Of Sibling Love

The little girl was watching TV, giving it her full and focussed attention as always.

The little boy was keeping his sister company, messing about with his cars and engines, not really interested in a program that featured neither firemen nor trains.

As the end credits rolled, their mother stepped into the room saying, 'Alright kids, time to turn off the TV. It's bedtime.'

A wail of protest from the little girl, 'But Mom! I only watched for 10 minutes!'

'Too bad', the hardhearted mother replied, 'You should have thought of that when you were dawdling over dinner. Now it's time for bed.'

'But...!'

'No buts. Now go brush your teeth before you lose your bedtime story as well.' So saying, she reached for the remote and turned off the TV.

Outraged at the unfairness of it all, the little girl burst into tears.

Taking a deep breath, the mother prepared to deliver the threatened punishment, but the little boy was too quick for her.

Inserting himself between his exasperated mother and his sobbing sister, he pointed an accusatory finger at his mom and yelled, 'Mama naughtyboy! Nay-nay TV watching!' Then with a yowl that sounded suspiciously like a war cry, he attacked, attempting to climb up his mother's legs and retrieve the remote that she held.

One-handed and slightly off balance, the mother tried to fend off her ferocious little attacker, even as her daughter stopped wailing to watch the struggle open-mouthed. In the meanwhile, the father had arrived at the scene and persuaded her to go choose her bedtime story.

'Come on, Munchie,' she said, in the manner of a warrior queen calling off her troops. 'Let's go choose a story.'

And just like that, he released his grip on his mother's leg and trotted off behind his big sister, ready to fight for her again should she need him.

Or just fight with her, as happened exactly one minute later in an all out brawl about which bedtime story should be read first, involving much yelling, hair-pulling, and scratching.

Oh, the love!

This post is dedicated to my younger brother on what would have been his 27th birthday.
Happy Birthday, M. I miss you.

Ready, Get Set....

Ready...Get Set...

Just say these words to Munch and watch him throw up his arms and yell:

GOOOOOOOOO!

At 16 months, that pretty much sums up his life's philosophy. He's always on the go, taking on each day with astounding energy and endearing good humour.

Although I had initially thought he'd be a bit later on his milestones than his big sister, except for that first roll-over which he managed a couple of weeks later than she did, he's actually been at least a month ahead of her in everything else.

I suppose it's because Munch believes he's really three years old, and therefore sees no reason why he shouldn't turn somersaults, jump off coffee tables, go up the slide the wrong way, and hang upside down off railings, just like his sister does. The only problem is that his gross motor skills, while fantastic for a 16 month old, are really not upto 3 year old standards. So he's never without a bruise or bump somewhere on his body, but he doesn't let that ever dampen his enthusiasm. Every cut or bump is forgotten and he goes back to do the exact same thing within minutes of the last tear being wiped. Whether that stems from real courage or from having bumped his head one time too many, only time will tell, but it certainly makes for exciting times around here!

Probably because of hanging around his extremely verbal sister (here we go again, do second borns EVER get any credit?!) Munch is so much better at communicating with us than Moppet was at this age. Not only does he have a large number of regular words, he also has some specific babble words that are used consistently for the same situation. So 'pacha pacha' is always said while handing over a bottle or a box and means open / take the lid off. Or 'minnum minnum' which means 'I want', or 'Taa!' said with a fat little hand held against his own cheek, meaning 'hot!'. And he understands so much of what we tell him too, it's amazing.

When he was barely a month old, I got the feeling that he'd be the family funny guy. I was right. He delights in getting a laugh out of his audience, and he gets plenty. His antics have us in splits all the time, and he's always coming up with new 'acts'.

At 16 months, I'm happy to report that while he continues lives up to his nickname of MatterEaterLad, his palate has gotten marginally more discerning. He's still happy to sample anything new that comes his way, animate or inanimate, but at least he's now better at recognising (and spitting out) inedible items. This also makes feeding him rather a pleasure, since he's open to a variety of tastes and textures, in stark contrast to Moppet who is an exceedingly fussy and slow eater. I have on several occasions caught her palming off her food on him which he, despite having already finished his own meal, is only too happy to accept.

He continues to maintain his easy-going good humour and is rarely cranky. He may sometimes be a little clingy around me, but usually that's only when he senses I may be going out without him, or when I've just come back home. Since for second kids, sharing is the only way they've ever known, there's none of that jealous possessiveness that consumed Moppet at this age. He is a teeny bit possessive about her, though - I've noticed that he doesn't quite like it when she plays with other kids. He comes around and generally tries to poke or shove the other child away.

He can be quite a ruffian at times and likes to play rough. Poor Moppet bears the brunt of this, because he throws himself on her and sometimes even bites her. It's him being playful and affectionate, but I've had enough of those bites to know it really hurts. And since I'd drilled into Moppet the need to be gentle with 'the baby', she neither resists nor retaliates, and just lies there crying piteously. It has reached a point where, unable to get the message across to Munch that this sort of play is not appreciated, I've had to show Moppet how to push him away firmly but gently.


Life with Munch is a big barrel of laughs, punctuated by mini heart attacks, and laced with exhaustion. But every night, despite the tiredness, I find myself holding him for a while after he has fallen asleep, his warm body curled into me, his head nestled in the crook of my elbow. I listen to him breathe, feel his eyelashes on my arm, and gently stroke his cheek. For those few minutes, I close my eyes and pretend that I have stopped time, and my walking, talking, 16-going-on-36 month old toddler is still my little baby.

Tales from the pot

Okay, so this is not exactly the best subject for a comeback post, but given my abysmal rate of posting this year, I figure at least it's a post, right? D, this is for you :-)

I have on occasion asked friends whose kids found all things potty hilarious, whether it's a boy thing, seeing that Moppet didn't seem to find it particularly funny. They assured me it wasn't, and that I only needed to bide my time. Yes, you have my permission to call me an idiot. Of all the things to worry about, I just had to worry about her not being age appropriately amused by potty.

Anyway, even that worry didn't last for long. These days she has developed a rather sophisticated (if indeed, this word can be used together with toilet jokes) sense of potty-humour.

For example:

Me: Are you done yet, Moppet?
Moppet (examining the contents of the pot): Not yet. I've only done a leetle baby potty. Now I need to do a mama potty, a papa potty, and a sister potty.

Or:

Moppet (making a sad face): Mama, my potty is very sad.
Me (against my better judgement): Why is your potty sad, Moppet?
Moppet: Because he fell in the water and lost his best friend Susu.

These little punchlines are usually followed by a 2 second pause during which she scans my face for the appropriate disgusted expression, and then bursts into peals of excited laughter. I think she's going to have a real talent for stinky pjs when she grows up.

And as for Munch, I already know I don't need to worry about him. Everytime he farts or burps he giggles and looks at me to make sure I appreciate the wonderful sounds he's produced. He's even been known to clap his hands for a particularly loud burp. And his father is genuinely proud.

I think my original hypothesis was right. It IS a boy thing.

You're One!

It's been an eventful year, hasn't it, my darling?

Starting with the day you arrived, it's been a such a full, rich, exciting year. We've had more holidays this year than in the last 3 put together. We've moved homes and countries, and you've accumulated more stamps in your passport than you have teeth! You've taken it all with your characteristic equanimity. I could learn a thing or two from you.

With your sister, I've often complained that I never quite realised how quickly she went from being a tiny babe who fit in the crook of my arm to a sassy little girl who wants to do everything by herself. I've tried not to make that same mistake with you. I've savoured every moment of this year with you, even those moments that were sad. Yes there were some of those, and plenty of tiring, exasperating moments too, and I have savoured them all. I can tell you this though - there have been no boring moments this year!

Watching you grow into the happy, friendly, fearless, enthusiastic little fellow you are today has been immensely fulfilling. You make me so proud, baby - I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell you how much.

As you step into your second year, I look forward to exploring life with you. Exploring, examining, and experimenting in that calm yet intensely curious way that you have.

Happy birthday, Munch!

All my love, always,
Mama.

All about Munch

Munch is 11 months old today and I've probably done 5 posts on him, if that. It's not my fault, just blame it on the second child syndrome!

Seriously though, I'm enjoying his babyhood so much more than I did Moppet's. Not that I didn't enjoy Moppet as a baby, but there was a lot more worry and self-doubt at the time. With Moppet, I'm finding her current phase much more enchanting than her baby phase. The things she says and does surprise and delight me every time. You'd think I'd have learnt to expect it by now, but she still takes my breath away with all her chattering.

But this post is about Munch and what a delicious little fellow he's turning out to be. Sadly, it appears that the whole 'good boy' impression was just an act. Having deceived us all into thinking that he was going to be a quiet, well-behaved young man, he sprouted horns overnight and turned into a babbling, walking, dancing, hair pulling, mischief mongering little imp.

He took his first unaided steps at nine and half months and now does what I call the zombie walk - arms outstretched for balance, he teeters and totters (particularly around corners), but manages to stay upright the whole distance. He's practically stopped crawling now, and no longer needs support to pull himself up. He goes from sitting to crouching to standing and walking all by himself. And now that he's figured out that when he walks he has his hands free to carry stuff, things are getting ferreted away and turning up in the most unexpected places.

Oh and he dances! It cracks us up every time. He toddles up to the music system and then jigs up and down in time to the beat, waving his arms like a windmill with a supersized grin on his face.

He babbles a lot - not just a a few repeated syllables, but a stream of made up words that sound so familiar that I wonder why I can't understand what he's

saying. Like when I go in to get him after his nap, he'll be standing in his crib and will say something that sounds like 'Aathaka?' on seeing me. And the tone screams 'what took you so long?' Or the way he puts his fist behind his ear and goes 'Aa-uh?' in exactly the same tone as I say hello on the phone. He does say a few recognisable words - Papa, Mama, and Ka (car) being the most oft heard.

He attempts to eat everything he comes across, earning for himself from his father the nickname MatterEaterLad, who is apparently some obscure comic book superhero. He has ingested some sort of insect (I only managed to extract the wings from his mouth so I have no idea what sort), assorted varieties of leaves and grass, mud and gravel, crayons (which I realised only when he threw up bits of it later), and plenty of paper. A nickname well-earned.

He's learning to stand up for himself against Moppet. Her days of being queen bee are numbered. If she tries to take something away from him, he hangs on for dear life and screams in her face. He pulls her hair every chance he gets. He bites, mostly out of affection, but sometimes in frustration, a habit I'm trying to nip (heh heh) in the bud. To her credit, Moppet rarely hits back. Having been the recipient of some of his pinches and bites, I know that they really hurt. But though she may scream or push him away, so far I've never seen her hit or poke or pinch him back.

On the whole, he's a most satisfactory baby. He's soft and cuddly and affectionate. Friendly, sociable and a complete clown. Total paisa vasool. Even though he's done his growing up as fast as Moppet, faster in some cases, he's still very much a baby, unlike his sister who always felt like an old soul to me.

Kaala tikka, my darling boy, and happy 11 month birthday!

Around the world in 80 clicks

It's taken the combined might of FOUR bloggers to get me off my arse and do this tag, so you guys can see what a ball I've been having (not!) here in sultry Singapore. 

The Mad Momma, Dipali, Gauri, and Kiran, have all invited me to join this virtual mommy globetrot  and the ticket is to tell you 5 things that I love about being a mom. Only 5? Easy peasy! Here goes:

1. I love that the simple things my children do can fill me with so much joy and enormous pride. A pink caterpillar drawn by a confident 3-year old hand that actually looks like a caterpillar. Tottering steps taken by still soft and tender 9-month old feet. An impromptu concert where the lead guitarist belts out Twinkle Twinkle at the top of her voice, and the drummer chews contemplatively on the drumstick.

2. I love that the simple things I do can be the cause of such happiness. A silly noise and a funny face is all it takes to get the boy to scream with laughter. An unexpected extra story at bedtime has the girl beaming fit to split, and earns me big, squeezy hugs. Never before has it been so easy to please, and, I suspect, never again.

3. I love that I get to be a kid again. (With the difference being that I can actually buy all the cool toys I want and not have to beg and whine and get turned down by evil parents.) The world is a much nicer place when viewed through my little ones' eyes.

4. I love that I am the centre of someone's universe. Ok, maybe not at 3 am, when nobody but Mama can hold and hug a wakeful little girl back to sleep. But most other times, it's a wonderful feeling.  

5. I love how I can sometimes see a shade of me or the husband or one of our parents in a sudden tilt of my daughter's head, a fleeting expression, or an oddly familiar gesture.  (The boy, at the moment, looks and acts like a badly behaved puppy, so I'm certainly not looking for any family resemblances there....)

And now the hard part - finding enough bloggers around the world who haven't already done this tag. I'm pretty sure they've all been tagged already, I'll just hope that they just haven't gotten round to it yet, and can add my tag to the pile :-)

Mummyjaan in Ireland

MayG in the UAE

Fuzzy in Canada

Just Like That in India

Orchid somewhere in the US

When did this happen?

When did this foot high creature turn into a lanky, tree climbing little monkey?

When did my poolside splashing tot become this grinning sea sprite?

When did this book-chewing little bug turn into story-reading big sister?

When did my babbling baby become a full-sentence uttering, mama-scolding, cab-driver- instructing young lady?

Happy third birthday, my love!
(It's too soon! Too soon, I say!)

Settling in

It's funny. Before we started house hunting in Singapore, we set down a prioritised list of criteria, did many many hours of online research, and spent several days seeing apartments with our increasingly frustrated real estate agent. The evenings were spent comparing notes, refreshing our memories with photographs of the properties we were discussing, and assessing each apartment against the criteria on a spreadsheet. 

And then we walked into this place, and both of us just instantly liked it. It wasn't perfect - in fact, it actually did not meet quite a few of our criteria - but it was the first place that felt like it could be home. And that was how we - rational, model-making, excel-wielding, B-school types - chose our new home. It just felt right. 

So in we moved and discovered that the apartment came with its very own Ugly Naked Guy. Yup. Fellow who lived across from us and liked to sit by his window in his underwear and surf the net. Perfectly positioned to be within our line of sight from our living room and balcony. 

2 weeks into our stay, we realised that we had to do something about it. Imagine, we'd plonk down on the sofa to chat and relax after a long day, and there he would be - Naked Netsurfer, Eyesore Extraordinaire. I sent up some strong complaints prayers. Make him move, I pleaded. Or at least let him put some clothes on. Really, if we had to have a naked neighbour why couldn't he have looked like John Abraham? Now that I would be totally cool with.

Of course the good book says that God helps those who help themselves, so apart from my nightly prayers, I also began to work out what combination of hanging pots and screens on the balcony would block of our view of the bare expanse I did not want to see. But even before I could put that into action, it seemed my prayers were answered. One day I noticed some contractors in his apartment, and within a couple of days he was gone. The husband and I heaved a huge sigh of relief and all is well in our world again.

Well almost. Last week, I was playing with Munch on our balcony and I saw something in another apartment window that had me do a double take. A woman, doing housework - in a bra and thong! Ok, so she's not quite Ugly Naked Guy. For one she's most definitely not a guy. And not ugly either. And apparently she doesn't do naked housework on a regular basis because I haven't seen her since.

But I am rather mad about the whole thing. I'd asked for a John Abrahm lookalike, dammit! Someone up there has a very twisted sense of humour.

Living in SIN...

...and sorely missing Bangkok. I miss the fluidity and ease of the city, its vibrant energy and welcoming, accommodating air. 

Ironically, despite its shortcode SIN, Singapore strikes me as being rather strait-laced and well, rigid, for lack of a better word.  But we're still settling in, and I'm told the place will grow on me, so I'm hoping that will be sooner rather than later.

So hello! Anyone still out there? I've been gone a long time, I know. It's just that moving countries with Moppets and Munches and a husband who's continuing to work full-time in the midst of it all is a pain in the neck, the arse and everywhere in between! Throw in an incompetent moving company - Crown Relocations, that's you - and watch the fun. Phew! It's just been a very long few months.

But we're getting there. The house is almost fully set up. Moppet has started going to a preschool that she's taken to quite well and Munch is being his usual happy self.

More soon. This is just a quick hello post. Drop me a line so that I know you're out there! :-)

Moving Math

8 flights in

6 weeks to

5 locations in

3 countries with

2 small kids equals

1 very tired Mama with 

Zero time to blog

We're moving, folks. Reluctantly on my part - I've grown to love this city - but kya karen, when you gotta go, you gotta go!

I have a few posts buzzing around in my head, but I don't know if I'll be able to get down to writing them for a while. Most likely Jan 09.

If I may go into Oscar mode here, I'd like to thank all of you who've been coming around so regularly, leaving warm and encouraging comments, and generally brightening my day. I'll miss this, but I'm fairly sure I'll be back soonish, so don't go dropping me from your readers just yet, ok? ;-)

Wishing all of you a peaceful, hopeful, fun filled holiday season.

Love,

Munch, Moppet, & Maggie

Edit: Sorry, didn't mean to sound all mysterious about the move, just thought I'd update once we finally settled in, given all the uncertainty in the air. Yes, we are currently in Bangkok, and yes the airport has been shutdown, but I hope things will clear before we travel. Thanks for asking, Deepa!

Logic and Lego

She has an answer for everything. Are you ready for some Moppet style logic? 

Moppet is whining for some pink ice cream. Mama reminds her of the time at the restaurant where pink ice cream was ordered for her and she refused to eat it, resulting in Mama having to eat her brownie with strawberry ice cream. [Ick!]

Moppet (defensively) : I finish all the white ice cream.

Mama: That was just whipped cream - why didn't you eat the pink ice cream you asked for?

Moppet: Because YOU finish the pink ice cream!

Her father did always claim there was a bit of Vulcan in her. His only evidence at the time was the amount of Trek I watched while pregnant, and her pointy ears, but his case appears to be growing stronger! ;-)

******************

On another note, she has been creating things with her Lego blocks lately that have impressed the pants off me. Ok so I'm biased and you, dear reader, will probably wonder what all the fuss is about, but still, this blog was intended to document this sort of stuff and I do it with no embarrassment. (On my part at least; Moppet will probably cringe at  this a few years from now!)

Here I present The Big Blue Chicken, which, after being suitably admired by the whole family, was then deftly converted into The Blue Prince. All her own work, including the names.

And of course, the artist, protecting herself from the Mamarazzi.

******************

While on the subject of art etc, she has started bringing home stuff she draws at school. It's usually something like a shaky circle or some random squiggles, and I ooh and aah and say things like wow that's a nice circle, or what lovely rainbow noodles! She throws me an exasperated look and explains, "No, that's pink elephant with pink umbrella and Mama is giving banana."

Ah! Ok. So these days I just ask outright what it is. They always have some elaborate story. And they're always pink. Today's pink amoeba is a 'pink shark and pink boat and fishing rod'. I don't see it, but I'm keeping it safely. It may be worth millions some day! 

Turn over a new leaf, Mama

So Munch rolled over by himself for the first time this morning, quite by accident I suspect, going by the comical look of surprise on his face when he found himself suddenly nose to nose with a baby bear on his playmat.

For weeks he has lain on that playmat making no attempt to turn whatsoever, just grinning gummily at me whenever I nudge him and say fondly, 'Move it, you lazy lump.' 

Then today, just like that, he rolled over cleanly, popped up his head and pulled his arm out from under him as if he'd been doing it all along. It was so quick that I missed most of it. I put him down on the mat, turned to say something to Moppet who was hopping around behind me, and turned back just in time to see his surprised little face popping up off the mat.

Since that first roll a few hours ago, it appears he has sprouted springs on his back. Lay him down and boinggg!, he's on his tummy in a flash. 

So he's been doing that all morning, and then another surprise. I left him on his mat for about 10 minutes as I went to deal with Moppet's home from school routine, and came back to find him curled up on his side, thumb in mouth, fast asleep! First time he's ever put himself to sleep with neither boob nor rocker to help him nod off. It must have been all the rolling around.

And as I write this, he's off to la-la land by himself again, after an energetic half hour of post lunch rolling over. 

It feels like he was just patiently waiting for the right time, so that he could do it correctly and with minimal effort. If I were a more mature adult, I'd admit that that's a far more sensible outlook to life than my own energy intensive try-to-do-everything-all-together one. 

But I'm not, so I won't. 

I may just follow his example and take a nap though. Baby steps, see? :-)

Come visit with me

I'm over at Parul's today! Hop on over and say hi! 

I'm fairly sure everyone who reads me reads her too, but just in case you haven't yet discovered one of the wittiest bloggers on the block, do check out some of her other posts. Side-splitting stuff, I tell you.

Back to (ir)regular programming

To quote Dora the Explorer, (who's quoted a lot in our household these days): 'Yay! We made it!'

Yes folks, the holidays were a super hit. The beach holiday was just the right sort of lazy, our time there evenly divided between beach, pool, siestas, drinks, and meals. 

Oh and some spectacular sunsets that had us all awestruck, but particularly fascinated Moppet. So much so that she actually, of her own accord, struck up a conversation with a random woman sitting on a deck chair next to hers, watching the sunset.

Moppet: Do you see the sunset?

Random Woman: Indeed I do. It's beautiful isn't it?

Moppet: (seriously, with an emphatic little nod) Yes. 

This was a holiday in which father and daughter bonded like never before. With me often stuck feeding Munch, and no nanny to call on, Moppet had to let her father help her with stuff, and he had no choice but to figure out how to do it. 

Bath times, bed times, and general keep-her-out-of-trouble activities, he took it all on with wonderful enthusiasm. There were  even a couple of days when I would wake up lateish in the morning and find her pottied, brushed, and breakfasted, wearing, upon her own request, a pair of strange pony tails that the husband had tied for her. They were strange but cute and he was so endearingly proud of his effort, asking me some 10 times during the day, 'How do you like her pony tails?' Well, I like. Very much.

As for Munch, he was his usual happy-go-lucky self. As long as he got his meals on time, he was quite content to doze in his stroller, or watch the world with interest. Having decided I wasn't about to spend my holiday in pokey little feeding rooms, I would just throw a dupatta over myself wherever we were and tank him up - by the pool, in a bar, in a deli, airport lounge, cafe, anywhere would do. Worked fine all round.

He also got lots of attention from assorted bikini-clad babes, prompting his father to remark enviously that that was already more female attention than he himself had got from babes in his entire lifetime. 

For her part, Moppet was the protective big sister to the hilt, dissolving into angry tears at the airport where a girl jokingly declared that she wanted to take Munch home with her. Whether that was out of genuine affection for Munch, or on the general principle of he's mine, don't touch, I don't know. But that first incident did make her a lot warier when other strangers approached him later on in the holiday.

Post a little break back home, we all then went north to the hills for a very different kind of holiday. This was much more tiring since we wanted to do some sightseeing as well, but it was great in its own way. We made a trip to the zoo, which houses the only pair of Giant Pandas in Southeast Asia. We got there at a great time and saw them at their playful best. Moppet was so excited she couldn't keep her voice down, despite the glares of a burly security guard brandishing a huge sign that said 'Quiet Please'.

The rest of the zoo was great too. We got to feed baby elephants and giraffes, and Moppet almost rode on a little pony but decided at the last minute that she was too scared. The zoo is built in a naturally hilly jungle and is very beautiful, with orchids everywhere (Northern Thailand is where some of the best orchids in the world are grown) but it was tough on our knees with a baby stroller and toddler who was very quickly too tired to walk. When, in front of a magnificent white tiger, she threw a fit wanting to see a cow of all things, we knew it was time to head back to the hotel.

The husband and I indulged in some street shopping - Chiang Mai is a centre for great wooden handicrafts, and artists who bring their own designs, art and other handmade items to the famous Walking Street Sunday Bazaar. Moppet spent most of her time perched precariously on the footrest of Munch's stroller, making faces at him and generally keeping him and herself occupied.

We also managed a quick trip to the beautiful hill-tribe village, set in the mountains among lush green terraced paddy fields. The Padong are a Burmese tribe where the women wear rings around their necks to elongate them, starting from as young as 3-4 years of age. It is controversial, this village, and I must admit to feeling awkward and intrusive, walking through their village as they went about their lives. Then we met Manan, a friendly Padong lady, sitting by her house and strumming her guitar (!) who chatted with us, told us about their customs, and cuddled Munch. I'm won't go into the politics of it here, but most residents of the village are refugees from Burma, and this is their livelihood. The women weave and sell authentic shawls along with other touristy items, and Manan at least, appeared to be under no illusions about living in this fishbowl.

Anyway, it was fascinating and sad at the same time. I leave you with a picture of two little girls who will probably lead unimaginably different lives, right now just being two little girls.

A holidaying we shall go

It's been a crazy couple of weeks, with the husband travelling and bringing home some virus that had me and the kids terribly under the weather, luckily one after the other and not all together. He then promptly took off again, leaving me to deal with Munch who broke out in a spotty red rash from head to toe. Turns out it was the same virus, and the rash didn't show up on older, tougher hides like mine and Moppet's. 

Anyhoo, it was a bit freaky while it lasted, but that's all sorted now, and we're off tomorrow on our first family vacation!

What were we thinking?! A holiday with a 2 and a half year old and a 3 and a half month old?! I have no doubts that it's going to be a lot of work, and the sooner the husband realises that, the less shocked he's going to be when his 'do-nothing holiday' disintegrates around his ears.

But I hope it will be fun for all that - we're going to spend a few days on the sunny beaches of Phuket in the south of Thailand. Then we return home for a couple of days to catch our breath and restock before heading up north to the cool hills of Chiang Mai.

It wasn't planned like this. Just some scheduling constraints that resulted in these two north-south trips within a few days of each other. But it's a measure of how much tougher we've gotten as parents that we're willing to cart the whole circus up and down the country in a span of 2 weeks. I remember our first vacation with Moppet was to Bali when she had just turned one. And here's poor Munch, eczema and all, being lugged around from beach to mountain at not quite 4 months. 

Ah well, second child. Tough.  :-)

Have a nice October, and send some good holiday vibes our way. If I haven't totally gone to pieces, or killed the husband or one of the children by the end of the holiday, I may post again by the end of the month. Otherwise, Happy Halloween, and see you all in November!

Three and Thirty

At 3 months, he is my angel child. 
Happy, peaceful, and adorable.

At 30 months, she is my wild child. 
Fiesty, impetuous, and unpredictable.

At 3 months, he coos and gurgles, and makes the most delicious baby sounds.

At 30 months, she sings her own songs, adding new verses to existing rhymes, or fitting different words to familiar tunes. She 'reads', tells stories, and is constantly telling everyone in the household what to do, how, and when.

At 3 months, he lies in his rocker waiting quietly for someone to come over to him and chat, rewarding them with a gummy smile and a full body wriggle of excitement when they do.

At 30 months, she has a full scale meltdown if  she doesn't get what she wants within a nanosecond of her ordering it.

At 3 months, he has his meals with lip-smacking, boob-thumping enthusiasm.

At 30 months, her meals give the term 'dinner theatre' a whole new meaning.

At 3 months, he stares adoringly into my face as I prop him up against my knees and sing to him American Idol style, complete with funny facial expressions and hand gestures.

At 30 months, she watches my performance critically for all of 5 seconds before commanding, 'Mama, don't sing!'

At 3 months, he shows no interest in wanting to turn or roll, lying peacefully on his playmat, observing his own hands and his sister's antics with interest.

At 30 months, she roams the house carrying a high plastic stool, so that she can be 'big and tall' and reach all sorts of forbidden places.

At 3 months, he perks up at the sound of music, smiling and 'singing' along with little grunts and sighs.

At 30 months, she picks a beat on the electronic keyboard and yells out: 'Ebbybody dance!', boogying with such enthusiasm and style as to get even her double left-footed father to join her.

At 3 months, his eyes flick open from the deepest sleep at the sound of her voice. His eyes follow her around the room, and his brightest smiles are always for her. 

At 30 months, she has not yet made up her mind whether she likes this big sister gig. 

At 3 months, he is a cuddly bundle of happiness, radiating contentment and that milky baby smell.

At 30 months, she is a prickly ball of energy, her sunny charm inexplicably transforming into stormy rage with alarming suddenness.

Three and thirty. Together, they are exhausting, entertaining, and utterly endearing.

A big sister's prerogative

Big sis, baby bro.

Come 'ere, you knucklehead.

Don't be scared, I only want to kiss you.

I also want to squash you like a bug, what fun!

It's okay, we're like this only.

And so the saga continues: she loves him one minute, hates him the next. He's just bewildered by it all.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary

She's such a contrary Mary, these days. Whatever we say or do, she MUST say and do the opposite.

Sometimes, we use this to our advantage. Take for example, this scene from last week:

Moppet is doing her 'nangu run' after her evening bath, where she scoots around the house without a stitch on her. She ends up in the study and screams, 'Look, I'm nangu!' expecting her father to get up and do what he usually does - chase her back to her room where I wait with her pyjamas and then join in the epic struggle to get her into them.

But this time, her father decides to take a different approach. 'Wow!' he says, 'How nice! Don't wear any clothes tonight ok?'

Contrary Mary is instantly up in arms. 'No! I wear clothes!'

Her father senses he's onto a good thing and doesn't back down. 'No, no! No clothes for you!'

'NO, NO, NOOOOOOO! I WEAR CLOTHES!' a screaming Moppet rushes into her room and is in her pyjamas in under 30 seconds.

So now we use this trick off and on, but of late the results have been rather unreliable. Like today, at lunch:

Mama (spooning a big heap of beans and potato curry onto her plate): Mmm! Nice beans. No beans for Moppet ok?

Moppet: (grinning widely) 'kay! I eat onny ice cream.

Silly Sunday Som-solts

(Or How Mama Got Her Groove Back :-)

Sunday evening was pleasant and breezy, and since both the kids were up and alert, all four of us went down to the little park in our building. The husband and I sat on a bench with Munch and watched Moppet show off for us.

'Mama, look! Papa, look!' she squealed as she clambered up the slide the wrong way, monkeyed her way up the frame of the swing set, and drove the toy train to 'Andabaad'. (And elaborated so that silly Mama wouldn't get the wrong idea: 'Onny aeroplane go to Andabaad. I driving choo-choo train to air-a-port.')

Her favourite thing in the park is the huge, net-enclosed trampoline that the pre-teen kids do amazing stunts on. With no one else in the park waiting their turn for the trampoline, she was able to jump as much as she wanted.

Which was a lot, and for a long time, and soon Munch began to get cranky. So the husband took him back home, while I waited for Moppet to get all bounced-out.

'Mama, come jump!' she ordered, 'Like that! Come jump!' I hadn't been on a trampoline in a long, long time, and it did look like a lot of fun, so I climbed up and joined her. She squealed with delight as we bounced together holding hands, then took turns sitting in the centre while the other jumped around and over the one in the middle.

'Mama, look! I do som-solt!' she said, tumbling head over heels three times in quick succession. 'Now Mama's turn!'

'No baby, I'm wearing a skirt. I can't do somersaults.'

She studied me for a moment and then asked 'Onny boys do som-solt?'

'What? No, of course not! Everyone can do somersaults.'

'Mama iss not to do som-solt?' Sad face and bambi eyes.

'No, no. I can do somersaults, ok? See!' I demonstrated.

She giggled, did a couple more herself, and sat up looking at me challengingly. What the heck, I thought, the park's empty anyway, and I did a few more. So we tumbled around on the trampoline, doing som-solts and giggling and squealing like the two silly girls we were.

Later, dizzy and exhausted, we lay flat on our backs on the trampoline, looking up at the sky and pointing out funny cloud shapes. A vague suspicion crept into my mind. Was it possible that my two year old had tricked me into doing those somersaults? She wasn't that smart, was she?

Naah!

Maybe.

Ah, who cares? It was the most fun I'd had in ages!

In this moment

There is a moment, every morning, when I look into my son's sleeping face and gently call his name. 'Good morning, pumpkin', I say, and watch his eyelids flutter and his face scrunch up at the sound of my voice. He stretches luxuriously and opens his eyes. A few seconds to focus, then his eyes light up and the most delicious smile of recognition spreads across his face.

It is a moment that obliterates the memory of the many sleepless hours that went before. That leaches away the tiredness from my bones. That fills the room with sunshine, no matter what the weather.

It is a moment that I savour, knowing that soon it will just be another fading memory of his babyhood.

But that is tomorrow - for today, this day, this moment is enough.