Another Year of Abundance

In all, I've done over 10 Lou Sangs. So you can imagine the rest of the stuff that came with it. The whole lot of it. And unfortunately, you can't consume all that food without any backlash.

It took me 3 months to lose 3kgs (okay, so I wasn't as gung-ho as I could have been). And all of it came right back in just seven days. Life is unfair. Or fair, depending on how you look at it. *sigh*

In any case, Gung Hei Fat Choi. See? There's a "fat" in that greeting. How apt.

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.

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

Mother vs Wife

"If you mother and I both fell into the ocean," said an ex-girlfriend, carefully articulating her words, "and you could save only one, who would you save?" Hahah. Sure, every girl wants to know this, but it takes a special girl (namely the ones who should be enrolled into a special school) to actually ask it. But yesterday, this scenario played out in reality.

Mom had gotten her cataract removed last week. Between her boys, we all decided that we would take turns going home to care for her, and also to take her. Although cataract removals are far more advanced that ever, with laser technology, faster healing, no bandages and all, no mother can ever have enough of good ol' fashioned TLC. And so, we boys set out to do our filial duty.

I had taken a week off of work for my shift. I was all packed and ready to go when Mae woke up looking like wilted white flower in a shitstorm.

"My stomach hurts," she winced in pain, clasping her enormous belly.

Here I was, on my way to being a good son, and there she was, my wife, expecting me to be a good husband and father. It should have been an easy choice, but I was torn nevertheless.

"Ma, Mae is sick," I told her, my voice wavering in grave concerned, "I'm taking her to the Gynae. I might not be able to come back today."

I hated myself for disappointing her. I had been a shitty son for some years now, and just when I was about to make right with her, this was happening. But Mom, bless her, was bigger than that.

"I'm fine," she said. "Stay home and take care of Mae."

And so I did. I took Mae to Dr. Huam and both mother and baby are fine. Mom's fine too, cos I got Jeff to bring her down to my place so I can watch over all of them. Thankfully, Mom's follow up visit to her doctor isn't due for another couple of weeks. Jesse's happy too since he always looked forward to his Mah-Mah visiting. And so, all is well in the LoopyMeals household once again.

And yeah, back to that loaded question at the start of this post; there is only one correct way to deal with a question like this. Remember you heard it here first. :)

"I'd let the both of you drown," I told the silly arse of a girlfriend "then I can get a new girlfriend, and my mother won't be around to stop me."

EPILOGUE:
"Between my mother and you," I told Mae in mock seriousness, as we drove to the hospital, "I choose you." And despite her unbearable pain, she found the strength to answer me. "You're such an idiot!" But out of the corner of my eye, I saw it - a shit-eating grin from ear-to-ear.

Getting On My Nerves

bone, drugs & disharmony

This was me last week. Actually, only the x-rays are me. The guy is Dr William Chan and he's showing me the error of my ways. Okay, no. I'm just being dramatic. I was in no way responsible for my own pain.

I got up some weeks ago with a stiff neck. Since I've had stiff neck for as long as I remember, I didn't think much of it cos this kind of stuff usually just goes away on its own. But no. Not this time. After almost a week of pain trying to turn my head, I had the miserable shitty feeling that I was not getting better. And as though I'm not suffering enough, I win a bonus pain in my arm as well.

As it turns out, I have bone spurs on my spine. These are nasty little buggers that grow out of your bones due to wear and tear. For some reason, that has caused one of my discs (that's the rubber jelly washer thing between my cervical vertebrae C5 & C6) to swell a bit. This has cause it to pinch my nerves, which leads to a whole world of pain in my right arm at the bicep-tricep area. This brings fresh meaning to the phrase "getting on my nerves".

I get a week off. Yay. And medicine for 10 days. Boo. And I go back for some comforting therapy. Yay. Which costs RM60 a pop. Boo. But I get goof off at home. Yah. But I gotta do the exercises for my neck. Boo.

So yeah, it's been a roller coaster ride for me.

Anyway, the medicine is long gone. I have also stopped going for the therapy. But it still hurts. And yet, I've decided not to see him again, at least until I can stands it no mores! Doc did hint at other forms of diagnosis and treatment, involving an MRI scan, injection into the spine, surgery, and other painful sounding procedures.

I hate getting old.

Medi-Christmas

'Twas a Tuesday 'fore Christmas, when all through the house,
The wife was moaning, groaning, "Oh, why do I feel louse?"
"In all the merriment, preparing for the season";
"Perhaps you're merely exhausted," I reasoned.

I led her to the room, and tucked her to bed,
And made sure she would get some rest instead;
"In the morning," I said, "You'll be feeling much better"
But as it turns out this was beyond mind over matter.

Came the night before Christmas, we propped Mommy at the table,
And served her a cooking of which we were able,
A dinner of Turkey and sausage and some baked potatoes,
And for colour, we even threw in some tomatoes.

The turkey was dry, and the dinner was quite crappy,
But there was still Christmas morn to make us feel happy;
But unfortunately, even that wasn't to be,
For the next morning her fever shot up a degree.

So we bundled Mommy off to the infirmary,
(But not before we opened some gifts for Jesse);
To the clinic she went and the doctor did gaze,
Upon the sickness that was written all over her face;

"I'm afraid, dear young lady, there will be no respite,"
Doc said, "when an Aedes Mosquito has taken a bite";
So she drew out some blood to quickly confirm it,
And it turned out to be Dengue! Confound it!

We sat there dumbfounded, but the doctor was quick,
To know that it was of our baby, we were worried sick;
"The baby is fine," said the Doc, "Just take care of your wife"
"Feed her 100 Plus and for God's sake, keep her alive!"

So we went home to rest, and I got round to thinking,
Of the doctor's statement, there can be no mistaking;
When I tell you my theory, in me you must trust,
That doctors must be getting commission from 100 Plus.

Yeah, we spent most of our Christmas holidays going in and out of the hospital but it's all good. Both Mae and Baby are fine. Thanks to crates of 100 Plus, coconut water and papaya leaves. And tender loving care, of course.

No Easy Ride

Mae is not having an easy time with our new baby.The morning sickness is as bad as it's ever been and she at it all times of the day. Whoever decided to call it Morning Sickness anyway? I'll wager it's a guy. *sigh*

Smells bother her terribly too. Our new place is ready but we can't move in just yet cos the smell of new paint makes her quite sick. The smell of her husband also makes her sick. Thankfully, she's only complained once. On the plus side though, she has a voracious appetite and wants to eat everything. But then, the down side to that up side, is that she pukes it all out after. *sigh*

There's also been a little bleeding. Perhaps a little too often for our liking. And the stress at her job isn't helping. Hopefully our baby will stay strong. :(

Kungfu Healing

I've had a pain in my back for years now . It isn't so much a pain as it is an annoyance - y'know that feeling that something just ain't right? So, last year I decided to visit a Chiropracter.

I went into the room for a consultation, and got just that. Mr Fancy Pants Chiropractor made me stand up, sit down, and touched my back gingerly, and ascertained that I needed to have my spine straightened. "But not before you get an X-Ray," he advised as he wrote out a prescription for an X-Ray which I would have to get from a lab somewhere else. "Thereafter," he continued in his upper-crust, schoolmasterly tone, "you come back here and we can get started." But I would have to come back yet another time before he would treat me.

So it was, one trip for a consultation, one trip to the x-ray, one trip to get Bones to look at my X-ray, and finally a trip to get my back fixed. "One more thing," he added as I headed out the door, "treatment will be over the course of a few visits!" With that, I decided then that I would suck it up and live with it instead.

Then, my brother Jeff introduced me to his friend, Erik. Erik's father had been the founder of Hap Kune Do style of martial arts, and junior had picked up the family trade. Here was a guy who could kick your ass out of its joint and pop it right back for you. You'll be surprise how much kungfu he's got hidden behind that cheery demanour of his.

It was amazing. He cracked my entire spine with a couple of his kungfu moves and then some. That was Saturday. Yesterday, I went for one more round and I'm all good now. But most of all, I love how it was all a straight-shooting, no-bullshit, man-to-man deal. This is what the world needs - instant relief. Not more appointments.

Got a bone out of place? Look Sifu Erik up. RM 60 only.

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. :)

Scarred

feelin' fine

Jesse came back from his little surgery bandaged, with the instruction to remove after 48 hours. I was a little apprehensive, but I took to the task.

"What is inside, Daddy?" Jesse enquired. I explained to him in a way that he would understand, "You broke your head and the doctor fixed it."

"Doctor fixed Jesse's head?"

"Uh-huh," I proceeded to describe the procedure, "Doctor used strings to fix Jesse's head." I then went on to prepare him for what I was about to do, and when he was adequately prepped, I did the deed.

It must have been a little painful as I saw him wince a couple of times, but he laid there quietly as gingerly peeled the plaster and gauze away from his wound. And then I gave him a mirror to see what all the fuss was about. And the most unexpected thing happened.

He sat there, stared at the horrifying scar on his head and it struck him, probably for the first time - the aftermath of his terrible accident. And he cried buckets of tears. It was such a heartbreaking sight.

"Daddy, my strings," he sobbed. I hadn't expected him to be so affected by it and I wasn't quite prepared to deal with this. So I decided to just wing it. "Doctor said you look like Harry Potter," I assured the boy. As I did, I hollered at Mae to bring a Harry Potter DVD.

"Look, darling," Mae consoled him, "Harry Potter's got a mark on his head too!" It didn't help.

Then, my clever wife picked up an eyeliner pencil and drew a lighting mark on her head. "Look at Mommy," she cooed. I saw his little lips curl into a smile and I decided to play along. "Look," I called, "Daddy's got one just like yours!"

And just like that, we were a happy family once again. Even if it meant that Mae and I had to wear the "mark" out for our dinner and jalan-jalan that night.

Head Wound

"Jesse fell and cut his head!" Mae's voice quivered over the phone on Friday. My mother-in-law had tried to send him to the neighbourhood pediatrician but it was closed. I called MIL. Over the phone I could hear the boy screaming.

"Clean the wound, and apply pressure to stop the bleeding," I snapped orders through the chaos, remembering what little first aid I learnt at school. "It stopped bleeding," MIL advised and added, "Drive safely"

I can only guess what a traumatic experience it must have been to see her grandson bleeding profusely. I stepped on it.

I got there about 10 minutes later and it was an alarming sight. Both MIL and Anie, our maid, was covered in blood. My boy had cried himself to sleep in his kakak's arm. When I walked over and saw the wound in his forehead, I recoiled in shock and tears welled up in my eyes. It was a deep cut, 40mm long and about 6mm deep. I was dumbstrucked.

"Mae is on her way back," MIL said, "she said to wait."

I snapped out of whatever stupor I was in, and got up to leave. "I don't want Mae to see this," I explained. I doubt it she would be able to handle it.

The drive took forever with the lunch hour jam. On one hand I was thankful that Jesse was asleep and not crying and screaming. And yet, on the other hand, there was my precious little boy laying silently in his Kakak's arms with a gaping wound in his head. I didn't know what to think.

When we got to the hospital, Jesse awoke. Despite the pain he must have been going through, he didn't cry. "Are you okay, boy?" I asked. "Yes," he said in a sad little voice. It pained me.

The doctor was out for lunch and so the nurse covered the wound with a wet dressing. And all the nurses at Megah Medical Specialist Centre consoled the boy and told him what a brave boy he was. He was.

Mae arrived shortly after with a bag of goodies for the boy and it cheered him up plenty.

The doctor examined the wound. Apparently, it was so bad that it his muscle was cut. Mae saw it for the first time and her eyes went red.

The nurses restraint him and the doctor administered a local anesthetic jab into the wound. He struggled and cried a little. I almost did as I saw his forehead swell before my eyes from the injection. "He won't feel a thing when I stitch him up," Doc explained, "but he will probably cry out of fear."

By then Jesse was in good spirits again. By the time we were ushered into the operation theatre, he called out cheerfully, "See you later, Mommy," much to the nurses' amusement. He was thrilled with the little robe they let him wear, oblivious to the cut in his forehead.



In the theatre, they strapped him tight on the gurney. He started crying and begging me to let him loose. I had never felt so helpless in my life. The doctor went as quickly as he could, to spare the boy the agony. After two layers of sutures, some 11 stitches in all, I unstrapped him and hugged him close, and everything felt alright again. I guess I needed it as much as he did.

By the time we left the hospital, he was all happy as if nothing had happened. And over the weekend, it had been all good. No nightmares, no fevers and no crying.

But for Mae and I, and my Mother-In-Law, things may never be the same again.

Toothbrushing

Jesse hates brushing his teeth. We've tried all kinds of ways to make it interesting for him, but nope. The boy is simply adversed to having foreign objects stuffed up his mouth.

To make matters worse, Daddy is not much of an authority of brushing teeth. You see, I'm afraid, all I can safely commit to is one brush a day. The fact is, somedays, I conveniently forget to brush before bed. Hehehh... I know how gross that must seem, but all I can say is, that's all Grandmother's fault.

"Chaat mutt yeh gwai lah," she'd scoff... erm... scornfully. Loosely translated, it pretty much means "What the hell are you brushing for?"

Heh. The old lady was quite the battle axe, but more than often her bark was worse than her bite. Then again, that's probably attributed to the fact that she had lost all her teeth by the time she turned 30. In fact, all her contemporaries too had become toothless by their 30th birthdays.

Back in Ah Por's day, dentalcare wasn't exactly all the rage. And toothpaste was a luxury afforded only by the upper echelons society. As for Ah Por (and most of her village), they used ash from the coal stove. Which probably explains the short shelf life of their teeth. But that never stopped the old lady from brushing off the notion of brushing. Which, as a kid, was simply marvellous news.

And so, more than not, I have had to make a conscious effort to remember to brush my teeth before bed. And more than often, I fail. Thankfully, I've gone past 30 with all my teeth intact. So there! (I am SO gonna get a lecture from my dentist who reads this blog. Hahaha.)

As for Jesse, only Mae can save him now.

More Monday Blues

Today was just like any other day, except that it was special. As I got out of my car to go to work, there it was right before me, a hot steaming pile of dogshit. I hesitated, and then navigated myself carefully around it. This was an omen, if ever there was one. And the day went downhill from there.

I was sick over the weekend. What pisses me off, is that the effects of flu is so much more pronounced these days now that I'v passed the mid-30 mark. And the other thing that pisses me off about getting sick is that, for some sick twisted reason, I only seem to fall sick on Friday evening and conveniently recover enough on a Sunday night.

What gives, man?!? It's bad enough that I didn't manage to goof get a break from work, I actually get well enough to get my sorry ass back to work. Except that, I'm not well enough to feel great. Plus, I have this cocktail of pills to keep me drugged up and groggy for most of the day, except that I'm not doped up enough to be oblivious to the torture that is my Monday morning.

Afternoon comes, and along with it, a raging forest fire I have to put out at work.

And then, Mae calls. Jesse is down with high fever. "I think I'm coming down with something too." I know immediately that I must have spread some of my weekend cheer around.

At six, she calls again, and tells me that she is so deathly ill that she can't possibly drive home from my mother-in-law's house. Yes, Mae has always been a tad melodramatic about things but since this was my own undoing, I resolved to do the right thing. I would have to pick my family from MIL's.

I packed my Macbook into my bag and dragged my feet off into the sunset, muttering curses at my misfortunes. I sat in the car, my right foot still out the door and started the engine. And like one of those flashback sequences in the movies, the events of the day played out in reverse order in my mind - right to the very moment that I had arrived at work earlier in the day.

Instinctively, I glanced at pile of dog poo that had greeted me in the morning. Like me, it too had had a terrible day. What was once a proud random sculpture of dog excrement had now been reduced to a downtrodden pile of shit. As much as I hate to admit it, I felt a tinge of what can only be accurately described as schadenfraude, knowing that some idiot somewhere had stepped into shit.

Until I discovered, to a mix emotion of joy and horror, that I was that very idiot. And the evidence was written all over the sole of my right shoe. That disgusting pile of shit had waited all day to get me and it got me good. *sigh*

There was something strangely poetic about all of this, but it's hard to be poetic about shit. Still, if you feel so inclined, there's the comment box. :)

Stroke of Luck

According to The Star today, six new cases of stroke occur every hour in Malaysia. This is a bitch, since I have a slight problem with hypertension.

Imagine. I could be here one minute updating my blog, and suddenly, feeling the onslaught of an impending stroke, I quickly write a blow-by-blow account and hit the "PUBLISH" key just before I keel over from a stroke. What a drama that would be. Heh. Heck, I'm thinking movie rights, fame and fortune, except that I probably won't enjoy all of that very much.

But don't hold your breath. I am on medication. I've also been exercising like a good boy. And I try to maintain a stress-free life. And like any hot-blooded (and high blood pressured, ha!) man, I make the most of it.

Mae: (annoyed) Did you replace the water filter like I told you?
Me: Huh?
Mae: (more annoyed) I knew you'd forget... why can't you be more... yadda yadda yadda... nag nag... lousy no good... yadda...
Me: (convincingly) *gasp*... can't breathe... too much pressure... ugh!
Mae: (sympathetic) Oh, my poor darling husband... let me massage you...

Ahh, with the fun I'm having, I might just live forever. :)

Sick But Not Quite

I can't decide if I'm sick or not.

I slept all evening yesterday and I pretty much slept all morning today. And I still feel like shit. But other than that, I don't have any other symptoms. No sore throat. No runny nose. No cough. Heck, not even a fever. Sure the nose feels a little congested and the bones ache a little but nothing I can really pinpoint.

Everybody tells me I should go see a doctor.

Problem with that is, most General Practitioners give you medication to heal your symptoms. Unless you have a fever - then they might prescribe some anti-biotics. If I went to the doctor, she'll probably charge me 60 bucks, speak to me in a condescending tone about getting some rest and give me some feel-like-shit pills.

I have feel-like-shit pills at home. They're called Panadol. They don't cost RM60 and I can wash it down with beer if I like. All this while the wife lovingly strokes my hair as she feeds me chocolate ice-cream. Hurray for DIY doctoring. :)

Sexual Awareness

Perv mommy blogger, MOTT, is compiling a catalog of the sexual history of her male readers. Since the subject is one that warms my... erm... heart (*ahem*), I shall oblige. On with the survey:

• At what age was your first sexual awareness?
  I remember I was eleven when I first became physically, sexually aware. Needless to say, at such a tender age, it was a hard time for me. Heh!
• Were you embarassed or curious?
  Since "excited" is not presented as an optional answer, I shall have to say curious. To make matters worse, I grew up in a household of women and I didn't have such a great relationship with my grandad so I was pretty much left to my own devices. Or device, if you like. Embarassment came soon enough when I started having dreams of a... erm... liquid nature. That was both nerve-wracking, because I had no one to confide, and strangely enjoyable, because these things usually are.
• At what age did you like the same/opposite sex?
  I found enjoyment in the company of the fairer kind at 12, going on 13.
• Did you have someone teach you about sex?
  I learnt about sex at 13 the way most boys my age did - from friends. There was a friend who drew pictures. At that same time, my older brothers also began exposing me to the wonderful world of pornography. I didn't think much of it at the time, being mostly preoccupied with the show, but I think perhaps my Dad put them up to it. That was pretty much my formal education in the birds and the bees.
• Was it your parents?
  Mom didn't teach me very much about sex. She probably still thinks I'ma virgin. Heheh!
• If not, would you have wished it were your parents?
  Of course not. Not the very graphic version that I had learnt it, anyways!
• Any thought on the matter?
  I think all kids should have some clues as to what to expect from their bodies in the coming (no pun intended) days. To not prepare them would be too cruel. But no worries anyhow, cos nature always finds a way.

I have more to say about the subject of sex education, but that shall be a post for another day. :)

The Science of Chinese Mothers

I remember vividly during one of our Ante-Natal classes before Jesse came about. Dr. Musa, a Pediatrician popular amongst many parents, was addressing the class.

"You Chinese mothers are obsessed with water," he said, venting out in frustration at how the Chinese always insist on feeding their babies water. "There's water in his milk," he reasoned, half pleading in his last ditched attempt to talk some sense into the predominantly Chinese crowd.

I shook my head in pity. Poor Dr. Musa fails to understand that the Laws of the Universe will suspend itself for the Chinese Mother. Allow me to present my short thesis on Water & the Science of Chinese Mothers.

WATER & THE SCIENCE OF CHINESE MOTHERS

Chemistry
The chemical composition of water is dynamically altered when combined with any powdered beverage, especially baby milk formula. Under such a circumstance, water no longer retains its property as a radical and is rendered ineffective as a hydrating agent. The effects are similar in any instances where good flavour is added to water. The opposite is true when bad flavour, such as the bitterness of Chinese herbs, are combined with water. As a conclusion, any water that taste good can never be considered water by the Chinese mother, while anything that is crappy is still water.

Physics
Exposed to extreme cold temperatures of 0°Celcius and below, thermodynamics dictates that water transforms, abandoning its liquid characteristic to attain its new solid form of ice. Consumed into the human body and exposed to body temperatures of 37°Celcius beyond the melting point of ice however, does not transform this new substance back into water. Therefore it should be rejected any notion that suggests the consumption of ice is equal to the consumption of water. Water in any form that may be fun can never be considered water by the Chinese mother.

Biology
The Chinese human body is composed of more than 70% water, and therefore no consumption of water may be adequate for the Chinese infant or child. The ideal balance for the Chinese child would be a biological composition of 99% water and 1% child. Water in any quantity less than overly-abundant can never be considered sufficient.

In the interest of your general well-being and to ensure a continued supply of sex at home, the Chinese father must quickly embrace The Science of Chinese Mothers. Coming next, The Intellect of Chinese Mothers-In-Law, a short thesis that debunks the myth than any medical or nutritional degree may surpass the wisdom of the average Chinese Mother-In-Law.

This has been a community message brought to you by loopymeals.blogspot.com and could very well be the last!

The Adventures of Blinky

"Honey," there was an urgency in Mae's voice, "we need to bring Jesse to the doctor." Under normal circumstances, I would be worried. But this was Mae, Mistress of Melodrama, to whom, life was extra large.

Anyway, it turns out that Jesse's been blinking excessively. And by excessively, I mean furiously - with forceful clamping eyelid action and stuff. Moth-in-law thinks it's too much TV. Roma thinks its worms. Mae thinks the boy might need specs. Me, I'm thinking of having Paan Mein this weekend. HEh! Okay, okay, so I have no theory, but I do have a story...

(cue flashback harpsichord music)

The year was 1978. Yoke Lin had begun to notice how her son blinks furiously for no apparent reason. It was as though the muscles that controlled his eyelids were on overdrive. Some days he'd blink so hard and fast there would be a flurry of tear spatter and flying eyelashes in the airspace surrounding his face. And he blinked so fast, so much so that his view of the world was like that of revellers at a rave party - strob lights and all.

When a succession of consultations at various eye specialists in town yielded no results, Yoke Lin resorted to the paranormal - praying to the gods and attending seances. However, that didn't work either. Nothing did. It was a mother's nightmare to see her boy suffering and to have no recourse for it.

And then one day, Mahatma Windhi came to town.

Mahatma Windhi was a thin, lanky Southern Indian gentleman, learned in the ways of holistic healing. His skin was as black as night, his hair as white as day and his teeth, as yellow as the first piss of the morning after a night of... erm... not pissing. His face was craggy as the earth yet his demeanour was as calm as the heavens. His years of hardship and apprenticeship in the Tibetan mountains with the second cousin of the Dalai Lama's personal assistance's neighbour from across the street, had brought him to this point in his life. A pivotal moment in both his and the boy's life. The boy and him were destined to cross path, as the stars in the Himalayas had spelt out to him: C-R-O-S-S-P-A-... well, you get the idea.

A gloomy, rainy afternoon as Windhi sat, cross-legged on the concrete floor of his Pre-War Victorian shophouse earnestly scratching his... erm... balsamic noggin, he felt a strong compulsion to look up to the main door. So he did. There at the doorway stood a distressed woman, her dress billowing in the strong winds and her face wet from the rain. Behind her, stood a little boy. Mahatma Windhi squinted to make out the silhouttes, furrowing the brows of his weather-beaten face as he studied the two persons at his doorway. And then he saw it - the boy was clearly wide awake, yet he was having a bad case of the REMs flickering his eyelids at the speed of sound.

Having seated them down, the old man listened to the lamentations of a heartbroken mother. When she had explained her concerns to him, Master Windhi unfolded his loin cloth and brought out a long sharp stainless steel rod, the diameter of those high-class toothpicks and three times as long. He brought it to a candle and watched the flames dance across the shiny metal stick. He then stuck it into a small pewter jar and brought it out again encrusted in a black gunk of herbal concoctions.

"Heduhde eodhoeb hduedendsjuw huehu," he said, speaking in an ancient Sanskrit tongue. Although the boy had no inkling of what was said, he knew that he was being told to open his eyes as though conveyed by some kind of telepathic message. Weill, it was either that or it was because the old master had thrusted his thumb into the boy's startled eye to fold up his eyelids. Then, in a swift stroke the steel rod connected, as Mahatma Windhi deftly applied the herbal gook into the boys eyes.

The helpless child screamed in terror at the violent intrusion into his eyes, writhing and wriggling in his frightened mother's arms. Until he realised that it didn't hurt one bit and that he was being a little shit about it. By then, Windhi had already done both eyes and was now wrapping up some medicinal herbs (which looked suspiciously like bird feed) in a little piece of brown paper. "One day, two times," said the master as he stuffed the folded paper into Yoke Lin's hand.

Yoke Lin thanked the old man, paid him and pulled her son to leave. As they stepped out of the shophouse, the skies cleared before them. Both mother and child stood in awe of the amazing display of freaky weather before them. Perhaps it was going to be okay after all. Perhaps...

(cue out-of-flashback harpsichord music)

Naaaaaaah! That didn't work either.

Until today, nobody's figured out why I was blinking so much as a kid. I eventually outgrew it on my own. I also had perfect eyesight until I turned 30 when an event would lead me to realise that my eyesight was failing. But that's another story for another day. Heh.

Now, I'll have to figure out why my boy is blinking like nobody's business. Perhaps, like me, he'll be fine. But to be safe, I'll still take him to the doc over the weekend. Meantime, any clues will help. Stories, will help too. :)