55. A Nice Boy

17 years ago, on the last Friday in June, my efforts to ‘set’ a nice boy up with one of my girlfriends spectacularly backfired.  Why do I say ‘boy’?  I guess because he was a few years younger than my late-20 and as I tended to avoid most guys in their 20s (because I thought they were flaky), at 23, he seemed like a boy – a nice one, ergo my decision to introduce him to one of my girlfriends over lunch.  Little did I know he had already decided I was THE one or that lunch was going to turn into an afternoon of shooting pool, drinks, easy conversation and lots of laughing – long after my girlfriend left!  Needless to say the long hard kiss he gave me when I gave him a lift home many hours later turned my matchmaking plans on its head!  Like all good stories however, it wasn’t smooth sailing for a long time -- and I was mostly to blame.

The morning after, I was determined to push away this boy because he didn’t ‘tick’ my ‘boxes’.  “Yes, he was nice but everyone is nice when you first meet” I rationalized.  “He’s too young and probably lacks direction and maturity!” I vindicated.  You see, up until then, I had registered that the 30-somethings and even 40-somethings I had gone on dates with were flaky or just dead boring and was beginning to wonder if I should just swear off men altogether or start dating 50-somethings instead.  No wonder when this ‘boy’ turned up, I was quick to brush off that first kiss – no matter how much I enjoyed it.  But in spite of myself, more dates followed and weeks passed, with the ‘boy’ spending most of his time at my place. I was in turmoil and on high alert, ready to catch him out!  When he borrowed my car, I wondered if he was out ‘cruising for chicks’ because each time he returned, the top of my convertible would be down and his shirt would be off!  “I knew it!” I would fume to myself!  I tested what I thought was his ability to ‘put me first’ by offering him the last prawn during one of our dates.  And when he wolfed it down, I dumped him.  When he asked why, I told him he was too selfish for my liking!  I still remember the puzzlement in his eyes and yes, we DO laugh about that prawn incident now.

Taking this walk down memory lane makes me cringe and shake my head at my 20-something self as I tried so hard to protect myself against any serious entanglement.  But of course, unbeknownst to me, I had already started falling.  Each time I tried to push him away, this boy dealt with me with a sense of humor and a grace that I wasn’t displaying.  And then, one day, instead of trying so hard to find differences between us, I started noticing the similarities.  Our work ethic, our sense of humor, our love of food, and so on.  The list started slowly building up and once it started, there was no turning back.  Even when I told him I was leaving Australia for work, and thought it best we broke up as I had learnt from past experience that long-distance relationships didn’t work, he surprised me by saying he would follow me.  And just like that, this ‘boy’ quit his job, sold his stuff – just to show he was committed and was ready to invest in me!  I was gobsmacked!  He was so quietly confident in himself and us as a couple that nothing was un-doable!  I couldn’t help thinking, “What a man!” 

And what a man indeed!  Over the years, I have come to realise what an honorable, kind, funny, smart, humble and inspiring person this ‘boy’ is.  The only one who calms me down when things are crazy, who cheers me on with gusto in all my ventures; the one who shoots from the hip when I need some straight-talking, who knows when to give me space so I can work through ‘stuff’ and importantly when to pull me back in so I don’t end building up walls around me.  He is the one who inspires me to be the best version of me I can possibly be and the one who makes me smile – sometimes in spite of myself.  I am lucky that this ‘boy’ was stubborn enough to ignore my protests so I could see him for the man he is.  My husband.

***** end *****

54. Crossroads

I was chatting to a close girlfriend the other day and confessed that I sometimes felt like I had some sort of attention deficit disorder:  in conversations, I jump from one subject to another and my ‘everydays’ have been a juggling act since forever ie day job, studies, night job. But I confess motherhood has intensified this continuous necessity for multi-tasking – at 10, 11 and 14, the girls need me to be ‘present’ more than ever as they try to navigate through all sorts ‘rites of passage’ brought about by each stage of childhood; and my own girlhood memories dictate I cannot bear not to be there for them.  As such, I flit from one situation to another as I try to guide them the best I can, putting out numerous ‘fires’, whilst also attempting to ‘steer’ my own ‘mission’.  No wonder, as I write this, I have another nearly-finished piece occupying the same screen, alongside a window with emails, Facebook and the news – all open, and through which I keep ‘jumping’ to-and-fro whenever I have a mental block.  I find myself trying to remember to BREATHE whilst silently repeating my long-standing mantra that “everything WILL fall into place”… fingers crossed!

And then, I look around me at all my girlfriends who are all equally busy (if not more so with ‘proper’ careers or with younger children) and who seem so adroit at the juggling that I get this sinking feeling I am not doing enough to ‘conquer the world’. My desk AND my office is an explosion of filing (HIGH on my procrastination list), to-dos and visual reminders of stuff I need to remember; and to top off my mental, physical and emotional schizophrenia, we are about to embark on something the sane loathe: move houses and ALL that entails!  Lawyers, removalists, painters, electricians, etc.. oh, and a mushrooming dread at the many boxes of things I really should have thrown out or given away a decade ago!  BREATHE!

Meanwhile, I have a standing meeting with a friend to talk about the possibility of joining his band but that rendezvous keeps getting rescheduled;  there is the book-in-progress I have failed to scrawl in for the last six months;  AND this ongoing piece, a40somethinglife.  What started as an aim to write a disciplined average of 8 to 10 pieces per month has dribbled down to a pithy one – if I’m lucky.  I churn out lifestyle pieces for a website, but am in a constant state of panic that its not impressive enough; and STILL I am contemplating plucking up the courage to approach other editors about getting more writing work.  Denial?  Perhaps.  Insane?  Probably.  Why don’t I just give it all up and concentrate on my first priority: the girls and Matt?  Because I know in my deepest of hearts, the need to be more than just “Mom” and “wifey”.  Some may speculate I am going through a midlife crisis, but I find the older I get, the more important it is for me to be interesting to myself.   And so I buckle against any sort of ‘going through the motions’ as I acknowledge my need to feed the soul, ‘slay dragons’ (ie overcome fears), and try to walk a path that is aware, insightful and filled with joie de vivre.  

And so, armed with a firm knowledge of my priorities (Matt and the girls) as well as my needs and wants, I inch toward the approaching crossroads, and take a leap of faith – that EVERYTHING will ALWAYS fall into place.

***** end *****

53. The magic of Christmas

I am a big fan of Christmas and ALL it entails; so much so that I’ve decided to write about Christmas in May!  But truth be told, most of the stuff we do at home now was gleaned from years of watching Christmas special movie marathons.  For me, growing up, Christmas was disconcertingly confusing:  Christmas with my Catholic mother meant going to endless church services, a lot of hymn singing and praying so my soul didn’t burn in hell; whilst it was a TOTAL non-event when we moved in with my Buddhist father after the divorce.  No wonder I was flummoxed.

So, when I became a mother, I felt certain I wanted MY children to experience all the magic Christmas has to offer – especially the part about believing in the possibility of the magical.  As such, it’s a REALLY big deal in our home (wherever we may be), with carrots for the reindeers, cookies and milk for Santa and secret present buying that starts soon after the northern hemisphere summer holidays!  I told you I was a fan!

Anyhow, a few days before Christmas few years ago, one of my three girls asked me the question most parents dread: “Mom, have you ever seen Santa?  I mean REALLY seen him?”  I considered fibbing but then confessed I had not.  Which prompted the next question:  “Then, how do you know he’s real?”  At that stage, I think the girls were around 5, 6 and 9 and were at an age where they wanted to believe, but some of the kids at school with older siblings had started bursting all sorts of ‘bubbles’.  So, torn between wanting to maintain their childhood innocence and yet arm them with the tools required to not to be bullied by any mini cynics, I waxed lyrical about how certain things in life required a leap of faith and a blind trust.  Fairies, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy all also fell into that magical ‘box’.  But Miss 6-at-the-time required a more plausible answer.  And that’s when I pulled out my made-up-on-the-spot explanation for everything magical and it went a little like this:

“Okay, you know how we all know we need oxygen to live because of the important work it does to help different parts of our bodies work and heal?  Well, you cannot see oxygen, right?  You cannot touch it nor can you smell it.  But you know it exists all around you.  For me, Christmas is the same.  Just because I cannot see physical proof, doesn’t mean isn’t real.”  I waited for my munchkins to digest this information when my eldest mentioned that some of her friends had teased her about believing in magic and Christmas and the letters she was still getting from the tooth fairy (which incidentally stopped after she turned 10 because all teeth collected after that would be too heavy for the fairies to carry).  Yes, yes, I know.. the tales we weave!  Anyhow, I talked about how in order to see the magical, you need to be open to recognizing and seeing the magic; that as we grow up, because life can get very busy and crazed, it can be hard to remember to look for magic.  Then I concluded that Christmas was the perfect time to believe in magic and because I did (in spite of being a ‘big person’ as we referred to me when they were little), my Christmases were always a little bit more special – but that the choice was theirs to believe as they chose.  I saw three little heads nod.  I did conclude the talk to forewarn them to not feel discouraged if their friends didn’t believe in the magic of Christmas because we each had to make our own choices.  Again, three nods.

Of course, now that my three girls are now nearly 10, 11 and nearly 14 respectively, their ‘head’ knows that its mom who starts reconnaissance shopping months before the big event (cue squeals of delighted “How did Santa know I had wished for this fill-in-the-blanks?!?”) but the heart still partakes in the feeding of the reindeer and Santa the night before while I try to find new ways to prolong the magic of their childhood for just a little bit longer – for them to have the childhood memories of Christmas I didn’t have – and because it fills ME up with an indescribable joy…  Yup, I CANNOT wait to put up my Christmas tree in 7 months time!!

***** end *****

52. Letting go

Confession:  I am a control freak.  Yes.  I admit it.  But I wish I wasn’t.  Why?  Because as I grow and learn, I recognise this trait is often counter productive and causes more problems than it solves.  And so, I try hard to revolt against it.  Sometimes successfully and other times, not so.  I think, in the past, I found myself in situations where I felt the only people I could truly count on were me, myself and I.  And so, I ‘took control’, thus sprouting the beginnings of what I term as my ‘dictatorship’ disposition which unfortunately rears its ugly head every now and again.  Very unhealthy.  And if I was honest, an exhausting way to be – to ALWAYS be ‘in charge’ and ‘in control’. 

And then, I met Matt who taught me it was okay to let go of the ‘reins’.  To let someone else be ‘in charge’.  That it was both unhealthy and impossible to control everything.  And when we had Faith, I was forced to see that the self-reliance I was so proud of was pointless as I bumbled my way through motherhood.  So unused to being inadequate, regardless of everything I tried, this baby would cry, stay awake at all hours, AND refuse to co-operate when we were trying to feed her the labor intensive meals I had slaved over – preferring to eat the sand on the beach instead! 

As my understanding of what was needed was stretched to the very limits of what I was able to ‘let go’ of, not only did I feel like I had no control over anything to do with my child, but I also realised I had no control over my life as I knew it, as I was now ‘tied’ to this other human being’s needs and wants.  I had to either learn this lesson and learn to go with the flow a little more or continue to fret over every detail that was ‘imperfect’ and drive everyone (including myself) crazy in the process.  And so, over time, I grasped that the house didn’t need to be ‘perfect’ and the my to-do list COULD wait as it was more important for me to grab a few winks whilst my little one slept.  Truth be told, I was very lucky to have Matt by my side through it all.  He provided relief and comfort whenever needed; and took over the dreaded night feeds.  And I was so grateful, I no longer cared if he didn’t choose the ‘right outfit’ or if he gave her something to eat that wasn’t on my ‘list’ of what I understood to be ‘best’ for our first born – it was no longer a priority.  And just as well and probably one of the reasons why Faith didn’t end up as an only child and why Matt doesn’t mind still being married to this crazed woman!

But yet, the lesson continues.  Only recently, trying to avoid any last minute moments of panic, we went through Faith and Tia’s school-provided packing list for their respective trips to Cambodia and Australia.  “Remember to fully charge your camera Faith!”  I prompted the weekend before.  But the night BEFORE she left, it emerged: not only did she not take heed of the directive, but she had also misplaced her charger and only alerted us to the fact the night before.  I blew a gasket.  Actually several.  And I was not proud.  A wiser mother would have just said, “Oh well, I guess you won’t be able to take any pictures” and left it at that.  But I am not wise. Instead, I ranted and raved about “irresponsibility” and “disappointment”.  Foolish me.  When will I learn?  Eventually, the offending cord was found and the camera was charged.  But by then, I was filled with regret.

And yet, just last weekend, I demonstrated to myself that I WAS capable of not being such an authoritarian.  Faith had cooked dinner and Matt had cleaned up. I didn’t hover nor did I conduct a ‘once through’ after they had finished.  The next morning, however, I was horrified to see the state of the kitchen. The stove and bench-tops had not been cleaned and were in a state -- for my housekeeper to face when she turned up to work in the morning.  She didn’t bat an eyelid as I apologized for the mess.  But she did make a comment about the state of the dishes that had been ‘washed’.  The ‘old’ me probably would have had heart palpitations when she showed me what she was talking about and then hassled Matt about it.  But instead, I just sheepishly apologized again and explained it was Matt’s ‘handiwork’.  The dishes were rewashed and the kitchen cleaned thoroughly.  I didn’t bug Matt about it as I recognized that his thoughtful gesture of doing the dishes to give me a break was, in the ‘bigger picture’, more important. 

And so I learn.  That I have to be patient with myself.  That some days, I will be better at ‘letting go’ than others; and when I do lose that battle, I must try not to berate myself too much but instead learn from those moments so they hopefully become more infrequent in the days to come. 

**** end ***

51. Driving me 'batty'!

Grumble alert!  I am about to have a SERIOUS gripe about drivers who drive me round the bend (pun intended!), inciting a severe case of  Tourette Syndrome, where the air turns multiple shades of blue, a few scores over.  The other day, I narrowly missed running into another car.  What happened?  The other driver decided to drive down a one-way driveway -- against the flow of traffic.  When our cars nearly collided, there was no apology or any kind of expression of regret on his part.   He simply drove off as if nothing happened.  Knucklehead!  The most annoying thing? It was not the first time, and I know it won’t be the last.  Grrr!

 

I spend more hours than I care to count in the driver’s seat of our car.  The mornings are pretty straightforward as I firstly drive Tia and Faith to their school, returning to the house to pick up Paige and take her to her school before getting on with my day.  The afternoons however, are a different story. Wednesdays and Fridays are particularly horrendous with me leaving the house to start the ‘school pick-up’ at 2.30pm, finally pulling back into the driveway some 4 hours later – on a ‘normal’ day!  No wonder I’m relieved for the weekends.  But I think you see what I mean when I say I’m on the roads A LOT! 

My pet hates when it comes to life in the ‘driver’s seat’ are: 

•  drivers who never learnt to use their indicators or hazard lights, forcing everyone else (both motorists and pedestrians) to play a hazardous guessing game of predicting when he/she intends to go straight ahead, change lanes or just stop suddenly.

• the ‘racers’ who quickly accelerate to stop anyone else from joining the lane in front of them – quite often so they can be the first to reach the red lights!

• the ones who cannot be bothered with one way traffic signs and insist on flouting the directive

• the ‘straddlers’ who feel the need to take up one-and-a-half lanes when driving or one-and-a-half car spaces when parking

• drivers who think they are the only ones of the road and therefore can stop at any juncture in the road, irregardless of the resulting mayhem caused (often without hazard lights)

•  people who don’t say “thank you” when you 'make way' for them

And of course, whenever it rains, the lunacy on the roads amplify a few hundred thousand times over.  Okay, maybe I am exaggerating.  Just a little.

Matt thinks the answer to my woes is for us to employ a driver.  I was like, “Whaaaat?!?  That’s just CRAZY talk!”  Imagine that!  Giving someone else money to drive us around, only for me to inevitably become the ULTIMATE backseat driver!!  No, I think for the sake of everyone’s sanity, including our 'would-be driver', its best we keep the status quo.  Besides, if there was an ‘outsider’ in our car, how else could the girls and I (and sometimes Matt) sing at the top of our lungs, execute silly 'waist-up-only' dance moves or tell horrendously corny jokes?

Anyhow, I know a little less judgment is required in the way I perceive my fellow drivers. I think the very funny but observant American comic George Carlin captured the very essence of my ‘driver’ brain when he once commented:  “Have you ever noticed that anybody driving slower than you is an idiot and anyone going faster than you is a maniac?”  That man has me ‘pegged’ in a nutshell!  Sigh.  As so I continue to TRY to metamorphose into a more serene driver.  Om. 

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50: Old wounds

I am BIG on the ‘past being the past’, ‘moving on’ and ‘focusing on the now’.  And generally, I am quite proficient.  Of course it helps to be as forgetful as I am with my ‘now’ overflowing with all the essentials I need to keep in mind with the girls’ schedules -- making it easier to bury unpleasant memories DEEP in some hard to reach recess of the brain and heart.  Our move to Singapore, however, has stirred these memories and forced me to acknowledge my past.

To Matt’s delight, I have always had an aversion to shopping, putting the task in my dreaded “only if I really need to” basket.  Possibly, that may have been what spurred him on to propose!  And then one day, shortly after our move here, as we drove past a particular mall, I felt sick in my stomach as I recognized it from my childhood days.  And the memories came rushing in. With the implosion of my parents’ marriage and my father’s disappearance to his ‘other’ family, mom used to banish me out of the house with strict instructions not to return before a certain time.  If I was a teenager, perhaps that would have been music to my ears.  But I think I was not quite 10.  And so, with barely any money in my pocket, I stayed out of the house until the sun had set, seeking refuge from the heat by wandering aimlessly around certain malls.  Till today, I am not a fan of overhead fluorescent lights and malls.  I think my sanity was saved when I discovered I could block out my reality by losing myself in books at the library -- until closing time.

A few weeks ago, I received a letter from the Singapore Immigration office advising me the country did not recognize dual citizenship.  It was a surprise.  At 15, I had not wanted to leave Singapore and move to another country with my father (who was now a violent stranger to me) and his wife (who was not shy about showing her displeasure about being my new ‘responsible adult’).  My naïve self was sure I could find a job, support myself financially AND still go to school.  So I did what any foolhardy15- year-old would do.  I ran away, found a job, and hid at a friend’s house.  Of course my father found me.  And we left soon after.  And the beatings my father used to ‘grace’ my mother (and then the Indonesian and Filipino maids) with, I became the ‘heir apparent’.  I didn’t last long.  Two years later, and nearly broken, I left home at 17.  An unfinished education.  No money.  No job.  No prospects.  No relatives and nobody who cared.   Just some clothes in a bag.  In a country still alien to me.  I felt someone painted a big fat “L” on my head.

I was lucky my first boyfriend’s mother took me in.  But that didn’t last long either.  I felt second-rate and a loser on every level with not-a-bright-future ahead.  If I had known I had the option to go back to Singapore to be guided by one of my many uncles or aunts (my father came from a family of 10!), I think I would have hopped on the next plane -- if only for a welcoming face.  Instead, I left the sanctuary of this kind woman’s house, ashamed I was not good enough for her son but determined to be the master of my own destiny.   Fast forward 29 years, my grown-up self weeps at what my 17 year-old-self went through for the next few years.  But I consider myself lucky because things could have been much MUCH worse. 

But the recent opening of these previously forgotten wounds have not been for nothing.  It has reiterated to me how fortunate I am and forced me to really scrutinize the principal driving motivator in my life: to leave a positive legacy through the next generation.  I know I speak quite openly about my past.  It is not to garner pity but to remind myself that I am one of the lucky ones. 

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

49. NOT the end of the world

 

Up until a couple of minutes right before the last heartbeat of 21.12.2012, I had been feeling a little out of sorts.  For weeks I had felt an uneasy stranglehold over my heart as I grappled with the possibilities of major earth disasters, galaxy-invading planets hurtling along predicted Milky Way alignments, problems all over the earth caused by the flipping of the magnetic poles, and/or any sort of apocalypse bringing about an ultimate end of the world.  Mind you, I didn’t rush out to stockpile food nor did I reserve a spot for my family in the French village of Bugerach (located in the foothills of the Pyrenees and rumored to be one of the spots to be spared in an apocalypse).  Instead, I just felt despondent.

Melancholy over all the possibilities my girls would miss out on if the world did come to a grinding halt.  Of all the milestones that would be eluded and all the journeys that would never be made.   Not wanting to look the fool, I kept this torment to myself, all whilst scanning the Internet for all sorts of evidence and arguments of what might happen on the 21^st.   And of course that was a big mistake as the media hype and hysteria only kept mounting as the day drew closer.

But wait!  That’s just TWO days before Matt got to FINALLY hit the BIG 4-0!!  That just wasn’t fair!  I had been throwing him all sorts of celebrations since January and I wanted to see his face when he opened his presents the girls and I had hidden all over the house!  And speaking of hidden presents, what about all the Christmas presents for the girls?  Not to mention how Tia was not going to get to start at the fantastic new school she had just had been offered a place at.  Hmm.. maybe I should hold off buying her school uniform until AFTER the 21^st.  I was beginning to sound like a raving lunatic to myself as I worked myself into such a state I started losing sleep over the impending day.  My self-torture continued and I found myself swinging between being logically sane and emotionally unhinged.  My biggest fear was that I was being an irresponsible mother and failing my girls by not preparing for this possible doomsday! Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and one night, as we lay in bed, I unloaded all my concerns onto Matt. 

“Matt, what do you think of all of this Mayan business?  You know, I have been reading all sorts of reports and watching lots of videos about what is going on.  Its not really the end of the world..”  I was rewarded with a look.  I pushed ahead.  “But just in case it is, I am grateful the girls will at least be with me and we will be together.. but I am sad you will be playing golf with some people you don’t really know very well and you will be so far away from us..”  I took a breath and waited for his response.  Now, Matt is one of the most pragmatic people I know (and luckily), also incredibly patient with me and one of the few people who can make me laugh in spite of myself.  If anyone can put my heart and mind at ease, this man is it.

He started by pointing out a couple of facts about Mayan history (which I won’t repeat) to make me question the validity of what was being reported; and then finished his argument by pointing out that the actual 'moment' was not meant to happen till much later on in the day – meaning he would be home by then and should the world end, I would get my wish and have us all together.  Okay, okay.  I know a few people might be chortling at my thought process here!  But ANYWAY..

When the day arrived, I confess I kept my eye on a Mayan countdown app a friend posted on FB as I went about my day, running errands and taking the girls to the movies.  And the moment came and went.  At first though, I thought the app was faulty when the countdown appeared to have increased when I went back to the page.  It took me a few ‘refreshes’ to figure out I had missed the 0.00 deadline and what I was seeing was now, in effect, a tally of how much time had passed since the world had NOT ended!  Yay!

Its been some days now since the 21.12.2012.  I am happy to say Matt got to open his birthday presents on the 23^rd and we got to celebrate Christmas on the 25^th.  Looks like I’ll be around a little longer to amuse my husband with my ruminations on life and love!  Lucky him!

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48. Giving Thanks

 

Thanksgiving came and went without much fanfare in our household last month.  Not because we are not thankful for everything we have, but more because as Australians, its not a ‘holiday’ we naturally celebrate.  Which is not to say we are not grateful; after all, they don’t call Australia the ‘lucky country’ for nothing.

So, Matt and I just got back from a running event in Cambodia.  To be honest, beyond preparing for my run, I had given little thought to precious else. Additionally, I am ashamed to say, my vague knowledge of Cambodia and her besieged history left me ill-prepared for the reality that clawed at my senses – the poverty and the remnants of a civil war that literally hacked apart what was once a thriving empire, and left the country a broken shell.  And yet… the people we came across were so gracious, earnest, and for the most part, happy with their lot. 

But, the image of the woman who followed our little boat as we toured the Tonle Sap Lake, with the child who lay asleep under the blazing sun on her makeshift boat is forever burned in my memory.  As is the one of the woman with the snake-bearing children.  Both were petitioning for money.  And I could look neither in the eye as I followed our guide’s instructions to deny their requests.  “For their own good,” he counseled.  But my stomach turned inside of me as I put myself in each woman’s place and considered their reality and that of their family.  Of the life that awaited these families who lived in the water village and the limited options they had available to them.  And I was awash with guilt at my charmed existence.

But before I drown everyone with my melancholic aria, I should point out the sorrow was mine, not theirs, and quite possibly overly melodramatic on my part.   After all, the guilt was mine to bear alone and who was I to poison someone else’s reality with my doom and gloom.  In fact, from what I have seen here in Singapore, Cambodia’s future could very much be an ascending star as a multitude of schools and associations here work together and separately to raise funds to build schools and houses for the Khmer nation.  Even Faith, my eldest at 13, will be heading there next year to participate in building sturdy weather-proof houses for the Cambodians.  And so, I give thanks for the time to come and the promise of hope for this land.

Getting back to giving thanks, I often talk to the girls about how incredibly lucky we are, beyond the superficial and the materialistic, that we have each other, our health and to be able to enjoy the reality that is our’s.  Of how it is through pure fortuity we were born unto a country not drowning in warfare and the resulting opportunities that actuality alone presents us with.  And I could go on.  But instead, I will record my top 10 in my “thanksgiving list”:

1.    For the health and safety of my children and husband

2.    For the gifts that are my children and my husband in my life

3.    For the opportunities we have been blessed with

4.    For the kindness shown to us in our lives

5.    For the friendships that make our everyday richer

6.    For the ability to go running to clear my head

7.    For the life I have

8.    For the ability to see good even when the view is a little murky

9.    For being able to remember there is so much to be grateful for

10. For the freedom to make my own choices 

I am grateful.

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47. Parenting styles

 

We just came back from a very restful weekend in Bali but the following day saw me crashing back to ‘reality’ with a giant thump!  Ahhh…..that mountain-load of ‘enticing’ laundry, beckoning at the end of each holiday…but it is what it is. So, by noon, I had powered through two loads of washing, taken Buddy to the groomers, done the food shop and gone on my 10-km run.  As I struggled through the door with the groceries, Matt looked up from his Maths session with Tia and said, “Oh, the groomers called and I think Buddy is ready to be picked up.”   Off I trudged again, then made lunch for the hungry mob, drove Matt to work, came home, more laundry and then prepared dinner.  I think you get the picture..

At some point during dinner, Tia turned to me and cheekily asked if I had done my piano practise.  Unfortunately for her, we weren’t on the same ‘comedy channel’ at that moment as I recounted every-single-task I had ‘slaved’ through that day, asked if anyone accomplished anything beyond lounging around reading or watching TV, and then dared her to re-ask the question.  Of course, in hindsight, that was a little harsh.  After all, I only had to ask and the girls would have pitched in.  But no, I wanted them to help out because they thought of it and not because I asked them to.  I know, I know.  I am beginning to sound like a crazy woman. 

I came across an interview a few weeks ago whereby multi-talented Australian actor-singer-dancer-extraordinaire-all-round-decent-and-wonderful-human-being-and-husband Hugh Jackman, aka Wolfman from the X-men franchise, shared his thoughts on parenting.  What?  Did I just sound like I have a celebrity crush?  Awww, you caught me out.  But I am only human!  Anyhow, Hugh (Haha!  First name basis!  If only!) talked about how he “yells at his kids, they drive him to despair, he worries that his deficiencies as a parent mean he is slowly but surely stuffing them up”.  He also talked about and how children can push your buttons and make you feel such extreme emotions, and the anger or fire they can sometimes incite.  I was like, “Oh my goodness!  That is EXACTLY how I feel!”  So its just as well I’m not married to Hugh Jackman because it just wouldn’t work out with both of us stressing about the same things.  Sorry Hugh.

My beautiful husband Matt, on the other hand, has such a wonderful approach to parenthood.  When I read out an excerpt from that same article about how so-and-so’s mom said, “Relax, you worry too much.  You feed them, you love them, that’s it”, it was his turn to have his that-is-EXACTLY-how-I-feel moment. I sometimes feel envious of Matt and those of my friends who have this wonderful parenting style whereby they are so attuned to seeing the big picture and able to block out the ‘other stuff’ that, in actuality, is just ‘noise’ ...

But I cannot because at least every other day (if not everyday), there are ‘boxes’ that need to be ticked, exploits that need undertaking and ‘fires’ that need putting out.  AND, if we were BOTH laissez-faire and make-it-up-as-we-go-along, would our household still work the way it works (on a good day)?  Or would those ‘little things’ fall through the cracks because non-verbal clues were missed?  Would the girls learn to think beyond themselves, realise the importance of dreaming, or master the tools needed to pick themselves up and try again with a little fine-tuning?  Am I beginning to sound a little hysterical again? Sorry.  Okay, deep breath and stop panicking over all the ‘what-would-happens’.

At the end of the day, I don’t purport to be ‘superwoman’ and do not even try to pretend to have all the answers.  Honest with my girls about my shortcomings, I am not afraid ask for help and try to encourage the girls to go on fact-finding missions when appropriate. And with three such different individuals whose needs demand that my parenting style is constantly refined and modified as per child and situation; sometimes my appeals for us to work together as a team so the day is smoother works, and other times, not so well.  But it’s the life I have chosen and I am at peace with it.  All we can do is try our best to prepare them to stand confidently and successfully on their own two feet by giving them love, inspiring courage and fostering integrity.

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46: Two wrongs..

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Whenever I finish writing a piece, I always wonder what I will work on next.  Yes, I have about 10 pieces on-the-go but quite often, these pieces just sit there until an incident 'pops up' and provides some insight, or an ENTIRELY new topic will emerge and take on a life on its own.  This is one of the latter:

Recently, I received an unpleasant call and a few bitchy texts because of  “50 Shades of Green”.  From what I gather, in spite of my efforts to be quite generic in one of the illustrations for foolish behavior, someone decided that out of some THIRTY-SEVEN lines (yes, I counted), two referred to her current situation and was so ‘shocked’ she called around to garner support for a “Mishy hate-fest”.   One particular girl rang to give me a piece of her mind but when the conversation turned thuggish and feral, and after failing to reason with her and explain she got it wrong, I had little choice but to hang up.  Rude, I know.  But I get awfully emotional when someone is yelling at me, being sarcastic about my ‘perfect family’ and trying to dictate what I can and cannot write about.  Sorry, but since when did I proclaim everything in my life was perfect?!  Obviously she has not read my scribblings and lives in La-La Land if she believes in ‘perfection’.  Anyhow, I did follow it up  with a calmer email to try to address the points raised in her accusations:

1. No, a GENERAL commentary on the state of relationships today does not break-up marriages -- people’s careless behavior within AND outside of a relationship causes break-ups.
2. I don’t go around telling her or anyone else what to wear or how to behave (don’t start me!), so nobody has a right to tell me what to write about.  And if she (or anyone) doesn’t like the content, don't read it.  Please.

Now, I could continue this piece with a further narration of what happened next and reveal this particular girl’s duplicitous behavior and her on-going charade of ‘sugar-and-spice-and-all-things-nice’.  In fact, when I first wrote this piece, I did.  And then I deleted it all.  Why?  Although all I would have had done was laid bare the truth, it made me feel physically ill that someone else’s venom and spitefulness could manipulate me into an exchange of hateful and sarcastic verbal warfare. Quite simply, as I previously said in “Mean Girls”, two wrongs don’t make a right.

Don’t get me wrong.  Normally, my primal instinct is to fight back and throw ‘mud’ back at my aggressor.  Nearly always.  After years of being put down by bullies and taken advantage of, I spent a good chunk of my late teens and early 20s like a bull in a china shop, under the mistaken belief I was fighting for the truth and HAD to stand up for myself.  And then,  I realized something.  I didn’t like being that person, the one filled with anger and a poisoned tongue, always ready for a fight.  And of course, becoming a mother also made me mindful of what kind of learned behavior I wanted the girls to have – if only for them to have an easier life in the ‘jungle’ of life.  And so, over time, I learnt to choose my ‘battles’.  At times, it has meant biting my tongue, hoping that the truth would come out, only to be disappointed.  But time is a great healer and no matter the end-result, once the initial indignation and disappointment fades, I ALWAYS feel better in myself that I didn’t stoop to the other party’s level.  After all, silence, they say, is golden.

I took the girls to the National Library yesterday to change their books.  As I was attempting a reverse park, a woman used her car to aggressively ‘nudge’ me to ‘speed it up’.  Much to her dismay, and especially fed-up after the drama from a couple of days ago, I stepped out of my car and approached her’s – mid-pivot.  Nervously, she wound her window down.  My “there is no need for that sort of behavior.  Please be patient…” was met with her haughty “just move your car”.  I shot back with a “you have terrible manners!”, finished the park, and headed upstairs to return the girls’ books.  Low and behold, a couple of minutes later, the same woman stood behind us in line.  As my three girls were first in line, I told them to stand aside for the woman as she seemed to be in a hurry.  They did and she said thank you – somewhat grudgingly.   She hurried away looking a little shamefaced.   My little one recognized her and asked why we let her go first even though she was so ‘mean’ before.  I just said, “Sweetie, two wrongs don’t make a right and sometimes doing the right thing is the best action.”  And with that lesson passed on, we continued on our way. 

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45: No beauty queen

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As a child, and right until I left home at 17, I was force-fed a daily diet of jibes of how ugly, fat and stupid I was.  They left such an imprint that even at 40-something, even though my head now knows different, the wounded child within cringes at every imagined magnified flaw.  When I became a teenager, the insults took on another level where my own father gave me all sorts of hurtful labels (eg slut, whore) – all because boys started showing an interest and calling the house.  I felt embarrassed and dirty.  So I had my hair cut short (to look like a boy), and tried my hardest to blend in with the furniture and not call attention to myself.  Of course, years later, chasing a career in show business was SO at odds with that! But a lifetime of self-loathing followed.  Then again, it took having my own babies to realize the failings did not lie within myself but with the monsters who had branded me... 

Then, some 15 years ago, my older brother asked me to accompany his wife to a cosmetic surgeon’s office in Bangkok because she was anxious about her level of English and apprehensive of the potential end-product from a ‘lost-in-translation’ situation.  Meanwhile, I was more concerned about my lack of proficiency in Cantonese (my sister-in-law’s mother tongue) AND my lack of Thai!  But he insisted.  And so, like a good little sister, I went along on the appointed day.  Long story short, after the doctor finished with her patient, she turned around to me and said, “Now, I could really get to work on your face and make you look MUCH better!”  Ouch!

But the ‘good doctor’ was probably right.  Even now, I don’t do myself any favours.  I struggle to commit to any sort of beauty regime, keep my nearly-always-unpainted nails short; and am known to sport a shiny forehead due to a lack of foundation or powder.  At 40-something, I do try to remember to at least moisturise (sometimes), but even I know its only a half-assed job. My daughters go to the hairdressers more than I do; AND I know at least one girlfriend who would be horrified to know I nearly ALWAYS take the kids to school in my workout gear.  After all, why bother with the hassle if I am just going running straight after?  The problem with that?  I struggle to be useful to my girls when it comes to the whole ‘beautify me’ thingy, often having to call my girlfriends who have a better idea on – for example, how to avoid collecting multiple frequent flyer points in Zits-ville or how to avoid a shiny face!

I kid you not! A couple of months back, when Matt and I got invited to go to some swanky fundraiser, I was petrified!  The crew who invited us are what they would call in Italy “sprezzatura”, in that they look fabulously and effortlessly glamorous – 24/7! Panicked, I promptly booked a facial, called a girlfriend-in-the-know about the whole eyelash thingy (don’t ask!) and spent the best of two weeks trawling the malls trying to find the ‘perfect’ dress and frankly, the WHOLE thing was EXHAUSTING! The time and effort required!  Urgh!  I admit I came away with a new-found respect for these girls from the little I glimpsed of their world.  But I cannot help myself – a ‘glamour-puss’ I am not.  Nada time nor patience.

I know I am not good at teaching the girls the in’s and out’s of ‘prettying-up’ and often find myself extolling a “less is more” mantra with them – whilst calling girlfriends in a panic for advice or researching the Internet for answers I do not possess.  BUT, I AM good at talking to them about being kind and strong; about the importance of ‘feeding’ their soul, heart and mind; of being true and honest; and the paramount necessity of balance and dreaming.  And most importantly, how beautiful and loved they are.  I hope its enough.

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44. 50 shades of green

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At 20-something, I was an ardent serial dater but convinced that ‘THE one’ only existed in movies and fairytales.  Thrice engaged, friends swiftly tagged me ‘the runaway bride’.  But I couldn’t help it as I see-sawed between hurtling towards, and then running screaming from, the white-picket-fence-2.5 kids stereotype of my generation. Fueling my emotional schizophrenia, was my memory of being a bi-product of a union that imploded when my father’s two-timing came to light and a determination to never put myself in a position where I could be similarly cuckolded.  And then, I met Matt.  And in spite of myself and my fears, I fell head-over-heels (relatively cautiously) and allowed myself to be vulnerable (somewhat reluctantly!).

But for the first few years, I worried.  Worried that my older brother would turn out to be right when he ‘sagely’ told me that ALL men cheat because they ‘simply cannot help it’.   And the problem was, I often witnessed it myself.  At work, wherever I sang, all sorts of men would pursue me with ardent declarations of love (only to cheekily turn up with their wives/girlfriends days/weeks or months later!); or later on, as a mother on the school run, having dads ‘hit’ on me.  And I would feign ignorance – if only to avoid the entailing drama!  Later I would ask Matt, “Am I SO old fashioned and such a prude that these guys’ behavior bother me?”  Was I a prig to measure these situations against whether I would be comfortable with Matt behaving or talking that way with another girl; or how would he feel if I behaved that way?  Was I over-reacting by then steering clear of that latest pesky geezer-in-question?  But by the time I got to 30-something, it was evident that the cause of marriages collapsing was no longer male-dominated. 

Which brings me to the topic de jour: why do some, BOTH men and women, feel that what they have at home is not enough?  An acquaintance has recently started texting and going on ‘dates’ with a man she met at a nightclub on a girls’ night out.  The problem?  1. She is married with the 'requisite' 2.5 children  2. The ‘other man’ doesn’t know she’s married – and the lies and half-truths just multiply!

Not wanting to play judge nor jury here because nobody knows what goes on behind closed doors,  but using this scenario as an example, why do so many dabble with the taboo – be it flirting, ‘hooking up’, or a full blown affaire de Coeur in spite of the nagging feeling there cannot be a happy ending and at least one person will end up devastated.  Why the sabotage?  Men who say things they shouldn’t and make promises they couldn’t possibly keep because of prior 'commitments', women who risk everything in exchange for a little bit of attention or the ones who romanticise that bastard ex -- perhaps looking to recreate something they read in books like D H Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover or E L James’ Fifty Shades of Grey,  to fabricate an ‘exciting’ diversion from what they consider their monotonous and dreary everyday. 

This whole ‘grass is greener on the other side’ notion is often fiction at its 'best'  because majority of the time, if you climbed over the ‘fence’, there’s a high likelihood that its astro-turf or worse, dyed!  Over the years, I’ve had friends (both male and female) whom I’ve had to shake and ask “What were you thinking?”, only to be faced with responses of varying versions of how things weren’t perfect at home and blah, blah, blah..  They forget it takes two to tango.

And so, in spite of some 16 years together, I don’t assume that Matt and I are impervious to the relationship fallout's we have both since witnessed all around us and we try to keep a close eye of the state of our marriage, working very hard to keep things interesting between us.  I am no gardener but I DO know that the grass is greener where it is watered, mowed, fertilised and taken care of.

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