Porthos and Athos the Exegetes

Family worship time and Pilgrim Dad leads the children in a reading-cum-artistic interpretation of the Fall of Man.

They are having a right good time drawing the snake and the fruit and the Man and the Woman (complete with censorship blocks over vital anatomical bits).

After they are done, Pilgrim Dad asks them what they think God is teaching us.

Without hesitation, Porthos says, “Fruits are bad for you.” We dissolve in chuckles, during which time he surmises his answer was not quite the authoritative interpretation.

“Don’t listen to talking snakes?” he ventures in all sincerity.

By this time, Pilgrim Dad and I are in fits. Athos decides to have a go as well and calls out, “Don’t listen to your wife!”

Let’s just say my boys don’t appear as yet to have bright prospects as men of the cloth….

Why Goldilocks should get a different name

Story time with Aramis so I asked him what he wanted me to tell.

Aramis: Bear bear and the logs.

Pilgrim Mom: You mean Bear Bear and Dog Dog? (regulars in the Pilgrim cast)

Ar: No, Bear bear and the logs. With the porridge.

PM: Ah, you mean GoldiLOCKS and the Three Bears.

I proceed to tell the story.

PM: So what story do you want next?

Ar: I want Loggage and the Bears again!

Update on 28 Sep
What story for today? Aramis says, “Goldi-blocks and the bears!”

Pilgrim Mom Kena Scolding

Athos and Porthos have a Mandarin tutor who coaches them through their school syllabus. This has led to, I must confess, a rather lackadaisical attitude on my part when it comes to the boys’ progress in Mandarin.

And I was caught out today -

Tutor: 我已经开始准备孩子的 CA2.
Pilgrim Mom: CA2 是什么？
Tutor: 你这个妈妈真没用！

Ahem. For the record, CA2 is Continual Assessment 2. And I still don’t know what that really means….

The Hair-Brained Adventures of Porthos

There’s something about my middle child and his hair. Elsewhere in this blog, I’ve catalogued his self-administered haircut, and his foray into gel-based styling.

And now this morning.

It was just after 6am and Porthos came into our bedroom, woke me up, and pointed at his head. I turned on the light and there it was – a massive lump of electric green silly putty, enmeshed into the hair at the back of his head.

Even at that bleary hour, I wanted to laugh.

Porthos had been playing with the putty just before bedtime, and must have left it right next to his pillow and fallen asleep on top of it. The stuff had pushed right into the roots, and there were tufts of hair sticking out in all directions. I had no idea what to do.

Ordinarily a Google search would have been my first instinct. (Oil? Alcohol? Industrial-grade solvent?) But Porthos would have to leave for school soon so I didn’t have time.

We went to the bathroom and suffice to say it was the combination of lots of water, lots of shampoo and a fine-toothed comb that eventually coaxed the stuff out. I silently thanked God that Porthos was in a good mood that morning, and apart from an “ow” now and again, he seemed none the worse for wear.

“Do we have to throw away the putty?” Porthos asked woefully.

“I’m afraid so. And the comb too – I broke two teeth,” I said.

In the midst of the commotion, little Aramis woke up and called out, “Mummy…. Mummy!…. MUMMY!” (When you’re a third child, that’s about how many tries it takes to get the attention you want….)

“Yes dear?”

“Come and sayang me,” he said. (Sayang is Malay for “love”, and in our household, code for hugs and snuggles and the like.)

So putty problem solved, and Porthos finally settled down to breakfast, I dutifully went to snuggle with my youngest.

And that was just the first half hour of this mother’s day! (Later that morning, my bottom got pinched by a cracked toilet seat. But another story for another day….)

The aftermath. The big lumps of putty were assembled after the fact - they were actually spread out all over the back of his head. Note the two broken teeth of the comb.

George Eats Laksa, Not Durians

A few days ago we were playing Bible Quiz over lunch with some friends. One of the adults asked – “Who can name the first five books of the Bible?” After Genesis and Exodus, none of us were entirely confident about the order (which speaks volumes about our Bible knowledge!)

Anyhow, it was an opportunity to teach the kids about mnemonics, specifically first-letter mnemonics. The one I learnt in school for the colours of the rainbow was “Richard Of York Gained Battles in Vain”, which I always found a bit odd since the poor Duke is mostly unknown to Singaporeans. Much better that we come up with one that makes sense for ourselves!

Anyhow, I challenged the kids to come up with one for the Pentateuch so we wouldn’t be lost for the answer again. And the title of this post is Athos’ attempt, which I thought was quite a winner!

Red Sports – Daily PE? One primary school shows the way.

Just a quick post to link everyone over to Red Sports’ feature story on Seng Kang Primary School, the only school in Singapore that offers daily PE lessons for all its students, rain or shine.

Earlier this year, Porthos came home from school saying that he didn’t have PE that day, even though it was on the schedule. Why, I asked. “Because we were behaving badly. So the teacher punished us and didn’t let us go for PE.”

I thought that was one of the more absurd things I’d ever heard. I’ve also heard anecdotes of schools cancelling PE for PSLE revisions or make-up classes. Is it any wonder that the ruggedness of our nation is in question?

According to Singapore’s Health Promotion Board, “Singapore has one of the highest rates of myopia in the world. In Singapore about 30% of the children become myopic by the age of 7 and by age 12 about half of them are myopic. There is a grave need to prevent myopia in children at a younger age because the younger the age of onset of myopia, the higher the risk of developing eye related diseases later in life.” HPB also supports daily outdoor time because “emerging evidence suggests that spending more time outdoors may help delay the onset or progression of myopia.” (Source: HPB website)

Add in our obesity rates, and the range of learning disabilities and sensory problems present in our chidren, and Seng Kang’s example truly stands out.

Red Sports – Daily PE? One primary school shows the way.

Clever Guy

Today I found a deck of quiz cards from my favourite second-hand hole in the wall. They cover English, Math, Science and General Knowedge calibrated for ages 6 onwards.

Anyhow, I took out the bunch and tried them on Porthos. We were having fun when this nugget came along:

“Correct this sentence: She hurted her leg.”

Porthos’ answer came back quick as lightning – “She injured her leg!”

Bedtime Conversations

Just before bedtime, I read the story of the Crucifixion to the older boys. When I was done, we went through the story again, and I would leave out parts and let them fill in the blanks.

When we got to the conversation with the criminals, I said, “Jesus told the second criminal, ‘Today you will be with me in…’”

Porthos, with a bright smile, said, “Paris!”

Later on, Pilgrim Dad was explaining to Aramis that we had gone out in the morning “for some coffee so that we could get a buzz.”

Dear innocent Aramis asked, “Why do you want bugs in your coffee?”

Why You Should Always Check Your Kids’ Homework

A friend sent me this. Just hilarious!

===================

Here’s the note the teacher received the next day.

Dear Mrs. Jones,

I wish to clarify that I am not now, nor have I ever been, an exotic dancer.

I work at Home Depot and I told my daughter how hectic it was last week before the blizzard hit.

I told her we sold out every single shovel we had, and then I found one more in the back room, and that several people were fighting over who would get it.

Her picture doesn’t show me dancing around a pole.

It’s supposed to depict me selling the last snow shovel we had at Home Depot.

From now on I will remember to check her homework more thoroughly before she turns it in.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Smith

Porthos Gets Manly

Porthos came out of his bedtime shower with his hair slickly combed, and one thick tuft sticking straight up out of his head, like a carrot-top. “Wow, your hair looks cool,” I said, suppressing my laughter. He looked very pleased with his creation.

Some minutes later, I noticed the anti-gravity hair showed no sign of collapse.

“Did you use water for your hair?” I asked. “No, I used the purple gel,” said Porthos, evidently proud of his manly act.

It probably wasn’t the best reaction but I laughed out loud. The thought of Porthos diligently coiffing himself with Pilgrim Dad’s hair gel – just before bedtime – was a bit too much to take.

“That’s great,” I said, when I could finally speak. “But next time, do it in the daytime, ok?”

At bedtime, as I kissed him goodnight on the forehead, he said, “Don’t suck up the gel, Mummy!”

Aramis the preschooler

When Porthos started pre-school, he became well-known for crying at the start of every single schoolday for TEN WEEKS. (The eleventh week was the term break….)

Today is Aramis’ fourth day at pre-school and the contrast couldn’t be more stark.

Pilgrim Dad and I bring him to school and, like an old pro, he walks ahead of us straight to his classroom. The teacher helps him with the opening rituals – water bottle and hat out, namecard on the wall – and he settles in to play. It’s the last day that parents are allowed in the classroom so I quickly take some pictures, pause for a hug and kiss, and step out. Better that we start getting him used to not having us hanging about.

The nest empties out….

It’s 6am on the first day of the school year. The Pilgrim family stirs to life. Dawn has never been my time of day (and some of you will know why this is hugely ironic). My bleariness is made worse by having stayed up the night before to blog out my maternal angst.

The boys are not excited about breakfast. Porthos has already begun to fuss because he hates how the school shorts feel against his legs. I do a last-minute check on their school bags, then it’s into the truck as we head out to school.

We arrive with plenty of time to spare. In the back, Porthos has stopped whining about the shorts, and is now leaning half-awake against the window. The poor fellow looks tired. We park and help the boys with their bags. I’ve forgotten to adjust the straps on Porthos’ schoolbag and it hangs almost to his knees! As I fix his bag, I keep the conversation light and cheery, all the while praying hard for a smooth transition. Porthos, after all, was famous in kindergarten for crying through the first TEN WEEKS.

Porthos Goes To School

Happy New Year everyone!

It was only 12 short months ago that Athos started his primary school journey, and here I am again, round the corner from seeing Porthos off to Primary One.

I find myself feeling much the same way as the last time. It’s now 11pm and we have to be up by 6am so the wisest thing to do would be to sleep (and God knows I need it).

Yet I am sitting up in bed, unable to settle, feeling bereft, recalling random moments – how he got such a laugh out of mimicking my response to cockroaches (EEEEEEEK!), the pink misshapen heart he made me for Mothers’ Day, the way he picks up tunes and sings snatches of them all day long – and wondering how he is going to hold up tomorrow.

When I put Porthos to bed earlier this evening, I asked how he was feeling. “A little excited,” he said.

I was glad. Some years back when he started kindergarten, he held the school record for the child who cried the longest before settling down – 10 whole weeks. The first day he got to school without tears, the teachers actually stood in a row and applauded, and the principal said to me, “We were so happy to finally see him arrive at school with a smile on his face!”

I’ve spent the past few days psyching Porthos up for school in various little ways. We carved out personal shelfspace for him, let him decorate some magazine holders in his favourite colours for his schoolbooks, and brought him shopping for a new schoolbag, water bottle, pencil case and wallet.

Sitting at the door of our home now: two pairs of Bata socks and shoes, two schoolbags, two sets of school uniforms. And a mother’s heart waiting, wondering, praying.

Pilgrim Dad teaches Anatomy 101

Pilgrim Dad gave Aramis his pre-bedtime shower tonight. Some minutes later, a stark-naked Aramis toddled out of the bathroom towards me. Pointing towards his intimate parts, he exclaimed, “Mummy, I have two spectacles!”

Pilgrim Dad chuckled in the background, Athos and Porthos chuckled along, and I resigned myself to life with Da Boyz.

Manners according to Aramis

We’ve been trying to teach Aramis to say “please may I have” instead of “I want”. Here is a little anecdote from today that demonstrates how he’s doing so far:

Aramis: What’s in your cup, Mommy?

Pilgrim Mom shows him.

Aramis: Is it Ribena?

PM: Yes.

Aramis grabs cup to drink.

PM: Hey, that’s mine!

Aramis: No, mine!

PM: How do you ask me nicely?

Aramis: (in gentle dulcet tone) It’s mine.

Autopissy God (or Theology According to a 5-Year-Old)

At bedtime, Athos, Porthos and I got to talking about how strong God is. “Do you remember how He parted the Red Sea?” I said. “And the Bible also tells us that God created the whole universe. And raised Jesus from the dead.”

Here’s the conversation that ensued:

Athos: He’s amazing

Pilgrim Mom: Yes He is.

Porthos: And He’s powerful!

PM: That’s right. Our God is an awesome God.

Porthos: And He’s an autopissy God too.

PM: What?!

Porthos: God is autopissy.

PM: What’s autopissy?!

Porthos: Autopissy means like an autopiss. Many tentacles.

PM: Ah, you mean OCTOPUS

Porthos: Yah, God is an octopissy God because He can do so many things at the same time

Humbled by Imagination

Last night, I gave my son a scientifically correct but creatively void response. I thought I would make amends so here was the conversation at bedtime:

Pilgrim Mom: Remember last night you asked me about whether you could climb rainbows?
Porthos: Yes.
PM: Mummy said no, right?
P: Yes.
PM: That’s correct. But what do you think if we COULD climb rainbows?

And almost as if to prove the point of my previous post, that set off a discussion of such vivid proportions that I could only sit back and marvel at the creative potential children are blessed with.

Porthos: FUN!
PM: Why?
P: Because we can play with them.
PM: Really? What would you do with a rainbow?
P: I want to take the different colours and make different things.
PM: Like what?
P: I want to make the blue colour into a ring.
Athos: Maybe we can even mix the colours up.
P: And maybe we can even eat the rainbow as we climb!
PM: That’s so cool! What does a rainbow taste like?
P: Well the purple part tastes like grapes and the blue part tastes like blueberries.
A: And the yellow part is noodles!
P: No, bananas!
A: No, noodles!

They went on to agree that the red tasted like apples, the orange like (surprise, surprise) oranges, and the green like pears – because they didn’t like the spinach/broccoli idea very much.

I tried my slide idea on them, but Athos thought that wouldn’t be a lot of fun because you’d have to climb up all over again (the practical-minded one that he is). And then Porthos dropped the clincher:

P: You know Mummy, last week I dreamt that I played on a rainbow.
PM: Is that why you asked me about climbing a rainbow?
P: Yes.

Keep dreaming, Porthos.

“Is it possible to climb a rainbow?”

Recently, Pilgrim Dad and I have been fairly diligent about getting the boys outdoors a few times each week. Today, we decided to go to East Coast Park to kick a ball around and have satay for dinner.

And it was while we were playing poison ball on the beach that Pilgrim Dad caught sight of a rainbow. It was just barely visible, weaving its arc in and out through the clouds down towards the ships berthed at sea. All of us were enthralled.

As I was putting the boys to bed, Porthos asked, “Is it possible to climb a rainbow?” And in a moment of sheer left-brain domination, I replied “No. Rainbows are made of light.”

He seemed disappointed.

And thinking about it later, I realised I had got it all wrong. Here is what I WISH I had said.

I’ve never been near enough to a rainbow to know for sure.
But maybe, just maybe, you can.
And maybe when you reach the very top, you can whoosh down just like you would on a slippery slide
And land, bouncing, on a soft pillowy cloud below
And then maybe you could play hide-and-seek behind the red or the blue or the yellow or the green
(which colour would you pick? Me? Definitely indigo.)
And maybe even weave them together into a braid
And maybe every colour is hollow, sending honey, or orange juice, or (your favourite) ketchup down to sailors who miss home
And who knows, maybe as you climb up, you might find an angel or two waiting for you
For angels rush in, where fools know not to tread.

Middle Wife

My dad sent me this hilarious piece called ‘Middle Wife’ by an anonymous 2nd-grade teacher

I’ve been teaching now for about fifteen years. I have two kids myself, but the best birth story I know is the one I saw in my own second grade classroom a few years back. (Second grade is about 7 years old.)

When I was a kid, I loved show-and-tell. So I always have a few sessions with my students. It helps them get over shyness and usually, show-and-tell is pretty tame. Kids bring in pet turtles, model airplanes, pictures of fish they catch, stuff like that. And I never, ever place any boundaries or limitations on them. If they want to lug it in to school and talk about it, they’re welcome.

Of Cheese Pies and Other Expletives

For those who are curious as to how Athos is holding up in Primary One, first let me apologise for not providing an update. I remain ambivalent about public education as we are experiencing it, and have not been able to find it within me to put in words why I feel the way I do.

So you’ll just have to make do with vignettes for now.

And as far as vignettes go, this one is a screamer. [Grandpa, Grandma, if you're reading this, please make sure you're comfortably seated....]