It’s so typical every time after the exams. I would receive a phone call from M2 the minute she arrived home and reported the good news. But if I do not get a call from her, it’s pretty obvious the results are otherwise.
It became so predictable until she perfected her Drama Queen act, and each time I fall prey… dang.
M2 once declared that “Chicken is Awesome!” having eaten all her favorite chicken dishes for a whole week.
But soon after, there were some pork dishes and a new declaration, “Chicken is awesome but pork rocks!”
My girl rocks, I tell ya. Flattery to the chef!
A few years back when M2 discovered the joy of writing little notes and messages, she wrote a lot and scattered them here and there for me to discover. One day, I found a note listing down all my favorite things. Aww… How sweet.
Scanning the list, my heart swelled, “Golf, iPad, Travel, Wine…” she knows her mummy well. Then, “Cow’s Burp!”
Intrigued, I asked her what that was and she went, “Cow’s Burp? Oh, that is what you and daddy drink when you go out!”
“Ahh… You mean Carlsberg!” I said, totally tickled.
“Uh-huh, Cow’s Burp. Isn’t that how it is spelt?” she looked at me with eyebrows raised.
Err… not quite but close, Cow’s Burp, Carlsberg. Chortle!
An innocent mind is a simple mind. But an innocent question isn’t a simple question; it can be a mind boggling challenge.
Several years back when I got myself a cute little tattoo, both my girls were fascinated by it and asked if they could also have a tattoo like mine. Hmm…
So I said yes, whipped out a marker pen and drew the same cute little character that I have on their arms. And did this every weekend for sometime before the novelty wore off.
We had a quirky way of measuring growth not too long ago. When M2 was younger and shorter, she would just tuck nicely under my boobs. M1, being older, was obviously taller and measured way above her. Months passed as we were busy with life and all, we forgot about taking further milestone measurements.
One day, I summoned M2 to come stand next to me. And I commented, “My! My! You’ve grown! Look how tall you are now!”
M2 said matter-of-factly, “Yeah mummy, I grew one boob taller!” Obviously, she’s above my assets.
Since then, she’s measured at under my chin, under my nose and right at my eyebrows.
It is now evident that the colony of bees have been disturbed. More came our way last week after the first incident, invading the kitchen and the girls’ bedroom.
I had an SOS call from M2 reporting this and more. “Mummy! They are everywhere! Rooney’s in his cage and fine but… OMG! One’s on my bed, like a zombie, writhing away!”
“Zombie? Or more like zombie bee?” I couldn’t help myself.
“Zombie, zom-bee, zombie-nee, whatever! Hurry home please,” she urged in between muffled laughter.
So we came home from work to stories of the bees’ invasion and both having to shower in my bathroom instead. We were to have a mass burial last Wednesday night, for the scattered little bodies here and there (in their attempt to fly out to freedom) but homework got in the way.
And for the past few nights, circumstances were not favorable, burial plans were dashed yet again. And last I checked, the maid just simply got rid of all of them. So the pet cemetery is left intact without a crowd arising from this latest little unfortunate aftermath.
When official pet number one, Rooney, was a puppy, both girls complained that he was getting more toys and things than them.
We were often queried, “How come he gets something every week?! Every week!!! What about us? We have needs too you know. It’s not fair.”
Well, sometimes life can be unfair…
After the haze cleared last week, we had some lost honey bees in the house! The poor insects must have had their homing device hampered for we had about four to five of them roaming in the girls’ bathroom, study and TV room.
Last Saturday, M2 solemnly announced, “Mummy. You must attend a memorial service.”
Shocked, I asked, “Eeeks! Who died?”
“The bee,” both chorused and pointed to an unmoving bug by their bookshelf.
So we had a quick memorial service for the little fella, and buried it at the designated pet cemetery in the garden, where all the other gone-to-heaven pets are laid to rest.
RIP little fella.
Swimming terms can be quite sexist (and intimate) as far as twelve-year-olds are concerned. M2 and her friends are rather squeamish and embarrassed when announcing they are participating in several events for their upcoming Swimming Gala.
“Why is it called breast-stroke? The word ‘breast’ makes it so….. so, jiggly!” stated M2 over dinner and M1 did a funny body jiggle, which I shall not elaborate.
M2 said her good friend declared if they’re going to call it such, why not call it ‘boob-stroke’ instead, for a lesser intimate approach!
The hubby then illustrated that when one walks into KFC, they’d say, “Can I have breast meat, please?” because nobody—NOBODY—says, ‘boob meat’ to emphasize his point on the proper usage of the word in question. Imagination ran rampant at this point as uncontrollable giggles filled the living room. ROTL… let’s see someone try that!
Anyway, I wish these 12-year-olds good luck for this Friday’s swimming competition!
Gone were the days when little children would tip toe around the house for fear of disturbing the parents, it’s the other way around for me. I find myself in this predicament every now and then when I come home early and both M1 and M2 are sitting at the dining table, diligently catching up with their school work, headphones in place of course.
The only time they would tip toe around me was when I was farming away on the iPad – planting corn, harvesting alfalfa and tending to my virtual animals. Thank goodness, when I reached the end of that game and there were no further updates, I stopped being a virtual farmer, and boisterous noise could be heard again.
However, I got hooked on Candy Crush and is a full time candy crusher now. Whenever they see me at it, they’d go, “Hrmph. Mummy’s crushing candies again,” and would hold off whatever questions they have at the tip of their tongues and slink away.
But at press time, the end is near for my love affair with this addictive game. I am now at 365, the last level on my iPad mini and am contemplating not furthering the game on Facebook once I end here. Normalcy returns and life continues after the end of the Candy Crush Saga.
Or can my life be normal again once I retire from Candy Crush? Only time can tell….
Angieneering 
Remarks