What The Man Wants, The Man Gets

‘Red Velvet, please. And I want it tall.’

My husband, M, certainly wasn’t standing on ceremony when I asked him what cake he would like for his birthday.

Well, I love him very much, so much so that I attempted to bake my very first four-layer cake which weighed at least five kilograms when it was finally dressed in a decadent, slightly tart cream cheese frosting.

It took two days of back-breaking work to create this, the most professionally-finished cake that I’ve ever made, even if it didn’t look like it hit the gold standards of established bakeries out there. What mattered most was M loved it. He declared it my best act, and that was well-worth the effort.

Happy Birthday, love!

Check out what I have been baking in my own kitchen.

Also check out my other food adventures.

For Better, For Worse

My dear husband,

Today marks all of eight years we have had with each other.

Eight years ago, you stealthily grabbed my hand as we crossed the road after our dinner date, under the pretense that you wanted to make sure I was safe from the non-existent traffic. With my hand in yours, unbeknownst to me, I was fooled into committing the very first day of our lives together to you. And then, somehow, you managed to hoodwink me into becoming your wife about three and a half years ago. You must have had plenty of tricks up your sleeve, for the world knows that we are different as chalk and cheese, and the world wonders how we are still very much in love in spite of that. I wonder too.

You and I know that we love each other in starkly contrasting ways. We have had eight long years to realise, fight over, and accept this. If anything, the difference in how we love was THE point of contention in our years together. It still is. You practise tough love. And I, ever the fragile, sheltered half, isn’t always strong enough for that. You see, I grew up knowing only tenderness and sometimes, I can’t quite grasp the affection for me that actually lurks in your nonchalance and harsh words. And my oh my, are we the worst sort of tempers put together. I am quick to anger at the slightest while you are quite the terror if you should ever blow your top. I am surprised that we are still together. But maybe, I shouldn’t be.

After all, we have given a lot to make a recalcitrant, heated, passionate relationship such as ours work. We had two honeymoon-ish years together, and we naively thought, hey it’s pretty easy to fall AND stay in love, then BAM! London hit us and well, we fought bad and almost threw in the towel before realising that WE are worth fighting for. So, we fought even harder, but this time, we fought to make it work. After getting married, I thought we had learnt what needed to be learnt about each other, that we had accepted what needed to be accepted. I mean, haven’t we gone through enough tears already? And surely, the storms would have blown over by now after so much drama during our time in London? I thought wrong.

The past 8 months have been INSANE. I remember lamenting that it was going to be tough the minute we knew we were expecting a baby. We had done everything backwards – you know, getting married while working on our second degrees, planning for a kid when we were fresh out of grad school. Friends questioned the way we lived. Strangers raised their eyebrows when they heard our stories. It was challenging to walk the path of the less travelled, but geez, I didn’t realise what ‘tough’ meant until we became parents.

The usual parenting challenges, the lack of sleep, the moments when we feel like fish out of water, the resentment that grows as we hardly see each other with your unforgiving schedule at work and my relentless mothering gig, the stress and constant criticism that comes with living with others, the scrutiny we are put under as new parents, the lack of time for a social life and how much we are getting dissed by our friends for not keeping in touch…these are really doing us in. Where do I start to dissect the pressures on our marriage, when we don’t even have the time to see, let alone talk to each other?

But we soldier on. We fight, we throw our heads back and laugh without a care in the world, we long to punch the living daylights out of each other, we hug each other and cry, we cry because we fight, we kiss and make up, and we love again. We walk on, my hand in yours, across the road as we dodge a more dangerous sort of traffic this time.

I don’t know how we do it. I honestly don’t know how we survived the past 8 months. There were moments when I was convinced that we were done for. But I am glad we are alive, and that we love each other more and more, even as we find more and more things to hate about each other. It is all very odd indeed.

You told me that you were afraid that I will forget all about you once I become a mother. I never had a chance to tell you this, but the truth is, I think about you more and more after I became one. My heart has grown to love you and our beautiful daughter to my very best, so much so that I have nothing left for myself. You have to know this.

You must know this too. For better, for worse, it has been eight years.

For better, for worse, it has been the most trying eight months of our lives together.

For better, for worse, with my hand still in yours, I pray that there will be more fights, laughter, tears and kisses to come just because it is you whom I share these moments with.

For better, for worse, as long as I am with you, trying as the times ahead will surely be, I say…come what may.

Love,
Me

Smooth As My Baby’s Bottom

I am convinced that the sleep gods hate me.

More than four months after sleep went down the toilet with Faith’s epic regression, I went from ‘OMG what the fish happened to our shortlived period of unbroken sleep’ to ‘this too shall pass’ to ‘this kiddo will not sleep through the night till she is 18′, before (currently) resigning myself to fate and thinking, ‘wake me up when September ends’, except that the joke is on me because…it’s only March, isn’t it, and I am being @£);!?#}^*%! woken up all too frequently at night. As if the daytime mothering gig isn’t draining enough, the nightshifts are taking its toll on my appearance. I look like that peeling wall in a charming 17th century cottage, except that it’s not so pretty on me. My skin, oh my poor skin, is parched, sallow and no longer supple. I feel old, dammit, and dry, and wrinkled, and sad. And yes, ‘You look tired’ is the only hello that friends can muster when we meet up these days.

Before you go all judge-y on me, I still love my daughter with all my heart and I have no regrets becoming a mother. BUT it would be nice to have a little me-time, to touch my face and feel a little less like a peeling fresco and more like my baby’s bottom (that’s about the only time when it’s good to be someone’s arse, anyway). It would be nice to look in the mirror and not feel bothered about the meandering and deepening cracks on my face.

I was contemplating a trip to the spa for a full-on pampering session after seeing a few friends take their hard-earned breaks from mothering but I hesitated as my baby girl refuses to take breastmilk from a bottle and I couldn’t be away from her for too long. Timely as it was, Porcelain, The Face Spa then invited me for The Restorative Facial which helps reduce skin sensitivity and water retention, while improving skin tone, hydration and elasticity. I was told that the treatment lasts about an hour. One quick hour, all to myself? I was sold…save for the fact that I have never had a facial and was a tad worried that I would return from the session, scarred for life. I was assured that the treatment uses natural extracts such as that of aloe vera, cucumber and rose, and to this, I figured the worst that could happen was that the facial does nothing for me.

I received a lot more than I bargained for. The treatment was very relaxing and did wonders to restore hydration and suppleness to my skin. I left the spa with a visibly smoother complexion (sans makeup, as the spa promotes a natural approach to maintaining a clear and healthy complexion), and bouncier skin. I was delighted to see, and feel the results! My skin felt like mochi, no kidding!

The best thing about the facial is the use of natural extracts renders the treatment safe for breastfeeding mothers. This was a rather important consideration for me as I am currently nursing my daughter. I went home, happy as a lark, smooth as my baby’s bottom and relieved that my daughter did well without Mama me for slightly more than an hour!

Mothers’ Day is just around the corner and now, you can treat and your Mama to The Restorative Facial too. A 1-for-1 session is going at S$195 until Mothers’ Day and I reckon this could make a lovely gift to that special woman in your life. I hope you ladies reap the benefits from a good ol’ relaxing facial!

Now, *pause for drama* back to the mothering dungeon…

Thanks to Porcelain, The Face Spa, and Protocol for the invitation.

Porcelain, The Face Spa is located at:

15 Cantonment Road
Singapore 089739

{The Pleasure Monger x Linsiwolsie} Cherry & Almond Granola Bars

 

Keen on preparing tasty and nutritious food for toddlers to munch on during long and short travels, my friend, Pooja of Linsiwolsie - mother to a beautiful girl and seasoned traveller – invites me over to her home to join in the fun. I am reminded of how wonderful it is to return to the kitchen after a long hiatus, and to be back styling and shooting to my heart’s content. I can’t wait to share these treats with my daughter, as she moves on to the wonderful world of chow!

Come on over and have a look at the second in this series of toddler-friendly recipes – one of my favourite power snacks to nibble on, cherry & almond granola bars.

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Read on for my new journey as a mother and check out what I’ve been cooking and baking in my kitchen.

We Need Some Lovin’: Holster Up Your Pretty Feet

As a mother, I am always on the lookout for quality clothes, toys, books, foods and other knick-knacks for my daughter; ‘I Have My Eye On‘ is a collection of these finds.

Growing up is a tough act but parenting is hard work too; I believe that mummies and daddies need some lovin’! Whilst I am not busting my budget on the little one, I like to sniff out things that make our new routines a little easier, or sometimes, just a little prettier.

In this series ‘We Need Some Lovin’‘, I share some of my favourite things for us big people.

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My feet are the bane of my existence. Really. I hate them because they are too fleshy, too wide, too ugly with too high an arch. I often find it difficult to shop for shoes without ending up with blistered feet and a self-esteem severely punctured by insensitive remarks from sales assistants on how fat my feet are. So pardon me if I don’t get that, oooh-look-at-my-Louboutins-Manolos-and-Jimmy Choos obsession with pretty shoes! Sour grapes? Yes, VERY sour indeed.

Ever since I was pregnant, the sensible woman in me chose comfort over style for my footwear. I wear a tonne of ugly shoes, right down to ah-pek (Hokkien for old man) sandals. For more than a year now, I chose to live in a world where I think that nobody looks at my feet, and that world was pretty…until I get that ‘waaah, your feet are very fleshy’ remark from yet another sales assistant.

I was recently gifted two pairs of Holster shoes by the good people at Not Too Big. I reckon someone must have noticed how wretched and tired-looking my ah-pek sandals were. Truth be told, I was a little hesitant about receiving these shoes. I am not one to write about something that I wouldn’t recommend. The Holster shoes are annoyingly pretty, so much so that I was convinced they would make my poor feet suffer a thousand deaths just for donning them, as with other equally good-looking shoes. But then, they are jellies. They have been raved about for the comfort and ease of cleaning. And they are *sigh* very sparkly. A girl’s got to do what she’s gotta do.

I took a huge leap of faith and put them on everywhere I went. I could be going downstairs for a walk in the park where sparkly, strappy shoes are taboo. I could be going to the mall. I could be running across the road. I could be doing all of the above with a 7.5kg baby strapped to my body and a diaper bag hanging off my right shoulder. I could be doing that for hours and hours on end. And I was blown away by the Holster jellies. No blisters, no pain, no aches, and lots of compliments from strangers, family and friends alike on how beautiful my shoes are! I have the Swarovski Masquerade Wedge in Champagne (pictured above), which goes with just about any outfit, including the formal cheongsam that I wore for Lunar New Year (for those who have seen it on Instagram). I was also gifted the Swarovski Masquerade Jelly (flat) in Marina, which adds a brilliant pop of blue to whatever casual drab I’m wearing. After more than a month of running about in my Holster shoes, I’m ready to retire my ah-pek sandals and other tattered, smelly flats I have in my arsenal of mum-sy footwear!

All thanks to the generous people at Not Too Big!

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Holster is stocked at:

Not Too Big
582 Orchard Road
#02-06/07 Forum The Shopping Mall
Singapore 238884

Photo published and reformatted in poster form with permission from: Not Too Big/Holster

I Have The Power To Make You Hungry

Hubby is out. Baby is asleep. I am all showered and curled up in bed…with my MacBook Pro. My quiet nights in are usually spent reading or editing photos. Tonight, it is the latter; I am pulling out photos from my recent trip to my mother’s hometown, Penang. And you know what? This is really bad news for you, especially if you are hungry.

Lorong Seratus Tahun Curry Mee

Anson Road Kway Teow Thng

Penang Road Chendol

Pulau Tikus Kueh Talam and Pulut Tekan

Rangoon Road Banana Pancake

Tok-Tok (Wanton) Mee from a random backlane of my Ah Ma’s place

Leong Muah Chee (location unknown as Uncle Leong flits from one location to another. It was out of sheer luck that I chanced upon his pushcart at Lorong Selamat).

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Told ya it’s bad news. Nope, am not the least bit apologetic.

P/S: Reviews on the above? All are my favourites since I was a little girl, and all are recommended by my mother’s family in Penang. With the exception of chendol, which has proven to be consistently disappointing as standards slipped over the years. Pity. Oh, the muah chee? A random GEM that I chanced upon while on the hunt for an afternoon snack at Lorong Selamat; nope, not even my relatives know about it. *smug* It is the best muah chee I’ve ever had. Everything is freshly made, from the pillowy soft and silky smooth muah chee to the toasted ground nuts to the addictive, fragrant fried shallots. This is saying a lot, as I’ve tried loads of muah chee done up this way in Penang over many years, and Leong is unbeatable. Wishing you luck hunting him down!

Dear Faith: Six Months On

Dear Faith,

You are all of six months old now. How funny, that months fly by so quickly when each day (and night) seems to go on forever. Are you having fun getting to know Mama all this time? Because I sure am enjoying your company.

But this wasn’t always the case. Don’t get me wrong. I love you to the moon and back, but there were things that made it difficult for me to enjoy having you in my life.

I adored having you while away time in my belly, but of course. Back then, it was just the two of us; you, stretching out your limbs within, and I, stroking the ripples you made across my bump. Those cartwheels of yours…were mine and mine to keep. And then, you were born. We shared intimate, first and very quiet moments in the nights at the hospital, as I whispered in response to your kitten-like coos and watched you curiously as you stifled the tiniest yawns I have ever laid eyes on. Again, mine and mine to keep. But, like quicksand under my feet, these moments rapidly gave way to the chaos that come with parenthood. People wanted a piece of you. People tried to tell Mama what to do and Mama was chided one too many times. I suppose they forgot that I am your Mama, and that mothers know best. Those days were foul. I barely survived with remarks hurled at me every so often, and I hardly cradled you without feeling resentful. All I longed to do was to take in your baby smell with nothing but the pride and joy of a new mother but I was exhausted from the broken sleep, depressed and angry that no one saw that I was trying my best, to give you the very best, and I eventually succumbed to my rapidly eroding confidence. I took it out on you, deemed you a difficult child, because I didn’t know better . I am so sorry that I felt that way. Will you ever forgive me?

I am glad that things are better, and you must be relieved too, thank God, for Mama now knows better than to crumble in the face of criticism, even though those finger-pointing days are far from over. Six months on, I am still told that I don’t have what it takes to be a mother. Six months on, people still go all SWAT-team on Mama as they misjudge your exuberance for lack of discipline, and give me so much grief when they learnt that you are still not sleeping through the night. I am wounded but I know better than to think that they are right, that our ways are erroneous. Six months on…being with you all the time, waking up many times a night, every night, to soothe you back to sleep, nursing you every single time because you refuse to drink from the milk bottle, laughing when I get projectile-pooped on, singing to you and waltzing with you to Mama’s screechy rendition of ‘The Last Waltz’, all this while battling unpleasantries from people who you think would be more supportive…I reckon I must have done more right than wrong.

So yes, Mama has come a long way. And so have you, my child. You were once a newborn who quietly regarded lights and shadows with all the interest you could muster during your waking hours. You waited it out with me as you battled dehydration from phototherapy, when Mama’s milk failed to come in until four days after you were born. You were also hardly awake and barely opened your eyes when you were up. Truth be told, it felt a little like you were an unresponsive lump that only woke up to feed every two hours. Then, one day, you flashed your first toothless grin at me, and my heart soared! You are *after some serious prodding* a baby, for real! The babbling that is boo-baa-baa and oh-woh-woh, that strange throaty ahhh-ooooohhh and your signature shrill ah-rrrh-rrrh-rrrh-rrrh, not unlike a trill, soon followed as you tried to keep up with our daily conversations. You used to scream in the bath too, and perhaps it was because Mama didn’t quite know how to grab onto a slippery baby in soapy water, but now you revel in a splashin’ good time in the tub. When you yelped during tummy time, I thought the world would end sooner than you could roll over, so imagine my surprise when you flipped onto your tummy the day before you turned four months! Before I knew it, you started sitting unassisted a few weeks ago, banging on every surface and swiping at everything you could get your tiny, yet amazingly strong hands on. When you wolfed down your first solids, and clamoured for more (especially avocado, expensive stuff leh) with that bit of sass, I knew that you were my child; Mama loves her food too much, after all. I laughed with you, when you squealed in delight at Mama’s antics with the empty Milo box (if I haven’t shown you the video, ask me to because it is priceless); have I told you that I almost forgot what it was like to laugh without a care in the world, until you came along? Whenever your ‘longan’ eyes light up at me but not at the sight of others, ahh…you should see how smug I am, until I approach you and you start yanking the few strands of hair that Mama has left. And oh, that glorious morning, when you first spread your arms wide open, eagerly waiting for me to come and get you…I knew there and then, that you are growing up too quickly and one day, you will push Mama away with those arms. But for now, darling Faith, you surprise me with your every move and I am delighted to be here for you, for your first wriggle forward, your first step, your first words…

You have me eating right out of your chubby, dimpled hands, my dear girl.

You have done so much more than grow a couple of inches taller and pack on a few pounds. You have unwittingly taught me so, so much. To dig deep and love unconditionally. That being a mother is a privilege. That nothing is a sacrifice when done out of love. That I should be strong and trust my instincts. That I should give my best to you, hold your hands while you still want me to, and then let you go even if it is the hardest thing to do.

So, grow…grow up all you want, my dear daughter, be the person that you taught me to be, and so much more. The days are long and the nights, longer, but they won’t be this way forever. Mama’s here for you, holding out my hand, if you ever feel like walking with yours in mine. But if you don’t ever want to do that when you are all grown up because it might be uncool to be seen with Mama, I hope you have enjoyed getting to know me as much as I love being your mother.

Love,
Mama