Archive for the 'Love & Marriage' Category
SO. Valentine’s Day zipped past us. If you must know, we don’t celebrate the occasion, and went out for our usual dinner date on Friday, only to find bosoms after bosoms of flowers shoved in our faces, and eateries after eateries filled to the brim with lovestruck couples.
To avoid the crowds, we hurried home to veg out in front of the telly after some good curry and gelato, and M decided to ‘express’ his love by tracing out what he wanted to say on my arm, something that he often does.
(Italicised conversations below are traced using our fingers on each other’s arm. All others were verbal or …abusive.)
M: I ♡ U
Me: 2 (meaning to say I love him too)
M: LUDD (short for love you deep deep)
Me: AM I FAT?
*SLAP SLAP SLAP* (on his chest, by the way)
M (clueless): HUH?! WHAT’S WRONG WHAT’S WRONG?
Me: WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHEN YOU SAY OK WHEN I ASK YOU IF I AM FAT?!!
M: That’s what you were writing?! OH MY GOSH, sorry, I didn’t know what you were tracing, so I just went OK!
Me: Don’t bluff!
‘WHAT am I marrying…whale in white, ah?’
Moral of the story: Be clear on what your wife is asking before you reply, especially when you watching TV, or worse, football or playing video games. One wrong move and your wife will blog about it.
My beloved husband,
I know, I know…I have avoided anything that reminds me of our lives in Boston. It must be funny to you how I refuse to even have Korean fried chicken now but trust me, it isn’t funny at all to be reminded of the morning (more like all-day) sickness that hit me when I was pregnant with Faith. You and I know that life was terribly tough then.
But of course, life was tough because of the unfortunate events that happened on top of the morning sickness. What started out as an adventure that we were both looking forward to quickly spiralled into a teary mess whilst we were en route to the city. I will never forget how we huddled together for the remaining hours of our flight, stricken with fear and doubt, when I told you I bled heavily on the plane. We didn’t know if our pregnancy was viable, and we spent the first six hours of our lives in Boston getting prodded and weeping at the ER in MGH. Who would have guessed that we would spend the next six weeks either muted with fear for our baby’s well-being or crying in the serviced apartment that we called home in Boston. Well, I didn’t.
I never did thank you for what you did to keep me sane during the nightmarish weeks back then. I didn’t even realise how frightened you must have been by the episode, until I thought about it this evening as I flipped through our photos taken in Boston. Yet, you put on a brave front for me; like you always say, ‘One of us has to be strong for the both of us when the other is weak’.
Remember how you took me out to Boylston Street on Christmas Eve, ever so determined to treat me to a good meal to take my mind off things? Even though we ended up having Taiwanese beef noodles in a dodgy part of Chinatown, I would never forget your optimism and how you held me close as I cried outside Arlington Street Church, which we chanced upon in town. Thank you for saying a prayer with me that night.
Thank you for holding my hand the whole time when we were waiting for the test results on Christmas morning. I would have broken down completely if not for you. And yes, the trip that we had planned to revisit our honeymoon destination, NYC? Thank you for insisting that we go ahead. I was sick to the gut with worry, but believe it or not, I had the best time with you, even if smiles from me came in the stingiest snippets. I knew you wanted me to let go, and I really tried to be happy because I wanted you to be happy too. I hope you know that.
It wasn’t easy when you started working at MGH. Your hours were terribly long; I remember you had to wake up at 4am and didn’t get home till 7.30pm. Even though you were exhausted, you took care of me when I was plagued with morning sickness. You held my hair up as I heaved, rubbed my back, held me in your arms as I sobbed with worry over our unborn child, and rushed back during your 30-minute lunch break just so that I wouldn’t feel alone.
Oh, do you remember the snowstorm that hit us at the end of our stay in Boston? I was feeling well enough to finally step out of the apartment to stomp around in thick blankets of snow. We built a snowman and stuck the ‘Baby On Board’ badge we had gotten from the Tube in London on its chest. We laughed heartily for the first time in weeks, and threw snowballs at each other. The sharp, cold air made me feel alive with every breath I took, but most of all, the sight of you, so relaxed and happy in the snow, gave me strength and renewed faith.
And just like that, your hand took me to our last day in Boston. We took our first and final walk around the residential area near Charles Street, and I was reminded that hope is around the corner every time we walked past a cheerful Christmas wreath. That we would be back home in Singapore soon, and answers would be revealed in good time. That you would be right by my side, through the good and the bad. I was ready for anything because I had you.
I never did thank you for helping me through one of the toughest times in our lives, and I hope I am not too late in saying this…the tears that nobody knew we were shedding…heartbreaking conversations that only we would know of…smiles that were forced as we tried to make memories of the life in the city I was trying to forget, I couldn’t have gone through it all without your hand in mine. And as strange as it sounds, I don’t want to forget the terrible times we had in Boston, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, because you…you made it all worthwhile.
I am ready for anything because I have you. Thank you, my love.
As I pen the final entry for 2013 on New Year’s Eve, the not-so-little one naps by my side. Her chest rises and falls with every breath, her silky, fine hair tangled in a sweaty mess at the nape of her neck, and her long limbs stretched in peaceful slumber. How she has grown.
How I have grown.
This time last year, I was an excited, frazzled and tired new mother. Today, I am tired, still, as a mother to an active toddler but I am happier, more calm, collected and composed than I have ever been in my life.
2013 was a year of change.
Sure, there were losses. Freedom, friends who are allergic to kids, couple time, me-time. I have lamented over these more than I should over the past year and have come to realise that it is normal to weather these changes once one becomes a parent. The little one needs me; yet, we try to balance ourselves on that high beam, whilst juggling a dizzying myriad of multi-coloured balls, and at times, we dodge Bludgers whilst doing so. It’s not easy, but the beauty of this is how I have been challenged to sieve out what’s important, and hold that dear to my heart.
Like old friends who stay by my side even though we can’t hang out as often as before. Like new friends who bring good tidings and wish nothing but the best for me, who invite me into their lives and share their stories with me, even though I am a stranger. Like my family, who has loved me unconditionally and given selflessly, as always. Like my husband, who loves me and believes in me so very much, and whom I love more everyday, even through the fights and doubts that are such commonplace in newfound parenthood. Like my daughter, whom I do everything and nothing with, who kicks my sorry ass with tantrums and 4am wakings, who surprises me everyday with a new word, and lately, with new songs that she bursts into whenever she feels like it, who strokes me gently when I am down, and kisses and hugs me just because.
I cannot ask for more. And I wouldn’t change the world for what I have been given, good and bad. It has been a stunning year full of joy and tears.
As I watch my daughter stir from her sleep, knowing what is to come in a matter of minutes when she wakes, that she would tug at my hands for us to play…I wish for one thing. That we may sing and dance together forever more.
I wish this for you, and you, too.
Blessed 2014, my friends.
I love burgers. Well, I didn’t used to give two hoots about them until I started dating M; I fell deeper in love with him when he made me a Grilled Mushroom Swiss burger. Embarrassing, and very telling of my gluttony nature, but heck, it is a true story.
Our relationship obviously blossomed after THAT burger (I mean, how could it not?!); then, we got married in 2009 and M whisked me off to New York City for our honeymoon. I became very well-acquainted with the juicy, succulent burgers from Shake Shack and never looked back. Unfortunately, I was pregnant when we visited NYC again in late 2011 and boy, did morning sickness (more like, all-day sickness) do me in! M had gone out to get some burgers for us to nom on but I could barely take a bite. I was absolutely gutted because I knew that I wouldn’t be able to return to the States for a Shack anytime soon.
I refused to have any burgers after that, as I was certain that none could match up. I sulked in my damn-I-want-my-Shake-Shack-burger-NOW corner when I learnt that the burger joint has opened in a branch in London (my second home) AFTER I moved back to Singapore. But the gods were kind and heard my cries because Omakase Burger showed up on the island; I thought I had died and gone to heaven when I sunk my teeth into the uber moist burgers, which are not unlike the ones from Shake Shack. They are rather expensive though, as the burgs are annoyingly small for my huge appetite.
A few weeks ago, M and I were vegging out in front of the telly, letting our guts hang out after a rather unpleasant dinner while we sought solace in a food documentary on (you guessed it) burgers. M kinda came out of the documentary with a spookily crazed look and declared that he was going to NAIL THAT DAMN BURGER. And I kinda did a WWF-flex-mah-muscles thing and growled YESSSSS.
That’s how this burger came about. Incredibly juicy in spite of using lean minced beef, slathered with gooey cheese, fresh tomatoes and lettuce, topped with crispy bacon, and smothered in homemade aioli. NOW, THAT’S WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT.
Sigh. I love my husband. I think you do too, huh? Excuse me, while I go bat my eyelashes at him for a burger.
Faith responds to simple prompts and it’s been humbling to watch her grow from a baby who does nothing but stare into space and flail her arms, to a toddler who, well, responds!
This afternoon, we were lazing in bed…
Me: Faith, kiss Mama, please?
She picked up my phone.
Me: Faith, kiss Mama, please?
She continued to fiddle with my phone.
Me: Faith, can you kiss Mama, please?
The little imp then surprised me, by planting three big kisses on the screen of the phone, complete with smooching sounds!
Well, I guess she prefers to give her first (voluntary) kiss to The Mama with Makeup, who graces the (silver) screen, as opposed to the banshee lying next to her…
If you have been sticking around here long enough, you would have read that my husband is an avid cook, and you would have learnt that he inspires me to be more competent in the kitchen (which is partly how and why this blog was started in the first place). If you have had the good fortune of coming round to our place for a home-cooked meal (and I’m not being boastful, merely telling the truth, YO), then you would KNOW that my husband IS brilliant. I put on weight when we were living in London because he made sure I ate well, and to do that, he made sure he cooked well. After all, even though I am a much better baker than a cook, I have very, very discerning taste buds.
For the past year though, M has been insanely busy at work and this means that he hasn’t been able to cook often, and man, do I miss the grub he makes! I was so delighted when his annual leave came around recently, and the doting husband cooked to MY heart’s content. I even put on a few kilos…testament to his cooking skills, no? But as it turns out, I wasn’t the only one enjoying his presence at home (and in the kitchen). Faith took on a very discerning palette a few months earlier, and she loves exciting flavours (exciting for a baby, that is). We abstain from giving her foods with sugar and salt when eating at home and try to make healthier choices when we are eating out (because she eats off our plates), and M has done a wonderful job in feeding her well. Take this lasagne for example, it is bursting with flavour, even though he hasn’t seasoned it at all. I was so impressed, that I stole more than a few bites whenever we heated this up for Faith’s lunches.
The girl lapped it all up with glee, of course. What’s not to like? Good food PLUS an awesome cook for a father. She is the luckiest girl in the world. And so am I.
We were lounging around in the living room, watching Heston Blumenthal work his magic on some very delightful feasts on the telly. Fans of Heston would know his penchant for creating dining experiences that are out of this world. In this particular episode, he demonstrated the creation of the meatfruit, a meat-based dish made to look like a fruit, something which I thoroughly enjoyed during M’s birthday celebration at Heston’s restaurant in London, Dinner.
Heston (on telly): To make a meatfruit, we are going to use…THIS. *holds up a bull’s neatly severed testicle whilst looking supremely smug* I am going to use a bull’s plum to make a plum.
He proceeded to squeeze the living daylights out of the testicle, and emptied its contents into a bowl of whatever.
Me: Whutttt…?! Did he just…? *mind overworking at this point, hoping that the bowl of whatever was meant to be tossed into the bin, not for consumption*
Heston mashed up the bits (pun so very intended) in the bowl and started fashioning a rather realistic-looking plum out of it.
Me (hysterical): OH-EM-GEE OH-EM-GEE, YOU MEAN I ATE BALLS AT HIS RESTAURANT? YOU MEAN I ATE BALLS?! *whimpers* But it was so good…YOU MEAN I ATE BALLS?!
M (stifling his maniacal laughter): Yah you did!
Me (all dramatic whilst pulling my hair and dragging my hands down my face): NONONONO. It can’t be! I am pretty sure it was chicken liver parfait that was stuffed inside the meatfruit. NOT BALLS! It can’t be balls…right??? WHAT THE…..
M was shaking violently with stifled laughter at this point and I was pretty traumatised.
Heston then held up a meatfruit that looks like a mandarin, just like the one I ate at Dinner, and promptly announced that it was made of chicken liver parfait.
Me (total outburst): SEEEEEEEEE!!! I TOLD YOU IT WAS CHICKEN LIVER PARFAIT! *slaps M on his back repeatedly, who was still shaking with laughter*
Moral of the story for me: It wasn’t balls that I ate.
Moral of the story for M: Please don’t mess with my head again. It was very traumatising.
Moral of the story for you: Marvel at the number of times I mentioned ‘balls’.