Christmas in PD

We had a nice little Christmas getaway this year. Most of the family were away and we decided to get out of town too. Also, I had been working so much that it was a nice change of pace for me.



Ever since our last beach holiday in Pangkor, Jesse's been re-enacting his little playtime on the beach. It was quite cute, but quite sad all the same. He'd bring out his sand castle bucket and spade and play pretend burying his own feet in make-believe sand. So we decided to do this for him.



This time around, Jesse decided to give swimming a pass. For some reason, as he grows older, he seems to be more fearful of stuff. I could see the fear in his eyes as we got into the water. I would have like to throw him in but that would probably cost me in therapy fees in the future.



We stayed in Guoman. It was a lovely place and there was a nice manicured garden where folks flew their kites. And we flew our kite. Now it must be said that I only learnt to fly a kite when I was 18, and that was the only time I ever managed to get one airborne. So I wasn't so sure if our kite would pull a Charlie Brown on me. Thankfully, the wind was great. But it didn't matter much to Jesse. For him, all the fun in flying a kite was the running around.

And now, on with the program! C'mon 2008, we're waiting. :)

Waiting

I'm in Johor again. But if it seems like I never left there since my last blog entry, please accept my apologies for my half-assed attempt at blogging.

When I left for here on Sunday, I told the boy I would be back by Thursday. "When's Daddy gonna be back?" I asked to make sure he understood me. "Thursday!" he shouted at the top of his voice, cheerfully. A little too cheerfully, in my opinion. Hmph!

Still, I have come to accept the fact that life goes on, even if I'm out of town. He's got so much to keep him occupied that I'm surprised he even remembers who I am.

But today at bedtime, Mae calls. "He refuses to sleep," the wife reports, "he says he wants to wait for Daddy."

I'm grinning from ear-to-ear just thinking about it. I guess my boy does miss me after all. And that is surely a good enough reason to update the blog. :)

Away From Home

Today I leave for Johor on business. It'll be a 3-day trip. And in about 2 weeks, I'll have to go again - for 5 days.

I used to look forward to getting out of the office but these days I just hate the idea of being apart from family. That, if anything, is a sign of growing up. Or growing old. Ugh!

This morning, I explain to the kid that I would be gone for a few days. And like I always do before I leave, I impart a little fatherly advice and instruction."You take care of Mommy, okay?" I told the boy. "Okay, Daddy" he answered sincerelt, and added, "Jesse play with Mommy"

Hah. At least I know Mae will be entertained while I'm away.

Musical Adventure

On Friday, I got a couple of passes to Yamaha's Asia Pacific Junior Original Concert. The APJOC is a showcase of talents borne out of Yamaha Music's Education System, and boy, what a showcase.

Every year some 35,000 compositions are submitted from all over the world. The best from Asia Pacific perform at the annual APJOC all around the region. This year, however, the concert is hosted here in Malaysia. The last one was in 2001, and the one before, I attended in 1996.

We took Jesse there, since its probably the only concert he'll be allowed in at his age. Besides, we were curious to see how he'd take to such a show. He was so into it that he sat quietly for most of the 2-hour concert.

The music was amazing, ranging from charming little numbers on the piano to complex symphonies played out on the Electone. With the quality of the compositions on show, it's easy to forget that these kids are actually performing there very own original compositions.

Halfway through this 8-year old's riveting piece, Jesse starts bouncing on my lap excitedly. "Daddy, I wanna learn this," he says, pointing at the handsome Electone on stage. I smile weakly at my son, while, in my mind, I'm working out monthly repayments, interest rates, and stuff from home I can bring to the pawnshop.

So yeah, if anything, the APJOC is a great big propaganda to get you to enrol your kids at Yamaha. Next year, Jesse will be learning music with the school's Junior Music Course. And Daddy will be eating cheap instant noodles for lunch everyday.

NOTE: Go read Dustyhawk's review of the concert.

Yamaha APJOC

The Yamaha Asia Pacific Junior Original Concert is an annual event held in countries around Asia Pacific. This year is Malaysia's turn to host. The last one in Malaysia was held in 2000. It features kids, from 7-15 years of age, performing their own original composition. However, if you think that this is a kiddie affair, you would be shocked. These kids write stuff far beyond their years.

I have 4 pairs of press invites to this sold out concert. However, these are reserved for bloggers only. The concert is tomorrow (16 Nov 2007, Fri) at 8:00pm at the Dewan Sivik Petaling Jaya in PJ State. If you would like to experience the APJOC, do mail me at thatjames[at]gmail[dot]com.

The Showtime That Almost Never Was

This is gonna be a long one. Hopefully the headers make it more readable.

Children like routines. That's what most parenting books will tell you. Because in routine is consistency and stability - all the things a child need to feel secure. Jesse is a textbook example of this. And quite unfortunately so.

Sunday was a big day for the boy. It was his kindie's year end concert and he was going as Prince Charming. But it would also be a day that breaks all conventions with him.

UNFAMILIARITY BREEDS CONTEMPT
First, he was going to school at 6:30pm. And he wasn't in uniform. And the "school" is also at our spanking new church building where the concert was being held. It was all too much for the poor boy to take in.

I had dropped Mae and Jesse off to park my car. When I called to find out where she was, I heard a child crying in the background. "Oh God, please don't let that be my child," I thought to myself. But God likes to mess with me every now and then. *sigh*

By the time he was ushered away to the kiddie seats in the hall, and we were seated amongst other parents he was still sobbing away - presumably because he thought we had abandoned him. And for the next two hours as show went on to entertain parents and kids alike, Jesse was okay one minute, and pining for his parents the next. I was miserable. Mae was miserable. And poor Jesse was probably the most miserable of all.

SMALL DECISION, BIG DECISION
Throughout the course of that time, I was two minds about what I should do. Do I spare him the misery by whisking him away, and also deprive him the opportunity to appear up onstage as he had so longed to do? (My boy lives for attention, I swear!) Or do I let him be and hope he's all okay by showtime? It was the simplest of decisions, yet this one tore me apart.

I decided to leave him be. Mae and I even stayed hidden as the toddler troupe passed up by to get up onstage. By then, his love for showbiz had surpassed his melancholy, and our boy proudly galloped onstage in full royal regalia.

I beamed with pride as I saw my little boy up on stage with his classmates, waving to the crowd. And like every idiotic parent, I was up there snapping photos of my boy with Jesse's Uncle Jeff in tow. That was when he spotted us.

A BURSTING DAM
"Teacher Lavender," he called out excitedly, loud enough for me to hear, "it's Daddy and Uncle Jeff!" But the discovery of his long lost Daddy was too much for him to bear, and there in front of the audience, I saw his composure slowly cracking. "Daddy is proud of you!" I cried out to encourage him. I probably would have made a fool of myself if weren't for the commotion of the crowd drowning me out, but I didn't give a shit. My boy needed to hear something encouraging.

He sucked it all in for as long as he could, until they led his group offstage. I made may way through the crowd in the most dramatic fashion, like one of those old Chinese movies where a father and son are reunited amidst a madding crowd. I knelt down and he ran towards me, jumped up on me, put his arms around my neck and cried buckets and buckets of tears.

"I wanna go home, Daddy," he sobbed. I told his teacher, then whisked him off to his legion of adoring grandparents, uncles and aunties who had come to see him. It didn't take him long to be a happy child once again.

LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON
Jesse is a little highly strung, and Mae and I have come to acknowledge this. Even so, this was a little puzzling to Mae. But it was all familiar to me. "I chickened out on my kindergarten concert as a kid," I told Mae. "Really?" she replied, and added, "shit." Or so I imagine.

But Jesse is way ahead of me. I never got onstage all those years back. But that, I will tell you more in another post.

That night, or poor little boy tossed and turned. "I wanna go home," he cried in his sleep, a few times over. Not even his nasty fall and the surgery had such an impact on him. I can only imagine what he must have gone through that night at his concert. :(

Princely Raiment

the artist formerly known as prince

Come Sunday, Jesse's kindie is putting up some sort of a year-end concert for parents and all. For the juniors, it's more of a fancy dress gig than a concert.

"The theme is Snow White & The Seven Dwarves," Mae tells me. Which pretty much means Jesse and his classmates will have to dress up like any of the characters in that show. *sigh* And I had all this hope of dressing up my boy as Darth Vader or something. But no, it was gonna be Snow White.

"My son must be the Prince," Mae asserted, every bit like the soccer mom that she is. "And you," she commanded, "You will make your son the best costume in the class." If it was a mother and son thing, Mae can easily pass of as the Evil Queen. Heh.

The tunic and cuffs are made of some stiff felt-like material finished off with some curtain trims. I used the same stuff for the fake boots and belt. Basically I wanted material that didn't fray at the edges, so I wouldn't have the terrible task of sewing seams (It's called cheating). The belt buckle is mine. The pants and shirt are Jesse's nightclothes. The cape is some cheap fake satin which tends to fray at the edges, but I cleverly used a lighter to melt the "seams". Everything is fastened with velcro, except the cape which is held by two ornamental buttons. And I stitched it all on this portable little sewing machine my MIL gave me.

Okay, so I'm not ready to quit my day job yet, but I think I did a pretty good job here. :)

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.

P.Ramlee The Musical

I grew up on P.Ramlee. Back in the 70s, they played his movies on TV all the time. The whole family would crowd around our black & white TV and laugh with the Man, enjoy his antics and sing his songs.

You have to remember that this was the 70s. There was no Astro. We had all of two TV channels. There was no internet. Hell, we didn't even have a damn PC. And the closest thing to a video game was Nintendo's Game N Watch. So yeah, P.Ramlee was entertainment for the whole family.

And then cue some 30+ plus years later, Mae bumps into her old friend at the shopping mall and suddenly we land ourselves a couple of free tix to P.Ramlee the Musical. Apparently poor Karen had two extra seats and no takers. Oh, the travesty!

The show was great - great script, great music, great ensemble cast and all. I especially loved the 2nd act when P.Ramlee's life story played out like one of his wonderful comedies.

Mae enjoyed it. For me, it was a bit of nostalgia, though I would have like to have heard a few more songs in it. Getaran Jiwa, one of P.Ramlee's most familiar tunes should probably have been in, simply because is so iconic. Probably Bunyi Gitar too. And then there is my personal favourite, Aci Aci Buka Pintu; simply because Mom used to sing it to me when I was a kid. *sniff*

The show is all sold out, but if anyone should happen to chance upon any free tickets, you should kill for them. :) But don't take my word for it. Do see TV Smith and Jeff Ooi's take on the show.

Mother-In-Law Day

Apparently, today is Mother-In-Law day, according to the Mix.FM. Some people say it's the 4th Sunday in October. Me, I'm just amused that there is a day to commemorate mothers-in-law. I wonder who decided it would be a good idea for a Mother-In-Law day. I'll bet it's somebody's mother-in-law. It certainly feels like the kind of thing a mother-in-law would think up. Just imagine:

Wife: Honey, aren't we gonna take Mom out for dinner this Mother-In-Law Day?
Hubby: Erm... I was thinking perhaps we should take my mom out.
Wife: You know I don't get along with your mother.
Hubby: This is the woman who brought your husband up, dammit!
Wife: I've lived with my mom all my life too.
Hubby: Believe me, I know the pain she must have gone through cos I live it everyday!!!
Wife: Well, if it's any consolation, at least your mother-in-law isn't a witch like mine!

This is just a dramatization from my warped mind. I assure you Mae and I have wonderful mothers-in-law. In any case, I doubt if we'll celebrate the day. It's yet another sneaky attempt to empty our pockets.

Be A Man

The little guy entertains me no end. These days he picks stuff up very quickly so you can imagine what joy (and comedy) that gives me. In case you're wondering where that came from, go ahead and play the clip below:

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.

Lo And Behold

I really should blog more often. When I started doing this back in '04, I thought it'd be a great way to record Jesse's development. And it is, capturing some of Jesse's finest moments as an infant. (Like this one here, which I love to bits!)

These days, his progress is more gradual and sort of just sneaks up on you.

For instance, he's been off the diaper a little bit at a time for over a month now. Yes, yes, I know, it's taken awhile and other kids are already off their diapers aeons ago... but this is my boy and that is always worth some kind of celebration. But the transition is gradual. He's still uncomfortable taking a poopie in the john.

Then, there's his conversational skills. Despite his bubbly persona, he does tend to clamp up on the phone, answering "yes" or "no" to any question. Over the week he's improved. A couple of days ago, he asked me to buy donuts. Yesterday, he wanted pizza. Sure, sure, kids ask for food all the time, but this is Jesse! :)

He sings. He picks up lyrics quite quickly even if he doesn't quite understand what they mean. And he reads. My boy, reading! Pretty soon he'll be moving out, getting married and having kids. *sigh*

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. :)

When Your World Turns to Shit

A few months ago, I blogged about this fella in my condo who jumped of his 4th floor apartment after a heated argument with his wife. He left behind a wife and two kids.

Yesterday, the family was in the news again.

The wife had moved out of the apartment shortly after. I supposed it must have been difficult to continue living in the place of their tragedy. Anyway, the family moved to a shophouse somewhere in Kepong. They also rented out a room to another young lady.

Yesterday morning, the ladies were found brutally murdered. They had been raped and stabbed. Her kids, hiding in their room were spared. But they were not spared the terrible trauma of seeing their mother get killed.

In just three short months, the kids has lost both their parents in the worst possible ways. I shudder to think how that must affect them. The kids will be living with a relative now. I hope they will turn out okay. I wonder how we can, as a society, help them.

We live in a pretty shitty world, and we could all use a little help now and then.

Riding the Dream Train

Jesse loves trains. Mae and I decided that the boy would probably get a big kick out of riding on one, so we decided that we'd take a day out on the town by train. Expectedly, the boy loved it.



This was his maiden voyage on the LRT. Since then, we've taken the train a few more times. And I expect we'll be doing the train thing for another few years until he outgrows the whole thing.

Judging by his reaction, it's a dream come true for the boy. And all for just RM1.60. At his age, it's not difficult to make his dreams come true, especially since most of his dreams probably involve trains, Spiderman, elephants and birthday cakes. His wishes are gonna get tougher to fulfill as he gets older, when they start involving foreign countries, beautiful women and fast cars.

So, for now, we'll try out best to make sure he comes close to living out his dreams. At least then when he grows up, Mae and I can always say, "Hey boy, we did all kindsa stuff for you and now you'll have to love us for all eternity!"

I think I'm gonna go write a parenting book or something. Heh.

Last Rites

Apparently, Nirvana's Memorial Park in Semenyih is a really big deal. At least that what Mae tells me. For some reason, she keeps tab on these things.

Mae tells me enthusiastically, "It's so beautiful and grand that..."

"That you wished you were dead?" I interjected matter-of-factly. Heh. But there is much wisdom in my wit. *ahem*

Ok. So you're dead. And your family buries you in a lovely plot of land with zen garden-themed landscaping, a cascading waterfall and a 30-foot statue of yourself erected in your memory. So what? It's not like you're gonna enjoy any of it. Besides, you'll really just be taking up precious space on the earth.

Me, when I finally go, I'm going down in flames. Literally.

I tell Mae, when I'm dead and gone, I'd just like to be cremated. And if she can find the time, to scatter the ashes out at sea. All I ask is that she makes sure that I'm really dead before they wheel my body into incinerator.

Birthday Shots

Lately, for some reason, technology is not agreeable with me. My camera is behaving like crap, my phone is shitty and my bloody MacBook is acting up again. Hence the lack of quality pictures on this blog. But, I do what I can. So here's a pictorial that was supposed to have been up a week back.



I forgot to blog this. Our friend, Jesse's favourite Auntie Maggie, made the boy a lovely blue brontosaurus pinata. He loved it to bits, literally. He loves it so much, he's still beating the poor creature every now and then. I think our boy may have a violent streak inside. WooOOoOoo~



This is Jesse's little birthday bash in Kidzone, Hartamas Shopping Centre. We invited family. Even though it's a kiddie party in a kiddie place, all our parents, siblings, cousins came along. Jesse has developed a taste for cake. Given his history of animosity towards food, I'm thankful that he's eating now, even if he's eating junk.



Mommy and Jesse going through the spoils. He's got plenty of Spiderman stuff. No prizes for guessing why. Uncle Stevo and Auntie Mich buys the boy boxing gloves and a punching bag so that he can stand up against the class bully. The boy puts on his gloves and takes his first swing at Daddy.



Jesse likes birthdays. But despite the parties, the gifts and the cake, we suspect all the boy wants to do is have everyone sing him the Birthday Song just so he can blow out candles. Next year we're scrapping all birthday plans, parties and presents. Instead, the boy gets a cake and a box of candles. Cake optional.



We bought Jesse this cake at a stall in Ikano. It's cute and colourful but not terribly well made. But guess what... the boy doesn't really care. He was just thrilled to be able to blow candles. The kids enjoyed themselves gorging on sausages, chicken nuggets and cake.

After all of this, we need some serious rest. Thank goodness birthdays are only celebrated once a year. Phew.

The Ghost of Merdeka Past

I spent most of my childhood watching the Merdeka parade on TV. My cousin, Chimps and I would wake up early just to tune in to the proceedings. And we usually stayed for the entire duration of the show too.

I can't remember exactly when it was that I stopped watching. Or why. But I outgrew Merdeka long ago. It stopped doing anything for me.

But there I was, yesterday in the thick of the action and for the very first time in my life. A church thing had gotten us downtown, and since we were there, Mae and I stopped for awhile to look at the parade as it went past Jalan Tuanku Abdul Rahman. It was quite a display - the pomp and splendour, the colours, the people...

Along the way, someone thrusted a bunch of mini Jalur Gemilang into our hands. I held on to it, so as not to disrespect the flag, but there was no way I was gonna wave it about like some dumbass tourist, I told myself.

And so the procession went on. And as it did, something happened. As some secondary school brass band marched past, I was taken back to a time when I too was in a marching band.

I must have been about 9 or 10 when I auditioned to play. I didn't know any music as I never had the luxury of music lessons, but I decided to give it a try anyhow. One thing led to another and suddenly I was playing the Pianica in our school marching band. When I came home that day with my band boy cap and my tassles and what-nots, I was the happiest little kid on my street.

I could never read music, but I played by ear pretty well. And so I faked my way through my long and illustrious career in the band. We played at school functions. We got so good that soon, we were invited to play at other schools too. And other functions - Wesak, funerals, sports events, and the like. Though I longed for it, we never did get invited to play at the Merdeka parade. It as probably because we were a small band, and possible also because we were made up of mainly Pianicas and Recorders. Still, for some reason, every time I got into the uniform and marched about, there was this sense of pride and perhaps a sense of belonging.

So there I was in the midst of the madding crowd of our 50th Merdeka celebration, when I felt that familiar feeling again.

I don't know what it was that brought about it. Perhaps it was the sight of the band, in full regalia, beaming with pride as the Drum Major led them down the street. Or maybe it was the non-uniformed units, each trying their damnest to stay in step and in line with their compatriots. Or it could be our valiant commandos, in their green fatigues and jungle facepaint singing patriotic songs. Or maybe it was the crowd from all walks of life, in every colour and creed, cheering our brothers and sisters along.

At that very moment, for just awhile, I felt the sense of pride and belonging that I once experienced as a child. Except that, as an adult without the rose-tinted glasses, the feeling overwhelmed me and brought me to tears. So, right there in the madding crowd, I wept as I waved the little flags and cheered to encourage the folks in the processional - knowing that they do it out of love, and that that love may never be reciprocated. And there, for the first time in my adult life, I felt patriotic.

I also felt a little bit like an idiot, but that was much later when I had the chance to visualise what a ridiculous sight I must have looked. Thankfully, Mae was polite enough not to make me feel like a jackass.

Happy Merdeka, folks.

3 Years Old!

Over the weekend, we celebrated Jesse's birthday.

On Saturday, we brought we threw him a kiddie's party at KidZone in Hartamas Shopping Centre. It was a small affair with with his little cousins, uncles and aunties, and grandparents.

On Sunday, the actual day that he was born, Mae and I bought him two little cupcakes, stuck in a candle, sang him the birthday song and the little boy happily blew the candles out. He had a whale of a time basking in the attention. He enjoyed it so much he made us sing six more times, just so he could blow the candles out over and over again. Hahha. It could have gone all night, but we quickly ate up the cakes so there was nowhere to stick a candle in. Yes, we're bad parents.

On Monday, we brought a cake to his kindergarten to celebrate with his little classmates. All the kids had had their birthdays in class and the boy had been eagerly looking forward to his turn. Didn't help that he was the youngest there, so he celebrated everyone else's birthday before he got to do his. Mae stayed up all night on Sunday to pack little party packs for the kids, while I woke early to fry nuggets and sausages for the little party.

Jesse's school had a strict policy on birthdays. Parents could only go during the kid's breaktime, which was midway during class. Despite the fact that we had prepped him for the day, I supposed he didn't quite expect us to turn up in the middle of class. And for that moment he was the happiest little kid in school. Then we had to leave, and he wasn't quite prepared to see us go. And the happiest kid alive turned into the saddest kid alive. Next year, we'll just leave the cake, sausages, nuggets and party packs and watch from a distance. *sigh*

Throwing a party is astronomical in terms of labour and cost, and of course, emotions. Perhaps next year we'll pluck up enough courage to invite our friends and his (who must be thinking: "How come we never get invited to Jesse's birthday") to our home.

I shudder at the thought. Ugh.

Old Man';s Ass

I'm not a terribly brand-conscious person when it comes to fashion and apparel. For that matter, as many who know me will testify, I'm not terribly fashion-conscious too. But, that's another story for another day.

Today, we discuss jeans.

Now, for as long as I have lived, Levi's are the preferred choice for jeans - or at least that's the propaganda I have been exposed to. Levi's are better. Levi's are well made. Levi's last longer. Levi's makes your ass look better, even for fat guys like me. It comes to a point where you don't even fight it anymore.

Until last weekend. Last weekend I decided to go against the grain. Let the lemmings wear their Levi's, I thought to myself. Me, I was gonna revolutionise my wardrobe. And so I strutted to Malaysia's favourite surplus store, F.O.S., grabbed a pair of jeans off the rack and headed for the fitting room.

I put on the new RM 39.90 jeans and whaddya know, I looked mighty fine (by my own limited standards, of course). I turned around to check out the back in the mirror when my whole world goes to hell.

There in the mirror staring back at me, was my ass, thirty years into the future. To get an idea what that looks like, go check out some 60-year old guy's butt and you'll know. Y'know the ones whose cheeks sag like a bulldog's.

Who the hell makes jeans like that?

I was so traumatised that all the way home, I has to seek constant validation from Mae on the age of my ass. "No, you don't have an old man's ass". "Are you sure?" "Yessssss-lah!"

Man. I'm never tucking in my shirt ever again.

Fear

While we were in Pangkor Island, I decided to take Jesse for a splash in the hotel's wading pool. Since it had been awhile since he's stepped into a pool, I figured it would be a nice experience for him. And it was. That is, until he fell face-first into the water.

The water was up to his belly-button and the boy was feeling fine. In fact, he was so happy in this refreshing element that he decided to try and jump about in it. Somewhere between bouncing around and splashing water, he lost his balance and fell in.

Fortunately for him, I never left his side (Propoganda: Boy, if you're reading this some time in the future; no, Daddy never left your side!) and so I reached in quickly to pull him out. He was a mess, of course. Coughing out water, wailing bloody murder and crying his eyeballs out.

At that point, I was spiraling into a guilt-trip of overprotectiveness, fearing that I had scarred my boy for life. And Jesse wasn't helping. He was clinging on to me like that face-hugging creature from Alien, clutching for dear life.

Then we both calmed down, father and son regaining our collective composure.

"You wanna go back into the water?" I asked the sobbing boy, despite my own reservations. Then, as he coughed up the remaining water in his lungs, he looked up at me with those huge puppy dog eyes, now red from the crying and the chlorine-treated pool water and answered confidently, "Yes."

The boy went back into the water and started jumping again, like a monkey in hot soup as if nothing had happened.

And just like that, our ordeal was over. He had conquered his fear, and I mine.

War & Peacenik

"That Mennis is a real rascal," Mae complained to me about Jesse's classmate. Apparently the kid pulled Jesse chair from under him just as our boy was about to sit down. "And right in front of me, too!"

"Why, that little shit," I replied, as images of unnatural child abuse crept into my head. Mae interjected, her voice vibrating with grave concern, "That's not the worst of it."

Crap. My kid was getting heckled by his classmate and there was more?

"Teacher Tze Nie is concerned as well," Mae told me earnestly. Apparently, his classmates tend to pick on him a little. They'd grab the toys he was paying with, or they'd pinch the goodies off of his lunchbox.

"He doesn't fight back," Tze Nie had told Mae, "or even protest or complain."

It hit me, then. My kid was a damn hippy-flower-child-peacenik. Sure, it's a good trait to be all peace-loving and stuff, but can a child survive like that?

"Maybe we ought to teach him how to kick some ass," Mae suggested. "Just for self defense," she quickly added.

But I didn't feel comfortable about raising my kid to be violent. Sure, I can't stand the fact that he doesn't stand up for himself, but on the other hand, I like my boy and his innocent lovey-dovey, turn-the-other-cheek ways. But what is a parent to do? Introduce him to the Way of the Dragon and rob him of his innocence forever? Or let him deal with it in his own time? Or perhaps something else, altogether?

"I'm gonna go step on Mennis' foot, maybe break his big toe of something," I told Mae.

"Don't be crazy," Mae said.

"The teachers might see you." Heh.

Happy Days are Hair Again!

Sunday was a milestones of sorts. It's Jesse's first professional haircut after almost a year, the second in his entire lifetime. For some reason, the boy is adversed to having his hair cut. The last time I attempted to cut his hair, I almost slit my own wrists out of frustration. Heh.

Anyway, the kid turns three in a few weeks and I figured, surely by now he'd have outgrown his phobia of haircuts. So, Mae and I, along with the boy and our maid, Anie headed down to the local Mamak Barber. Despite my own reservations about Mamak Barbers, I decided that both father and son should conquer our fears. And so there we were.

Go on, watch the video. :)



It turned out pretty well - the ordeal and hopefully, the haircut. Makes him look a little uncle-ish though. But the boy thinks he looks like Peter Parker now. Heh.

Oh well.

Sun of a Beach

beach bums

For our 5th Anniversary (belated) celebrations, Mae and I decided we'd like a little sun, sand and surf. It could have been a lovely, romantic getaway but we decided it wasn't gonna be much fun without Jesse, so we brought him along.

He loved it. Just look at that little monkey face. Heh.

Plenty of stories. And plenty of back posts I owe to this blog. I'll get around to it when I get around to clearing up some work that's been piling up. Just to whet your appetite, here's a little preview of things to come:

• Jesse learns to play ball from Little Skywalker.
• Jesse gets picked on at school and it's Daddy to the revenge rescue.
• Annie's song of tragedy and loss
• Daddy's underhanded propaganda
• And more!

Tune in same time next... erm... time. Heheh. I'll get around to it, I'm sure.

Arachnophobia

I was only blogging about this a couple of weeks back. We bought Jesse a couple of Spiderman suits and he refused to put it on. Well, now he refuses to take it off. And he wants to wear it everywhere. To sleep, to school, to the mall. Ugh.

He's so into the whole thing that I thought it might be fun to teach him the Spiderman theme song. He loves it so much that we've downloaded YouTube videos of the song. There's the original from the 60s. And then there's that version from Michael Buble. And those from Aerosmith and the Ramones. He likes 'em all.

Here's a video.



I would have uploaded a few more videos but I'm a lazy ass. Live with it. :)

I'm Back, Sort Of

It's been awhile since I blogged, hasn't it?

A couple of months back, my beloved beautiful black Apple MacBook crashed on me. Apparently the damn Seagate hard drive inside got jammed beyond all recognition. (Yes, I wanted to use a stronger word than "jammed" but this is a family blog. Heh!)

The computer was under warranty, but I was more concerned about the stuff inside.

"Didn't you back up?" people asked.

"It's a Mac, dammit," I said, insulted at the notion that us Mac-boys have to back up anything. "It's the best dammed computer in the world," I snapped, "nobody backs up a Mac."

Anyway, I sent the disc to a Data Recovery center in Singapore and they billed me RM600 just to diagnose. I paid. They opened it up, did some magic... and that did zip for the disk.

Thankfully I'm not as pig-headed as I allow myself to sound sometime. I did backup my stuff over the new year. But that was over 6 months ago. So I lost some work. And I lost photos of Jesse growing up.

Damn Steve Jobs owes me 6 months of my son's life. And the will to go on blogging. *sniff*

Spidermania

Jesse is a big fan of Spiderman. Ever since I pointed the billboards out to Jesse, the boy had been smitten with the webslinger. And since Daddy too is a fan, the boy has a growing collection of Spidey merchandise.

To date, Jesse's got a Spidey bag, a Spidey tumbler, pencil sharpener, stationery, stickers, a soft toy, Spidey undies, slippers, the works! And he's really into it too. Reading the books, watching the movie. He can even sing the first verse of the Spiderman song.

"Honey, I think it's time we got the boy his very own Spidey suit," I suggest. And a couple of weeks back, we found our way to Petaling Street where we got him the suits - the regular red and blue one, and the hot and spicy black one. And we even picked up a couple of masks for him.

The boy loves his suits but for some strange reason, he never wants to put them on.

"No, no," he'd protest. "Too big," he'd add, along with a host of other feeble excuses just not to wear it. He's also against the idea of me putting on his Spiderman masks. He'd bow his head so as not to look me in the face and he'd go, "Daddy, take out!"

*sigh* Weird kid. Still trying to figure him out.

A Woman Will Give You Shit

At least that what my old man used today. And he should know. Heh. But it's a little tragic when my 3-year-old little boy should find that out.

"Do you know what happened to Jesse yesterday?" Mae voice rattled excitedly over the phone this morning. She was, of course, dying to tell me.

"Cutie-Pie shat all over him," Mae said, "literally."

It took me awhile to respond. I mean, how exactly does one kid shit on another? And right in the middle of their kindergarten class too. Some pretty unsavoury images found its way to the dark recesses of my mind. Did his little co-ed pin him down? Or was he a willing party? Did he roll around in it laughing his head off?

"Is she cute?" the typical male in me enquired.

"Quite," Mae sniggered.

"Then I guess it was worth it."

No clever retort from Mae. She knows I'd take a whole load from her too. :)

UPDATE: In case anybody's wondering, this is not one of those cryptic posts. Poor little Cutie-Pie came to school with a bout of diaorrhea. She had a little accident and there was shit all over the place and for some reason, some of it ended up on Jesse's uniform and nobody can say for certain how that happened. I shall have to interrogate the boy tonight.

A Little Less Conversation

Even before he was born, I had longed to someday have meaningful conversations with my son. Unfortunately, Jesse is a boy of few words. For the life of me, I can't seem to understand why.

Legend has it that his father (*ahem) could talk long before he could walk. My mom and my aunties swear that between my cousin Dean and I, we were two kids rolled into one. At about one plus he'd be pushing me around in the stroller, while I barked out orders. He walked the walk, while I talked the talk. Must have been quite a sight.

His mother... hmph... just try and shut her up. Heh.

Jesse, however, isn't much for conversation. It isn't that he can't speak or can't communicate his wants and needs, it's just that he doesn't ever really feel like having a dialogue with anybody.

"What did you do at school today, Jesse? Did you learn anything new? Did you sing songs? Did you..."

"Jesse wanna oi-oi," he'd butt in, indicating his desire to go to bed, as if our questions were putting him to sleep. Meanwhile his classmates at the kindie are giving their parents a 200-word oral report or their day at school.

Little Gabriel tells his daddy Alex exactly what happens at school each day. Little Scott in the next class can tell his mommy that Jesse is his schoolmate when we bumped into them at Ikea. Jesse on the other hand, tells us diddley squat.

Either he's not interested in conversation, or he's up to no good at school. *sigh*

Till Death Do We Part

A couple of days ago, a neighbour in Block B of my apartment building jumped off the balcony of his fourth floor unit. Neighbours say he came home, got into a shouting match with his wife and decided he has had enough.

"Sometimes when you nag me, I just wanna slit my wrist and end it all," I told Mae once. Of course I was being an asshole at the time for saying that, but maybe a small part of me meant it.

I hate confrontations with the wife. And I think a lot of men share this sentiment. Having the wife nag you incessantly can really be a fate worse than death. This, I mean as a figure of speech, but unfortunately some men take it literally.

When we married, I imagined a life of bliss and eternal happiness - Mae whispering sweet nothings in my ear, smiling sweetly with every word that proceeds from her mouth. And then reality bites you in the ass.

It takes a lot to make a marriage work. When a husband and a wife get into a shouting match, here's an advice for the guys: shut up, or you'll just make things worse. As for the girls, hey, you too can shut up. Try it, it works.

Anyway, the couple were in their early 30s. I'm pretty sure whatever the wife might have said, she'll probably regret it all her life. As for the guy, if he had just turned around and gave the wife a big fat hug instead, perhaps things may have turned out very differently.

Much Needed Getaway

It was the school holidays and Mom was in town. Her brother and his wife suggests a trip up Gentings, and we decide it would be a good idea to tag along. Despite being just a one-day thing for Mae, Jesse, our new maid, Anie and I, it was a much needed getaway.

Mom's living all alone in Taiping these days since Grandma's passing. The trip was a great change of pace for her. It was too, for Mae who only started working again 2 months ago.

Clever me, in my usual absent-minded self, forgot to fill the gas tank before we drove up. Our last few kilometers up the hill were, as you can imagine, a pretty harrowing experience. And in case you were wondering, yes, the engine did die - but thankfully only some 300 meter away from the gas pump up in Gentings and at the stairs. My walk uphill got me gas and a good exercise.

(But don't think for a moment that the incident will teach me to keep my tank filled. I have had my car die on my on numerous occassions, and I never learnt my lesson then. :P )

At the outdoor park, we egged Anie to get on the Corkscrew. Anie is a sad little girl who hardly ever smiled (more on this in another post). So, up she went in the rollercoaster and down she came smiling ear to ear. It was the best thing for her.

As for Jesse, he had a whale of a time on the rides. However, being the school holidays and all, Genting Highlands was packed to the brim with schoolkids. Every fun ride was preceded by a half-hour queue. Imagine standing in a queue for 30 minutes with 13 kgs on your shoulder. It's no walk in the park, I assure you.

So yeah, it wasn't the best holiday getaway we ever had. Heck, not even close. But it was certainly much needed.

P/S - BTW, I'm behind on my blogging. This trip was a week ago. Today, we just came back from Taiping. Expect a flurry of entries in the next few days!

About Peng

in memoriam: Peng

Two weeks ago, a friend was found dead in her apartment. She was bound and gagged in what the police determined as a robbery, and she asphyxiated on her gag.

I can't say I knew Peng very well, but I knew her enough to feel the grief of her sudden and violent passing. We worked in many projects together in my church's drama production group. She did make-up, while I designed costumes and sets. She knew her stuff, having worked on some real professional productions before. I stuck around the backstage a lot, learning stuff from her - and she would always share.

Peng was a livewire. She was always loud and larger-than-life. And, as many of her friends would attest, she had a heart of gold.

I can't begin to imagine what her last moments would have been like, yet I can't stop thinking about it. Even now. Perhaps because of way she was taken. And perhaps, because you never expect these things to happen to people you know.

I was away in Miri for work when they held her wake. I regret deeply that I was not able to say one last goodbye. But perhaps it was better this way. I would not have been able to handle it very well.

Goodbye Peng. See you again someday on the other side.

Peng's Memorial

Pirated!

shiver me timbers... arrr!

Jesse's kindie holds a Pirates Party.

We bought the boy a plastic sword and a bandana, snipped up some clothes and a belt, and drew him a seafood tattoo. Too bad we can't put an eyepatch on him, otherwise he might have had a real shot at Best Pirate Costume award.

I sent him to school and called Mae after. "Did the other kids have better costumes?" the wife asked, to which I answered in the affirmative. "Aww, you should have drawn him a moustache like I asked you to," Mae sighed with regret.

Mae is a soccer mom.

Me, I've found my calling in life. Making costumes for my kid. :)

Corporal Punishment

Jesse is currently in his Terrible Twos phase. As the name implies, he can be terrible at times - kicking up a shitstorm in his wake when he doesn't get things his way. Unfortunately for the boy, Mommy's been reading Dr. James Dobson. If the name sounds familiar, well, he's the guy you hear on radio's Focus on the Family. And he's all for corporal punishment.

So in a particularly difficult episode of tantrum and tears, Mae brought down the cane on Jesse's butt. Expectedly, he cried his eyeballs out. Unexpectedly, however, minutes later he turned into a sweet little cherub of a boy - laughing, hugging and kissing Mommy.

"Children expect to be punished," Mae says smugly, regurgitating the good Dr. Dobson.

................

Yesterday, Jesse was throwing stuff around in a fit of tantrum. I warned that I would cane him but he continued his rampage anyway. And so I brought out the cane. One look at it, he cowered into a corner pleading for his life, "Daddy, dunwan!"

It melted my heart seeing my kid plead for mercy (heh!), but I knew that I had to follow through or I'll never earn his respect for my authority. "Give me your hand," I said sternly, then lo and behold, the boy raised his hand fearfully but obediently. I was so impressed that I almost hugged him and kissed him there and then. But I regained my composure quickly enough and brought down two light strokes on the palm of his hand, reading him his rights as I did - just to make sure he understood why he was being punished. He gave me one of his obligatory cries to signify that he had indeed learnt his lesson, and that was good enough for me. And soon after, hugs and kisses and laughter followed. :)

I hate the idea of beating my kid but I accept that, properly administered, a beating can be the best thing for a child. My grandma used to beat the crap out of me, and look how wonderfully I turned out. Heh.

Footnote: Read this. It's important. BTW, just because I'm for caning doesn't mean it's okay to beat your kids whenever you feel like it. It's also not okay to beat them out of anger and frustration. And don't ever let me see you beating your kid in full view of the public (e.g. supermarkets) - I'll kick your ass (unless you're bigger than me). Pull him into corner somewhere and spare him the public humiliation, if you really need to discipline him.

Indecisions Indecisions

I have a client who can't make up his mind without consulting his horde of minions. Which is fine, except they're all monkeys.

"Hey monkeys," he'd ask them, "what do you think of this new brand identity design."

"Ooohh ooohh aaahhh ahhh!!!" they'd screech in unison, "Monkey wants bananas!"

That's when he'd come up to me and say, "Sorry James," almost apologetically. "I like it, but I think my guys prefer something yellow."

Heh. This started out as a rant. I was all huffy and puffy and about to blow the house down and then I ended up amusing myself very much with my own clever little story.

Cheaper than therapy and just as effective. Viva blogging!

5 Little Words

The dinner had been sumptuous, as it had always been in this household. And as they have always done, father and son sat out on the balcony chatting the night away, beer in hand.

"So how was that Composite Index today, son?" the father enquired. "That little dip in the morning sure worked up your old man's heart," senior said with a chuckle.

The son, however was uncharacteristically quiet.

"Father, I..." he couldn't quite put it in words.

"What is it, son?" the old man was concerned with the furrow in his son's brow. Despite being well over 40 years old, dad had always doted on him. Senior put his arm over the younger man, "C'mon son, you can tell me anything."

It was right there at the tip of his tongue, but these words has always been difficult for him to utter. He had never been able to say it all his life and today was no different.

"I... don't know how... to say it," said the son, his breath laboured as little beads of sweat formed on his forehead. "Father... I..." he stuttered as tears welled up in his eyes, struggling to express himself. This was his demon. This was all that has been torturing him all his childhood and even now in his adult life.

The father could bear it no longer. "Just say it son," dad said, his voice quivering with emotion at his son's suffering, "just say it."

"Father," the younger man found composure at his father's encouragement, and over forty years, the words finally came. "Father, I have to urinate."

................

Heh. Jesse came up to me last Friday evening and said, "Daddy, I want to wee-wee." At long last, I dare say that the boy is finally on his way to being fully toilet-trained. I was so proud I announced it to our friends who were here for our weekly church group meet. And they all gave the boy a rousing ovation.

Now we just gotta work at, "Daddy I want to poo-poo!"

Homeward Bound

roma & jesse, 29th April 2007

Last Sunday, we sent Roma home.

The weeks leading to the day had been difficult. While we had done everything to ensure a smooth transition between the new maid and Roma, the biggest concern for us was how Jesse would take to his new Kakak. Roma had been with us since Jesse was merely 6 months old, and for the last two years she had been a pretty big part of his life. And so we spent many weeks prepping the boy for the day, explaining to him that his Kakak would be going home to her little girl, Yunita.

On Saturday, we introduced our son to Anie. It was awkward at first, but the boy warmed up quickly enough. Too quickly, in fact.

"Our son is a Faan Guat Jai," Mae exclaimed at how our traitorous little boy was now devoting all his attention to his new chaperon. I can only imagine that poor Roma might have felt slightly... erm... slighted. Still, the girl hides it well.

Then came Sunday. Roma was about to step into the departure hall, when I got the boy to say goodbye. "Buh-bye," the boy said, and then he added, "I love you, Kakak." And right there at the entrance of the departure hall, Roma broke down in sobs.

As as she stepped in, it occured to Jesse that that would be the very last time he would ever see his big sister again and our seemingly heartless little boy cried and cried. As he did, we did.

A chapter of our lives had come to a close, and that is always ocassion for a few tears.

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. :)

Dirty Tricks to Wake Your Kid

Kids, like most adults, are not really morning people. The difference is when adults wake up feeling like shit in the morning, we suck it all in, grin and bear with it cos we have to. Kids don't have to bear with anything.

Which is why some kids wake up in the morning all angry with the world. And the rest of the morning goes downhill for them. Their bath water will feel like crap to them. Breakfast will be unbearable. School will be torture. And poor Daddy and Mommy, who will have to deal with all of this, gets a bonus of bad mornings to top off their already bad morning.

Then comes Clever Daddy. (Drumrolls please, *ahem*)

Clever Daddy wakes at 7:00am. It's a shitty mornings like all mornings, but today there is a sweet smell of ingenuity in the air. Daddy does this thing - the bath, the brush, the shave and the shit. Then lo and behold, it is now 7:30am. Clever Daddy picks out a nice Barney DVD, pops it into the player in the bedroom and waits for the show to begin.

As the annoying strains of "I love you, you love me" fill the room, Unsuspecting Child is gently awoken by the sound of his freaky purple best friend. Clever Daddy then swoops down on Child and blows a raspberry on his tummy. Daddy and Child break out into laughter.

And there was joy throughout the land. Once again, the world was spared the melancholy of another crabby kid. Hurrah!

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. :)

Working Class Heroes

As of last week we became, once again, full-time working parents.

Mae had been on hiatus from the workforce for about a year. In that time, she had been pretty much a full-time Mommy to Jesse. Her day had been pretty much filled with activities for him. Daily trips to the mall (which I'm sure is every woman's dream), visits to Grandma's and the ocassional walks to the park with the boy. Over the last few months, her schedule also included ferrying Jesse to school and back.

Fortunately for Mae, there was Roma to take care of the chores.

However, this arrangement does take it toll on our finances. Though we weren't exactly hand-to-mouth, we could no longer afford little luxuries like weekend getaways to nice little places. Or nice breakfasts in posh places. Or more toys for the boy. And then there was the little apartment in which we live - which has gotten a little too small for our family.

Then an opportunity came which allowed Mae the opportunity to go back to work. In all honesty, I'm relieved. At least now we'll be able to save some money for a new house and even set aside some for a rainy day. Unfortunately for Jesse though, he'd be seeing a lot less of Mommy. For now, thankfully he doesn't seem to mind.

As for Mae and I, we'll be slaving our asses off for awhile until she makes tonnes of money. And then I can be a homemaker. Go window shopping. Watch lots of television and DVDs. KEkekke! Wish me luck, people!

Tumpang Bahagia

Recently some friends came up to me and recruited me to help out with this great idea they have for an e-shop. Here's an online shop with a slight difference - it's not an auction like eBay or Lelong. In fact quite the opposite. It gathers people together to share a bulk purchase so that everybody can go away happy with a discount. Everybody's always happy with a discount. :)

The concept is a little complicated for the everyday internet user. So, to help explain Tumpang better, the boys at Tumpang have come out with a nice little event. Cheap movie tickets to Spiderman 3 at Cineleisure Damansara! Uwaaah! Is that Fantastic or what? And tickets start from as low as Four ringgit! BTW, Spiderman 3 was my suggestion (very strong suggestion, mind you) cos I'm a sucker for people in colourful tights. AHahhahh!

Anyway, if this goes well, guess what I'll convince them to do next? :) Two tickets for the first person to guess right! Clues are in this post.

Check it out on our blog. Or go straight to the Movies@Tumpang page.

3 Little Words

Yesterday as Jesse was about to go to bed, he looked me in the eye, gave me a little monkey smile and said, "I love you, Daddy".

That was yesterday. Today, I'm still grinning ear-to-ear.

Love in Spurts

Occasionally, Mae and I have one of those soul-searching, mind-bending conversations. Okay, okay, most other times we just talk rubbish, but last night, it was one of those.

"Do you think that it's possible to love someone in one continuous flow over time," I ask the wife, in a moment of brilliance, "or do people love each other in little spurts and spatter?"

"Well?"

"Erm..." this was a tough one for her.

"C'mon," I demanded, "which is it?"

"Erm... you answer first lah!" It was a cheap shot, cop-out answer. It was also the kind of non-commital answer you would expect from a lawyer. (Yes, honey, you can sue me for that if you like... Hahha! ) But there in her non-answer, was her answer.

I don't think humans have the emotional capacity to love one another without taking a break. Admit it, I'm clever and you agree with me. :)

Veins of the Vain

Of late, my little monkeyboy has become very conscious of the way he looks. Jesse is quite the vain little fella. These days, he makes a stand on what he'd like to wear. Or at least he tries.

In a recent episode, Roma had attempted to put on a blue jersey on the boy. He protested violently, kicking and screaming, and resisting. "Black shirt," he decrees amidst the sobs. "Black shirt," he cried, indicating that he'd much rather wear his black little rocker t-shirt rather than any goody-two-shoes baby-blue tee. He also determines what colour pants he'd like to wear for the day, and what shoes to match the ensemble.

Of course there are the good days when we pick out exactly what he wants to wear. That's when the boy will strut around the house proclaiming proudly, "So handsome." Or when he's feeling a little whimsical, then it's, "So cute."

Yes, his mother's veins of vanity courses through his own. :) Then again, his need to be beautiful could very well stem from my side of the family. Most likely my dad - his gramps.

Dad wears boots all the time cos it adds two inches to his stature. He also wears slims shirts and slim pants because is offers him a svelte silhouette. To further enhance its effect, he wears them black.

And then there's his hair which is always perfect styled. Also perfectly dyed. Midnight black. Heh.

Dad's also a firm believer of cologne, gallons of it - just in case, I assume, should he ever bump into a blind person who may not be able to appreciate his beauty visually, they can still do so... erm... olfactorily.

With influences like these, it's pretty clear to see where things might be headed for Jesse. By next year, I fully expect the boy to ask for cash to do his own shopping.

Mini Cliques

After some three months of school, Jesse has settled in pretty well. So well, in fact, that he's got his own little posse of other little guys to hang out with. Imagine that!

The resourceful wife had managed to get her hands on a list of Jesse's classmate from Teacher Lavender. With the info, she starts prompting the boy to identify his homies. "Is David your friend?" she asks the boy, to which he repeats the name. He knows a David. "Gabriel?" No reaction. She proceeds. And so on and so forth.

The boy identifies a David and a Jordan as his friends. Armed with this newfound knowledge, Mae consults the Teacher.

"Really, those two?" Lavender pondered, "He likes the quiet ones, eh?"

I guess he does. And I guess birds of a feather do flock together, even at such a tender age. Jesse is a bit of a shy kid. Which is probably why he's hanging out with the nerds more reserved kids - his quiet little clique of like-minded little boys.

I wonder why that is. I sort of remember being a bit of a hellraiser as a kid. But then, I'm inclined to believe that the memory tends to glamourise the past to make up for a boring existence. Heheh No such luck for Jesse though. It's all recorded here on the internet. Poor kid.

Baby Love

baby-friendly

Jesse's got a little sister.

She's small, plasticky (and quite icky, thanks to the millions of kids who have had their paws all over her) and sits in a shelf in the far corner of Toys 'r Us, 1 Utama. And every time big brother comes to visit, he'll make his way to her shelf, pick her up and cuddle her. And ocassionally when he spots a little stroller close at hand, he'll even take her for a stroll around the place.

And whenever it was time to go home, he'd reluctantly part ways with her. "Bye-bye, baby," he'd whisper to her gently as he planted a loving little kiss on her forehead. (Euww... I know, I know! Icky.)

Still, it's quite a sight, his devotion to her.

I used to fear that Jesse would get jealous should Mae and I ever have another. But perhaps my fears are unfounded after all. And perhaps it's time to fire up the ol' oven. Hehheh...

Together-Gather

Last Friday I turned 36. I also decided that I'd spend it in the company of strangers at the Together-Gather Bloggers Party. One year older but none the wiser, I guess. Hahah!

But the party was a blast, except for the 2 hour jam leading to it. Still, kudos to the organising committee, especially Committee Chairman Wingz. All hail to the chief!

We met a whole bunch of people. Some old acquaintances. Some we've known through their blogs, but never met. Some completely new to us. Some people, we didn't manage to meet. That's mostly my fault. Despite displaying psychotic tendencies here on my blog, I am an excruciatingly reclusive person. Oh well.

Next year, count me in again. I'll try harder then.

P/S: To lazy to name names and link links. Sue me.

7 Tips For Choosing Your Maid

Come May, Roma's contract expires and it would be time for her to go home. And so today, Mae and I went to the agency to select a new maid. While the process is not an exact science, there are rules to follow. Remember you read it here first:

7 TIPS FOR SELECTING YOUR DOMESTIC HELP

1. Always look at the eyes. If your maid looks psychotic, she probably is and will castrate your husband and kill you in your sleep should you ever piss her off.
2. Beware the slut. If your maid looks slutty, she probably is and will seduce your husband, your postman, your garbage collector and your neigbourhood bread man. On the other hand, your mails will never get lost, your garbage bin will be spotless and you get free bread.
3. Guess her age. If your maid is 25, she is probably only 19. If she is 21, then you're looking at a minor. But if she's 28, then she's probably 48. If she's older than 30, chances are she's older than your mother-in-law and will probably behave like her too.
4. No beauty queens. If your maid is hot, you might find your bastard husband sneaking off to her room in the middle of the night. And suddenly you'll wonder why your brothers, father-in-law and your male cousins are visiting you so often.
5. Size does matter. A heavily built maid or one with a large frame will most certainly overpower you in a power struggle. Your death will be senseless and stupid, but most deserving.
6. Maid in Malaysia. If your maid has been to Malaysia a lot, chances are she would have established an underground network of renegade maids who will overthrow your household and take you hostage.
7. Outgoing type. If your maid has indicated in her biodata that she prefers working at eateries, she'll probably run away from your home to work at the local Pub Dangdut. If she's hot and slutty too, you can be sure your bastard husband will suddenly acquire a taste for Dangdut.

T-Rex vs B-Rex

Over the weekend, we had Jurassic Park on TV. Since Jesse likes Barney, who is supposedly a dinosaur, I figured he would probably enjoy seeing some "real life" dinos in action. Besides, I was intrigued as to how he'd take to less wholesome, less colourful dinosaurs. And so I turned down the volume a little, braced him close to me and we sat down to watch.

He really got into it, pointing to the screen when T-Rex made his debut. "Dinosaur," he said, as if to explain to me the proceedings over the idiot box. "Like Barney," I replied. Heh. He was loving it. Even when Big T flipped over a jeep to get to the couple of kids. "Naughty dinosaur, trying to eat the kids," I narrated. He grinned from ear to ear, as the dinosaur terrorised its human co-stars. And then, as the movie goes, the kids get away safely. When T-Rex exits, Jesse turns to pick up his Barney plush toy.

Suddenly, out of the blue, he flings Barney onto the floor and glares angrily at the purple plushie pedo. I hugged him close and asked why he was so upset. But since Jesse is a boy of few words, I'm left to wonder.

Perhaps, it pissed him off that T-Rex's scene was over. Or perhaps he was just mad that T-Rex never got to finish his job. Then again, it could even be that he was upset at the unfair media portrayal of his best friend as a bloodthirsty carnivore. Who knows?

That was also about the same time killjoy Mae gave me a look of disdain that pretty much said that I might have scarred our boy for life. Okay, okay, I'm a bad parent. But I always know how to fix things.

"Let's go watch Barney, yaayy!!!" I cried as I grabbed Jesse's favourite Barney video and headed for our bedroom away from the heat outside. "Yaaay Barney," cheered the little boy, all happy again as he followed me excitedly to watch yet another episode of B-Rex.

Battle Of The Wills

At his age, Jesse is able to understand what we say, though he may not necessarily understand why we say it. Still, as far as conventional parenting in the Tan Family is concerned, it means he's all ready for a good spanking every now and then.

Last week, we sat down to dinner and Jesse got a little difficult. For whatever reason, he decided not to partake of our food. He took a small bite of his hard-boiled egg and he decided that that was enough eating for the day. Despite our pleadings and coercing, the boy decided it was time for TV instead. And so the drama began. The boy wanted TV, and we wanted him to eat. And so we caned him on the palm. I doubt it it really hurt, but Jesse cried his eyes out anyway.

In the end I laid down the law - no food, no TV. I marched him off to bed, fully expecting him to buckle and eat some egg. But, no, it was not to be. This was a battle of the wills and I think the boy understood that to give in meant to give up his rights, his freedom and his way of life... perhaps forever.

And so my little freedom fighter put on a brave front, sucking in his snot and wiping off his tears and trotted off to bed. As he did, he turned around for one last wistful look at our lifeless idiot box and said in a sorrowful little tone, "Bye-bye, Barney."

*sigh*

We have no idea where he gets his strong will. His melodrama, however, is definitely his mother's.

Still, for some warped-out reason, I have newfound respect for my son. Either he will grow up to be a great leader, or he'll end up in jail. Hahah! Let's hope it's the former.

5 Reasons

I don't do a lot of memes on my blog. And for a good reason too. Whenever anyone tags me, I go on over and read about the meme. Then I start composing my thoughts in my mind, articulating every thought, constructing ever sentence and accentuating every nuance in every word. This goes on until next Tuesday when my brains suddenly implode, wiping out every shred of memory of the said meme.

Heh! Anyway, since MOTT's tag is still fresh in my mind, I have decided to do it. On with the show:

5 REASONS WHY I BLOG

1. I like to show off my powderful England. See me juggle multiple adjectives! Watch me tame that dangling participle! Witness as I split infinitives!
2. I am an attention-seeking whore and this blog is an extension of my ego. And it's all for you. Now you can kiss the spot that I blog on and worship me. Bwahahah!
3. I forget stuff and the wife is always trying to pull a fast one. "No honey, we haven't had our anniversary dinner yet." Now I have proof recorded all over the internet. Take that, honey!
4. I have a son whose father is destined for greatness. This blog records their every exploit and will someday provide a great resource for Daddy's authorised autobiography.
5. I love women, and this blog allows me to get in touch with so many of them from all over the world, too! Imagine what it does to my libido. Heheheh!

There! Now you know. I'm supposed to tag five people but I'm too lazy for that.

Emotions In Motion

Everything about Barney creeps me out. The purple suit, that pedo voice, and the way he likes to jump about. And despite me having very little love for this Purple Prince of Paedophilia, his creators found it necessary to further torment me with their threat of a lawsuit not so long ago. Ugh!

Unfortunately, Jesse (the little traitor) is completely enamoured.

It started awhile back when an ex-colleague Pinky bootlegged a copy for me. "He'll learn plenty," Pinky twittered. Maybe it was the fact that she raised 3 kids on Barney, or perhaps it was her mesmerising... erm... twitter(*ahaks*), I was sold. And along with me, my boy too.

One year and some 20 Barney VCDs later - all originals, mind you - Jesse actually learns stuff. Lately, he's begun to understand the concept of emotion, thanks to Barney's Happy Mad Silly Sad VCD. And he puts it to good use too.

Whenever we made him eat, or if we stopped him during his favourite activity, he'd put on his saddest little puppy dog face and say in his saddest voice, "Sad". Occasionally the little monkey would tell us that he was angry. And it seemed like he only felt sadness and anger in our care. Heh!

Then one day last week, while we were sprawled all over the floor drawing pictures, the boy gave me a nice little surprise. "Happy face," he said, smiling from ear to ear as he presented to me his masterpiece. And that brought a happy face, to my face.

And maybe I don't hate Barney that much anymore.



"smile" by jesse tan, 2007

Exodus

It's that time of the year again. As much as I love the festivites of the Chinese New Year, I really dread the mad rush home. A 3 hour trip home could end up lasting some 8 hours or more.

Now, I can handle the long drive. Heck, even my bladder has been trained to withstand long hours of no taking a piss. But the poor little wife and the son are made of softer stuff. *ahem*

Anyway, thanks to work, I am leaving at the last minute this year. Which also means I'm gonna be caught in some jam somewhere. I'm trying to strategise this as best I can, leaving at the exact moment when the roads are most clear but since there is no exact science on the subject, I'm not terribly hopeful.

I'm planning to depart at 5am tomorrow. I expect traffic to be minimal - lorries should have done their routes by then, while the average joe would still be asleep. You can also help by not crossing my path from 5am to 8am. Do that and I will appreciate you for the rest of my life.

Thank you for reading.

Freestyling

mommy administers the "penan" cut

Jesse's been kicking up some major fuss at the hairdressers and so we figured we'd try to do his hair ourselves. With pretty devastating effect too, as you can see here. Unfortunately for our boy, the only hairstyle we can manage is "the bowl". Oh well, that ought to teach him a lesson for being such a fussy little monkey.

I did his first haircut some 2 months back. He started screeching and screaming when I approached, scissors and comb in hand, probably fearing for his life. In a moment of genius, I decided to alleviate his fears by giving him a pair of scissors of his own to play, while I did the deed. Worked like a charm too. That is, until he decided to try snipping his own hair himself. Haha.

I was considering giving him a little trim for the Lunar New Year, but I figured I didn't want him to have tragic photos of only his third new year. So, this year he's going home to Taiping looking like a cute little Beatle. Or a tiny little Bruce Lee.

Can somebody say "celebrity haircut"?

Driven

who's gonna drive you home?

Like any hot blooded little boy, Jesse loves cars. And so on his 2nd birthday, Mae and I decided that he might get a big kick out of having his own little car - battery operated covertible and all!

Unfortunately, everytime he steps on the accelerator, the car moves. Never mind that cars are supposed to behave that way, it just simply freaks him out. In fact, many things seem to freak him out as he grows older.

He never had problems with slides. Now he does. He used to climb up and down furniture, now he's afraid of falling. He used to run excitedly towards escalators but these days, he worries that he might be sucked into the gears below. He also hates it when we try to put coins into his kiddie rides. I have no idea why this is. You'd think he had some traumatic experience with these things.

His nice (and bloody expensive) little car is no different. It freaks him out all the same. And so he has to be chauffered. And since there is no way a little car like that is ever gonna support my weight, Mae takes to the task.

At least we got some cute photos out of this. :)

The Education of Jesse

At 2 years and 6 months, Jesse can barely string a bunch of words to make an intelligible sentence, but dammit, the kid knows his ABCs and 123s.

He's been reciting his alphabet and numbers, even before his 2nd birthday. There was a time whenever we went shopping, he'd stop right there at the signboard just to point and identify the characters. As you can imagine, our shopping trips became twice as long just waiting for the boy to read all the signages in the shopping mall. Heh.

Anyway, one day I decided it'd be fun to screw with his little brain and so I started showing him sign language of the alphabet. But the boy started learning that too. Then Mae thought it'd be funny if we pressed the wrong floor on the lift and let him out. But Jesse was way ahead of us. In fact, one time I actually got off on the wrong floor and my boy called me back in.

Lately, he's decided to write. So far, he's managed the letters P, L, E, A, V, M, T, H, L, O, N. If I didn't know better I'd say he's trying to spell, "Please leave me the hell alone" or something.

For now, Jesse is enjoying his mornings at the Kindergarten, learning new stuff. Today I paid him a little visit and saw him and his little friends learning how to use the scissors.

Hmmm... it looks like there could be interesting days ahead.

The Way to a Man's Heart

gimme! gimme!

Men (the ones of the masculine persuasion, anyway) are simple creatures. We are easy to please. So easy, that I have no reservation whatsoever to speak for my brethren:

Men love fried chicken.

It's not exactly the great big secret of the universe, or the meaning of life, but it does come pretty damn close. The thing is, women know this. But for reasons that elude me, when a woman transitions in her life to become a mother or a wife, she conveniently forgets. Allow me to illustrate.

My mother was in town only recently. "James loves steamed chicken," she tells Mae. "He does?" Mae reconfirms with Mom. "I love fried chicken," I yell from across the room, disturbed by the conversation that was taking place before me. "Yah, he loves steamed chicken."

Isn't it amazing how mother knows best? That was just barely a month ago.

A couple of weeks ago I call home. "We're having rendang chicken," Mae tells me. "Why can't we ever have fried chicken?" "But you love rendang chicken," she rationalises. You can never really talk to a woman.

Still, miracles do happen.

Monday night, Mae made fried chicken. And that night, as I clocked up my cholesterol count, I fell in love with my wife all over again. Isn't it any wonder that the physical manifestations of love closely resembles a mild cardiac arrest?

The Kindie Report

On Friday, after a good thirteen days in kindergarten, Jesse finally gets it; kindie is fun. And with that, I present to you the Kindie Report - not to be confused with the Kinsey Report, which is juicy little report about sex. This is just a report about my kid and his kindergarten experience. I'll sex it up as best I can, but no promises, ok?

DAY ONE
Mae and I send Jesse to school on a Wednesday. The kid is wary of his new surroundings but since we're there, he's ok. We even make a break for it, halfway through and he was just fine.

DAY THREE
The last day for parents to stick around, Mae takes Jesse there, but keeps her distance. It was too much for our boy and he decides to lead a mutiny. The Leader of the Revolution grabs his little Barney backpack and heads for the door crying his eyes out. This riles up the crowd and suddenly the all the three year olds are packing up and crying for mommy.

DAY FOUR
Mae leaves Jesse at class and heads for the door. The boy cries as teachers pry him away from his Mommy. The ordeal is too much for Mae. Jesse cries much of the day. He also becomes a legend, as every teacher has had a hand in consoling our cry baby.

DAY FIVE
I bring Jesse to school to give Mae a break. I walk him to class and he's all agreeable to the whole idea of Kindergarten. The moment I leave, the kid starts his kicking and screaming. Teacher Lavender pats me on the shoulder and looks me earnestly in the eyes, "I'll take it from here James, ok?" She was trying to console me. Jesse cries a lot during the day.

DAY SEVEN
With all the crying, we had expected Jesse to refuse to go to school, but surprisingly, the kid actually likes it there. He'd cry whenever he got there but would be quickly distracted by the class bicycle, which he loves. Problem was, that was all he did - cycle around. Kids sit at the table, our kid would be on the bike. Kids would be eating biscuits, our kid would be on the bike. Kids would be lining up for the john, our kid would be on the bike.

DAY NINE
Mae finds out that her son is as melodramatic as she is. He'd cry when she left him at school. Then he would proceed to have a good time right up until school's over. And when he walks towards the door to his Mommy outside, he'd cry, just for effect.

DAY NINE TEN
Teacher Lavender takes drastic measures to get our boy to participate in class. The bike goes. And the boy finds that there is live beyond bicycles. Again, he puts on his saddest puppy dog face when he greets Mommy at the end of school.

DAY ELEVEN
Jesse was so excited at the prospect of school that he forgot to cry. Fortunately, he remembered just in time when Mommy came to get him.He did, however cry all the way to school because he hated his brand new uniform which he wore for the first time today, but more about that in another post!

DAY THIRTEEN
No more tears! Finally.

And that concludes the Kindie Report. As for the sexed-up bit, well, Kindie is a good place to meet hot young moms. Hahahah! But don't say I told you so.