despite mourning the loss of my team being uncermoniously removed from the amazing race monday evening, i met a friend for coffee yesterday.  she works in sales and marketing for a beauty company and is quite high up in the austral-asia region.

we are friendish, and she has pursued the relationship, which intrigues me because when we are together she doesn’t laugh or smile a lot at anything i say. she’s a very attractive girl, vietnamese, with pale skin and these days, long hair with a fringe.

i confessed about the addition of face cream to my cabinet and she looked up at me and deadpan and  said, "how do you think i feel? since i was a little girl, my mother told me not to smile too much or i would get lines. so i don’t smile."

can you imagine not smiling for fear of getting laugh lines? trading in beauty for joy? yes, you can let your eyes laugh, but this girl’s eyes are often sad. what else did her mum tell her i wonder? what else did she sacrifice for beauty?

i was collecting sebastian from school later on in the day and as he galloped down the stairs he was waving a white envelope in the air. i realised they were his school pictures! how wildly exciting! we followed what many other mums were doing: we quickly sat down and examined them, picture after picture of smiling sebastian. idential images. we looked at the class photo.

it was warm outside, the sun shining down. as sebastian’s little finger tapped each classmate and he said, "he’s a friend, he’s a friend, she’s a friend and she’s at my table, she’s a friend…" i wondered,

in a world like this, with a life like mine, how can we not get lines? with the sun on my shoulders, the child that causes my heart to contract with anxiety smiling and relaxed in my arms as he determines that today, everyone in his class is his friend, when i am surrounded by people who care for me, how can i not grin and be glad for my world?

i will continue to slap on the face cream, a reactive non-cure to my lines – and God and my perspective willing, i will not stop smiling.

they don’t stay babies

we’ve just returned from an afternoon in the playground.

it’s getting to be quite a regular sunday afternoon event, tea, beer, biscuits and snacks, bicycles, doll prams, playing, standing, sitting, baby prams.

there are two new babies in the playground – ingrid and oliver. both mums are third time round mums with children aged 6 and 4, so it is interesting to watch their children’s reactions to the new sibling.

today, ingrid woke up and i decided i should give her a bit of a cuddle. she’s a lovely little thing, and so fun to cuddle. very easy baby, especially when you can hand her off. but let’s put it this way, she didn’t vomit on me, so i didn’t get any real flashbacks to almost four years ago. and she wasn’t covered in tubes and tape either.

i gently smacked her back and fell into the swinging rhythm that you never forget, and katie said, "oh charles, come take a look at your gorgeous wife." and charles wandered over and said, "oh i know." and he gave me a kiss and admired ingrid and then oliver. i held ingrid probably for a good 30 minutes when:

suddenly sela was at my side. "why are you holding baby ingrid?" she asked. she has seen me holding ingrid before, but never for such a prolonged period of time.

"to help her mummy." i answered.

and sela didn’t leave my side. she held my leg and circled round it, she leaned against me, she kept asking me questions.

i asked a fellow dweller if she wanted to have a go holding baby ingrid. "oh, no thanks. makes me broody."

i thought about broody-ness as i trotted into the flat, my little ducks in a row behind me.

"ingrid is a very sweet baby, and i like holding other people’s babies, but that is as far as it goes." i said in a voice that could only be called definite.

"really?" he said, in a voice that could only be categorized as nostalgic.

"YES" i replied. "they don’t stay babies forever, charles. do you really want to go through sibling rivalry, and a two year old, a three year old, car seats, nappies, baby food in ice trays all over again?"

he didn’t answer, and i know that he would not be upset and would actually be delighted if yes, we did go through that all over again.

and yes, i spoke more definitely than i sometimes feel, but honestly, someone has to be sensible.

right?

Sebastian’s Birthday Party cont…

Please visit Charles’ blog for pictures of Sebastian’s birthday party.

so the shiny stuff you see from our flat? don’t get excited and talk about how prepared i am for Christmas because baby, that’s not tinsel.

it is strings of goo hanging from my tonsils.

a trip to the hospital confirmed it: tonsillitis, ear infections in both ears and a chest infection.

i was expecting to get a severe ticking off for "using the ER as a drs office" but instead when i explained my schedule and said i had been feeling like this on and off for three weeks, the dr got all severe and said, "you should have come in before"

i misunderstood and meekly said, "most doctors offices shut down at 5pm and these last few weeks have been quite busy for me during those hours."

the doctor said, "we are open 24 hours."

so i am feeling 50 per cent better than i did yesterday, but as my friend sheri puts it, i’m still 95 per cent away from being healthy.

last night was bad. there was a lineup of people waiting to get x-rays and all of them had more serious conditions than i did. i was so tired and sore that i counted the time i sat in my chair (furthest away from air conditioning) and counted the number of times i swallowed. (14 in 60 minutes). swallowing hurt like the dickens.

when i finally got my prescription, i took my first two drugs at the pharmacy. it was 6.20pm. i went home, and slept for one hour and then stayed up the rest of the night. i found myself wide awake and in pain at 3pm, counting down the hours until i could take my next dosage of antibiotics. to kill time i watched the nanny from 5-6pm and at 6:00:01 i swallowed the pills with 8oz of juice.

why didn’t i go to the dr earlier? i guess mainly because charles was sicker. how would it have looked if the less sick person went to the doctor (sensible & taking care of self are suddenly coming to mind but i will ignore them) but also, at times i seemed to be getting better.

but, the drugs in the system and soon very soon, the mucous vines will be off my tonsils. i swear tarzan could swing off these things.

time for bed.

this week is a frantic one. i am organising the kennedy night market book stall and thankfully the books keep flowing in (yay), but it does take a lot of time organising them, especially when you have slightly anal retentive tendencies.

as well, i am busy helping a friend all day tomorrow.

i have a deadline for tatler hong kong thursday but i need to get it done tonight.

and friday, our church is hosting a Christmas dinner for nepalese refugees in hong kong.  i cannot be there to serve because i will be at the kennedy night market selling books, so i offered to make 60 dessert pieces.

i needed a fast dessert, and so today, my mum offered me a great one. she read the recipe to me, and i jotted it down, and we moved on to other topics.

today i purchased the tough to find ingredients. after the kids were (FINALLY, did someone say that??) in bed, i started with the recipe. it called for eight cups of sugar.

eight cups. that’s quite a bit, i thought but kept on pouring and trying to make the butter and sugar "Creamy". sandy was as close as i could get.

it was too early to call yellowknife to double check, so i just made the recipe. it smelt lovely, but by the time they were in the oven…they weren’t baking so well. so i called my mum. woke her up i suspect. and she re-read me the recipe.

somehow, her reading two cups of sugar became me writing 8 cups of sugar.

how? how?

why didn’t i figure it out sooner?

i tipped them all into the bin and tried not to cry. this week has a shortage of hours, and i just duffed up an evening.

it took me halfway through the amazing race to recover. my tonsils, i suspect no amount of gargling ever will. and i need to stop cheering & gasping when incredulous things happen on the amazing race.

then charles called. he is so tired and jetlagged. all he wants is to get home and relax. he is sick as well. sadly, there’s no relaxation here, baby! there are obligations, whether parties or kids events or just spending time with kids. he knows that, he just wants to dream. i hope he doesn’t unclasp the lock of his laptop once.

just a few more days, to tote the weary load. monday, i have offered to fold some second hand clothes, but i will take the afternoon "off". oh, it will be blissful.

i’m trying to convince myself that i wouldn’t be all dumb like this if i were not sick.

y’think?

every once and a while, i go to bed with the knowledge that i have had a great day with one of my kids.

yesterday, i had that great day with sebastian.

he turned six.

earlier in the week, i asked him how he wanted to celebrate the great day. normally, on a friday afternoons, sebastian, adam, ashleigh, sela, carys, jasper, ella and many many many of their friends spend from 3pm-6.30pm at western park, an indoor and outdoor playground. they come home fed and filthy, tired and triumphant.

i asked sebastian if he wanted to go to western park on friday. i told him it was his birthday and we could do just about anything in hong kong he wanted to do. ferry rides, movies at home, whatever.

he chose to go to the peak, via the peak tram, "because we had so much fun last year". this statement was such a boost for me. A) he remembered what we did last year and b) he liked it so much he wanted a repeat.

i asked if he wanted anyone to come along. his brothers or sisters, perhaps? i suggested gently.

"no. just you and me, mummy."

i made, frosted and delivered 36 cupcakes to sebastian’s class around noon. there were enough for kids, teachers and "incentives" – aka: the student who clears their workspace fastest will receive an extra cupcake.

a few hours later, i picked up my six year old (!!!) and we headed off to the peak tram. we took a bus to the station. we stood in line. and he found a ten cent piece, and was so excited. and was thrilled twenty minutes later to find another ten cent piece. i didn’t have the heart to tell him ten cent pieces are worth very little, but promised him he could spend it. he kept getting ten cent pieces confused with ten dollar coins.

we had great seats headed up to the peak, last tram, last row, and we watched the city moving away from us, waving at people as we went.

up at the peak, we shopped around.

"i need crisps!" announced my boy.

"i need politeness!" replied unfeeling me.

then he decided that sweet suited his palate better. or possibly dinner. we kept walking along, hand in hand. it was so sweet. we window shopped, and as we passed a haagen daaz, he said, "as a dessert, may i have an ice cream?" and i looked at him and said, "my darling, you can have an ice cream right now."

his eyes were very round. NOW? before dinner?

(like it matters – he had planned to have mcdonalds for dinner!)

but in the spirit of keeping things magical, i said, YES. before dinner.

he was adamant he wanted a cone, and it was chocolate. we walked around more, until the cone was gone, and then we walked into a sweet shop. sebastian was quite impressed with the candy rings, and i said, "you can have one for dessert, if you want". so i gave him the money, and he bought a strawberry flavoured grape ring.

we went to mcdonalds and he ordered, and i gave him the money and he paid. he had wanted a hot chocolate, and i agreed, but it was too hot, so i drank it.

he was getting tired by the end of the meal, and when he asked, "how are we getting home?" i figured it was time to get my little charge home. i looked at the darkening skies and said, "bus!"

and sebastian smiled and said, "a double decker one?" and even though it would take us longer, i nodded. sure, why not.

we hopped on the bus and on the way home i started telling him the story of the morning little baby sebastian was born. he loves that story and fills in the blanks for me whenever i pause too long or skip over some bits. he ripped into his strawberry ring and it kept him quiet and content.

our double decker bus dropped us off in wanchai, and then we walked through the streets for a bit, talked about buying something for the Christmas tree and then said we didn’t think we ought to just yet. wanchai is a heaving steaming nightlife sort of place, with active nightmarkets and pubs and clubs and all sorts of people, from street workers to millionaires celebrating sealing a deal. cars were zooming by us, people were walking by us as we stood there, waiting for the 40 to come.

it was here that he made the comment that makes me smile, still, just thinking about it. remember how last year he was awed at the thought that he was five, "a whole hand?" well here is his comment for this year.

sebastian was standing infront of me, leaning back against me.

and suddenly he lifted his head up, and said, "mummy!"

and i replied, "sebastian!"

and he excitedly informed me, "this is my first time being six at night!"

can’t help loving that half dozen man of mine.

in being enviro friendly, wee wee aren’t so hygenic?

it’s embarrassing to admit that i actually learned something from the demi moore/rob lowe movie about last night. but here you go — each time you flush the toilet, six litres of water is used.

i’m glad that i learned something to keep me awake in that crap-tastic movie. six litres. that is a lot.

during the night, when i get up to wee, i have never been much of a flusher. i have trained charles to be much the same way. six litres of water! i wailed to him. he made all sorts of noises about bacteria and hygiene that i admit made very good sense.

during the summers at fintry, where there is a septic tank system, we sort of follow the old agage:

if it’s yellow then its mellow

if it’s brown, flush it down

every four wees or so, once the water gets YELLOW instead of yellowish, you flush.

is this wrong?

according to sebastian, my little primary one king, YES YES YES.

mummy, he instructed me, as he charged into my room the other day trying to see where i was hiding his birthday presents. "you didn’t go to the toilet right".

oh dear, i thought we had sorted out this whole mummy can’t wee standing up business a while ago, but i started explaining again about willies giving men a whole lot of advantages when weeing as long as they didn’t abuse the privilege.

"no!" exclaimed my little crusader, "you didn’t flush! you must!"

it’s true. i didn’t. and often, in my own bathroom, particularly if magnificent is away (as he is right now), i don’t flush a lot if i am the only one contributing to the toilet.

this is a conundrum. in not flushing, sheryl crow says this makes me best friend forever of the environment. yet my son thinks i am a slatternly cow.

and if he didn’t flush, i am not sure how i would react! i mean, he helps with the recycling and knows that recycling helps to keep Earth healthy, but, i am not sure that would be his impetus for not flushing.

bah humbug.

here’s what i know

among other things, here is what i know:

1) sebastian is a very creative person

2) sebastian has a personality very much like his father’s

3) sebastian is well liked among his peers

4) sebastian is joky amongst his classmates who joke back

i know these four things. i just listed them, didn’t i?  and i also know that friendships also start and end, rarely lasting a full term not to mention a year, during these first primary years.

yet, even with this virtually encyclopaediatic knowledge, i got hurt today. i emerged from the pta office and saw that sebastian’s class was having recess. i scanned the faces and forms, and eventually located my little boy, drawing alone.

i looked around for rufus. couldn’t see him. walked back into the pta office and went back to boxing books.

nine minutes later, i was outside again, as sebastian’s class was lining up to go upstairs. my little blonde boy launched himself at me.

mummy! he said.

hello kitten. we smiled at each other.

that’s a gorgeous picture, i observed.

thank you. i just made it.

did you play with anyone?

no. i played by myself.

by now, i had seen rufus holding hands with julian. watched them line up together. rufus smiled and waved at me and i smiled and waved back. he is a very nice boy.

sebastian didn’t mind being alone. sometimes he does, and comes home saying that no one wanted to play with him and no one wanted to be his friend. today, he didn’t mind.

today, my heart cracked a bit.

i know it is okay, because sebastian was okay.

but my heart. he looked so alone.

there are times you are proud of your child for standing alone, for taking a stand, etc…but today was not one of them for me. i know this also.

la luce

lucy is back in town.

you remember me telling you about lucy – she used to live in our building. it was with her and her family charles, mo and i travelled to phuket with on the saga of:

will she have a seizure or won’t she?

https://tesspeak.typepad.com/my_weblog/2005/02/_my_brain_and_b.html#comments

lucy was also the friend who endeared herself to me forever when the triplets came home from the hospital and i was getting used to reflux and vomit and thousands of feeding and feeding charts and trying to decide at what point do you attempt a re-feed or just let them be, for one month she had sebastian come over to her flat for dinner and a bath.

can you imagine? she brushed it off. encouraged me to come and see him sometime during the meal, but insisted he go to theirs for dinner and a bath, every night. and a play. until bedtime, basically.

when doug and carolyn and penny had come to visit, she wasn’t in town, and she had offered them her flat, so they could be more comfortable instead of crammed into our playroom.

that was lucy, and i love her for it.

and one day, about a year later, she informed me as we were walking down the driveway that they were moving to perth.

you’re always kind of devastated when someone you love moves. it’s a piece of your routine, and your sounding board, and of course when your a transplant, or an expat, it’s your family. such an important resource. and most of all, lucy was my friend.

we stayed in touch over email, although i am not good with email. and then, one day she sent an email and insisted that i call her back. she was indeed pregnant, and darling juliette came into their world nine months later. she’s gorgeous.

and then, in january, lucy called and then in a series of emails, said she wanted to come and visit.

she was coming back to see us! she has so many friends in this building and we all let out a collective cheer, none so loud as editha, lucy’s helper who is now working with another lovely family, the firths. she booked her ticket and we waited six long months…

and here she is. the day she walked in, i started calling friends, and they came downstairs, the kettle went on, and we all started catching up. the next morning, after the school run, it started again, in a different flat this time.

talking, smiling, sharing. joy. challenges. ambitions. food. tea.

sometimes i look at her, and i smile. i am so glad you came. i tell her.

so am i. she answers me.

i know she isn’t yearning to come back to hong kong. life is too short and she is too happy in australia. this makes me happy. you don’t want to think of someone you love unhappy in their life, even if it means they won’t be a daily part of yours.

but i am so grateful to have had this time with her. any time.

she came back.

and i hope to go to her, soon. when the time is right.

a bitter pill for fresh smelling noxema

after viewing my face in a change room the other day, i decided the time had come to buy a face cream.

actually, by the looks of the crags and crevices in my face, the time had come quite a long time ago. i was being reactive. and according to the magazines that i ignore, i should have been cleansing, toning and moisturising since i was in my teens (thank you estee lauder).

but i had noxema then!

and i still do.

there is no way i can toss aside noxema. i lurve the fresh smell and clean feel my face gets from noxema.

but i also need a little bit more.

i tried this product from a line called caudalie. big mistake. i broke out in a rash all over my face and looked like a tiny tomato.

so now i am going with decleor.

judging from the look of abject horror on the smooth faced, dye browed salesperson who "helped" me (not psychologically, she damaged me there) the other day, it is far too late to save my face, but might as well spend money and try.

i mentioned to anne that the choice of face creams was mind boggling and that even after carefully googling "best face cream erasing years keeping skin looking 15" i still had no idea what was the best thing for my face. her response was to burst into laughter that i could hear all the way from toronto.

"ha ha ha, tess!" she squealed. "ha! doesn’t matter what you use! anything is better than that noxema you’ve been using for the last, what, 25 years?"

on behalf of noxema, (and my laziness in only using noxema), ouch.

so i have a face cream. no rash yet, but no fewer lines either.