Silk, Stairwells and a Satisfactory Fart

This next week ushers in the Hindu festival of Deepavali. You may have heard of this as Divali, the festival of lights. The Hindu community comes alive, with chaser lights, tendrils of jasmine, blue and pink deities, candles, songs and plentiful incense and other smoky substances. Dawn in our house is now heralded by the spiritual tinny 'ting-ting' of the temple bell as the bridge to Boris' ear piercing whining melody for a morning wee. We were missing the melancholic call to prayer from the mosque as his early-bird chorus line after the last public holiday, Hari Raya (Eid), came to a close. Not to worry! In the land of all religions, there is always a temple song and four-day week mumbling a mantra just round the corner.

So the annual mad dash to 'Brickfields', the Indian community, took place on Monday night. (Dress-up day at the elementary school was Tuesday. I know.) What a wonderful place. You can tell that you are approaching as the windows begin to throb. Bhangra music literally weaves across the street in bellydancing waves from several blocks away. By the time you turn into the frenzied microcosm of Bollywood that is Brickfields, both driver and passenger have their fingers wedged deep into both ears. Having the biggest 'woofer' is still cool amongst the roadside stall holders. Kids attached to their parents by the elastic of their boxer shorts weave through the traffic, chubby hands fondling liquifying pink and green candies rather than the swathes of gold encrusted sari or flaps of cream linen wrapping Mum and Dad. Teenage beauties wiggle and wobble through the mango-crate floor of the flower stalls, undulating like the ocean of loveliness that they are to the pop-eyed boys. Thus stimulated, they jump up and down like madmen on a pogo-sick to the latest Mumbai rap, spinning their fragrant flower arrangements in the girls 'coy' faces. That'll get you a date - jasmine up the right nostril. Always a trendy look.

This year we were rather pleased with ourselves. We bobbed past 3 or 4 precarious family sculptures on motorbikes, weaved amongst the ear-bleeding music stalls, zipped past the gobbling and slurping of the chai stalls, and did a sharp right hander after the third neon-orange shophouse on the left, into a tiny alley way. We narrowly missed the sweet-potato-peeling kitchen-hand and her overripe bottom, which splashed out over the red plastic stool upon which she had melted. Rats scurried as our sensible -family-vehicle dashed past the jazzzed up bikes into the hidden carpark. We rolled out, combat-style into the shadows of the car park, dodging pigeonpoo rain from the tree above and congratulated ourselves on our expert status. Should be, after three years here!

Anyway, we haggled with the best of 'em and came away in less than half an hour with a Punjabi outfit in cream and olive silk for Freddie-boy (fit for a prince!) and an XXXXXL salwar khamise for me. This purchase was naturally done amongst a cluster of overly helpful shop assistants (all men), each zealously trying the top for size against my body and upgrading me several times (remeasuring each time of course) until the only remaining SUPERSIZED top in KL was dusted off  with embarrassing pomp and ceremony from the back room. We all had just one more refit to ensure that even my boobs would squeeze in there. Yes - fun was had by everyone.

The next morning was delightful. Ruby wriggled into her beautiful outfit, that thankfully still  fit from last year. Freddie thought he was truly a Maharajah in his whistle'n'flute. I was pleased to note that his eyes matched the green exactly and that off-set his wild hair (since cut back to discriminate colour length). Oohs and aahhs lingered from house, to street, to bus. All were in love with these cute children in their Indian finery. Every carload of Indians on their way to work slowed down to wave hello and say how great they looked.

Then, mid way through the morning, the call came. Ruby had taken a fall at school. Sandals? Sash? Jasmine dangly hair-piece? What was the cause of this tragedy on her dress-up day? It was a really bad fall, but she rallied a bit for painting and managed to limp through the day clutching her ribs and rubbing her belly through the flowery cotton folds. A huge slap in the tummy on the cement stairs whilst playing T-Rex with the boys at break. Even princesses from Rajasthan need a bit of dinosaur in their day, it seems. Knocked the wind right out of her.

At dinner time, after a few hours of ashen face, silence (very unusual), and a vomiting session (George was relieved that a Pyrex was at hand), we took her to the doctor. He pronounced that she was fine and had a bruise and a distended stomach not due to her fall, but in fact due to trapped wind. Needed to have tumbled harder, apparently. We gave her a good squeeze, and thus released, our little chapati slept soundly that night.  Proof that too much Indian can upset your tummy?

A Boy's Visit to London - 1953

This morning, Dad emailed a memoir that he had written to us. Freddie and George were at school, helping out with an Under-13's soccer tournament, affording Ruby and I some rare 'alone' time. Just us girlies, pootling about the house doing all the nice, quiet things that girls can do when given the opportunity. We: painted our nails; plaited Ruby's hair; had a tea party, and then played Balamory games on the computer. Aaahhh. So peaceful.

When the 'ding' of incoming mail distracted us, we were delighted to see Dad's memoir and we settled down for some story time. What a super memoir! Ruby loved listening to it, and was still as a statue during most of the story (apart from the time she fell off her stool, so energetic was her pointing, every time she recognized the word 'Bob' on the screen). She held hands all the way through and has talked about it all morning. Freddie enjoyed listening to the description of the servicemen, all spiffy in their uniforms on Coronation Day, and the two of them have exhausted themselves playing 'guards' this morning. Boris didn't make a very convincing guard dog, what with the quivering, wetting himself with excitement (literally) and ankle gnawing, but they all role-played to the best of their ability.

Thanks for sharing that story with us, Dad. I've been trying to upload the audio (I recorded the reading) - but my tech skills don't stretch that far yet. Working on it! Please accept our request for installment number 2. Africa, please!

The photo was taken during the story, Ruby must have spotted 'Bob' number 150...

Father Starts With the Letter 'F'

What a wonderful idea! This week the Prep-Reception classes have been focusing on the letter 'F' in the alphabet. We dutifully did our homework last Sunday, got crafty and make a little clay fridge-magnet fairy, which Ruby painted and took into school as her 'F' object contribution. She was so proud.

That pride paled into insignificance on Friday. What better 'F' object to take to school that your own Father? The teacher invited all the dads in for a breakfast morning. Superb. George drove Freddie and Ruby to Melawati, the elementary campus. This in itself was a treat, Fred delighted in telling the bus monitor, "It's OK, my Daddy is driving me today" and waving the bus on its way. Ruby had the opportunity to pour George a drink, offer him a fruit skewer, get his napkin and plate all organized for him, and then take him on a tour of her classroom. George reported back that she was almost bursting with happiness as she buzzed around her space, sharing everything with him and teaching him all about her routines. There was a spring in his step as he raced back to school to tell me all about it. What a wonderful experience for them both. Very, very cool.

Freddie's 3rd Birthday

A super day last weekend. Freddie invited three of his friends (Aden, Jack and Phoenix) and their siblings to Titiwangsa Park (yes, I know) for a birthday picnic. It was a hot and sweaty KL morning, but we all had fun and, as hoped, the kids ran off most of their sugar consumption before being poured into cars and taken home for some well-earned naps. We had horse-draw carriage rides by the lake, a little bit of scooter / bike riding, some party games and a picnic in the shade. We worked off the double-chocolate Batman cake with a play in the playground and headed off for a shower and sleeps. Great fun, with minimal tantrums - incredible given the humidity and heat. Even the parents behaved themselves! Photos are below.

Thanks to all who sent lovely messages, cards, phone calls and presents. He was totally spoilt! The super thing was, this was his first birthday that he really 'got it'. His face as he was peeling wrapping paper and peering inside was delightful, and every gift was inspected and played with before moving on to his next one. He can be quite a sensitive chap, we are discovering.

My story of the day was, whilst bathing in the glow of being 'Super-Mum', waving at my little boy as the bus pulled away for school on his birthday, my neighbour calmly asked me if I had checked the 15 mini chocolate cakes I'd bought for Freddie's class for nuts. Never before has such a high drained out of me so fast. I leapt into the path of the U-turning bus, waved it to a screeching halt, pummeled the door to gain admittance and ripped open the bag of cakes that Freddie was proudly clutching. Snarfing a Ben 10 cake in front of 30 amazed elementary school children and two gobsmacked bus monitors, I faced a dilemma. How accurate was my nut detector at 7.10 a.m. on a Friday morning, under this pressure, with an incredulous audience? The sense of foreboding was painted all over Freddie's face. Is she going to rip this bag of sweet-smelling delights out of my hands? His knuckles grew whiter.

I let it go. He kept his cakes. The bus trundled on its merry way with even more of its passengers thinking I was a loon (there's usually a story a week where one of us make a tool of ourselves at bus time). I raced to school and contacted his teacher - did anyone in his class have a deadly nut allergy?

All turned out well and the kids had a super day, cake and all. I was relieved not to have been the lead role in 'Mummy-cake-snatcher' as Freddie's first vivid memory. I think even I will dig out the oven gloves, dust off the spatula and crack open Jamie's bible in order to bake something 100% nut-free for the next birthday. The stress nearly finished me off. "It's like sending a bomb into school" will ring in my ears every time I eye up a store-bought treat for a kiddy event from now on...gone are the days when a pack of Jammy Dodgers will do as I race home late after a meeting.

It is all fun and games, but wow, parenting is a steep learning curve.