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 |  The misadventures of a full-time working/ housekeeping parent! Quill nominee. |
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** So that's the Wife and the Kid in the photo. Not the Better Wife -- that's me. Or at least who I'm forced to be, and try to keep being, most of the time. I've never blogged before, and never felt inclined to do so. Before I got married, I was too busy gaming.  World of Warcraft demands a great deal of your time, devotion, and sanity, especially if you're in an end-game raiding guild. After I got married, I was too busy being married. It turns out that being a husband, a father, a homemaker, and a professional rent-maker is even more demanding than being a guildmaster! Now who could have imagined that? Well, certainly not me.  When I started this blog a few months ago, I had kind of reached a boiling point. I was stressed out juggling all my commitments and responsibilities, and had hit the Mariana Trench in my career. I'm still mired in the deeps, and during this period I needed something else in my life to haul me out. It turned out that poverty is not conducive to creating a healthy and supportive home environment. To add to my depressing financial straits, Lynx's (the Kid) health started deteriorating. From one epileptic fit a month, he started suffering up to three times, sometimes within a single day. Numerous hospital visits and specialist consultations ensued, forcing me to take unpaid leave from a minimum wage job that paid me less than half of what I made as a fresh graduate -- twenty years ago. Silent blame from the Wife began to seep out through resentful tones and then blatant accusations. In this era of 'empowered females', somehow men are expected to earn more and do more at home as well. Ironic, isn't it? What I'm going through is similar to what many women go through every day, and only a tiny fraction of what my mother and the working women of her generation endured. But one thing I am denied which most women enjoy is a group of confidantes they can open up to. Most men I know aren't comfortable talking about, or listening to another guy talk about their emotions and struggles. Maybe it's an ego thing, or machismo speaking. Maybe I need to grow out my hair and a pair of boobs, slap on some makeup before a guy would at least pretend to listen and commiserate. Anyway that's when the blog started, and I started pouring out bits and pieces of my frustrations and elations into the nether of digital space. Beyond the Cloud9   was one of my first few readers, and I enjoyed chatting with her through blog comments tremendously. She's helped me so much by providing perspective and sharing her own stories and experiences with her own family and children.That's what this is -- a little space where I occasionally come in and rant or share odd, interesting, or exciting events in my never-mundane life. A space I hope will attract a few others to come in sometimes, look around and share some words. Enjoy sharing my life with me! ![Merit Badge in Music
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Thank you for your participation in the 48-HOUR CHALLENGE: "Return To Innocence by Enigma" Media Prompt hosted by [Link To User support] ! We appreciate that you tackled this challenge... *^*Smile*^* *^*Thumbsupl*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Music-1050.gif) ![Merit Badge in Queen of Comedy
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I wanted to send you a little something to thank you for your humor! Your blog entry: [Link to Book Entry #936771] made me laugh so much that I spit my coffee everywhere, so thank you very much! *^*Laugh*^* ~Lornda A.K.A. The Queen of Comedy *^*Crown*^* Refer to for more details on how hard it is to make me laugh. *^*Wink*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Queen_of_Comedy-1875103_14.gif) A big thanks to Lornda  for the magnificent merit badge above! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Nominated for Best Family/ Parenting ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Nominated for Best Blog Featured in "Comedy Newsletter (August 1, 2018)"  |
| Depending on your time zone, it's either the wife's or the kid's birthday right now. Three years ago in a hospital bed, the wife spent 14 hours trying to push the stubborn little bugger out. She didn't want a C-section. It would scar her, and any future deliveries would have to be by scalpel as well. The idea of being carved open like a turkey at Thanksgiving horrified her, as well as the tearful goodbyes she'd have to make to her collection of colorful bikinis. It wasn't my body, so I went with her decision. However when she started peeing blood, the doctor stepped in and declared it too dangerous to keep waiting for her cervix to dilate until the required 10 cm. (My wife's theory till this day is that the doctor was tired of waiting and wanted to go home for dinner. She insists that if we'd waited just another few hours...) Of course the initial plan was to induce labor on her birthday, and get that shared birthday. However, once the contractions got bad enough that she needed an epidural, all thoughts of astrological alignments and neatly-planned coincidences disappeared. The thing is, I've never cared much about birthdays and festival days etc. It didn't matter to me which day or time Lynx would be born on, as long as both mother and child were healthy and well. I stopped celebrating my birthday the day I ran away from home. There were a few arguments for that. One -- being a year older didn't mean one was a year wiser or better in any way. Two -- if a birthday's meant to celebrate the occasion of one's birth, then I think we should be celebrating the mother. She's the one who did the heavy lifting, not the baby. Three -- why do we have to wait till a certain time or day to celebrate, commemorate, or appreciate the meaning and impact of anything? If something is truly meaningful and important, we'd spend as much time as possible reflecting and ruminating upon it. Each day, each moment has as much significance as the next, or the one before. It's all in the mind. There is nothing intrinsically good or bad, moral or immoral, but your mind makes it so. That's not to say that I frown upon others celebrating their birthdays and occasions of significance. Just as I allow myself to ascribe zero value to that, I allow others to ascribe as much value as they wish. I attend birthdays and festivals. I sing the songs with heartfelt gusto. But you'd be as likely to catch me singing 'I'm Dreaming Of A White Christmas' or "Silent Night' in the middle of May as you would in December. Seven years the wife and I have been married, and we've never done anything special for either of our birthdays, or our anniversary. That probably screams of relationship-neglect to all those culturally conditioned to buy cards and flowers, or do something utterly amazing to prove one's love one day of the year, but we're still happily married (despite all our irritations with each other). Instead of having a calendar dictate which day we need to celebrate or make ourselves/each other feel special or loved, we let our moods and needs do so. She tells me when she feels like going out somewhere special, or do something different, and we just do it. No need for a birthday or anniversary to remind us that we all need to treat ourselves to a little something now and then. Perhaps this takes the surprise out of the equation, and I'm pretty sure that while we're happy with this arrangement, not everyone will like it. Tonight we're taking Lynx out to a new park and checking out a new cafe. We did that last week as well. Maybe in his mind, every week's a birthday week. So my questions for today's blog are: How do you feel when no one celebrates your birthday or anniversary? What is the most memorable celebration you've had? |
| They were black and lacy, tiny and tucked away between the two futon mattresses. Invisible. I remembered the girl -- she was a very pretty Latina, early twenties, serving in the army. Once upon many decades ago, I might have had a different reaction to finding a pair of intimate underwear belonging to a hot girl. Now, in my forties and conditioned to a life of cleaning up after others, my first thought was, "Should I use tongs to move them?" followed by "I'll have to disinfect the tongs." Instead I took a picture of them and sent it to my wife. The very unsexy message accompanying it read, "Um, our guests left something behind... Throw in the trash?" It was garbage day and the collection truck would be trundling by in the afternoon. I was doing a load of laundry, and getting the sheets and pillowcases clean for our next guests arriving on Thursday. The panties could go into the bin or the washing machine. Using tongs, of course. Just thinking about how it might feel if I touched them gave me the shudders, and I don't mean that in a creepy, perverted way. I was literally thinking about the bacteria swimming on that piece of cloth, and trying hard not to wonder what else might be on it -- yuck! The whole episode made me wonder about something. Why was I so repulsed by it? I know (well, maybe not know know, I've read) about men who go crazy over these kinds of things. Some people even pay exorbitant sums of money for used panties! Eeek! Why was I freaking out over them like Melman from Madagascar? So my questions for today's blog are: Why do you think I reacted the way I did? How would you react? What is the weirdest/most memorable thing you've ever left behind, or discovered that someone left behind? |
| Okay, so everyone has stuff they simply can't stand about others, although we may not speak up about it. Being the peaceable and conflict-avoiding guy I am, I tend to keep my gripes to myself. I'm also fortunate enough that my reclusive lifestyle means I don't have to be exposed to stuff and people that piss me off, and I can always just stop reading my Facebook feed, right? However since we became AirBnB hosts, it's become impossible to remain blind to some of these annoyances. This past weekend, we hosted our 4th round of guests. Oddly, they weren't tourists coming for a taste of snorkeling heaven or Okinawa's unique culture and cuisine. They were a military couple who'd been stationed on a base here for almost two years, choosing our traditional-styled room for a stay-cation. Now that the thunderstorm season is kind of over, the rest of summer promises to be a stifling ordeal of crippling humidity. I have insane heat/humidity tolerance (except when it comes to hot water) so I find it just a mite uncomfortable. However the wife and Lynx are sweat-ers, which means when I'm comfortably lounging on the sofa, they're dripping perspiration all over the floor and groaning for the aircon remote control. For their sakes as well as those of our guests, we keep the air-conditioning running for as long as there's someone around, despite the insane expense. Our guests were perfectly pleasant and never once complained about Lynx's riotous laughter, or the literally paper-thin walls, or the heat. They took off their shoes at the door instead of trudging dirt in, and hardly ever made any noise themselves. However they did just one thing that made me wince -- when they left the house, they locked the door but kept both the fan and the air-conditioning running. This would be quite forgivable if they simply popped out for a quick bite or stroll around the neighborhood, but they would disappear for half the day while our electricity bill started cracking a hole in the roof. The wife commented that it must be an American thing, for we noticed that our American neighbors (just so happens that all our immediate neighbors are Americans) keep their house lights on even when they went on holiday. I explained that the lights were probably a security measure to dissuade would-be burglars, but I simply could not come up with an explanation for keeping the fan or air-conditioning running. Are most Americans such wastrels, or is it simply a rich-poor divide kind of habit? At the luxury resort mall on the other side of the hill from us, we very occasionally pamper ourselves by taking in brunch at this Hawaiian cafe that serves excellent pancakes in American-sized portions. This means that each can effectively feed two, especially Asian-sized stomachs (I eat about half as much as my wife, and ahem, our appearances tell as much  ). We still order two portions because the wife has to have variety, and we usually pack away the leftovers for dinner. What I've noticed are American families eating there and ordering a full-sized portion for each of their children -- this means that there will be five meals for a family with three children. The kids never finish even half of what's on their plate, quite understandably. What's incomprehensible to me is how the family simply leaves everything behind instead of packing them back to eat later! I've seen tables with stacks of a dozen untouched pancakes, half a dozen half-eaten sausages or burger patties and forests of salad -- all just swept up and thrown in the trash!!Having been hungry and homeless before during my teenage years, I can't help but wonder if I'd been a runaway in America whether I would've had a better time. If I could find some decent clean clothes, practice a routine and walk right into cafes such as these and go, "Oh I'm so sorry, but my parents actually wanted to bring the leftovers back for our dog," I might have scored a full meal every single day by rotating different restaurants. Anyway that gave me a story idea. Maybe it's simply I grew up poor, with my parents constantly reminding me to turn off the lights or fan when I left the room, and not to leave the tap running. To take showers instead of baths to save water etc. But the habits of the have are simply mind-boggling to me. So my questions for today's blog are: What habits of others turn you off the most? What are some ways in which you've witnessed people being wasteful? |
Okay, I got inspired to start writing about our experience as newbie AirBnB hosts by Lyn's a sly fox  's post sharing about her own experience. We listed our house about two months ago, and since AirBnB is pretty new to Japan we got ranked in the top 20 for our prefecture before we even got our first guest! How crazy is that?Our first guests checked in on April 30th -- a missionary couple who had booked the place for 3 solid months. It was weird, since most people usually stay for just a night or a few. They were really nice -- newlywed Americans, the husband in the Navy and the wife a fresh high school graduate here to provide him all kinds of support. We had a few interesting theological discussion around the dinner table, and we were sorry that they decided to cut short their stay with us when their church managed to secure more permanent lodgings for them nearer to the army base. They gave us such thoughtful parting gifts too. For Lynx, a spring-operated Lightning McQueen toy car that has since become his absolute favourite. For me, a nice leather-bound journal since they knew my writing fever (unfortunately they didn't realise I only do digital, or maybe they just wanted to get something meaningful that wouldn't burn their pockets). Er, I forgot what they got the wife but it was something nice. I think.  I kind of expected it actually -- them leaving early. I figured they must have had some problems securing base lodgings for the spouse, since military personnel usually didn't venture out into the civilian quarters. Furthermore our room is a Japanese-style room with actual sliding paper doors and walls. No lock. This means they had to be very quiet, or very creative, about doing what newlyweds want to do most of all.  They decided to take very long showers together. Well, that's one way of going about it.  Anyway on Friday we received our second set of guests, this time from Korea. They arrived really late -- at around 10pm even though they arranged to check in at 5pm. It didn't matter. I had done a thorough cleaning up and was simply chilling out on the sofa writing and waiting. They didn't even use the doorbell or knock, but just opened the door like they knew it would be open (it was, and I had left the porch light on for them). Again they appeared to be newlyweds, and were only stopping for the night on their way back home. I introduced myself and offered to help with their bags, but they declined. They also failed to introduce themselves (even though we knew their names from the booking, I still think meeting someone face-to-face for the first time entails some kind of introduction?). I showed them the room, as well as the futons they would be using. In case they were unfamiliar with this rather Japanese arrangement, I demonstrated how to unroll the mattresses and pull on fresh sheets and pillowcases etc. I expected to do one as an example, and then they could take over for themselves. The missionary couple didn't even want us to demonstrate, insisting on doing everything themselves. This couple however simply stood there and waited for me to play housemaid for them. I fitted the sheets, pillowcases, as well as the blanket covers for both of them, all while they just stood there watching like I was an incompetent hotel maid that needed to be supervised for work to get done. Well, maybe it's part of the service that's expected of AirBnB hosts, and maybe our first guests had simply spoilt us by being so independent. After all, these weren't friends or family who could be expected to take care of themselves while they stayed over, right? Perhaps we should be providing hotel services? I showed them around, and invited them to use the water dispenser and fridge freely. I gave them the wifi details on a slip of paper, then I went back to the living room and continued my writing. About half an hour later, the man came out and said, "My wife feels uncomfortable with you here in the living room, because you know your room has no lock." Hmph. We had put up photos of the room on the listing, so they knew exactly what they were getting... And now I couldn't sit in my own living room? Well, it was only one night, and I didn't want to spoil their vacation (plus if you've read my earlier posts, you'll know I'm a complete pushover hehe  ) so I retreated to the bedroom with the reminder to call me if they needed anything. To their credit, they did ask me if they should go outside to smoke so I directed them to our rooftop garden.The next morning I heard them in the bathroom, and decided to give them some time to freshen up before I went out and 'made the wife uncomfortable' with my presence in my own house. I wanted to introduce them to the wonderful bakery just up the road that would be perfect for breakfast or brunch, and recommend them some other ways to spend their last day in Okinawa (after all, I do write for an online travel magazine to introduce Okinawa to foreigners). When I came out of my room, the place was empty. I figured they'd gone upstairs for a smoke. I sneaked a peek into the room, which had one sliding panel open. The beds were in an untidy mess and there was a brown stain on one of the sheets. A plastic shopping bag sat in a corner. I figured they would be back. Half an hour passed, and I decided to check the roof and the driveway. They were gone. Without a word. Leaving behind the beds unmade and dirtied. I checked the plastic bag and found it full of empty beer cans and food packaging. They had eaten in the room, spilled the food and left the trash for us to clear up. Wow. In the year and half since we've moved to Okinawa, we've had friends and family come over to visit every month. None of them had ever done something like this. I told my wife, who was away on a business trip in Tokyo with Lynx, and she worriedly informed me that the Korean guests had cancelled their reservation! A call to AirBnB customer service assured us that payment had been made. However since they 'cancelled' their reservation despite actually having stayed at our place, we could not give them a review. Huh. Well, as I write this, my next AirBnB guest will be arriving in two hours, this time from Taiwan. Two guests, so I'm expecting another couple. Will they be like our first or the recent guests we've had? So my questions for today's blog are: What is the most delightful guest or hosting experience you've had? Conversely what was the worst experience you've had as either a guest or a host? Entry for "The Bard's Hall Contest" June, 2017 |
| Since I bashed the wife in my last post, it's only fair that I write a piece extolling her virtues. It's not like I'm a saint or paragon of virtue either, and she puts up with that. But I really don't want another post bursting with negativity so soon, thus an ode today. First piece of praise -- from a vain, materialistic, brand-conscious girl, she's completely transformed. For anyone who's ever tried to change yourself, you'll attest to how insanely difficult that is. We were quite complete opposites, so I think that our ending up together is something of a mini-miracle and mostly attributed to her willingness to change (not that I asked her to). I am a complete ascetic. I never buy clothes or anything pricey, don't carry a mobile phone, and pretty much have zero personal possessions. It's mostly due to a third of a lifetime (14 years) spent homeless on the streets, where you simply have what's on your back and nothing else. All of my clothes were given to me by friends and family, and have probably been in my wardrobe for a decade or more. My wife comes from a comfortable family and can afford to splurge $500 on a pair of shoes, or $2k on a handbag! If she had continued to be the girl that she was, we never would be together. From a girl who only ever stayed in boutique hotels when she went travelling, she now has a handful of camping experiences under her belt, as well as a two-month-long backpack of Africa and Spain. Even though she's sworn never to go camping ever again (after she nearly caught pneumonia on the last one), I appreciate that she made the effort to go on as many as she did with me and my friends. I don't think I changed as much as she did for us to get along better together, and it's truly to her credit that she did that. Most girls I know would demand that the guys bend over backwards for them, and try to house-train them into their 'dream husbands'. Mine gives me a lot of freedom to be who I am, and accepts me for that. Second piece of praise -- she's a way better mother than I am a father. She still loses her patience with Lynx, but way less often and after much more frustration than I can put up with. I usually let Lynx do whatever he wants, since I'm firmly in the let-him-try-it-and-learn-the-consequences camp kind of dad. If he wanted to stick his head in the oven, I'd simply stand by and make sure he can't reach the heat control dials. If he climbed to a high place, I'd watch and maybe catch him if he fell, or maybe not. If getting a bruised butt gets him to take proper care before doing something risky, I'm all for it. Obviously this is a lot more latitude than most parents are willing to give their children, and conversely Lynx can be more than a bit spoilt. Lately on our nightly walks, he's taken to directing me towards longer and longer routes so as to delay getting home. When he kicks up a fuss because he can't get his way (usually because he's cranky from being sleepy or hungry), I either give in too easily and coddle him or simply stomp away in frustration. The wife, however, will spend a good half hour negotiating with him! She will repeatedly explain to him why he can't have what he wants (e.g. Coke before bed, a walk at 3 a.m., etc) even though he won't listen and throws a tantrum. She uses time-out to get him to think and choose what he really wants that she will allow, and usually after a super-long and exhausting time he will finally cave in. It impresses me how she manages it. And the third piece of praise -- she's also a far better daughter and sister to her family than I am a son/brother to mine. She takes the time to call her parents and siblings almost every day, and at least twice or thrice a week. Me? I might send my sister an occasional Facebook message, and my parents might get a 5-minute call during the Lunar New Year, but that's it. She organizes family get-togethers at least once or twice a year (since we're living on an island, this is harder than it sounds). The only time I ever did something like that was buying them a vacation to New Zealand a year after I got my first job. One time only. It's really because of her that Lynx gets to have a proper extended family with uncles and aunts to fuss over him, grandparents to dote on him and cousins to play with. Last year when my dysfunctional family came over to visit, I ended up chasing my dad out of the house (long long story and a history of violence) and let's just say it wasn't pretty. So my questions for today's blog are: What is something you really appreciate about your partner/spouse? How are the two of you really different? Entry for "The Bard's Hall Contest" June, 2017 |
| For the second day in a row, the wife left her keys in my car. What this means is that I had to make the 45-minute drive back from school to drop her keys off, before driving all the way back to school this morning. Which meant I had to navigate morning traffic 3 times, and I was late. Since I make it a point of arriving super early at school every day (at least an hour before it starts), I made it to class just as my sub-homeroom teacher was done taking attendance. Seriously. It's plain infuriating. She expects me to pick up after her all the time. If I had known what she was like, I really don't know if we'd had gotten married (which is why I'm totally for cohabitation before marriage -- I don't mean premarital sex necessarily, but you gotta know if you can manage a household together. You GOTTA.) Rewind to when we were newly-weds eight years ago. We were staying at my parents', since there were legal difficulties involved in securing her permanent residency status and buying a property (singles are not allowed to buy property until 35 years of age, and even married couples have to meet certain stringent requirements). Since my mum is a fantastic housekeeper, I never realized that my wife wasn't doing anything to help (I also happened to work super late hours at the university then). Then we got our tiny one-bedroom apartment, and I began to realize I was doing the lion's share of cleaning. However since it was such a tiny place, I didn't really mind. She was really slow at cleaning, and dishes she washed almost always needed to be washed again. What she was really good at though, was beautifying the place by decorating and buying tasteful furniture and ornaments. I figured it was a good balance, since I have zero aesthetic taste. Now we have a large place at least twice the size of our starter apartment, with crazy storage space and the kitchen island she's always wanted. But every day when I get home, it looks like a hurricane's paid a visit before me. Cupboard doors and drawers lie ajar. Knickknacks and pieces of clothing are strewn everywhere. The table looks set for a cockroach party. On the counter there are half-cut vegetables and fruit waiting for flies to pay them some attention, plastic wrappers and shrinkwrap everywhere. The sink is, of course, choked with unwashed dishes. I can't stand it. I don't know how anyone can just leave things lying around like that. When I cook, I cut off what I need and put the rest back in the fridge immediately. Vegetable skins and unused shavings go into the trash immediately, and so do any wrappers and empty packages. I don't drink tea or coffee, but if I did the tea bag or coffee grounds would be disposed of immediately after use. It takes literally 2 seconds to lift the lid of the trash can and drop in whatever needs to be inside. But apparently those 2 seconds are too much bother for the wife. Instead she'll have a row of week-old coffee in various mugs on the ledge above the bed, beside the sofa, or wherever it is she happens to be lounging. She doesn't seem to notice that whenever I pass by her coffee-mold collection, I make them disappear. Maybe she thinks there're cleaner gnomes in the house or something. She's taken to making and eating homemade ice-cream and smoothies every day now. What this means is avocado skins and banana parts lying around for me to clean up. I mention to her how the cups she uses for smoothies need to be soaked immediately or they're almost impossible to clean properly, and especially the blender parts which have places that a sponge just can't reach. She'll reply, "Oh, I thought I soaked them. Why don't you just leave them and I'll wash them later?" Two days ago I really did leave a grooved cap I simply couldn't get the smoothie stains off of for her to clean herself. Last night when I got home, it was still there in the sink looking greener and slimier. I found a bottle scrub and got it to a presentable state. This wouldn't be that bad if she would own the consequences of her actions (or inaction) but all too often, I am the one who has to 'be punished'. "Where're my keys/purse/phone?" is a common refrain in the house. And I'd have to get off whatever I'm doing to help her search... It's not like I'm a neat freak. I don't label everything, and insist on everything being in a certain place. I simply want a clean table and counter, floor too. As part of the household, I accept that I have to do my share of the cleaning but is it too much to ask that a little bit of picking up after oneself is done? * Note that this is a rant, so I'm purposely neglecting to mention the ways in which the wife does pull her own weight in the house and only focusing on what pisses me off. So my questions for today's blog are: What is something you never knew about your spouse/partner/family member until after a certain event? In what way do you or someone you know act like a princess? Entry for "The Bard's Hall Contest" June, 2017 |
| It's summer, and that means the creepy-crawlies are out in force. Now in case you didn't know, I hate creepy-crawlies. Even when I was a kid, my younger sister would fearlessly catch a giant grasshopper larger than her hand and show it off proudly, whereas I would scream and flutter my wings away. Of course that only incited her to chase me -- that evil girl. Over the years, I had to condition myself to deal with them. The weird thing is that if I really have no choice, I have absolutely no qualms about doing anything to or with them. I've waded waist-deep through a giant cavern of bats*** filled with a couple billion cockroaches, eaten a live cicada, and so basically that means that if I was in the Temple of Doom, I would simply suck in my gut and do what needs to be done. But as long as there is a glimmer of a possibility that I don't have to deal with it, I take the escape route. The best example of that is when I was a dorm student in university. My then to-be girlfriend, whom I was possibly trying to impress, had a cockroach situation in the next block. So over I went with a stick of rolled-up newspaper to hunt it down. "Where did you see it last?" "Over there by the desk." Outside I was all calm and ghostbuster swagger. Inside I was praying over and over that the cockroach had the sense to sneak out during the time it took for her to run over to my dorm room (this is before there were mobile phones). Then I wouldn't have to do anything except look pro at inspecting the room, sneak a peek at her underwear drawer, and get her gushing all over me after for my efforts -- oh yeah. I approached the desk slowly, very very slowly. She hid behind me and peered around the side. I liked having her so close to me so I didn't say anything, like 'If I have to whack it quickly, I might catch you in the face with you here'. The desk was neat and cockroach-free. Whew. Smart roach. "Check under the desk." Under the desk?? That was seriously a bad idea. A terrible terrible idea. That would mean I'd be on my knees, which makes me less maneuverable and a swift escape harder. And I would have to stick my face at an awkward angle to look... I gulped and did it, like it was no big deal. It was dark and shadowy underneath, so I couldn't really see if anything was lurking. "Maybe it's on the inside of the frame," she suggested. Grrrr. I took a deep breath and got on my back like a mechanic going under a car. Another deep breath, a heart-whispered prayer and I was underneath with half my body stuck in the shadows. There it was, of course, just waiting for me. I froze. There was no room to swing my paper club. I had no wish to startle it or it would surely fly right onto my face. Very stealthily I squirmed my way out. "Is it there?" she whispered. I nodded gravely. Back on my feet I plotted how best to handle the situation. To get a clean whack at it, I needed it to be somewhere in the open -- preferably completely still, on its back on the floor one arm's length away with a bullseye painted on its torso. Better still, already dead. I would have to get it out into the open somehow. "I'm going to try and lure it out, okay?" She nodded wordlessly, clinging onto my arm. With my paper club, I squatted down and gave the area I last saw the critter a sharp thwack and out came flying with dirty brown wings all abuzz the great and terrible Cockroachzilla! It flew right at me and guess what my instincts made my body do? I threw my paper club at it, shrieked like the girl I was supposed to be manning up for, and ran out of the room -- not necessarily in that order. The poor girl simply stood flabbergasted as the cockroach bounced off her arm, soared around the room a few times before coming to land on the wall. I did go on to kill and get rid of it, but that was just to show how when escape is an option, my brain always takes it. She really shouldn't have left that dorm door open. But that was all a long long long time ago, and I'm married to someone else now who unfortunately is no more gungho than I am when it comes to the creepy-crawlies. Thus I am still the reluctant but designated cockroach/spider/caterpillar/moth/centipede/anything-with-more-legs-than-you-want-to-count for the family. Sigh. Perhaps it's because I've passed another age milestone, but my aim simply isn't quite it used to be (I was a marksman in the army). I usually have a pretty good hit percentage, and get a maim or kill with my first strike, and definitely KO on the second, if it is needed. Recently I've missed them completely, sometimes three or four times in a row, and by then they've squeezed themselves somewhere I can't get them. So two nights ago, when my wife let fly a neighborhood-waking scream because a huge fist-sized spider had invaded the bathroom just as she stepped in to take a nice long soak, I decided not to go the paper club route. Instead I simply washed the spider away with the shower. Smart, eh? Problem solved without too much fuss or a heart attack for me, I went back to playing Stellaris. "It came back!!" the wife hollered. "Just do what I did -- wash it away with the shower!" I called back, hoping to buy myself a few more minutes of play-time. "What if it jumps at me? What if it's poisonous??" I thought having at least one of us with Spidey-powers would be a pretty cool idea, especially since little Lynx was a huge fan, but decided not be be smart-mouthed about it. "Wook, wook! Spider! Eew, eew!" Lynx had found the spider too. "Can you kill the spider for Mama?" she asked half-jokingly. "Okay." THWACK!! "Ohmygosh! You did it, Lynx!" Wow. One shot, one kill. Utter fearlessness in the face of creepy-crawliness. Now where did that gene come from? Anyway since that night, the family has a new designated hitter -- a 2-year old with deadly aim. And me? I can finally be free to be the woman I've always been, when it comes to creepy-crawlies, that is. So my questions for today's blog are: What is something you're supposed to be good at but you're not, or you're losing the ability? What is an icky situation your kid or close one has bailed you out of? Entry for "The Bard's Hall Contest" June, 2017 |
| Oh drat, the Kingdom of Yondarim has declared war on us! Their fleet is three times our size and they've vowed to destroy our outpost on their borders, humiliate the United Nations of Earth and basically run to the ground the expanding space civilization I spent hours building -- noooooooo! That was what I was yelling inside my head last night as I attempted to conquer the universe in Stellaris: Utopia. Yeah, I'm a gamer. I love RPGs (Planescape:Torment, Skyrim) and MMORPGs (Everquest, WoW), but since I became a father have hardly ever found the time and energy required to immerse myself in them. Sports games like FIFA 2017 or pretty much anything from EA Sports are best when you have only small pockets of time and really need your gamer fix. Each game/match takes only about 10 minutes, and you can even get through an entire tournament in an hour or two. But what I really love are the ones that eat you up for not just days but weeks with a capital S. Empire-building games such as Civilization 6, Total War, and now Stellaris have stolen an unhealthy chunk of my life. Oh I dabble in action games and even first-person shooters once in a while, but because I suck so much when there is no pause option to allow me to plot out carefully every option and likely outcome before choosing the best plan of action, I try to avoid those games that serve my ass to me on a plate -- spanked raw and bleeding. I remember being so terrible at shooting games when I was a teenager. My best friend Lenny introduced me to Duke Nukem 3D and proceeded to slaughter me with a maddening hop-strafe-hose-down-your-enemy-with-autofire strategy. Meanwhile I was spinning round and round on the spot trying to target an irritating target that simply refused to stay still so I could shoot it, and dying.  I eventually resorted to hiding in cramped corners and using pipe bombs to blow both of us up; that way at least I got him to join me in death.The wife doesn't understand why I play games, just like how I don't understand how she can drink so much coffee and still have blood in her veins instead of liquid caffeine. It's not just for enjoyment either. There's so much that's beyond my ability to control or fix or do anything about in real life -- I can't make my son's condition go away, I can't get the NPO I work for to pay me enough to actually support a family, I can't be everything I want to be... but in the game world, I can. In the Sims 4, I can actually have non-opaque conditions to meet and get promoted! Live in a dream house and make a living wage! In Civilization 6 I can create a vast and beautiful world that is optimized in resource-gathering, manufacturing and has zero poverty and unemployment! So when real life beats me down, I retreat into the game world and allow myself the illusive/elusive pleasure of feeling like a winner again. The wife has always been a live-to-eat kind, so one of her guilty pleasures is binge-ing on desserts. I'm eat-to-live, so I'm happy to eat the same thing every meal every day. Instead my guilty pleasure is to stay up all night playing games. I haven't done that in years, but I managed to do that Friday night when I embarked on my interstellar adventure. I spent Saturday surprisingly un-zombified (I guess a whole month of disturbed sleep in May kind of conditioned me already), and went back to my normal sleeping patterns. I don't expect another all-nighter any time in the near future, but I'm glad I had Friday night. I'm glad I spent 3 abandoned campaigns figuring out what NOT to do, and had the chance to start over and make everything right again. In life, there are no do-overs. Thank God for the virtual world. So my questions for today's blog are: What guilty pleasure do you indulge in? What is your go-to escape from real life method? Entry for "The Bard's Hall Contest" June, 2017 |
| Three seizures in 10 hours, bringing the number to five for the month. The wife keeps an exact record of every occurrence, and every time he goes into convulsions instead of hugging him and trying to squeeze him well again we keep the dread contained inside and simply count aloud. It's important to track how long he goes out for. Our lives have been reduced to a constant state of near alarm, REDCON-1. And yet despite our readiness, we've never felt more helpless. It seems like every week I'm at the hospital now, getting tests done for Lynx or medication because even fever suppressants are strictly regulated here. Today it was five hours. I wonder if this is payback for my charmed life in which I've never had a serious illness, broken any bones and never ever had to be hospitalised. Both chicken pox and dengue fever that hit me in my early twenties took less than a week for me to shake off, after a single jab and some pills. But somehow my son got the opposite of my blessed constitution. A cough or cold takes him weeks to recover from. A temperature of 37.5 degrees Celsius is cause for REDCON status to be raised. It weighs on me. Perhaps worse is how completely opposite the wife and my philosophies are on procuring medical aid. Having been an emergency first-responder with the Red Cross since I was thirteen (that's almost thirty years of experience, probably way more than most graduate doctors except they read more books and received certain training I never had) , I've attended to all manners of trauma victims including lightning strikes and heart attacks etc. I have a pretty good understanding of what even doctors can or cannot do, and the science on epilepsy is still pretty shaky. I'm loathe to wait around for hours in an ER for another unfamiliar doctor to peruse the case file, repeat the entire seizure history for the tenth time, watch them go through all the routine tests I know will come back negative but they have to carry out, only to say the same thing -- sorry, I'm not an expert on epilepsy but this is what I can tell you. Cue generic information I've already devoured several times over on WebMD and Epilepsy Central, plus numerous other epilepsy-related sites I've scoured ever since the first seizure. Until we get to see a specialist who might be able to run tests that'll turn up more specific information about Lynx's condition and how to help him, I simply don't feel it's worth wasting another five hours at the hospital trying to entertain a cranky 2-year old who doesn't want to be there. But the wife needs the 'therapy'. In fact the paediatrician who came down after the ER doctors on duty went through the case didn't even examine Lynx at all. Instead she spent twenty minutes talking with the wife, while Lynx screamed bloody murder and tried to contort his body out of my grasp and out of the room. After five minutes, I simply took him outside and lulled him to sleep on my shoulder. Before that he managed to make a horror clip when the nurse had to take a blood sample by squirming when the needle went in causing it to push up every which way like the death scene for the T-1000 in Terminator 2. It left a nasty bruise. So my questions for today's blog are: How do you feel about hospitals? What is the worst or best hospital experience you've ever had? |
| So one of the ways I admittedly spoil Lynx is either taking him out for a walk before bedtime, or a drive if the weather's poor or my poor legs are feeling under the weather. By walk, what I mean is I walk with him snug in my arms jerking one tiny hand in the direction he wants me to go. These walks have been getting longer and longer as he managed to inherit my GPS mind, which means he pretty much knows every street in the neighbourhood and which ones lead back home and which ones don't. On these walks I always sing him to sleep or at least to drowsiness. I have a playlist comprising the few songs I've actually memorised the lyrics to, 90% of which are from Disney cartoons. If We Hold On Together, Part Of Your World, Can You Feel The Love Tonight, A Whole New World etc. Almost always in the same order, and if he's still not asleep by the time I exhaust my limited options I simply start over or hum. It's partly an excuse for me to sing since I'm too much of a Scrooge to pay for karaoke, and partly because I enjoy making this a special thing between us (until we can replace it with something else, like camping). Last night it was drizzling, so Lynx requested a drive. As I lugged his 15kgs down the stairs, he started singing If We Hold On Together. I figured that I'd let him until he needed me to fill in the parts he didn't know. To my utter surprise, he reeled off the entire song (minus the bridge) by himself with mangled but still decipherable lyrics to every verse! Now I don't doubt that he understands even half of what he's singing, but I found it amazing that words like 'souls', 'fountain' etc. that he had no notion of could stick in his teensy brain. But that wasn't all -- he also remembered all the lyrics to A Whole New World! Granted that we also have the cartoons where these songs came from and he watches them sometimes when he's not getting a daily dose of Paw Patrol, I still found it astounding that at two years of age he's already mastered a quarter of the entire repertoire of songs I know the lyrics to. What does this mean? I need to start memorising more lyrics! Now I harbour zero hopes of him making it to The Voice any day in the future (he's a croaker, but a decent one). But what I think is great is that this is good for improving his memory, and one day when he's old and halfway to senile like me (I'll probably be dead then) one of these songs might still pop into his head and make it to his lips. Then he'll remember: Papa taught me this song, he used to sing it to me every night. Just thinking about this makes me tear up. Damn. So my questions for today's blog are: What is a 'special' thing you do to bond with your kid or a loved one? And what has your kid/loved one managed to inspire you to do? |
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