Aargh!!!!

I spent the whole morning doing a long post - and this is all that was saved!!!! And it's not my fault!

AARGHHHHH!!!

"I Am Gay!!!"

This morning, during breakfast, Son No 3 asked my hubby the meaning of "gay".

*Pause*

My hubby was tongue-tied for a while. I quickly interjected that "gay" means happy. One tends to forget that this young child is growing up in a fairly cloistered environment in a conservative society. What else could "gay" mean?

Then my innocent son took it one step further - he began practising his new-found knowledge by saying, "I am gay! I am gay!"

Err... this will not do. What if he said it publicly? Not that I have anything against gays, but still... it may offend some people and we must not forget that in this country, homosexuality is a crime.

To rectify the situation, I had no choice but to tell Son No 3 that he should just say "I am happy." I told him "happy" is a better word to use than "gay". No further explanation needed or provided.

Luckily, Son No 3 did not pursue the matter further and I was let off the hook.

*Relief*

But I am not the type to be satisfied with "curing the symptoms". I had to find out the root cause. What he asked this morning kept gnawing away at the back of my mind.

So later in the afternoon, after school, I casually asked Son No 3 where he learnt the word "gay". Son No 3 told me he discovered the word "gay" from YouTube. Alarm bells started ringing. I asked Son No 3 to show me the video that he had watched. I was surprised it was entitled, "Spongebob: If You Were Gay". To those without pre-school children, Spongebob is a popular cartoon character with a regular TV series. All my three children like to watch this cartoon.

But it was not a real episode from Spongebob, the cartoon series. The video was the product of some people putting together some Spongebob scenes and editing them to certain words to create a new video. Aiyoh, people are so free-ah.... kind of wu-liao, you know. Luckily, the video was quite innocent, no graphic images as I had feared ... But it goes to show once again what a minefield the internet can be.

Hmm... the two younger boys already knew that they should not simply go into YouTube without my permission. But since Son No 2 discovered that he could watch his favourite Pokemon episodes from YouTube, he has been visiting that site more often and thinking that that's all he is doing, I have relaxed my guard.

Looks like now I have to increase my vigilance again... Or maybe what this stay-at-home mom really needs is some sort of full-time Nanny Guard that will do a good job. Yes, that's probably my next course of action...

P/S: I hope Son No 3 will not ask me the meaning of "queer" next - I notice the word was spoken in the same video!

Another Piece Gone

I have given up on my Sony Ericsson mobile. In the past, it has given me lots of problems - I had to bring it back to the authorised agent less than 6 months after the purchase date. The servicing was free then as it was still under warranty and I must say the after-sale service was superb - efficient and prompt. Nevertheless, when one buys a durable good, one would prefer not to have to test the effectiveness of its after-sale service.

Even after the servicing and changing of parts, I lived with a cranky phone and a crankier joystick for years. The joystick was insensitive at times and when you applied more force, it jumped several notches down the list of options. It just did not want to point where you wanted it to. It was enough to make you want to scream. But to buy a new phone when this phone was functional - despite its quirkiness - would have been wasteful.

Anyway, finally, bits of the black casing started falling off last week, thus making it impossible for me to continue using the phone. Aha... now I do not have to contend with a guilty conscience when I go shopping for a new mobile.

As I do not have the time to shop for a new phone just yet, as a stop-gap measure, I am now using my hubby's spare phone.

That's when I realise there is a problem. The list of contacts in my old phone cannot be merged into my hubby's phone due to lack of memory space. I had to delete some "memory" in my phone. Anyway, I guess it is high time to do some house-keeping. The numbers that I have not used for years will have to make way for those with higher frequency of use.

So this morning, I set out the task to delete low-priority contacts. The majority of these are contacts that I have been keeping since my Singapore days. I am sure we all have such dormant contacts which we keep, either for sentimental reasons or because we are simply too lazy to remove them. So, one by one, ...

Delete - the colleagues from the bank where I worked.
Delete - the colleagues and lecturers from my NIE (teacher-training) days.
Delete - the colleagues from the school where I taught.
Delete - the students whom I have taught.
Delete - the dentist, doctors, gas man, the children's teachers, the schoolbus driver etc

I kept my friends, my family, my present students, my present colleagues and all those new utility numbers in KL.

But you know, that's a whole chunk of my life in Singapore - deleted.

Sure, some contacts from NIE were nothing more than project-mates. Son No 1's dance teacher's contact from his old school was in my phone simply because I might have needed to contact her over dance matters. The gas man, hell, was just a delivery service!

But those were the pieces that formed a part of my live. Every contact represented some piece of memory. As I deleted the contacts, I paused and remembered those moments I had with each particular person. Just a name and the floodgates of memories opened...

*Random*

- My NIE colleague who helped me source for sheep's hearts for my students' dissection.
- My well-educated, modern and wealthy Brahmin colleague from India who invited me to Calcutta (!) for his grand wedding with a girl of his parents' choice in an arranged marriage.
- My various students, their smiles, and mannerisms.
- And so on, and so on...

*Random*

Well, life goes on, I guess.

Though I did think of copying down those contacts in a faithful (paper-based) notebook, which would not run out of memory space so easily, I think there is no point, really.

Life is now, is it not? Anyway, that's what Oprah would have said.

To Work Or Not To Work

Some time last year, one of my good friends in Singapore returned to full-time paid employment after a long spell as a stay-at-home mom (SAHM) - and promptly lost her job a few months later due to the economic downturn.

So AA started job-hunting again. Notwithstanding the master's degree that she holds in the bio-medical life sciences field, she was quite open to other career options, including teaching, but she faced further rejections - which is not surprising at all in today's job market. The situation was enough to make anyone feel down.

As a fellow SAHM, I can perhaps empathise with her situation more than most. Before she rejoined the workforce, we shared many ups and downs in our lives as mothers and SAHMs (there is a perceptible difference between these two terms which I will explain another time) and I can understand her reasons for wanting to go back to work.

Heck, the same thoughts run through my mind frequently. Although we both believe that time spent with family is worth their weight in gold, and are fortunate enough to be in the position to actually have the option to stay at home, which many women don't, it is not clear-cut at all that staying at home is always the natural choice.

Anyway, now that AA has seen both sides of the coin again and again, she tells me something we all know - but tend to forget - that Time is the greatest gift that God can give us, and thus, by extension, Time is the greatest gift we can give to our loved ones.

Over the past few weeks, her hubby and one of her daughters needed medical attention (not life-threatening but time-consuming anyway) and she was glad that she was able to fulfil her duties as mother and wife. If she was holding her job, well, life probably would still have gone on, but the stress in juggling responsibilities and possible self-recrimination for not being there would be wrenching.

So for now, AA will consider some form of part-time employment. That might be the best option - but easier said than done. It is not easy to find part-time employment and job satisfaction is even more elusive.

Sooner or later, I too would be faced with the same soul-searching questions as my children grow and spend more time in school, leading their own lives in their own worlds. My presence will probably be required in diminishing proportions. Would I then rejoin the work force full-time, part-time or start something on my own as an entrepreneur? I do not think I am the type to be able to sit at home and take things easy (I wish I could!)

For SAHMs intending to rejoin the labour market, there is always the deep-seated fear that our value in the working world would have declined exponentially each year we are away from the work force. If we ever want to re-join the work force, there is a time limit before employers write us off mercilessly.

It is not going to be easy. Employers tend to have a negative view of women who were "housewives" before. And chances are the employers are younger than us and while we do not mind, they probably prefer someone who is younger and more malleable. It is going to be The Climb.

Sigh, crossroads again....

Maybe striking out on my own might be the best option...

Maid Drama

When we sat down for dinner last night, we had no inkling of the drama that would unfold later that night.

We had dinner around 8 pm as usual. The dishes were cooked by our maid, Siti. Siti is 26 years old, petite in size, pleasant in disposition, and has been with us for about a year.

Lately, she has been receiving more telephone calls from Indonesia. We can only guess why. Her family problems, which she has confided in me before, are complex. She now lives for her only daughter, a toddler of around 3 years old. After each telephone call, Siti would be distracted and lived in a world of her own for a while.

Yesterday, Siti's husband left a message for her to call her father, which she promptly did after we finished our dinner. Her conversation with her father was pretty normal at first. Then she started becoming very agitated - shouting into the phone and speaking very rapidly. We did not really understand what she was saying.

Then in a split second, she fell onto the floor, the handphone she was holding flung across the room. We rushed to her side and realised that she had fainted. There was no response when we called her name repeatedly. She was as limp as a rag doll. As we shook her and applied medicated oil on her, she regained consciousness for a while, cried unintelligibly, then relapsed into unconsciousness again. This happened a few times. We decided to call for the ambulance.

Meanwhile, my three sons were feeling alarmed. The two younger boys looked scared and worried. They did not know what had happened and even thought Siti might have died. I hastened to explain to them that Siti probably had some bad news and was in a shock. Do shocks make you faint? Not all the time, only if the shock was too much and some people cannot handle it. Hubby explained it further in a way they could understand. It's like the computer "hanging" when there is an overload.

The ambulance took some time to come. We all waited silently and anxiously for the siren. Honestly, if it were a real medical emergency, this would not be good at all. More than 30 minutes later, two paramedics arrived, one Malay and the other Indian. The Malay chap took control of the situation and laid Siti down with legs propped up. He tried to revive Siti on the spot. He asked for some tap water, wet his bare hands with it and wiped Siti's face a few times. Wa, so easy-ah... just use water only. Siti slowly opened her eyes and seemed to be in a daze. She cried again, this time calling for her Allah while mumbling a string of arabic chants. Then she passed out again.

The paramedics felt it was better to send her to the hospital. Hubby went with the maid while I stayed behind to look after the children. Both the Malay and Indian paramedics were very helpful. We spoke with them in Malay and they spoke with us in English. I notice this type of multi-lingual exchange quite frequently - especially when all parties try to show respect for one another by speaking the other's language. The result may be a stilted conversation, but nobody bothers. In fact, I find this a pretty good sign of inter-racial tolerance at the ground level.

I slept with the two younger boys that night for fear that they would have nightmares, but all turned out well. Siti was not hospitalised and my hubby drove her back from the A&E in the wee hours of the morning. She was not sedated, nor was she given any relaxant (which I expected) but rather, the good doctors at the A&E gave her paracetamol. Just Panadol??? Wa, so easy-ah... should have just treated her at home.

This morning, Siti woke up with swollen eyes but she was back to her almost-normal self. What happened, we all wanted to know. In my mind, I was thinking that a tragedy might have befallen her daughter because I heard her calling her daugher's name in between her fainting spells. I knew that Siti previously had another young daughter who died in the hospital due to high fever. I thought if something similar were to happen again, she might not be able to take it.

But I was relieved when I heard her story. With tears flowing down her cheeks, Siti confided that her hubby had taken on a new mistress. (My mind was saying begitu sahaja? Like that only-ah...) This was the second time he had an affair. I knew that the first mistress had died during childbirth (the mortality rate in Indonesia seemed rather high compared to here). Nevertheless, Siti said her heart was very "sakit" or pained.

Compared to the scenario that I had painted in my mind, this was certainly not too drastic. Not to sound callous or anything like that, but oh my, if all the women in KL were to faint when they found out that their spouse had taken a mistress or had an affair, the A&E here would be very busy indeed.

All I can say is, with all the stories I have heard from the maids that I have had, I can write a book. "The Plight Of The Foreign Maids" - hmm, how does that sound? There would be some expose as well... like how some maids are forced to be intimate with their agents... (it really happened). Aha, more dirty secrets to be revealed when you buy my book!

The Electric Plant

Today Son No 3 asked me another profound question.

He had earlier learnt that electricity was carried to our house via electric cables and that the electricity came from electric plants which could be normally found in the mountains.

"Who make the electric plants?"

"Engineers."

"Then who make flowers?"

"God."

"Why God make flowers but not electric plants?"

"Hmm... flowers are natural, but electric plants are made by people...."

(Pause)

"How the engineers know how to make electric plants?"

"Engineers go to University and they learn how to build all types of things."

"But not flowers?"

"Not flowers..."

"But why don't GOD make the electric plants?"

"Err...."

=^=

As the conversation continued, it dawned on me why Son No 3 was confused and why he kept drawing a parallel between the electric plant and the flower.

Son No 3 thought that the electric plant was actually a REAL organic plant - you know, the type with green leaves and all! LOL!

A real plant that could produce electricity???

Hmm... something for our environmentalists to think about...!

G*U*N*S

Yesterday, Son No 3 got another belated birthday present. (WHAT, is this birthday thingy never going to end???)

It's a pair of Ben 10 walkie-talkie. Son No 3 was very excited and possessive over the new toy. But this is one toy that is really no fun playing on your own - so in the end, all the boys had a go at it. I was quite happy to leave them alone playing with their new toy while I did my own thing on the computer. They were shouting inane messages loudly from one room to another - their actual voices drowning the transmitted voices - but no matter...

The next moment when I turned around, who knows, the walkie-talkies (see picture) had morphed into a pair or guns, lol! The boys were no longer contented with the game of transmitting voices but were now leaping off the sofa, hiding behind walls and aiming at each other with their "guns" - shooting, dodging, reloading..... are they creative or what? A two-in-one toy!

Sigh! Should have known this would happen.

I have never bought a single toy gun for my three sons - but this had not stopped my three sons from developing this fascination with guns and shooting. They somehow manage to turn whatever they can get hold of into their "guns", whether we like it or not.

You're right, it's in the male genes.

*Give up*

Mothers of daughters only will not understand.

I learnt very much earlier on, thanks to the boys, that the versatility of Lego building blocks makes them ideal for the construction of all types of fanciful weapons.

Disposal wooden chopsticks are also good materials for shaping into guns or bows and arrows.

Plastic drinking straws are easily available and quite malleable.

Even crackers can be bitten and shaped to become a 2-D pistol.

Ya, the boys' imagination knows no bounds when it comes to creating the things that they like (and forbidden).

And when absolutely nothing is available to them, then their thumb and first finger, shaped into the familiar L-shape, will give them the instant gun that they desired!

It's amazing how realistic the boys can be with this shooting-thingy. I notice that, a split second after they have fired a shot, their arm will jerk backwards - as if it was pushed back by the recoil force. Ah, where did they learn that - Newton's 3rd law of motion?! Dodging imaginary bullets, rolling on the ground injured, pretending to be dead - hmm, they can be really good actors, these boys. Hey, no need to go for drama classes-leh...

I have no doubt that, from here, the two younger boys will eventually move on to first person shooter video games - like Son No 1.

Last night, I heard a stream of merry laughter coming out of Son No 1's room. Curious, I went in to check what movie he was watching on his MacBook. But no... it was not a movie he was watching - he was laughing out loud for shooting the wrong people in some computer game. Really.

*Give up*

Women will never understand, I guess.