First report from Kamala Beach, Phuket

after a rather stressful day of travelling, we arrived into phuket. flying over the island, the commuters were craning their heads to view the scene below, looking for indicators of the tsunami that had ripped apart the island. along the coastline you could see 100 metres of shoreline washed out, just like the satellite pictures indicated. it was ravaged, even more misplaced so close to the scopes of blue water and green flora remaining.

inside the terminal, we collected our luggage, turned our trolleys and headed for the blast of wet air waiting for us. but we slowed our dash for the exit upon seeing the airport walls, plastered with missing posters. smiling faces looked down impishly, confidently and happily. some were sitting in deck chairs, squinting up at the photographers and against the sun.

oh phuket.

we squinted our eyes, drew deep breaths and walked outside.

my brain and body betrayed me

i thought the hardest part of this trip would be walking out the door and leaving the babies. not so. my own body turned traitor on me.

thursday night my mum arrived in hong kong. magnificent charles also returned from beijing. i hadn’t slept well the night before, carys was choking and throwing up, but i went to a book club meeting. lucy and i left the meeting at around 10pm and were home by 10.30. i was tired, but not so tired that i couldn’t go through mum’s suitcase with her and exclaim over the cutest outfits she had purchased. by 12.30 am i was in bed with mum massaging mag nificent’s feet and talking to her mum, my gran.

the next day we were up early, sebastian’s class was having a special chinese new year festival, and mum wanted to see "wassin’s" school. we took the bus into town and browsed around a few second hand bookstores, and then head over to the kindergarten. came home, and that afternoon bought groceries, spent time with sebastian’s new speech therapist, and then started to pack.

ate dinner with sebastian, helped feed a triplet or two, and packed them off to bed. around 8pm mum and i ate some mussels in lime and white wine sauce (really nice and fresh), and then i started packing in earnest. it took maybe five minutes to pack for sebastian. then to the kitchen to make him plane food in case he didn’t like what the airline was offering. a p/b snadwich, two bananas, two yogurts, some lollies (bribes) some pretz ( a hong kong snack, basically pretzels in a straight line), and biscuits he loves. and juice, of course. i then wrote on two sticky pads and put one on the fridge and one on the front door.

DONT FORGET SEBS FOOD IN FRIDGE.

then it was time to pack for me. sarongs, bathing suits, shorts, one dress, pashminas. didn’t take long. skin stuff, hairbrush, alice band, three pair of shoes, knickers…i was on my way. but oh i was tired.

then i packed my purse, filled with games for sebastian, the tickets, passports, pads of paper, crayons and pens…stuff to entertain sebastain.

then it was time to get to bed. mum had been valiant and fought jet lag all day long and hda crashed one hour earlier. charles was speaking at a conference and not expected to come home until midnight, as he had to clear off his desk before leaving for holiday. i was in bed by 10.30 and asleep 15 minutes later.

i woke up at 11pm very scared. it was one of those bolt uprights sweating with fear. what was wrong? the flat was quiet, i didn’t hear the babies. charles still wasn;t home. i lay back down and all of a sudden, it hit me what was going wrong.

i was gearing up to have a seizure.

another day i will tell you more about how that all feels, but for now, let me just tell you i knew the seizure was descending upon me, removing more and more of my abilities to funciton. i scrabbled for the phone, and after two attempts, managed to call magnificent charles.

come home i am going to have a seizure i whispered and then hung up the phone before i threw it (or rather, before my arm threw it…i didn’t want to.)

every thirty seconds the little absence seizures were coming and they were getting worse, from just awareness of absence, to jerking. i knew the next step would be holding of breath, and then i would lose consciousness and the generalised seizure would begin.

please God, just let it happen, and then let me get some sleep, i have a plane to catch in the morning. i have to be up at 6am and out the door by 6.15.

(have i mentioned that stress and no sleep can cause seizures??)

but the seizure didn’t happen. the lengths between them grew, and the violence of them lessened. it was suddenly five minutes, then 10 and then 15. and then charles was there at the door.

i asked him to assess me, it just amazes me the things he does for me, so lovingly so without complaint, how much he signed on for when he married me,,,poor guy… and he agreed that i seemed to be doing well. he helped me to the bathroom and then gave me a sleeping tablet and another anticonvulsant.

it was tough, but i got to sleep. i was scared to sleep. what happened when i woke up???

i soon found out.

at 6am i woke up and stayed in bed for two minutes. magnificent charles who had been up by 5.30, and had gotten sebastian up, packed the stuff from the fridge into the carry on, came and talked to me and i told him i was doing well…ready to get up.

in the bathroom, once i was standing and doing daily tasks, my brain caught up with me. and i realised i was losing control of my actions. i needed to get back into bed, the absence seizures were starting again.

bloody he!!.

the car to the airport was picking us up in 15 minutes. would i be able to recover in that time? charles brought me my morning pills, and i made him promise me that he would go, and make my mum go as well. i didn’t want to spoil anyone’s trip. interestingly, i had made him promise me this last night as well.

at 6.15 there was no way i could get out of bed and function. i didn’t want my mum to see me like this, and so just magnificent charles came in to see me. i was wrapped up in a blanket to minimize hurt to myself should i have a seizure. he kissed me and told me he loved me and that my ticket, passport and hong kong ID card were in my purse. he had left behind his mobile in case i needed to call him on his blackberry.

go honey, i love you and will be tomorrow or the day after.

and they left. and i lay in bed.

i wasn’t angry with God. maybe this was the sign that i shouldn’t leave the babies. that it was too soon. i did re-examine my actions of the last three days, to see if i could have been smarter, but i hadn’t really pushed the boundaries i need to live within.

i looked at the clock and saw that it was now 7am. i imagined what they must be doing now. probably checking in at the aiport. the flight was leaving at 8.45.

i was feeling somewhat better, again the time between absence seizures was abating. i stood up, and walked to the window. i was really dizzy, but okay. i could still make this flight, i thought to myself.

i could hear the babies in the next room gurgling and screaming occasionally.

oops, no, i coulnd’t make this flight. i wasn’t certain i was 100 per cent. if i was going to have a seizure, i would rather it be in my own home where i was safe and could minimalise the hurt. trying to get to the airport if i wasn’t firing and receiving all neurons would not be a smart move. so i stayed in bed.

at 7.30am i started watching JEWEL OF THE NILE. michael douglas before he had plastic surgery, kathleen turner before she became a transvestite on FRIENDS. and 10 minutes in, i realised i had not missed a beat.

it was 7.40. i needed to transfer my suitcase on to a carry on, but maybe, if God wanted me to, i could make this flight.

i got dressed and ran into the main room, kissed the babies and told lita i was feeling better. then i saw that charles had taken my suitcase with him. brilliant boy. i took my purse, ran to the lift and pressed down. threw on my shoes and told lita i hoped i would see her in a week.

it would all come down to timing. i would need to catch a taxi quickly. i would need no lineups at the train express to the airport. i would need to lineups at the dragonair checkin counter, i would need no lineups at immigration and in the x-ray lineups……

it was 7.45. so implausible that i could make a flight leaving in one hour. but i would try.

i caught a taxi in three minutes. and we made it to the airport express (train to the airport) in three minutes. the machine that you buy your ticket to the airport from accepted my money the first time. then i ran to the ticket counter, where you can get your boarding pass.

the girl looked at my ticket and said, oh no, i am not authorised to give you a boarding pass. do you know that the flight leaves in 55 miniutes?

cna you please call the airport and tell them i am coming?

no, i cannot,

thank you for your help, i said and started running to the train.

running! half an hour ago i had been in bed, wondering if i was going ot have a seizure, and now i was running for trains.

i was wearing a velour hot pink juicy sweatsuit and i am sure i looked like a greate jiggling bottle of pepto bismol.

i got on the train and saw that it was due to leave in three minutes.

hurry up, leave now! i urged. it had waited for me…but come on, let’s move it!

it was 7.54.

and the train was moving. not as quickly as i would have liked, but moving none the less.

i called charles.

hi honey, i’m on the train. can you possibly contact the gate and tell them to hold the plane for me, and not to give away my seat??

i heard him say to the others, she’s on the plane!

then he got all businesslike and said, yes, call me in 10 minutes.

i waited 10 minutes and then called again.

the gate has been changed on us, tess, i can’t find anyone to talk to about you. there are no dragonair representatives. we are running to find our gate so we can tell them to wait for you.

it was now 8.05, and according to the rules, my flight had "closed". by the rules, i mean on the train to the airport every passenger has a television set, which has stations like mr bean, national geographic and airport information. the dragonair 8.45am flight to bangkok had closed.

well, technically, yes, but i was still going to try.

the train slowed down and i leapt up. it looked very aggressive, but i NEEDED to be the first off the train. and i was, and ran to the dragonair area.

economy had maybe 20 people waiting to be served, but business was open.

so i ran to the fellow running the business desk and said,

i am not flying business, but i am on the flight to phuket and i need to make the flight. please help me.

he grabbed my ticket and told me that he would have to chck with the pilot.

fine! check! call him!

so he did, did some rattling around on the keyboard and said, your luggage won’t get there in time.

i don’t have luggage!

he jumped up and motioned for me to follow him.

we moved four desks down to the standby desk, and he spoke to the lady in rapid cantonses (not that cantonese is ever slow, but you know what i mean). she rattled around on her keyboard and that beautiful sound, my ticket being printed, was heard.

the guy grabbed my arm, and ran with me a few steps, then pointed me toward immigration. NOW RUN.

you mean i can’t buy vanity fair at the newsagents??

so i ran, and showed my passport and boarding pass. and got through to customs and immigration.

the lineups were massive. but i had a boarding pass!!!

i called magnificent charles.

tess, are you at the airport?

not only that, baby, i have a boarding pass! do i have to take the train to the gate?

no! we are gate 12.

excellent. bunny, i just think i can make this flight! but the lineups are long.

tess, you need to go to the front of the line.

i can’t.

you need to.

i am a respecter of queues. the concept of jumping the queue does not appeal to me. the concept of missing this flight appealed to me less. i walked to the front of the line and said to the fellow there,

please, my flight leaves in 20 minutes, can i please jump the queue? i showed him my boarding pass and he nodded.

thank you so much.

you know, at this point oyu want to get his name and mail him money or something. but time…hurry….so i handed over my passport to the official and was buzzed through….

the lineup for the baggage check was at least 150 deep. so i said to an official (since i was getting good at this)

"my flight leaves soon…"

he looked at my boarding pass and walked me to the front of the line. thankfully i didn’t have to budge past people in line, we walked along the edges of the room, where there were no lineups. and i sailed through the lineup, and again, began running.

five minutes later (okay, i wasn’t running then), i found gate 12 and my magnificent charles, mum and seb, along with lucy and her family, smiling at me.

they hadn’t even boarded the plane yet.

and i made it to phuket.

more later, must swim.

leaving on a jet plane

tomorrow we are off to phuket. from what i have seen and read, a phuket ready and yearning for tourists is waiting for us there.

i am not a prepared type of packer, i am a last minute gal. so in the 90 minutes since sebastian has been hustled off to bed (not including time taken to comfort and clean up carys, who vomitted all over her sheets, self and surrounding floor space.  walking to her crib was like stepping in hot curdled custard) i have packed haphazardly for "wassin" and myself. i have books, i have sunglasses, and a camera. i’m ready.

i like to justify my last minute packing habits as i saved it for the last minute so i didn’t have to think about the trip the four (magnificent, my mum (freshly arrived from canada), sebastian and myself) of us are about to embark on. for the obvious reasons. guilt hasn’t settled in yet, but then again, since i am not thinking about the trip i have nothing to feel guilty about. maybe it will hit me when we land and the moist air rushes into the airplane and overwhelms the stale oxygen circulating around the seats and passengers.

i am sure the guilt will crash down on me, and i am sure i will have a good time despite the guilt. i deserve this. our marriage deserves this. i haven’t had sand in my ears and a wave crashing against my back for a long time. a meandering conversation with magnificent…just time.

magnificent has arranged it so i can post from his blackberry, so i will.

it;s going to be odd, feeling like i have forgotten something, am missing an appendage, while spending more time with the person who makes me most fulfilled in this world than i have in months.

…there’s so many ways i’ve let you down

i tell you darling, they don’t mean a thing…

bye bye babies, mummy loves you (or wuffs u as sebastian would say) so much, and she also loves daddy, her marriage, and herself as well.

ciao for niao

the wiggles have wormed their way into our hearts.

~ do you know who the wiggles are? four australian children’s entertainers, who originally started out as a rock band "the cockroaches", went to uni majoring in early childhood education, and decided to scrap education and become entertainers. and it worked. the wiggles, for those of you who don’t "get ready, to wiggle…we’ve been ready for so long" are a mainstay of children’s entertainment, booting baby einstein to the bottom of the cool-o-metre pretoddler crowd.

the babies LOVE the wiggles. therefore, i love the wiggles as well! baby einstein wasn’t enchanting them, so we popped in something with a little more panache …. and from the minute the first strains of "fruit salad, yummy yummy" hit their ears, the babeolas have loved the wiggles.

and all my "no tv overdose" high moral ground has melted away. the babies watch the wiggles, often the same DVD, twice a day. i have NO PROBLEM with this. i PROMOTE this.

Justification: the wiggles are educational. my children are going to grow up knowing that a wombat crawls, with his nose to the ground and is making lots of sound. they are practically guaranteed university places with knowledge like this!

and the impact of the wiggles lasts a LOT longer than the video. i can sideline a crying spell from carys if i start singing "quack quack quack quack, cockadoodle doo" or anything from the wiggles medly taken from their live show. the wiggles have given me long term smile ammunition.

it might be the groovy aussie accent (thank you tracey, thank you alice – i know, they don’t have accents, it is all aboooooot us canadians who have accents) but the wiggles, (after listening to them for over 200 hours i now feel i can call them by their first names…they are murray (in red) jeff (in purple), anthony (in blue) and greg (in yellow)) are hypnotic. if i wasn’t so grateful for the silence, i would be worried about my three staring happily at the screen, gurgling and thrilled and examining every hop, jive, and skip the fantastic four make.

I LOVE TELEVISION. I LOVE THAT MY CHILDREN LOVE TELEVISION.

if the wiggles ever are in the middle of a world tour and one of them falls ill…i could fill in. i know the choreography to every single song. and thanks to dancing along to "can you point your finger and do the twist" i have shaved a couple of inches from my waist. I LOVE THE WIGGLES.

it gives jasper, sela and carys extreme pleasure to see me dancing around with jeff, murray, anthony and greg. and occasionally with wiggles cohorts wags the dog, dorothy the dinosaur, captain feathersword, and henry the octopus (who does wear eight legged pants and does the tentacle dance).

don’t get me wrong, i don’t dance the whole video, that would totally ruin the POINT of putting in the video if I was entertaining them instead of the wiggles.

but towards the end, particularly during the wiggles medly (from their concert!!) i will jump up and dance along. and i take a big bow at the very end and announce to them, "mummy is a wiggle!"

mummy is a something, all right, they’re thinking. certifiable more like it.

interestingly, instead of escaping to my room with a book, i stay in the room while they are watching television. i love that they are so alert and captivated by m,j,a and g. as murray announces, "hello everyone, we’re the wiggles" they quiet in their bouncy chairs and lift their lashes to the screen.

and i laugh, because when they watch the wiggles, the wee three switch from being performers, to the audience. and they watch, and appreciate. they have their favourite songs, and are developing discernment. and as the lasers of their demands move off me, and demand entertainment from their four friends, i can watch the babies instead of doing their bidding. and they are so very, very, interesting. 

sorry for the mini mummy meltdown yesterday. i was in a bad mood. i also (as is typical) over reacted. things could be so much worse. the babies are all gaining weight (albeit carys really slowly) and growing.

and there was humour in the appointment. the doctor (i requested and saw the head of the department, who has been in charge of the babeolas since day 1) looked at jasper and said,

no more double chin. you are getting handsome now.

and jasper was all flirtatious, mouth wide open and smily, tongue curled to the top of his mouth, turning the side of his head thing. dr lam went to probe his tummy, and she was pulling off his jeans. and having some trouble.

jeans are so tight! she exclaimed. trying to be a teenager already.

i don’t think chasing. that requires wayyyy too much effort.

the other humour also involved jasper. we had been getting quite worried, because our jasper was looking quite jaundiced. i mentioned this to dr lam, who said, "yes, i saw that as well."

then she said, not asked,

he’s no longer drinking much milk, is he.

no, i managed, he much prefers to eat.

and what is he eating.

well, pumpkin, sweet potatoe, carrots….

yes, he is turning into what he is eating.

so the opposite of yellow on the colour wheel is blue, jasper now needs to be eating more blueberries and aubergines.

now, this doesn’t sound too funny, but remember the cultural differences here. the chinese tend not to joke around as much as north americans  might in professional meetings and surroundings. dr lam is head of a department and has a LOT going on. the fact that she joked about jasper excuses the fact that she didn’t gush about what miracles they are, how they are almost a year old, and how beautiful the girls are.

i’m sure she will next appointment.

we had a doctor’s appointment today.

rather, three of the four bald offspring of my tender loins had appointments and hired me to push them there and do negotiating on their behalf.

it wasn’t a good appointment.

all three need to begin physiotherapy. poor carys. it seems like the only regions of her that aren’t in physio are her teeth – and if THEY don’t hurry up and come in, i bet a physio will go in after them. carys needs work on flat muscles in face, hips, lessons on walking, sitting, abdominal muscles (ooh, me too please) and her feet.

jasper in physio. it just seems wrong.

and sela too, thankyouverymuch. she flipped, did the butterfly stroke that is her method of crawling, but apparently her calves and feet need physio too.

sela—her hydracephalus is a concern instead of just something to note as it was before. have to book her an x-ray as i chose she not be sedated for a ct scan.

something else about carys i won’t write on the blog for fear of the creeps it would attract, and a couple of other smallish things.

its not hugely bad news and i think i am just tired. it wasn’t a bad appointment, i think i am just in a bad mood. thank goodness i can grab a handful of biscuits, and promise them to sebastian in return for a simple cuddle and a "i wuff you, mummy".

even a bribed hug is better than no hug.

even when foul, i can still be pragmatic.

more tomorrow.

something happened on the route from a to b

the shortest distance between two points is a straight line.

very interesting if you are concerned with elementary school memorization verses, but when you’re a mother…who really cares?

here is my straight line. the babies and i are in the playroom and as i lift my tea to my mouth and inhale before blowing on it, i become aware that carys has an appalling nappy. child of the crime is happy in the playroom so i decide to bring the wipes and nappy to the playroom. i stand up, and as i walk out of the playroom i see the corner of the bathroom and notice that sebastian’s potty seat needs to be put back on top of the toilet. i do that, and as i walk out of the bathroom i see that my bedside lamp is still on. feeling frugal blake’s gaze on me, i rush into my bedroom and switch off the lamp. as i flick the switch, i see that there is a smear on the window. i check it out, and grab one of the socks i wore yesterday (which is at the foot of the bed) and wipe off the window. then i take the sock and find its mate which is further up the bed. (i wear socks to bed but take them off right before i turn on my side and head off to sleep). i then look at the rucked up bed, tuck the socks into my sleeves and make the bed. pause for a minute and admire the bed. even though the cat’s claws have taken their toll, i still really like the fabric, and the design. anyhow…oh right, the socks in my sleeve. i put them in the laundry pile then notice that the pile is getting a bit full. there’s only one wet towel, that means that magnificent, who is a two towel man, left the other…where is it…oh here it is in our bathroom, draped over the door. i sniff it, and yes, it needs to be washed. it has that wet smell so familiar to the tropics. i grab it and see my face in the bathroom mirror. my eyebrows need attention, so i grab the faithful TWEEZERMAN (Who deserves to be knighted…these are the best tweezers in the WORLD) and pluck three stray hairs from one side and four from the other.

i throw the second towel in with the first and the socks and my underwear bags and a few other things, and march into the other bedrooms, hoping to collect a full pile of laundry. in the babies room i notice that a folded pile of laundry is sitting on top of the change table, beside a pile of nappies.

change table?  nappies? this is striking a familiar chord.

oh bleeding night. there is a filthy nappy needing my attention.

however, playroom is quiet. everyone’s happy there. i’ll just put away the pile of laundry, there can’t be more than 10 pieces in it, and then i’ll change the nappy.

charles’ socks, two shirts of mine. i take them to our room and nod as i see the smear free windows. as i close the wardrobe, i see a book mel lent to me ages ago. i am going to be seeing mel tonight. i take the book to the chinese medicine cabinet we keep right near the front door. put it there.

see the computer. oh man! i haven’t emailed mandy back to confirm my attendance at monday’s introduction session for our new supervisors at the playgroup. i sit down and write her a quick email. and check my emails. drop by a few other sites.

can’t be five minutes later, the phone rings. i pick it up and start walking back down the hallway. egads! a colossal error on the dining room table upsets me, but i remember the laundry. and isn’t there one other thing? back in the babies room there are a couple of pieces left, towels.

the towels are kept right beside the medicine cabinet (not the chinese one, that is near the front of the flat) and as i put away the towels i see that the medicines are all messy. children’s stuff has invaded the adult corner. bandages (and i am guilty for this) are no longer in their nice little drawer. and what’s this? oh, the yeast infection kit i bought last time i was in canada will expire in one year. i hope i get an infection within the next year, i would hate to waste the money i spent on the kit. well, if i don’t need it i am sure one of my friends will. i double check, it is a three day kit, but promises no more hassle after the first.

shut the door to towels and cabinets, and turn my head and look at the second bathroom. all seems well there. keep walking, oh the babies are happy chewing on feet, toys and lurching around. babies….besides the fact i should be playing with them why are they niggling me? oh well.

can someone explain to me what possessed me to leave the laundry basket in the middle of the nursery??? please??? have i completely lost my mind? i pick it up and walk through the back door to the kitchen. with my spare hand i pick up the extra formula and dump it in the sink. debate rinsing the bottles but decide i will do that on the way back.

in the laundry room i run into lita who grabs the basket from me. i spot some sweet potatoes and ask her if she wants me to take it into the kitchen. we mentally go through the contents of the freezer and decide yes, the sweeties should go to the kitchen.

in the kitchen.

and i hear a little cry. i have some lysol wipes for the second bathroom that i grabbed from under the kitchen sink. i rush to the bathroom, promising the babeolas i will be there very soon. wrench open the sink, and see tissue with nemo cartoons on it that sebastian loves.

wait a minute! sebastian! he is getting off the bus right now!

i call to lita that i am going to the bus.

he’s not back yet?

hopefully not.

the elevator is slow but that’s not so bad because i can put on my shoes while i wait for it.

down on ground floor, the bus is just pulling up. sebastian does his usual routine, jumping the final step from the bus to the ground, blowing kisses to the bus mother and the bus driver, and bending down to see the bus tyres.

come ON, come ON! i urge sebastian, and his friend adam and adam’s sister asheligh who are coming over for lunch.

okay, we are upstairs and sebastian and adam run to do their wees. i apologise to nilda, adam’s helper, and say that i have to change carys’ nappy, could she please make sure sebastian washes his hands.

sure, go ahead, ma’am.

yes, right thank you. really.

in the playroom again. and the babies are gone. gone? is it nap time already? i wish! i hear a baby familiar sound and realise i passed them as we flew in the front door. lita has changed not just carys but all of them and they are playing with their fists and pieces of leftover food on the carpet.

"lita", i start, then stop.

i look at the scene before me, retreat back to the playroom and grab my near cold tea, take a sip, make a face and walk into the kitchen and pour it down the drain. contemplate washing the cup, but put it next to the sweet potatoes instead. i walk out to the babies and lita again, but first i help sebastian put his bob the builder underpants back on and roll up his sleeves.

lita is still looking at me expectantly. had i been saying something?

slowly, painfully i yank back to one minute ago. babies, new room, new nappy.

"oh right. lita, why did you change carys?"

she looks at me carefully. is this a trick question? a mother about to crack? she answers in a polite tone.

"well, little carys had done a poo and was crying and i wasn’t doing anything (and i know this is not true! she is always busy!!) so thought i would change the baby…i hope you don’t mind."

"no, i don’t mind, but i was just about to do it."

really, i was.

what has just happened (and happens everyday) remindes me of SHREK, when the dragon is chasing shrek, princess fiona and donkey around the castle. remember, she’s on the chain and they keep darting around posts and through pathways until the dragon runs out of chain and is virtually paralysed?

THAT IS ME! I AM THE DRAGON.

hear me roar.

let’s do the time warp… x 3

i got a bit of my old life back this weekend.

friday, out at a dinner party. (that the others in attendance were fellow parents of NICU tots show how if life is a tree, your experiences are the vines that twirl around it).

last night, we hosted our third annual block party. we didn’t have one last year because i was, well, in my second trimester and never awake past 11pm. but every year we have a pre-chinese new year party for people living in our complex.

i was kind of late getting the invitations out this year, so only about 20 people showed. but that was actually sort of deliberate, and the perfect number of people showed and it was a good mix of newcomers to and veterans of the building, people with toddlers and parents whose kids are heading off to university. being so close to new year’s, everyone apparently decided to bring the bubbly they’ve had kicking around since 31 december, so there was great champagne flowing, and i had made a few nibblies (Bread dip, cheese ball, shrimp dip) and lita had made 60 incredible satays with superb peanut satay sauce. people ate and laughed and all had fun.

it felt like old times, especially since we for one night only re-arranged our flat into it’s pre-triplet format. generous neighbour lucy walked in and said, "it’s how it used to be!" people at various times trotted in and out of the kids rooms and marvelled at sebastian who has in one of his typical cirque du soleil sleeping positions.

one reason we could justify last night’s party was it gave us a chance to come to agreement as to what we should be paying the management team for chinese new year. it is custom in asia for employees to be given red lai see packets from those they work for. children are also given lai see packets and even if you don’t know them will approach you and say "lai see da loi"…which basically means "give me money"

the management team is a little more subtle. in the last flat we lived in, the management team would visit the flats one by one, ostensibly to wish us a happy new year, but in reality to make sure we forked over the cash. after the envelopes were safe in their hands, they would tick off your name. they kept the sheet afterwards, and those who were foolhardy enough to say, "i don’t give lai see packets, its not part of my culture" found it very difficult indeed to get assistance when something went wrong in their flat in the next months.

this management team doesn’t go door to door, but i know they are very aware of who is giving money and who isn’t. magnificent charles and i aren’t comfortable giving one packet to the head management guy and assuming he will divvy it up appropriately, because to be honest, some employees deserve more money than others. dear to my heart are the ladies who help me carry the strollers down the stairs, who warn me when a car is coming up the driveway while i am coming down it with sebastian and a stroller and a baby in the bjorn.

then there is the question, how much to give? for many employees across asia, their lai see is a huge percentage of their income. workers in low paying positions need the tradition of lai see to make ends meet. so, we decided last night that although these employees are probably well paid for this type of position, we will give money to everyone. however, some will get more than others. we also agreed on ball park figures of how much to give people we’re really pleased with, and how much those we aren’t overly impressed with will take home.

it’s like the bangkok taxi thing. we know the money won’t make a huge difference to our bank balance, and we have no problem giving it, but the receptor must earn it.

just in case you are wondering, CNY is also a time to wear traditional costume and the children, when collecting the lai see clasp their hands together. it is a festive and friendly time of year to be here, giving you a wonderful reminder that although hong kong is a world city and very westernised, remnants of the old stories and traditions still linger.

last night was slightly surreal.

let me lay out the scenario and players.

i was contacted last june by a lady in hong kong carrying twins who was on bedrest due to risk of PTL. we have a mutual friend, (more hers than mine, this lady was just an angel to me once when i was in despair) who had suggested she contact me regarding care at the queen mary hospital where she would have her babies.

we emailed back and forth, and in july she had her twin boys at 28 weeks. (THE BOYS ARE HERE! declared her husband’s email.)

while she was living the NICU groundhog day, she met and made friends with several other POP’s (parents of preemies) with children in the NICU.

and last night, she invited us all to dinner.

magnificent charles and i arrived late, trouble parking….and ironically enough we ended up parking at the hospital which houses our IVF clinic. we hadn’t been there since our transfer, back in good old september 2003.

we walk into their house, which is just the sort of house we love, filled with animals, pictures of animals, and family, happy events and love.

after saying hello to our hosts, we met the other NICU parents.

how was it surreal, tess.

umm, not sure. maybe surreal isn’t the best word, but i don’t have the time to find a better one. i have to go grocery shopping with the triplets in a few minutes.

i just knew these people. i knew where their mind was taking them when they would get slightly cloudy eyes during a conversation, as they would visibly shake their head after a memory, or brightly smile after a recollection.

there was plenty of laughter, you can’t be in this flat and not laugh. and great food as well. and we didn’t always talk about premature babies. lots about people, the wonderful city we live in, and children. but it was so relaxing to be among people who understand. that when they ask how your child is, and you shrug and say, "well you know"…they do know what you are saying is, "so far so good, but this whole brain business has yet to be resolved."

these folk had each other for support during their children’s NICU stays. magnificent and i want to provide a similar network for other parents. we are in the stages of putting together a PoP (parents of preemies??) group, and will have 24 hour contact numbers where bewildered parents with preemie children sporting tubes down their throats and skin hanging off their precious little limbs can call. for listening, advice, support. the involved parents can tell them: you’re not alone.

last night we weren’t alone. we were talking about the past, laughing at our inability to guess the future, and very, very happy. and then we came home and magnificent charles got four hours of sleep before jasper woke him up yelping pathetically with hunger.

un-easy rider

we had a wonderful dinner out the other night. charles had a savoury thai beef salad, and i enjoyed a spectacular plate of mussels in white wine and lime. we shared a tuna steak. it was the first time we had visited this restaurant and we will DEFINITELY be going back.

and yesterday i was in bangkok. had another really good, short visit. nearly got run over though, totally my own fault. i was trying to cross a four lane highway where there wasn’t a proper crosswalk (if it sounds like i was jaywalking, you are getting closer to the truth), and i was focusing on the red light ahead praying that it would stay red and therefore the cars in the three lanes farthest from me stationary. i stepped out into the street and was nearly struck by a car innocently driving along. fortunately, i am a mother whose children had reflux/were perennially vomitting, and those reflexes kicked in, allowing me to jump back to safety. but i could have been really hurt and it was totally my own fault.

and then there was this annoying little runt of a taxi driver that thought he could charge me an exorbitant fare. the taxis have meters for a reason. the taxi driver saw me and swerved over three lanes of traffic to screetch to a halt. i opened the door and said "airport, meter please." i didn’t get in, because you don’t get in until you have agreed on either price or to meter or not.

he says, 300 baht including tolls.

i mean really, do i look that stupid? i must because i am sure he meant it.

get serious, 300?

300 baht. very cheap price for you.

very large amounts of bull, you mean.

no thanks, i say and shut the door.

now, i am in a hurry to catch this flight. i can’t miss this flight. but my frugal blake training does not allow me to get ripped off. normally i would get to the airport the way i leave it, by bus, but i am in a hurry. so i am relying on taxi drivers. and it is making me itch in the hot polluted sun to think i might have to get ripped off to make my flight instead of sticking it out until i get my honest driver.

please don’t think i am making a big deal out of nothing. i do know that b100 is not a substantial amount of money, i know that they need the money, and that 100 baht doesn’t make a difference to me while it buys them a meal, etc, because i tip very generously. but i need the good service first.

the next taxi shakes his head at me the minute the magic word meter pops out of my mouth.

and time is ticking along.

finally, i get a taxi driver that agrees to the meter, and i get to the airport and including tolls, i have paid b185. even though the driver drops me off at the wrong terminal, i am so pleased that i got here without being ripped off that i give him a b120 tip.

i really love bangkok. it is a city i will spend more time in one day. in may, charles and i are going to go for a weekend and do the ever romantic "well-woman" and "well-man" checkups at one of the hospitals there. i predict a hot weekend: i’ll be feeling all amorous after my mammogram, and nothing makes a man feel cuddlier than walking out of a prostrate exam.

but it is something to look forward to. and getting the better of renegade taxi drivers who try to take me for an overpriced ride.