Ahem!
Mom is far less scientific. "I think it'll be a girl," she proclaims, "because I'd like a grand-daughter." She then crumbles under the pressure of her own prediction. "Maybe it'll be a girl," she says but only to finally settle for, "I hope it's a girl". Poor Mom had always wanted a girl but fate dealt her a three-of-a-kind Jacks instead, in her real life game of... erm... poker. Heheh.
big brother is watching
Anyway, during our last visit to the doctor, we had spotted a dark shadow between Baby's legs, putting the matter to rest, at least for awhile. Until yesterday, when we visited Dr. Huam again.
We looked intently on the screen as the good doctor carefully negotiated the handpiece all over Mae's tummy. As she did, Baby gave us quite a show, moving arms and legs about, yawning and just plain being cute. At least as cute as a foetus could be. Jesse was thrilled that he was starting to recognise bits of his little sibling on the ultrasound. Then came the highlight.
"I dun see anything there," I said. Doc nodded, "Yup, it looks like it might be a girl." And there was joy and laughter all around. In any case, we'll have to reconfirm on our next visit in January. Who knows, the little tyke may be hiding his family jewels. But as of now, it's a girl.
Good girl!
My father is convinced that our new baby would be a girl. "Just look at Jesse," Pops said, pointing to that twist in Jesse's hair where his parting line began. "It's off to the side." Apparently, if a kid's parting starts at the centre of his head, his sibling will be the same sex as he is. At least that what my father says.
Mae has her theories too. "Look at my breakout," she says pointing at her less-than-porcelain complexion. "While boys will give you beauty, girls will rob you of them," says my still-lovely-and-beautiful wife. *Ahem!
Mom is far less scientific. "I think it'll be a girl," she proclaims, "because I'd like a grand-daughter." She then crumbles under the pressure of her own prediction. "Maybe it'll be a girl," she says but only to finally settle for, "I hope it's a girl". Poor Mom had always wanted a girl but fate dealt her a three-of-a-kind Jacks instead, in her real life game of... erm... poker. Heheh.
big brother is watching
Anyway, during our last visit to the doctor, we had spotted a dark shadow between Baby's legs, putting the matter to rest, at least for awhile. Until yesterday, when we visited Dr. Huam again.
We looked intently on the screen as the good doctor carefully negotiated the handpiece all over Mae's tummy. As she did, Baby gave us quite a show, moving arms and legs about, yawning and just plain being cute. At least as cute as a foetus could be. Jesse was thrilled that he was starting to recognise bits of his little sibling on the ultrasound. Then came the highlight.
"I dun see anything there," I said. Doc nodded, "Yup, it looks like it might be a girl." And there was joy and laughter all around. In any case, we'll have to reconfirm on our next visit in January. Who knows, the little tyke may be hiding his family jewels. But as of now, it's a girl.
Good girl!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
First Dibs
They say kids will take over your life. And how.
Lately Jesse has impressed upon himself that he, and he alone, is the best person to decide our in-car musical entertainment. While we mostly play the radio in the car, our four-year-old has decided that CDs are better, if only just because he can play the same tune over and over. And over. And over. And over. Well, you get the idea.
One day, Mae was listening to a little Michael CW Smith. Mommy had her mind set on a little uplifting music for the soul, but the boy had different ideas.
"Mommy, can I hear 'Beautiful Day', please?" Jesse said as he handed us our U2 CD, his eyes sparkling with earnest sincerity.
"Mommy needs to listen to some Church music," Mae explained.
"And our Baby-in-the-tummy likes it too," I added, cleverly - or so I thought.
Yes, it was a little emotional blackmail which I thought might appeal to his brotherly love for his soon-to-arrive little sibling. A little under the belt, I know. But I thought that out to neutralise him for the duration of a few songs, at least. That, however, was not to be.
"But, what about Jesse-outside-the-tummy?", our boy enquired wistfully, reminding his lousy parents that their firstborn was right there, in the here and now.
And as the guilt-wracked strains of The Edge's guitar permeated the confines of our little car, our boy sank back into his seat, his face beaming with his toothy grin, as his new rock idol sang the very words that spoke his heart, which was, as Bono put it, abloom.
*sigh* We're never gonna get our radio back, but at least we can celebrate the fact that our boy has great taste in music.
Lately Jesse has impressed upon himself that he, and he alone, is the best person to decide our in-car musical entertainment. While we mostly play the radio in the car, our four-year-old has decided that CDs are better, if only just because he can play the same tune over and over. And over. And over. And over. Well, you get the idea.
One day, Mae was listening to a little Michael CW Smith. Mommy had her mind set on a little uplifting music for the soul, but the boy had different ideas.
"Mommy, can I hear 'Beautiful Day', please?" Jesse said as he handed us our U2 CD, his eyes sparkling with earnest sincerity.
"Mommy needs to listen to some Church music," Mae explained.
"And our Baby-in-the-tummy likes it too," I added, cleverly - or so I thought.
Yes, it was a little emotional blackmail which I thought might appeal to his brotherly love for his soon-to-arrive little sibling. A little under the belt, I know. But I thought that out to neutralise him for the duration of a few songs, at least. That, however, was not to be.
"But, what about Jesse-outside-the-tummy?", our boy enquired wistfully, reminding his lousy parents that their firstborn was right there, in the here and now.
And as the guilt-wracked strains of The Edge's guitar permeated the confines of our little car, our boy sank back into his seat, his face beaming with his toothy grin, as his new rock idol sang the very words that spoke his heart, which was, as Bono put it, abloom.
*sigh* We're never gonna get our radio back, but at least we can celebrate the fact that our boy has great taste in music.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Humour
Mae and I have been consciously prepping our boy for the arrival of his new baby sister or brother. And we decided, it might be cool to include him in some of our decisions pertaining to our coming attraction.
"What name would you like to give our new baby?" I ask Jesse, half expecting him to say "Ultraman Dyna", or "Tony Stark". But that was not to be.
"Ethan!" he answers. A little too decisively for a four-year-old, I thought. Mae agreed. And so she pressed on, "Why?"
"So that Jesse can ask him," our little boy carefully articulates, "have you Ethan? (eaten)". And he proceeds to laugh his ass off at the little joke he made.
"See?" Mae scowls at me, "this is the kind of stuff you teach him."
I was, of course, guilty as charged. I said that to him that one day when he came home from visiting his little cousin, Baby Ethan. He thought it was hilarious. And now he's decided to return the favour.
I had taught my boy humour. Am I cool or what? :)
"What name would you like to give our new baby?" I ask Jesse, half expecting him to say "Ultraman Dyna", or "Tony Stark". But that was not to be.
"Ethan!" he answers. A little too decisively for a four-year-old, I thought. Mae agreed. And so she pressed on, "Why?"
"So that Jesse can ask him," our little boy carefully articulates, "have you Ethan? (eaten)". And he proceeds to laugh his ass off at the little joke he made.
"See?" Mae scowls at me, "this is the kind of stuff you teach him."
I was, of course, guilty as charged. I said that to him that one day when he came home from visiting his little cousin, Baby Ethan. He thought it was hilarious. And now he's decided to return the favour.
I had taught my boy humour. Am I cool or what? :)
Friday, July 25, 2008
Feeling The Love
Today, it was my turn again to pick Jesse up from school. I was running 15 minutes late and was still only on the way. And so I call the wife for a consult.
"Oh my God," the wife mocks me. "You're such a lousy father!" she said with an evil cackle. She was having a field day getting back at me.
Meanwhile, I was a little worried that my boy might start to panic when I didn't show up at 11:45 am. People say kids have this inner clock that tells them when their lousy fathers are late, which in turn launches them into a panic attack. But thankfully, Jesse was all happy and cheery when he saw me. But I figured I would explain myself anyway.
"Daddy was doing so much work," I explained. I further went on to assure him I did the best I could. He listened intently. "Daddy ran to the car like a crazy person and quickly drove here to pick Jesse up!"
He looked up at me, whimpered like a grateful little puppy and cradled my left arm, nesting his head upon it appreciatively. Then he smiled as he repeated after me, "Daddy ran like a crazy person to pick Jesse up". And with that little gesture I could truly feel the love.
My little boy loves me for just showing up. *sniff*
"Oh my God," the wife mocks me. "You're such a lousy father!" she said with an evil cackle. She was having a field day getting back at me.
Meanwhile, I was a little worried that my boy might start to panic when I didn't show up at 11:45 am. People say kids have this inner clock that tells them when their lousy fathers are late, which in turn launches them into a panic attack. But thankfully, Jesse was all happy and cheery when he saw me. But I figured I would explain myself anyway.
"Daddy was doing so much work," I explained. I further went on to assure him I did the best I could. He listened intently. "Daddy ran to the car like a crazy person and quickly drove here to pick Jesse up!"
He looked up at me, whimpered like a grateful little puppy and cradled my left arm, nesting his head upon it appreciatively. Then he smiled as he repeated after me, "Daddy ran like a crazy person to pick Jesse up". And with that little gesture I could truly feel the love.
My little boy loves me for just showing up. *sniff*
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Forgotten
It was a dreary Tuesday afternoon and I was on the way to a client when I decided to call Mae.
"So how was Jesse today when you picked him up?" I asked the wife.
"What!?" she replied. "Didn't you say you were gonna pick him up!?!?" She was all in a flurry now. By now, my voice resonated with shock and concern. "But... but you said you would," I stammered.
"Wait a minute," I regained composure, "you're kidding me, right? You picked him up, right?"
"NooOooOo I didn't!!!" she shrieked in panic. It was 3 o'clock and we had forgotten to pick up the boy from school. The poor kid was probably feeling like his parents had abandoned him.
Or so it seemed. Heh.
Every now and then, I do take some time off from work to pick the boy home from school, whenever Mae and her mom can't do it. I enjoy it. And of course, every now and then, I also enjoy taking some time off my busy schedule to screw with the wife's head. Heheh. She loves it when I do it.
You can almost hear the affection in her voice when she said, "Don't ever do that to me again, you ass!"
Hahaha.
"So how was Jesse today when you picked him up?" I asked the wife.
"What!?" she replied. "Didn't you say you were gonna pick him up!?!?" She was all in a flurry now. By now, my voice resonated with shock and concern. "But... but you said you would," I stammered.
"Wait a minute," I regained composure, "you're kidding me, right? You picked him up, right?"
"NooOooOo I didn't!!!" she shrieked in panic. It was 3 o'clock and we had forgotten to pick up the boy from school. The poor kid was probably feeling like his parents had abandoned him.
Or so it seemed. Heh.
Every now and then, I do take some time off from work to pick the boy home from school, whenever Mae and her mom can't do it. I enjoy it. And of course, every now and then, I also enjoy taking some time off my busy schedule to screw with the wife's head. Heheh. She loves it when I do it.
You can almost hear the affection in her voice when she said, "Don't ever do that to me again, you ass!"
Hahaha.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Wisdom Teeth
Last week, Mae and I visited a dental and maxillofacial specialist. You see, my poor wife's lower wisdom teeth never quite came out. Instead of growing upwards like all clever teeth should, these guys decided to grow sideways into the rest of the others. As you can imagine, this causes some discomfort and at times, immense pain.
Unfortunately for Mae, her teeth are resting on her nerves, making their removal quite a complicated procedure. In fact, most dentists she saw had recommended Dr. Ling as the man for the job. We were worried. What if a slip of the hand severs the nerve and Mae ends up with a paralysed jaw? What if a wrong move gave my poor wife a crooked face?
"The worse case scenario," according to Dr Ling, "is that you will have a numb sensation on your lips all your life." According to the good doctor, the risks are not terribly high, only 5-10%. And the chances of healing from such an event is 98%.
"Then she won't feel anything when you kiss her," said my colleague Rat, later that day.
"Is that all you women think about?" I said. Mae had said the exact same thing when we left the clinic, and I had told her as I told Rat, that there were more important things than kissing.
"What else is there?" Rat enquired.
I just gave her a shit-eating grin that spoke volumes. Heh. Despite my best efforts to prove otherwise, I'm afraid I'll have to concede that, like all men, I was just another bastard. :)
Unfortunately for Mae, her teeth are resting on her nerves, making their removal quite a complicated procedure. In fact, most dentists she saw had recommended Dr. Ling as the man for the job. We were worried. What if a slip of the hand severs the nerve and Mae ends up with a paralysed jaw? What if a wrong move gave my poor wife a crooked face?
"The worse case scenario," according to Dr Ling, "is that you will have a numb sensation on your lips all your life." According to the good doctor, the risks are not terribly high, only 5-10%. And the chances of healing from such an event is 98%.
"Then she won't feel anything when you kiss her," said my colleague Rat, later that day.
"Is that all you women think about?" I said. Mae had said the exact same thing when we left the clinic, and I had told her as I told Rat, that there were more important things than kissing.
"What else is there?" Rat enquired.
I just gave her a shit-eating grin that spoke volumes. Heh. Despite my best efforts to prove otherwise, I'm afraid I'll have to concede that, like all men, I was just another bastard. :)
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Angry Boy
"Today, I'm very angry," my little boy tells me last night in bed. He was probably upset that he had soiled his diaper, and that I had told him off about it.
"Who are you angry with?" I asked.
"I'm angry with Kakak," he answers spitefully, redirecting his anger to our maid, Anie. "Well, you can't be angry with Kakak," I advised, "not if you want her to wash your bum-bum."
As Anie was dealing with him, she enquired about his temperament, "Jesse is angry with Kakak?"
"Nooooo," he answers in the sweetest little voice. "Jesse is angry with Mommy," explained the little politician, in the most matter-of-fact tone that a four-year-old can muster. However, all that time the boy didn't know that Mommy was within earshot.
"What!?!?" Mae's blood-curdling voiced boom from inside our bedroom. "Why are you angry with Mommy?"
With that Mommy's faithful little subject scurried into the room before the Queen. He stood there looking most apologetic, as he wracked his brain for a good save. And then it came, "because Mommy always makes the floor wet."
Mae is always making a mess of our bathroom, and I once unwittingly told the boy so. The little rascal had stored this, and probably other tasty bits of information to be used to negotiate his release in sticky situations. And while the boy gets Her Majesty's royal pardon, Daddy gets a boot to the head for releasing sensitive information to the child. Hehheh.
"Who are you angry with?" I asked.
"I'm angry with Kakak," he answers spitefully, redirecting his anger to our maid, Anie. "Well, you can't be angry with Kakak," I advised, "not if you want her to wash your bum-bum."
As Anie was dealing with him, she enquired about his temperament, "Jesse is angry with Kakak?"
"Nooooo," he answers in the sweetest little voice. "Jesse is angry with Mommy," explained the little politician, in the most matter-of-fact tone that a four-year-old can muster. However, all that time the boy didn't know that Mommy was within earshot.
"What!?!?" Mae's blood-curdling voiced boom from inside our bedroom. "Why are you angry with Mommy?"
With that Mommy's faithful little subject scurried into the room before the Queen. He stood there looking most apologetic, as he wracked his brain for a good save. And then it came, "because Mommy always makes the floor wet."
Mae is always making a mess of our bathroom, and I once unwittingly told the boy so. The little rascal had stored this, and probably other tasty bits of information to be used to negotiate his release in sticky situations. And while the boy gets Her Majesty's royal pardon, Daddy gets a boot to the head for releasing sensitive information to the child. Hehheh.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
No Eye See
I have a tendency to leave my spectacles all over the place, so this morning's episode wasn't terribly unfamilliar to me. Except that after over one hour of searching, the damn glasses were still nowhere to be found.
"Honey," I called Mae on the phone, "did you happen to see my glasses?" Nope. "What about Anie," I asked if the maid had seen it. No again.
By then I had overturned the entire house. I was late for work. And the bloody specs were still nowhere to be found. So, I decided to go to work blind. As I left, I called the wife again.
"Maybe Anie accidentally broke them," I presented my conspiracy theory to Mae, "and decided to get rid of the incriminating evidence." While I spoke, I found myself making my way towards the trash disposal room, half expecting to rummage through this morning's garbage. Thankfully, I came to my senses.
As I drove, I called Mae again. "Maybe you took my glasses."
"Of course not," she snapped, quickly losing her patience. "I can't wear your glasses without getting a headache!"
"Maybe you put them in your handbag by mistake," I suggested, sheepishly. I was getting desperate. "It could happen."
"Don't be silly," Mae scoffed. Damn woman scoffed at me. And I took it like a downtrodden little boy, defeated. Wasted and spent, by my cheap hundred ringgit glasses. And a wife who scoffed at me.
Half an hour later Mae calls.
"Erm... hehe... I have good news and bad news," said a self-righteous monkey of a klutz on the other end of the line.
Ho ho ho. Sweet revenge.
"Honey," I called Mae on the phone, "did you happen to see my glasses?" Nope. "What about Anie," I asked if the maid had seen it. No again.
By then I had overturned the entire house. I was late for work. And the bloody specs were still nowhere to be found. So, I decided to go to work blind. As I left, I called the wife again.
"Maybe Anie accidentally broke them," I presented my conspiracy theory to Mae, "and decided to get rid of the incriminating evidence." While I spoke, I found myself making my way towards the trash disposal room, half expecting to rummage through this morning's garbage. Thankfully, I came to my senses.
As I drove, I called Mae again. "Maybe you took my glasses."
"Of course not," she snapped, quickly losing her patience. "I can't wear your glasses without getting a headache!"
"Maybe you put them in your handbag by mistake," I suggested, sheepishly. I was getting desperate. "It could happen."
"Don't be silly," Mae scoffed. Damn woman scoffed at me. And I took it like a downtrodden little boy, defeated. Wasted and spent, by my cheap hundred ringgit glasses. And a wife who scoffed at me.
Half an hour later Mae calls.
"Erm... hehe... I have good news and bad news," said a self-righteous monkey of a klutz on the other end of the line.
Ho ho ho. Sweet revenge.
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