Why You Should Always Check Your Kids’ Homework

A friend sent me this. Just hilarious!

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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

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.

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.

“Parents can mishandle potential.”

A website I go to regularly is Red Sports. Its mission is to tell the Singapore sports story, a narrative that is often neglected by the local dailies which are heavily skewed towards international sports.

Anyway, Red Sports put up an interview with the parents of Nicolette Teo, one of Singapore’s star swimmers. In kiasu, hypercompetitive Singapore, I thought their wisdom was a breath of fresh air.

Red Sports interview with Adrian and Doreen Teo

Happy Mothers’ Day, everyone!

A Mother’s Day Video

Second-graders answer questions about their moms, a little too honestly perhaps!

New Paper: The Most Boring Household in Singapore

This interview with up-and-coming Singapore politician Grace Fu focuses on her role as a parent. It struck me as containing many nuggets of parenting wisdom. I submit it for your consideration.

The Electric New Paper: The Most Boring Household in Singapore

I have to do a quick linkback to an earlier post concerning the Wii, and another on the modern-day malaise called the Nature Deficit Disorder.

Separated and Swingin’ in Shanghai

I know some working mothers who have travelling jobs. I don’t know how they do it. Me, I’m just a giant marshmallow, and being apart from the boys for more than 24 hours turns me a bit soppy. So ever since Athos was born, I’ve turned down all work-related travel. (Not that there have been that many opportunities, of course!)

Anyhow, late last year an offer came to do a project in Phuket, Thailand. It’s a resort island that’s a short flight away from Singapore, and I thought the Pilgrim family might even make a holiday out of it, so I agreed. But early this year the project venue was changed to Shanghai! I had already committed and so could not pull out. But the cost meant that I would have to go alone, sans family.

I have never gone overseas without the children, whether for work or pleasure. So this was something of a milestone for me. And since it would be my first visit to this great city, I decided – gulp – to go a couple of days early to explore the place, with the blessings of Pilgrim Dad who would have to man the fort at home.

Trick Or Treat

Some afternoons back, I was taking a nap on the sofa. In my half-asleepness I felt Porthos climb over me and slip something into my pocket. I opened my eyes and saw him turn away, grinning from ear to ear, as though he had just played a delicious trick on his poor old mother.

So I thought I’d better check to see what it was – dead insect? slimy-wet tissue? Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a long slip of paper and here is what it said:

Mothers hold the key to the future of science

Now how do you like that for a headline! Here’s what The Australian had to say about it.

Off to School We Go

Athos, my firstborn, started primary school this week.

Truth be told, I have not been looking forward to the transition. Yes, Singapore’s public education system is widely admired. Government spending on education is second only to defence spending, and the results show, for example in our consistent top ranking in the international Trends in Math and Science Study.

But you don’t reach such heights without sacrificing something. And if you ask any Singaporean what that thing is, their answer will be a variation on the theme of soullessness.

Guilty as charged? I don’t know, but love it or hate it, our journey into the Singapore school system has begun.

Out Of The Mouth Of Babes

Pilgrim Dad has just taught Athos and Porthos how to play one of the built-in games on his mobile phone and they are both hooked. It’s a game of speed, requiring the player to manoeuvre his token left and right in order to collect points.

I’ve been wondering what the big deal was, so last night I decided to play the game for myself. With Athos and Porthos watching, I fumbled my way through and really had a hard time trying to get the thing to do my bidding. Both of them got really excited shouting instructions at me. Eventually Porthos said,

“Mommy, I will play and you can watch how I do it. This game is not for fat fingers.”

The Queen Says…

I’ve kept a journal since I was 14 years old. It’s a place where I record my highs and lows, pleas and petitions, doubts and confessions. There are periods when I’ve journalled daily, sometimes several times a day during particularly vexatious times, and other periods where I’ve not journalled for many weeks (to my own loss). I sometimes flip back and squirm at some of the things I wrote. Other times I am filled with delight at the memories. But journalling has helped to keep me sane and honest to myself and God. It’s a habit I’d recommend to anyone.

One of the great excitements of journalling is finishing one volume and starting a new one. There’s always a wonderful sense of anticipation, wondering what the days ahead will bring, how the pages will be filled. My handwriting is always noticeably neater on page 1 of a new journal!

Which brings me to the subject of this post. I started a new journal a few days ago, in a notebook that was a gift from a dear friend. Here is what it says on the cover:

“There is no use trying,” said Alice; “one can’t believe impossible things.”

“I daresay you haven’t had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass

And maybe that is a most fitting way to start the day!

NYT: OMG My Mom Joined Facebook!!

Cyberfamilias is a bi-weekly column in the New York Times. Here’s the latest in the series. Having just got on Facebook and begun to feel very, very old, the piece resonated with me. And my kids aren’t even teenagers yet.

Grandmother Stories

Helloooo! I’ve been horribly remiss about updating this blog – in the past few weeks, I experienced a pile-up of work, the boys came down with an assortment of flus, and my grandmother passed away.

So let’s just say it’s been BUSY.

Still, I wanted to say something about my grandmother. We called her Mama, and last week Mama went to glory at the age of 94. She was born in Indonesia, but lived most of her life in Singapore. She had four children, seven grandchildren and 12 great-grandchildren. She spoke Teochew, a Chinese dialect which like other dialects in Singapore is no longer a language of everyday business. So as her grandchild, I always had difficulty communicating with her beyond basic functional conversation.

Yet I was never in doubt that she loved me. Hers was not a love that manifested in an endless stream of toys. Indeed, I don’t think I can remember a single toy she bought me. But there was a time in my life where she would babysit me, and she cooked wonderful meals of porridge and fish that are today still comfort foods for me. I remember her making 5 stones and pyjamas for me out of leftover fabric. They were never the most fashionable-looking, but I won many a 5 stone contest with the ones she made, and the pyjamas were oh so comfortable. And let me also say Mama had a wild side – she taught me how to roll paper cigarettes for her and play Si Sek (a gamblers game using long strips of coloured cards)

At her funeral, we put up a board of memories, and it seemed no-one else doubted her love for us either. How true it is that love goes well beyond the limitations of language!

So here’s to my Mama – for a life well lived and a legacy that lives on.

Ebay Meets Blogger

I found this by way of Raising Mustard Seeds. It was so funny I had to re-post the link here. Having many kids is a sure-fire recipe to developing a sense of humour. You’d go mad otherwise!

Edited: The eBay listing is no longer valid but the seller reposted the piece on her own blog.

Looking For Lumps? Read This.

I’ve been meaning to write this post for a while now.

As women living in this day and age of the common cancer, we’ve all been told that we should go for mammograms and do regular self-checks on our breasts.

If like me, you feel for lumps every once in a while to reassure yourself that all is well, please read this post from Whymommy at Toddler Planet.

Doing Something About It

You are reading the blog of a grown woman of calm discipline and steely resolve. I will not let mere kilograms cloud my judgment nor weaken my sense of self-worth.

I have a plan.

And Step One involves buying shoes.

With one of the pole vaults as my shoe consultant (she runs marathons and climbs mountains for fun), I have procured this pair of beauties.

Now for Step Two. Buying a new bra.

(Hey, try breastfeeding three kids and tell me you don’t need the additional support.)

Aaargh!

To my very great horror, I put on my favourite pair of jeans only to find that they were Too Tight.

Can’t be, said I to myself, as I forced my way into them anyway. But spilled over the waist of my jeans like a baked muffin, I couldn’t deny the truth any longer. And as I stood on the weighing scales, wondering where oh where these extra kilograms came from, I resolved that I would have to Do Something About It.