Someone's really hungry


He suddenly stopped short in his tracks.

Pointed to a car and asked, “Are the rims nicer than daddy’s?”. Next second, he answered himself in affirmative.

Squatted beside the car and shouted for his daddy across the carpark to admire this set of rims that’s nicer than his.

Nicer rims

We finally scheduled a meeting with the husband’s good doctor after we bumped into him at the supermarket.

And yes, we were faced with pretty poor readings from the blood tests and all. It’s definitely easier to run away from the reality of the issue but I’m so glad that we met him.

Thus, the husband decides to embark (or rather, re-embark) on his exercise regime and since one of his pet peeves was the closing hour of the gyms, he decided to head to Aibi to equip himself with some decent set of weights.

We almost left the place a few thousand dollars poorer.

It started with an innocent question about their Goldfish Shaker which led to a conversation about massage and vibration technology which in turn led to him introducing the ZenPro to us.

Then it was ALMOST the point of no-return. You know, the usual touting of its benefits. Weight-loss, blood circulation, exercising the core muscles etc.

Thankfully, our restrain held up. That and the image of my mum’s face when she sees this in the living room.

Heidi and Paul Jackson’s twin girls, Brielle and Kyrie, were born October 17, 1995, 12 weeks ahead of their due date. Standard hospital practice is to place preemie twins in separate incubators to reduce the risk of infection. that was done for the Jackson girls in the neonatal intensive care unit at The Medical Center of Central Massachusetts in Worcester.

Kyrie, the larger sister at two pounds, three ounces, quickly began gaining weight and calmly sleeping her newborn days away. But Brielle, who weighed only two pounds at birth, couldn’t keep up with her. She had breathing and heart-rate problems. The oxygen level in her blood was low, and her weight gain was slow.

Suddenly, on November 12, Brielle went into critical condition. She began gasping for breath, and her face and stick-thin arms and legs turned bluish-gray. Her heart rate was way up, and she got hiccups, a dangerous sign that her body was under stress. Her parents watched, terrified that she might die.

Nurse Gayle Kasparian tried everything she could think of to stabilize Brielle. She suctioned her breathing passages and turned up the oxygen flow to the incubator. Still Brielle squirmed and fussed as her oxygen intake plummeted and her heart rate soared.

Then Kasparian remembered something she had heard from a colleague. It was a procedure, common in parts of Europe but almost unheard of in this country, that called for double-bedding multiple-birth babies, especially preemies.

Kasparian’s nurse manager, Susan Fitzback, was away at a conference, and the arrangement was unorthodox. But Kasparian decided to take the risk.

“Let me just try putting Brielle in with her sister to see if that helps,” she said to the alarmed parents. “I don’t know what else to do.”

The Jacksons quickly gave the go-ahead, and Kasparian slipped the squirming baby into the incubator holding the sister she hadn’t seen since birth. Then Kasparian and the Jacksons watched.

No sooner had the door of the incubator closed then Brielle snuggled up to Kyrie – and calmed right down. Within minutes Brielle’s blood-oxygen readings were the best they had been since she was born. As she dozed, Kyrie wrapped her tiny arm around her smaller sibling.

(Source: Growing Your Baby)

In the day, I must protect the daughter from a boisterous son. He’ll squeeze her cheeks together really hard or pull her roughly to him to be enveloped in a BEAR hug.

At night, I have to protect the son from the over-zealous daughter.

They sleep on the same bed though separately by a pillow to make sure none get mistaken as a bolster in the middle of the night (which has happened before). He usually sleeps before her so when she spies him on the other side, her eyes lit up and she propels her way there to gives him a few firm slaps in a bid to wake him up. Since that usually fails, she’ll take to grabbing his hair or face. And the brother will gladly let her do that.

Perhaps I should consider a career change.

I have a pet peeve.

I dislike pink on little girls.

I don’t hate pink per se but it irks me when I see girls who are dressed from top to bottom in pink (and purple). And are you that surprised when they tell you their favourite colour is pink since that’s about the only colour they’ve seen since birth.

And it irritates me when people naturally assume that girls MUST wear pink.

Hey, it’s my child and anyway, who was the one that made a decree that pink BELONGS to girls? I’ll dress her in pink if I want to but nothing’s gonna stop me from decking her out in black (I did, but actually had someone who commented that I shouldn’t do that).

I really dislike these gender stereotypes. Children do not understand these genderisation but it is the adults who pass along all these silly notions to them. It’s just like how girls SHOULD play with dolls and boys HAVE TO play with cars.

Silly. And this is how the children grow up with narrow-minded viewpoints about gender.

Just today, the son told the husband who was wearing a pink polo, that pink is for girls. This coming from a little boy whose favourite colour is actually pink. I told him that’s not true. You should have seen the son’s face lit up when the husband told him that pink does not belong to girls or boys, and pink happens to be one of his favourite colour.

Why should a boy made to feel wrong for liking pink? Does a girl get laughed at if she likes blue?

Every year, the school has a shopping day where K2 children get to be entrepreneurs and bring wares for sale to the younger kids in school. Last year, the son came home with some snacks and a ‘Hello Kitty’ purse that he proudly showed me.

Hello the Kitty

A few weeks back, he told me that some kids laughed at him. Can you guess the reason?

Because ‘Hello Kitty’ is for girls.

Major sigh.

Now comes the parenting dilemma.

I try not to expose my children to genderisation. But I cannot control other children who chose to tease him because of that, and yes the mummy guilt sometimes makes me think that it’s my fault. What if he keeps getting teased because of my own beliefs? But then, it feels extremely sucky to succumb otherwise. Am I simply making a mountain out of molehill? Perhaps I’m thinking too much and it’s not an issue at all?


On a side note since we’re on the subject of pet peeves, why are little girls decked out in bikinis? To me, that’s sexualisation of a child. I think I must be a prude because when I come across pictures like these, I just feel they look so strange.

Shouldn’t a child just look like a child, rather than a mini-adult?

And the notions of princesses (especially Disney princesses)? Gives me a splitting headache.

The daughter’s latest habit is spitting saliva all over the place. Or rather, I meant playing with her saliva. I’m sure she think it’s fun because she looks you straight in the eye before doing it, and then flashing you a disarming smile after. Before doing it all over again.

The spitting part reminded me very much of Triple H.

If you’ve ever watched wrestling, you would have probably chanced upon him. I don’t know why and how he could ever think that walking into the arena with a water bottle (amidst all the angsty and angry music), drinking the water and then spitting it all above him could possibly be seen as intimidating.

For the benefit of the non-wrestling fans, here’s a preview. You can skip right to around 0:50 and get ready to be amused.

I mean, I imagine he would create more fear and trembling if he spit fire or something. But water?! Or it would be more awe-inspiring if he could spit it 5 feet high. Plus it lasts all of 1 second and probably end up on his face. Each time I witnessed that, I can only dissolve into laughter. And he has to carry his own bottle every time he does it.

Tsk. How unglam.

At least the daughter doesn’t have to cart around a water bottle to perform the feat.

Last year, the friends and us came together to celebrate the mid-autumn festival with a picnic, complete with mooncakes, piping hot Chinese tea and of course, lanterns.

This year, we decided to do the same, even though technically the celebration was over but I think none of us really cared. Our menu included roast beef sandwiches, pizzas, seafood balls and mooncakes.

Us having a picnic, and trying to imagine cool wind blowing at us

It would have been perfect if it was done in the cool winter of Perth, among the green green grass. As a friend put it, I think we’re suffering from post-Perth depression.

The invite said Balloons & Bubbles and it certainly lived up to it.

We had a fantastic time at the party and I’m truly amazed at how it went (in fact, I think we stayed a tad too long.)  I’ve never entertained the idea of having a party at home not simply because our place was small cosy, but also the energy and brain-cells to conceptualise and pull it off? Not easy.

The son had a blast painting with the balloons (in keeping with the theme). Balloon painting
Finger painting

Me think he could also be a little deprived since he painted almost everyday when we had our own place, as compared to now.

And I just have to add this photo because it’s adorable how she just stood there.
Happy 2 year old, Bubbles!

Blessed birthday Bubbles!

One fine afternoon, we decided to grab tea at Chin Mee Chin after reading all the glorious reviews on HungryGoWhere.

I’m not sure if it was because we popped by late but it certainly didn’t live up to all its hype.

The iced Milo was diluted. Or rather, I felt I was drinking iced water with a tinge of Milo. Granted, that’s not one of its famous items but how hard is it to make a decent cup?

Cupcake @ Chin Mee Chin

I wasn’t impressed with the teeny cupcake too. Yes, I the-not-a-food-connoisseur-and-everything-taste-ok-consumer actually feels it’s over-rated.

Kaya bread @ Chin Mee Chin

At least the kaya bread was decent. But I so miss the good old Hainanese kaya from Ipoh.

We didn’t get our hands on the famed cream horns or custard puffs but I really doubt we’ll be making a special trip for them.