I know Caitlin has been going to primary school this year, and Caleb, being going-on-4, is developing fast.

But it still “hits” me when I speak to them, or overhear them during skype; how much they have “grown”.

While speaking to Caitlin, she slips in words and/or translations of things I say, or shows me art-craft works that she has obviously learned from school. Words or art stuff that I have not taught her, concepts and skills that she has obviously picked up being a kid in school.

Caleb’s speech is more cohesive now: longer sentences, not-so-simple-anymore requests and demands. I am also told of stories of what he’s been up to, and his reactions and responses.

Missing all these… Can’t wait for them to join me soon.

During our first Skype session after this same recent visit to Melbourne / seeing me after 5 months of my being here; matter of factly, she says to me “Daddee, everytime I think of you I feel like crying..” And moves on to another topic.

This one was from last year (late 2010):
Still within earshot when the restaurant staff walked past us, Caitlin asked: “Daddee, is that a boy or a girl?”

Yikes..

Caitlin’s English has been pretty good all her almost-7-years life. Thanks mostly to us speaking to her with it, TV and the kiddie movies, and also to an extent the podcasts and online games she plays (no, not those you are thinking- these are just the simple Disney ones / online-extensions of the TV-channel programs).

So when she was here in Melbourne and whenever we went out, I’d try and get her to speak to some people- such as asking for directions, ordering food, etc.

She was apprehensive.

I guess she is aware that she is in another country, in a place where English is generally the first language of the locals.

As a parent I have kinda been conscious to not highlight too much to my kids the difference between people. Sure, in her studies they are already taught the differences between races- Yes, seriously. But I guess Grandma has also been “prepping” her for her journey here, that perhaps she may not be able to understand the Aussie accent, and maybe even that she should learn to speak proper English.

I may be wrong, but I think if Grandma had in fact been doing this, it may have had an adverse effect- the apprehension in Caitlin now.

She clearly did not want to interact. Sure she may not have been as brave in KL but I think she was especially apprehensive here. At one time we were in a local hypermart store and she wanted to check out some toys. I asked her to ask the staff where the toy section is. She blatantly did not want to try. She even offered me: “I don’t understand what they are talking about!”

Back home after shopping, in trying to ease her worries, I thought of this: Since their arrival I had left the TV on ABC’s kids channel. Here they air as much local content as possible. I asked her a simple question: “Do you know and understand what the real people (and sometimes the animated characters) are saying?”

Her answer was a quick and simple Yes.

“So then who said you don’t understand Australian English?”

Yes, the long awaited reunion with them, since being away for so long.

And how much, and also how little, things have changed.

The good news/change is that:

• Caitlin has some school homework with her. She came to me for help like she’s been doing this for years;
• Caitlin has learned a lot; she can read and comprehend a lot better now, knows quite a bit of her multiplication tables;
• Caleb is a lot more cohesive now, much expanded vocabulary and also more expressive;
• They do seem to get along better, share stuff, starting to signs of relating to each other.

Now the “bad” news:

• They are still as cheeky as ever!
• But with age, comes more sophisticated cheekiness!

It’s the first time for both of them to experience an Australian winter (but it’s technically still not the coldest time yet) but they seem to take this on quite well. Sure they complain about first observations like COLD TOILET SEATS and cold winds, but generally they seem to enjoy their time here

They will be leaving for home this weekend, but at least I got to see them, hug them, and note these growing characteristics…

Oh, and Hot Mummee still looks, well, hawt

To document their growth…

To make an album, or two, or three…

To be able to look back and remember when they were so tiny, so innocent, so adorable…

For they grow so fast…

Tina Fey’s prayer for her daughter

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.

Source: Bossypants

There was once an event at Grandma’s church. I think Grandma had to volunteer at this event, and Caitlin, her uncle and I were left in the hall waiting for her to join us. It was a rather big crowd there too. Caitlin must have been only about 3 or younger then. I think she hadn’t even started pre-school yet then.

We were seated on a long flowerbox or something. Soon after an older girl, perhaps 5 years old, came to the flowerbox near us. She took out a colouring book and colour pencils from her backpack and started colouring it. Caitlin, being always curious of other kids at that age, was watching this older girl. The girl knew it, and I guess she was also showing off her wares.

Caitlin started getting bored, and we weren’t prepared for this long wait- could have brought some toy or something to occupy her (I didn’t have an iPhone of games then either). So I went to the car to retrieve my small notepad and a pen; thought to teach her how to master holding a pen or even start writing. I really did not have anything for her.

She started doodling in it. Up and down strokes. It was quite pathetic really, given the situation we were in at the hall bored out of our minds, and the girl near us enjoying herself in full view of Caitlin, with her up-down strokes of blue ink in a small pocket-shirt sized lined notepad.

“That’s not nice” said the girl about Caitlin’s doodling. Caitlin was stumped, perhaps even hurt. For a 3 year old she didn’t know how to react. She just looked at me.

I guess this was also my first incident of someone else teasing my child, even if it’s verbal.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“I am 5 years old”, she said, without looking up from her colouring.

“Well, my daughter is only 3, and she can already hold a pencil properly. Could you do that when you were 3 years old?”

She didn’t answer me.

“No, I didn’t think you could.”

Caitlin is of a certain intellect already. We “connect” as we talk about stuff- and we can do that just by sitting down, in the car, at the table, and lately, over the internet on Skype. In fact with this latest medium, we also type messages to each other whilst I coach her on spelling them

Caleb however, is not at that level of intellect yet. We don’t “talk” per se- we play together. Though he understands stuff that is being said to him, he is still distracted by physical, tangible, more touch-sensory perception of the world and people around him than about to sit down and talk.

And so, he doesn’t miss me, not as much as his jie-jie does.

This was evident tonight. I got a message on my iPhone’s chat program from Caitlin, asking me to get on Skype to videochat, peppered with emoticons that she has recently taken to giggle at

And so we did, like usual, hearing and seeing each other on screen.

While talking to Caitlin and Hot Mummee for a while I saw Caleb in the background of the video chat. HM asked him to come talk to Daddee.

He didn’t want to.

I don’t blame him. There is no fun, at his level of intellect, to talk to Daddee in a window in the computer screen. There is no play involved like how it was with physical-Daddee; like how I’d play with his toys with him, kick the ball around with him, goof around with him.

I have said before that he will grow to not know his Daddee if we don’t hurry along our plans. This is perhaps the first step down that path.

I don’t have much time left.

I have studied, lived and worked in Australia before. I grew up in Malaysia, and spent my developing late-teen years here.

In individualistic ways, I am a minority. Having obtained secondary and tertiary education here and having worked on both shores put me a unique position- of outlook, experience, cultural and language backgrounds. These are perhaps the qualities that past immigration policies stressed on when they look at multicultural policies and also during attempts to address the skills shortage and its ageing population, in the competitive (now comparative?) global markets.

But I am not getting into politics here.

I can therefore speak a few languages and Chinese dialects as a result- I always tell people that one of the “given” advantages of an ethnic Chinese growing up in an Asian city is that one would automatically pick up at least one dialect. In KL it is the widely spoken Cantonese, Penang would be the local flavour of Hokkien, Malacca would be Mandarin, etc., without actually needing to attend a vernacular school (but which I did- thanks mum In Singapore ethnic kids are required to also take on their respective mother-tongue as a language subject, on top of English.

But as you have rightly guessed, I am now wondering what my children will be like when they are growing up here, eventually.

In a lot of ways, I don’t want them to be “typical”. Not using myself as a model, I do wish for them to be upstanding unique citizens. I know all parents want these for their kids too, but if you take me and HM in this context- we are different in the local context; and I am looking at this in an optimistic light.

But what about the kids? They are still young, and will still be when they move here and be just another “product” of the local system.

Of course, this is almost-literally two sides of the same coin: They too would be a product of that system over there.

So then we come back to the original question: Am I doing the right thing for the kids? Am I doing this for selfish reasons of my own preference for wanting to live here, and thus “dragging” them along without the maturity and knowledge to offer their own opinions and preference too?

At this stage I can only offer that what will shape them to be un-typical would be our methods and values in raising them in the local environment. Yes I am generalising here, but I would wonder how many (“young”? parents out there have the kinds of background that HM and I have? A few, but not many, I would think.

And if I sound arrogant, I am not. I am looking out for my kids given what tools I have for this job.

Games, or apps for that matter, usually get updated by the developers. Either to add in new features, bug fixes, to be more updated; in particular with games, new scenes or characters would be added. With the zoo game that Caitlin plays, I have seen new animals and rangers being added when they are updated.

So now that I am away from home I have removed most of the games that were on the iPhone. For that matter I have also removed some of the security features- there were a few times when Caleb had unintentionally deleted my apps and info; he didn’t know better, of course.

So now when I check for updates of my apps, some of these installed games would indicate that there are updates available.

I don’t update them now.

And I kinda feel guilty, and sad.

Guilty because, even though they are games- I only install educational games or at least non-violent games; they do teach something to the kids. Hand-eye coordination, math games, basic strategies (the zoo management game), or simply interacting with “tools” that will become even bigger parts of their adult lives compared to us now. Guilty because I have taken away this opportunity/”toy” away from them.

And sad. I miss them.

In my dream I could recall real-life memories of skyping with my kids. I could recall the blurry image of them in the chat window, how I could still make out Caitlin’s missing two front teeth.

Then, still in that dream and with that “knowledge” or memory, I approached the Caitlin in my dream.

She was already a grown teenager, my height, bearing a full set of adult teeth. She was also dressed in her school uniform. She didn’t speak, just smiled lots.

Typical of my dreams (that I could at least remember) I was running around a lot, asking what’s-this/what’s-going-on questions. Particularly (mainly because I didn’t see anyone else) asking Hot Mummee this. She nonchalantly ignored me/my questions, went about her usual staring at her laptop. I recall I kept saying “But she was always only this tall”, holding my hand to my sternum, palm down. In the dream I even asked HM if Caitlin had even gone through puberty yet.

Cut to another scene; you know how dreams are.

There was me, the current-sized Caleb, and one other character in the foreground. We were near an open window.

Caleb proceeded to swiftly walk-climb to the open window, and fell out!

I peered out over the ledge; it was only a ground floor window, and he was faced down in a drain.

Cut to the next scene I was already outside. I picked him up, and sat him on the ledge of a flowerbox wall next to the drain. He was sobbing quietly. “Where ouch-ouch?” I asked, brushing dirt off his body. He points to a few joints here and there.

Then I woke up.

They say you can really only remember the last dream you had just before waking, forgetting the earlier dreams you have had from your whole sleep.

I think there are obvious underlying themes here, in my current conscious state of mind.. :-/

And you thought Hmm I think my kid will like it too.

So you buy it. You bring it home to your kid(s). You give it to them. They go “WAAaah! Thank you Daddee” and proceed to play with it not the way you’d like it to be!

I have had toys, stationaries, cards, even my own toys, not played with “properly” (“properly” in this context is of course relative. What’s a little crashing of the remote helicopter, dirtying of a pair of perfectly white shoes, pressing too hard of the new colour pencils, or even creasing of a nicely made origami??)

I have come to accept that, however much you like the item yourself, and thought your kids might like it too, you have to “surrender” to the fact that they may not think the items is as great as you do, and not cherish or look after it as well as you might yourself!

I have seen the gifts that my parents bring for them after their trip overseas. My mum has bought Caitlin kiddie handbags before. Not that Caitlin trashes them- she does use them and store things in them and carry them around. But after a while, new broom sweeps clean, something new and better comes along and she forgets about this new item.

After giving this some thought, I should make it a point to highlight to them the effort that people have taken, to pick out the gift after giving the kids some consideration (that people are thoughtful of them), the money involved in buying it, and the whole idea of not wasting things.

.. Cos I have just bought them something too

Especially for Caitlin, she will have to readjust to another new school, after having completed the last 3 years in pre-school to start primary schooling this past January- at a new school, new friends, new syllabus- new everything. When she comes, she will be the new kid in an environment where her peers are no longer unfamiliar like newbies anymore.

I just hope that that will be the only thing she will have to cope with.

I recall during my first year in boarding school in Australia, albeit I was already 15; there was a senior who was, for some reason, watering the lawn outside the dorm. I was walking in his direction to go in. He thought it was funny to raise and aim the hose at me. All I could do was shout “STOP IT”. Through the spray I think I saw him laughing. It didn’t last long- he decided to stop. I didn’t know what to do, could do. I just continued on my way.

There was another time when a girl-classmate did the slanty-eyed thing on her temples and thought it was funny uttering “Look I can’t see through my eyes” to the other schoolmates; who didn’t think it was funny. I Just ignored her. I think she got expelled- she was of that character anyway.

Incidentally, a year after that, a genuine friend actually asked me how I really do see through these eyes! I appreciated his honesty, but I guess he needed a(nother) lesson in eye physiology and the physics of light I don’t think I have small eyes anyway!

So when my kids come, I just hope that adjusting to the new school will be all they need to worry about. I would tend to think that between my time in the mid-80′s to now, kids today are more “multi-cultured” and that if any bullying it wouldn’t be race-based.

That they would only need to find out things that are idiosyncratic to that school. Hmm I used a big word correctly.

It’s quite cool that local schools are starting programs such as this. This article reminded me of what Annie Fox has been writing about bullying. We are not affiliated; I follow her on twitter because she talks about parenting on a professional basis.

I think programs like this is also double-edged in that they probably make a leader out of the older child. The whole “taking care of the new/weak(?)”

Just saying.

I hadn’t watched it before, and it was already running when I got out of the shower. SPOILER WARNING: I am going to talk about the ending of the movie below.

I have kinda always had a dog in my life. When my older brother did well in his mid-high school exams, our dad honoured his promise of a reward with an Alsation pup. I would have been around 8 then.

He was a great dog. I gotta admit we weren’t the most “mature” in our methods of disciplining him, but we did give him a home, played with him, trained him. In return he was obedient and loyal. The only time he wasn’t obedient was when he needed to satisfy urges to run out of the house compound, and needed lots of coaxing to come home. I believe there was even once when he went out without our knowledge, and was found waiting outside our gate; presumably all satisfied with his outing and thought it was time to go home

He was eventually put down. He was about 13 years old, which means he would have been 90 dog-years old. He was just too weak physically as well as with his immunity, and started to develop some skin and ear problems.

It was my brother and I who brought him to the vet. We weren’t strangers to the vet; been taking him there for similar problems already. The vet had told us off a few times of “neglect”, but he also knew that dogs of this breed would be hard to maintain in the tropical climate.

That last visit, when we brought him in, the vet’s tone changed when we agreed that perhaps it was time.

Dog lovers all in the room.

The scene in Marley and Me was very similar. My brother and I just held Alley as he slowly slipped away. I recall I was patting him, uttering “it’s okay” quietly. Stroking his still fluffy mane, comforting him. He had never liked the vet or the clinic, and would put up a fight when the vet came near. He was putting up a fight again when the vet gave the dose, but the fight slowly slipped away too. I hoped he heard my last words too.

The car ride home with my brother was just silence.

I am writing this because of an immediately earlier scene in the movie.

The kids in the movie was saying goodbye to Marley at home, just before he was taken to the vet; when everyone kinda already knew he wouldn’t be returning.

I am writing this because where I am now (alone away from home in a friend’s house) they have a dog; probably not that much smaller than Marley. Harley is a black dog, similar line of the labradors. My friends got him from a pound when he would have been about around 2 years old. They are not sure of his breed either.

In watching that goodbye-at-home scene, I found myself wondering what it would be like if my own family had a dog. The kids would be about the same ages even though I only have two. I believe the kids would grow to love the dog like I did Alley, and would have assumed the dog to (almost) be part of the family. And, how they would react when the dog was dying.

Or how to handle impending death.

This same older brother of mine had/have other dogs since Alley. Shadow, a doberman (by choice due to a shorter coat!) was hit by a car a few years ago, and had to be put down too. Shadow was in his prime; a champion-of-the-class dog who was also of very good temperament. I had followed my older brother to a few of their obedient classes, and had watched him graduate as champ of the class. I recall I was at my inlaws’ having dinner, and broke down when my brother called to tell me the news.

His kids were pretty distraught too.

They now have another doberman, Kaiser, and a beagle Yoshi. Similarly I had followed Kaiser to dog classes; and rest assured we now know how to handle dogs “maturely”, so Kaiser also responds to my calls. My kids see how friendly I am with the dogs, and vice versa. If it weren’t for Hot Mummee around, I would let the kids interact more than just touch their noses. Caleb is the braver of my two kids, venturing to stroke the big black menacing looking dog.

I don’t know if I will eventually also have a dog in my family. I know I wouldn’t let him into the house, but at least whether I’d have one. I know the kids would be inclined to one, just a matter of whether HM would also be okay with it.

Nah, she won’t.

Kaiser the 2nd champion doberman

Yoshi the not-so-trained yapper!

Photos taken from my brother’s collection.

Back in the days when I was away from home during overseas studies, we would rely solely on this almost A4-sized paper that was folded 3 times over and licked to seal.

Then when I was at uni, I was astonished that this thing called electronic mail that lecturers used to share notes, was able to go beyond the campus’ gateway and into my sister’s work inbox in Singapore.

Of course in between there was phone calls to chat, usually kept very short because of the costs of the call.

Texting was only available after my graduation and returning to Malaysia, and ICQ much later after that.

These days, we have this thing called Skype and Yahoo messenger where not only could we chat over voice, we could also see each other; and if this Daddee has his way (soon?), maybe this thing called Facetime as well

So anyway, Daddee is away from home. Caitlin knew full well days before my departure what the implications are; something I will come back to another time. But after almost a week away and video-chatting nearly everyday, I sincerely hope the kids are coping with my absence. They are staying with their grandparents who, with all due respect, are not as energetic as I am insofar as bringing them out to the parks, goofing around with them outside or on the floor, role playing with their toys, taking them for a swim.

In the video-chats Caitlin does save her comments for the day to share them with me. She would, albeit only very short and unfocused, share with me some thoughts or activities, or questions from something from her day- which I thought is nice. But she would naturally also ask when we’d be together again… In all, I still think that this is better than nothing at all, or at least what it used to be with me. Then again this is a 6 year old who can’t write well yet to correspond any other way.

Caleb would come on too sometimes, but most times he is more fascinated with seeing himself on the monitor and make faces just to see what it looked like on screen. He knows I am there, and we exchange greetings too, but that is really all we- I, can do for him at this stage.

So, I think they are coping okay for now; I wouldn’t say they are coping “well”.

At least from my perspective…