Confessions of a Drama Mama

Max’s stomach’s got the flu. He started feeling weak in the tummy last night, then went to bed about 10pm. His earliest for as long as I remember.

Then from 2am, it happened. The night of sleep interrupted by hourly intervals of vomitting fits. I was woken up each time by the sound of him vomitting. It was horrible just watching and listening and not being able to do anything.

With a heavy heart, I left for work this morning but took time off to bring him to the doctor.

If his sitar playing made me feel like the mother of an 8 year old child practicing a musical instrument, him being sick made me feel like the mother of a sick child.

It’s not my birthday for another 20 days but just in case you want to buy me a really nice present but don’t know what to buy, here’s a list of things I really donch mind receiving:

- ** No need liao!!! Cos I bought imitation ones from BATA** Birkenstock flower flower sandals (or voucher also can)

- ** My colleagues bought from me liao. So nice** Le Sportsac flower flower handbag (imitation one also can)

- Any of the following DVD/VCD series:

——-> Mind Your Language

——-> M*A*S*H

——-> Grey’s Anatomy

——-> Scrubs

- Any of the following VCDs/DVDs, if you can find:

——-> Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (the one where they’re looking for the Holy Grail)

——-> ** ALREADY BOUGHT!!!** Water Boys (the Japanese movie about synchronized swimming)

——-> Sumo Do, Sumo Don’t

That’s it so far

By the way, the real date is 12 June. And I turn 21.

Warning! Potentially auntie blog!

I bought 3 squids from the market (auntie thing #1) today. Cos friends are coming over and we’re going to have calamari for starters. Yeah, use the new deep fryer (auntie thing #2).

Squids. They are horrible disgusting thingies before they’re cooked. And they seem to not know what they want to do - swim or fly. They’ve got "wings". Why??

First you have to remove the head and the tentacles. Removing a HEAD. Hello. You know shows like Terminator where Arnold She-Was-A-Nagger would break the bad guys’ necks, and how alien creatures would tear of good guys’ heads? Just like that. Well since squids look like aliens, I guess that makes me the good guy. Anyhow the head is really gross. Don’t look. Just pull. And hope everything else comes along.

Then you have to remove their bones. Which thankfully is only one piece of plastic thingie.

Then you have to clean their insides. And no matter how much you twist your knife in the squid, you should never think, for one second, that you’ve cleaned it completely. Sometimes if you’re lucky, you get an ink bag that will explode and that would result in nice black hands.

There’s purple-ish ’skin’ that you have to remove too. At this point I feel like a cannibal and I feel quite sick. It’s amazing. You have to keep peeling the skin! It’s not just the purple layer that comes off. There’s also a thin layer of slime you have to peel off.

When you finally think you’ve cleaned everything that can possibly be cleaned, you slice them into rings, right? It is now that you find out, shit, there’s still slime in the squid that you didn’t manage to remove earlier! When it comes to grossing you out, squids really just don’t quit.

It took me almost 45 minutes to clean 3 squids. It’s really quite a scarring experience. Next time I think I will just buy the ‘ready peeled’ ones from NTUC. Hmm… I wonder how long those people take to clean a squid.

On a slightly separate note, I’ve decided I will never watch Pirates of the Caribean. 1. Johnny Depp with eyeliner doesn’t turn me on. 2. Squidman.

Some situations that I really can’t understand:

- Why toilet seats in ladies toilets have pee on them

- How my Awfully Chocolate sinful chocolate cake that I save for special craving occasions can go missing from the office fridge when there are messages like "I belong to the Marcomm babes and hunk"  and "Don’t even think about it!" written very clearly on the box

- How some people can ask for help and not say thank you

- How I can love my job so much and yet feel so demotivated

- Since when do suppliers have the right to shout at clients?

Note: it happened to me today. One of our suppliers shouted at me even though she was at fault. And I said very calmly "there’s no reason to shout", and she said "I’m not shouting, I just have a sore throat". Huh? Whatever

- How men can not be affected by a quarrel and go back straight into lovey mood after a quarrel

- How salesgirls who say ‘all the items are displayed already’ expect us to believe them

Note: I once said back ‘is it all out or are you too lazy to go check?’. Once in a while, I go into bitch mode

- Why got people don’t understand ’stand behind yellow line’ ah? OK, donch understand Engrish niao mine. But when there are arrows on the ground, how difficult is that to understand? I can’t stand it when I kuai kuai stand behind the line then one whole group just come and stand within the yellow box.

- Seats on the bus. Fine if you want to sit outside if you’re stopping soon but what’s wrong with moving your arse in when someone else wants a seat? OK fine. It’s better fengshui for you to sit on the outside. But can get up to let the insider get off at least? Not a written rule that you have to just swerve your arse 90 degress and swing your legs out, right?

Figured it’s time to pay tribute to the other love of my life, my husband. (Tim Tams still reign though)

(I pause here for a long time. Don’t know what to say la. I feel like an 8 year old having to write a composition on "My Family")

My husband. His name is Max. Maxime Richer. Actually it’s Jean Robert Maxime Richer. So confusing hor?

He’s quite a nerd actually. It’s true, even he admits it! He’s like equivalent to our Rhodes Scholar/LKY Scholar kind you know? He’s the kind who feels disappointed if he doesn’t get an A for an exam. Me, I almost failed both O and A Levels. So you can imagine how inferior I felt next to him. But he never calls me stupid. And he never makes me feel it. Well he’s academically inclined and I’m street smart, so I guess that means our kids will be normal la.

He’s also a great person to bring shopping. He’ll find me weird pieces of clothing and ask me to try. These are things I wouldn’t normally look at but it usually turns out that he’s right.

As mature as he can be sometimes, he’s also a little boy at heart. i.e. he can be stuck to the computer all day and all night if I don’t pull him away for meals.

Speaking of meals, he eats anything and everything. Which is great cos I can cook whatever I want and know that he’ll appreciate. Awww…. He helps cook as well. And wash up. After a while. But come to think of it, he washes up way more than I do. But then again, it may only seem that way cos I wash my stuff right away, and he likes to wash stuff in a full sink.

I went through a car accident but still suffer from the injuries. He’s been willing (some times less than others, but still) to massage me whenever I ask. He buys me bath salt to soak my tired abused feet.

He watches SATC with me. I don’t know of any other guy who would do that. He massages my feet when I ask and he’s the first guy I know who accepts women exactly as they are. No squirms about seeing feminine items in the toilet or helping me buy them at NTUC, understanding about how a hot water bottle helps with easing cramps, and knowing that women are not born without leg hair.

Sometimes I feel like I’m the man in the relationship for planning so many things. But in the midst of all the crazy wedding planning, he said to me "I know that whatever you plan will turn out perfectly". And since one person needs to lead, and another follow, I guess it’s a small part for me to play in exchange for this great husband.

Like any other woman, of course I sometimes wonder how much he loves me. But like he says, how much more can a guy show his love, than by leaving his country and taking on a lousy job, just for the woman he loves? Oh. Well, that’s enough to shut me up!

Muk you, lao gong!

*Edited on 16 May 2006: Tonight I’ll come home to a surprise in the slow cooker! Thank you, husband of mine!

*Edited on 12 June 2006: Things I’ve learnt from my husband:

- A hamster’s natural habitat is not the pet shop

- You don’t have to do everything at once because there’s more to life than housework

- Darks, lights, whites and towels have to be separated in the wash

- Buying new bras and shoes every week does not help in the saving up for a baby

- There is no such thing as a ‘natural’ nail colour

I just couldn’t resist posting this. My first mail addressed to MRS TAN-RICHER

It’s 7.09pm and I’m in the office eating cup noodles. Chilli crab flavour. It’s my first time. This flavour, not cup noodles (but come to think of it, it’s really been AGES since I’ve had a cup noodle. I blame Max. Health nut. Spoiling my unhealthy life by disallowing me to buy all these yummy instant thingies during our grocery shopping trips). Anyhow, the flavour. Not so nice la. Just tastes like chilli oil. But I’m slurping away (really loud slurps, seem I HAVE been influenced by Japan after all) like it’s the yummiest thing in the world. What to do, hungry mah.

So Max and I are thinking about having a baby. So fast? Oi, you are the same people who rubbed my stomach and asked me AT MY WEDDING DINNER when our baby was arriving ok? Don’t pretend. I was drunk but I REMEMBER!

So we think we can manage financially. We’re not filthy rich but a few diapers, can la. But there are two glaring issues staring at us. Ok, 3.

1. Who will take care of our baby?

My mum? She’s the average Singaporean mum who had to go back to work after 8 weeks of maternity leave. So we were all brought up by granny/babysitter/maid respectively. So I think she will be as blur as me. It will be a case of the blind leading the blind, and I will be the blindest of all.

His mum? I don’t know. That’s all I will say for now to remain politically correct. I will reserve my comments till after the elections.

Hmmm maybe some of you who have been edging me with "Oh your baby will be mixed, he will be sooooooooooo cute!!!!!!!!!!" can volunteer to help look after? After all, who can resist a cuuuuuuute baby right?

2. Where should we have our baby?

Technically speaking, I’d like to have my kid here. Where I’m surrounded by my friends and family. Technically speaking that’s unfair to Max cos his friends and family are not here. But technically speaking, I’m the one who has to carry the little feller inside me and then push it out so I should need the support group right?

But practically speaking, 8 weeks of maternity leave in Singapore compared to what, 15 months (MONTHS, not weeks) in Canada, which both Max and I can share… Easy choice. Yes, paid, well not 100%, maybe 80%, but who’s complaining.

Wow and if we plan it right, I can have one kid after another and never quite go back to work! Can you imagine? Work for 1 month, then get pregnant, then pop, then pregnant again while on maternity leave and pop again and repeat.

Also, if we have our baby here and he’s a he, he’ll have to come back and do his NS when he’s 18. And I did say we have some money for a few diapers, so you know we don’t have enough to pay a $95,000 bond in case he decides to run away and not come back to serve his country.

Which brings us to:

3. When to have our baby?

I’m one month away from being 28 years old (yes, now you know and cannot escape. I would like to have a party at Macdonald’s please. And I don’t want one of their mass produced crowns. I want a TIARA).

I’d like to have a baby by 30. And to enjoy the long maternity leave, I first have to be employed by a company in Canada. It takes 10 months agar-agar (I’ve read Diary of a Mad Mum-To-Be, I know ok?) to carry a baby, and we also have to go through the process of making the baby so technically speaking, I should have been in Canada, gainfully employed, like last week.

Anyhow. Guess I should start stocking up on maternity wear now just in case. Well if I get preggie here, I can still wear them. If I get preggie in Canada, heck I don’t think I can find maternity wear my size there. Anything in the ladies department would be considered maternity wear!

Sigh. Decisions, decisions.

PS this is the main culprit who kicked off my maternal instinct:

Lea, my boss’ daughter. The sweetest thing. The one in the stroller, not the one sleeping in the background.