Marriage, the Game
Driving to Seattle yesterday, Lokes and I had one of the most fascinating ‘conversations’. You see, I like to pluck uncomfortable topics out of thin air the size of rocks and then throw them at him. Just to kill time, yea?
In fact, we had two or three such debates and amazingly, none of them ended up messy. I even had him convinced I was right on TWO of the topics. Which is pretty crazy if you know our track record for irreconciliable differences.
So one of the ‘rocks’ I threw at him yesterday was “If we ever go our separate ways, would you get married again?”
His answer? A typical ‘no’. You’d think I should be relieved or even flattered.
Are you kidding? I was humiliated.
“What?! Why?!”
Taken aback by my obvious (and irrational) displeasure, he blinked, “Why not?! I thought you’d be happy that you’d be my last wife!”
This is SO about making me happy.
“Well, it says to me that our marriage is so horrible you never want to go through another again!”
“Come on, no! That’s not what I mean. Besides, IF ANYTHING EVER HAPPENS TO US (after six years, our friend has mastered the art of careful clausing), I’d have our kids to deal with. Why would I want to get married again?”
So it’s the kids.
“Well, it’s insulting that you won’t get married again because I think you think it’s just too much work. Besides, don’t you want someone to spend your old and withered (spiteful emphasis on things rotting and dropping off) years with?”
“I don’t see why I need to get married again. Doesn’t mean I don’t want a companion. I just don’t want to get married. Why are women so preoccupied with a piece of paper?”
“Because SOMETIMES (I’ve mastered it too), one party of the relationship needs to be reminded now and then that there are real world consequences for mistakes they make. In an ideal world, women will NOT need a piece of paper if the men would keep certain things to themselves.”
And then we launched into the age-old debate of how a healthy relationship does not need a binding agreement and legally enforced consequences. Who was for which? You’ll be surprised (or maybe not) to learn that Mr. Either Very Naive or Thinks All Women Are, is for the notion that ‘real’ loving relationships can withstand anything, and that if you need a piece of paper to ’secure’ it, then your relationship isn’t ‘real’.
I, on the other hand, think that’s a bucket load of crap. It’s like playing game with men (and some women) where they never have to play fair because, well, there are no penalties for cheating. I for one think it takes all the fun out of it. It’s fine if everyone involved agrees with the concept but most of the time, one party takes it more seriously than the other.
Secondly, we live in a land that, most of the time, upholds rule of law, laws that apply to governments as well their peoples. Why? Because in truth, we are human and in our innate human-ness, we all have the capacity to be sneaky, dishonest and selfish (as much as we’d like to believe that we don’t all in the name of love). At the end of the day, relationships with only two major parties, particularly ‘romantic’ relationships, require a third party to help work out a resolution. It starts of with a couples therapist and most of the time, ends with the law (and unfortunately, lawyers). Why? Because we can’t bloody well govern ourselves, that’s why. It’s just not fair.
Like it or not, two human beings who agree to play a game with rules, these rules need to be spelt out. They need to know that there are consequences and compensations when one plays unfair.
To get married or not, to sign that piece of paper or not, it all boils down to one simple question: Do you want to start playing fair?
If there’s one thing I’ve learnt thus far, is that marriage isn’t for wimps, that’s for sure.
And I’m no wimp.
Where there’s marriage without love, there will be love without marriage
Benjamin Franklin said that. I should know since I Googled it.
Yesterday morning, driving the girls to gymnastics, the husband and I got into one of the most interesting conversations ever.
The issue? Infidelity. A few friends of ours are going through divorces now (that’s more than one, yes) and there really is a significant difference between how Americans and Malaysians in general deal with issues of infidelity and how they factor into a divorce (or not).
In Malaysia, it is still the 50s in terms of social progress (and we’re proud of it). An act of infidelity is pretty much the dealbreaker. In general, if an affair has been had, the consensus is that either something is wrong with the adulterer (the horny bastard/bitch!), or the spouse (who ask her to be so fat?!) or the Other Man/Woman (the horny bastard/bitch!).
If children are involved, then most of the time, the general public would be more biased for the victim, fat or not.
And yet, here we are, a country that practices polygamy (and it’s not only Muslims, which I know for a fact). As such, an act of infidelity does not always end in divorce (which might be why our divorce rates are still considered low). Here, a man simply marries the Other Woman (who then automatically becomes less evil) or carries on in broad day light, over and under his existing marriage. As my old aunt would say (being the second wife herself), ”men will be men”, as though being male is a terminal affliction and to for a moment believe that he can be something else, is akin to believing your dog will once and for all cease his humping just because you’ve cut his balls off.
Here in America, divorce is comparatively common because 1. polygamy is illegal and 2. wives don’t normally tolerate lifetime affairs. 3. You’ve got therapy.
I think there is a very simple difference as to when you should try and make a marriage work, and when not to, when adultery is the issue.
If my husband cheats because of something he’s not getting from me because I chose not to give those things to him, consciously or otherwise, then to me, that marriage is worth working on. Yes, he did something very hurtful and selfish, and I would never have done what he did no matter what I wasn’t getting, but the truth is, I am partly to blame. If he is willing to give it a real try, then I am obligated to. Off to couples counselling we will go.
Whether or not it will all work out is another matter.
However, if I cheated because I’d simply grown tired of an increasingly unattractive husband, and wanted something new and exciting and fresh (e.g. an entirely different human being of the appropriate gender, size, height and personality), and because I constantly need a level of love, attention and worship that is humanly impossible to deliver without having my man constantly breaking into song on bended knee below a window sill among a small congregation of woodland creatures, then I don’t think I should have a second chance NOT because I don’t deserve it, but because what good would that do? My heart has changed. I have changed. And a change of heart is decidedly harder to reverse than a change of mind, I think because these past few years with the same man has made me realise how unready I am for permanence. And now, I must be honest with myself, and with my children, and I have to go.
Of course, I’d first have to admit to all these things. That is the hard part.
Even simpler is the wisdom of My Mother, who told me once that it is always better to find someone who loves you more than you do him.
Unfortunately, I have neither the looks or the stomach to pull such a thing off.
Fortunately, I didn’t need to.
An open love letter
I do not have the perfect marriage. But who here does?
Like many people in the ‘business’, we put on our facades and hide our the true state of our unhappiness because that’s what mature people do.
Certainly, because we have so many close friends and family who read my blog, venting my frustrations here would certainly cause a lot more concern than these disagreements deserve.
Plus, it really isn’t our culture to discuss these things openly. The concept of talking to a couples counsellor or a relationship therapist is as American and foreign to us as cherry pie. In Malaysia, paying someone to listen to your personal problems pretty much means you’re at the end of the line, and that you’ve taken the need for a stranger to fix your problems as a last resort. Aka, no hope liao.
Like all couples, we have our good days and our bad days. We are two very different people even as we are very alike. I am emotional, sentimental and explosive. Lokes is very logical, coldly calculative when it comes to attacking an issue and tends to stonewall during a conflict. I’d say we are a very typical married couple.
And unlike this couple, having kids was the event that brought up even more of these differences, so much so that there were many times I’d wondered in our almost a decade of being together, that how we could have actually survived being together for so long.
That said, I love my man very much. And after all that we’ve been through, in the hierarchy of who in the family comes first in my heart, there’s the kids, him, and then me. Of that I’m certain.
And I will always remember these words at the end of the day. That it is not how many arguments we manage to avoid, but how many we manage to overcome.
His words.
Love you babe. Don’t freak out when I leave for Chicago.
He really does truly love me
Lokes came home yesterday.
And as he started unpacking, he asked me to close my eyes because he had a surprise for me.
Sort of a way to make up for all the time he’s been gone – and is going to be gone.
And when I opened my eyes, there it was.
In all its glittering glory.
Isn’t it just…beautiful?
Look at how it catches the light!
Here, let me wear it. Goes really well with my wedding ring:
Oh yea, that oughta do it.
What makes a marriage work? Watch Desperate Housewives!
So did anyone catch the latest episode of DH, when Lynette ended her almost-affair with her new chef? The last scene with her muffling her cries in the bathroom while her husband talked through the door about how much he missed her – didn’t it just break your heart a little?
Last night, Lokes and I had dinner by ourselves since he was going to be gone for three weeks starting today for work. We got to talking about loyalty and faithfulness, which really had nothing to do with him going away. It just came up.
We have a rule, Lokes and I, an understanding of sorts, that if either of us were to ‘make a mistake’, we would be honest with each other the moment ‘the mistake’ happens, because we believed, very truthfully, that our marriage and love for each other and our family, is strong enough to weather through any storm.
We are also very practical people, in our unwavering belief that human beings are flawed. Everyone makes mistakes. It is our willingness and determination (or lack thereof) to make things right that ultimately defines us and our continuing faith in each other. The husband who come cleans about his cheating, for example, because he wants to win his wife and family back, and the betrayed wife who, despite what everyone says, is willing to trust him again because he had told her the truth before she found out. Â
Take this episode of DH, for example.
Watching Lynette cry silently in the bath, mascara running down her face, the guilty tears of someone who made a mistake but not really, her desperate need to connect with a life removed from being a mother and a wife; and to observe (the superb acting by) her husband: the look of renewed hope on his face, believing that he had succeeded in chasing away the competition, the fierceness of his love and determination to keep his family together despite knowing that his wife may very well have had cheated on him – all this really touched me because it is so hard, in real life, to do the right thing. To go so close to the line and not cross it. To mourn the found and loss of passion with the wrong person, at the wrong time. To reconcile desire and morals. To try and hold on to that soft, calm voice in the storm raging in your brain while your heart beckons in deadly sirensong.
If a marriage takes work, then holding a family together takes even more. As obvious as it may sound, surprisingly few people truly understand that. Most think it all happens as it happens. That nature finds a way to weave it all together. In a way, it does, but the fabric comes a part after a while, and it is up to us to keep it together.
Knowing more than a handful of people today who are going through painful divorces, it is hard to have faith in the institution. However, watching the fictionalised dramatisation of a marriage tested by the stresses of parenting, time and temptation, it reminded me that some marriages do survive. Like that of my parents’. Like that of my in-laws’. Like that of my Koo Ma’s and my aunts and uncles back home. Loveless marriages, all of them? Hardly. Theirs is a different kind of love we young ‘uns have yet to understand. Theirs is a love tested again and again by time and temptation, by poverty and betrayal, by neglect and oppression.
And yet here they are – 30, 40, 50 years down the road, and still together. Not by divine fear. Not by pure luck. Not even by mere love. I don’t know what it is, but here’s my theory: Perhaps it is only those that have been tested the most, survive.Â
Random thoughts
The more I read, the more I’m convinced. Seung-Hui Cho, the Virginia Tech killer, might’ve suffered from a very severe, untreated, never-diagnosed case of Selective Mutism?
What would happen if enough of the troops in Iraq refuse to fight in the war? Lokes and I discussed this on the drive home yesterday. This morning, we heard this on NPR. Coincidence?
Breastfeeding doesn’t halt obesity. Damn.
We have not watched a single episode of American Idol this season. I wonder why.
Life of Pi is a surprisingly interesting read. I’d thought it would be dry (as all Man Booker Prize winners go, *snort*) but I am enthralled.
My scabbed knee still hurts like a bitch but I am still up for more netball this Saturday (the Seattle women’s netball team is competing in LA this weekend – wish them luck!).
I found a library book I thought I’d lost. Woohoo!
Raeven has two boys ‘fighting’ over her in school. They’d literally pushed each other today over who got to stand next to her. Mortified as I am, am also a little amused.
Skyler will NOT sleep in her own bed and has been coming over every night. It’s exhausting.
I bought some beef for stewing. Any suggestions?
It’s what you wear
This morning, strutting around town.
Lokes: You look good in that blouse.
Me: Yea? You like it? I got it yesterday.
Lokes: Yea? You look sexy (best growly voice).
Me: Yea? Thank you!
Lokes: It has a nice shape to it. Makes you look more…more…(hand gestures animatedly over stomach and waist)
Me: Less fat?
Lokes: Yea! Very shapely!
Me: Gotcha.
I would love show you said shapely, sexy blouse but I don’t want to.
Welcome back!
My sense of smell is returning.
‘Coz I smell something foul in the room.
Like a forgotten diaper.
A good time to wed
Last week, I chanced upon a very interesting discussion on BBC Radio, about why 60 per cent of cohabiting couples in the UK still opt to get married when living together is now acceptable in society.
A BBC reporter spoke to callers about their thoughts on the subject, and why they thought people still believed that marriage was an important institution when cohabitation is now a norm.
There was this one guy who said something really interesting, which was that while marriage is an important institution, people should only get married when they’re 30 or older after successfully cohabiting before for a number of years. If – and only if – they can still tolerate each other, they should tie the knot.
“In fact, they should only issue marriage certificates to couples who are 30 and above,” I believe his statement was.
Now isn’t that just the simplest, most brilliant thing you’ve ever heard?
When you think about it, governments should truly consider this measure to help uphold, ironically, the sanctity of this increasingly meaningless formality. In the US and the UK, where couples are able to have children without getting married without raising an eyelid, it makes little sense to want to ‘carve it in stone’. There are, of course, if I remember my family law correctly, certain legal benefits particularly for married women, and their children, should one’s marriage go south. But I’m sure that can be resolved quickly with an act here and a couple of court-set precedents there.
In Malaysia, a considerably conservative country, getting married is a sign of maturity, a definite statement to the world that you have finally come to your senses, and are ready to take on the responsibility of creating a family. Although the divorce rate is rising, as in every country in the world (except perhaps for Japan since the women there are apparently refusing to ‘come to their senses’), marriage is still mandatory if you want to have children. As yet, the shunning and ostracising of illegitimate children – and their parents – have not gone out of fashion. And now that Siti Nurhaliza is married, the institution has perhaps taken on cast-iron strength.
Are people over 30 more likely to make their marriage work compared to couples who got married when they were in their their 20s? Speaking strictly of people living in the modern world (and not some tribe in remote Uganda), I believe so. Of course, there are exceptions. There are always exceptions, but if one of my daughters tells me she wants to get married at 17, I’d tell her to go live with the guy for 13 years and then decide.
When you’re in your early 20s, it’s no time to settle down. You’re supposed to be having fun, experimenting, exploring and most importantly, making most of the mistakes that you don’t want to be making when you’re in your 30s or worse, 40s.
What do you think? Should people still get married in this day and age? Is there ever a better time to get married?
Tunnel, meet light
The hubby is home. The world is right again.
Hey, how did I end up here?
How are you, my dear friends? Why are you still visiting my blog? Does the lack of posts not make you want to slap me up a little bit? Take me off your feed list? Tell me I’m the worst kind of blogger ever? Where’s the consistency? Where’s the commitment? WHERE IS THE PROMISE OF MORE CRIPPLINGLY CUTE PICTURES OF MY ADORABLE SPAWN?
Things have been a little crazy around here. Lokes is going off tomorrow for a week so I’m just blue about that. I hate the stupor I seem to wallow in a week before he takes off, and I’m talking about a husband who used to take off quite a fair bit that he’s earned enough Frequent Flyer points to fly us to Jupiter, first class (wouldn’t that be SO cool?). We’ve been together almost a decade now. Surely, the lovey dovey effervescent piquance of our relationship has fizzled out by now to be replaced by hard, crusty bare tolerance?
And yet.
I’m just a fat old sod sap (apparently, females can’t use the word ’sod’), whaddya gonna do? I still gulp silently at the sound of his suitcase zipping home. These eyes still well up when I see him walk through the double doors at the airport, all by his lonesome. My poor baby. Flying off a million miles away from me and his kids, one of whom will be bawling her eyes out the moment he steps out of the car, who can guess which one? Did he remember to pack his deodorant? His toothbrush? His comfy old shorts with the hole in the crotch?
“Is it because there’s no one here to help you out?” he asked the other day, after one of my five-minute sighs.
“Why the impud-! How can you even-! The kids need their father! And I really miss you! ” I cried.
He is right, of course. I have grown indolent with my husband’s after-hours help and assistance during the weekends. How ever would I be able to sit my kids in front of the TV all day AND feed them chicken nuggets for breakfast AND dinner?
Seriously, I will miss you. Although I will relish not having to drive you to and from work. And eat braised chicken seven days in a row. And watch Pride and Prejudice again.
Still, I am in the doldrums. I’ll be okay in a few days.
Just remember to get me a nice, juicy gift, ’s’all.
Oh thank you, I picked their noses myself
You never quite know how to respond when an acquaintance tells you, “Oh my, your girls are so beautiful. Well done!”
After thanking them graciously (although accepting praise for successfully passing down one’s genes still seems a little like…stealing credit. Beyond the actual making of the baby, there’s really no physical labour involved in its assembly, you know?), I am even more lost for words when they say, “They look nothing like you!”
“I’m afraid you can only see the resemblance when they cry,” is my usual polite response, eliciting, most of the time, a hearty giggle or a smile with a squeeze at the elbow perhaps to say, “Awww, you poor plain fuck”. This is my biggest weakness, the need to be agreeable even when insulted, when it is all I can do to not pummel the person a little bit. I’m a mother, after all. I have appearances to keep up.
Don’t get me wrong. I do appreciate the kind words, especially those of you who continuously inflate my ego by heaping such undeserved praise here in my blog. Honestly, I think both my girls look more like their dad, the handsome devil. Believe me, being cute and pretty are traits both girls have acquired not by my design – although I do sometimes plant these things, just to provoke gushing episodes from total strangers on the street.
Allow me to demonstrate:
(Edit: I changed the picture because this one’s even more adorable, and hence, not at all like me. If not for horrible memories of her premature entry into the world, I would doubt very much she was really my daughter!)
Like any other tired full-time mother who’s once again forgotten to soap her armpits the last time she bathed (summer), the occasional kind word is far from superfluous. So when you think about it, I have only myself to blame for bringing attention to their good looks, and hence by unavoidable comparison, to my own aesthetically-challenged non-features.
Once in a while, I thank my husband for giving me these two perfect little children. Once in a while, he tells me that really, I’m quite beautiful. I would like to believe him if I’d actually cared two shits about being a blog babe. I already have not one, but two of them (blog babes, not shits).
Yes, be prepared for extended exposure to my adorable offspring to luuuree you into my cave of wonders.
Come, my lovelies. Coooommmmme…
Jenn’s law
A good start to the week is always crucial.
Every Sunday night, I prepare myself for the week ahead by winding down the last few hours before midnight, vegging out on old movies or my books, after checking and rechecking what Rae’s school calendar is like, what my duties are for the school, make sure all my playdates are RSVPed (or declined, very nicely) and basically just so nothing goes so wrong as to piss me off so badly that the no amount of video games or junk food can cheer me up. When this happens, you’ll see me walk around with this smile on my face, you’ll think everything is fine and dandy, when all I’m thinking is how many ways I can kill Lokes for not telling me that he had dinner plans today until THIS MORNING and we have only ONE CAR to try and get both of us home at different times of the day, without resorting to public transport.
You can call me anal, but believe me, I am not bad at all.
Of course, we don’t live in Ideal World. Plans change. People forget. I can understand all that. But you know what? It used to piss me off a lot more a year ago than it does me today. And for not even making so much as a peep, I deserve Every Single Gift he has ever given me – and will give me in the future.
The real love boat
Once upon a time, there was a little boat in the middle of a little river.
And Mommy and Daddy was in it.
They sailed down the river, and there was a Shark!
And Mommy and Daddy fell into the river, into the Shark’s pizza cake, because he was having his birthday party in the river.
The pizza cake was icky and gooey, and Mommy and Daddy got stuck in the cake.
And the Shark tried to eat them, because they were on his cake.
But Mommy and Daddy got out of the sticky pizza cake, and swam down the river and got back on the boat and they sailed away.
The End
by Raeven Tan
Life with you has, for the most part, been smooth-sailing. Sure, we have had our rocky – and sharky – moments, but we always manage to get unstuck and climb back into our relation’ship’, and move on.
For life without you, would be boatless, pizza-cakeless and sharkless – and that would be meaningless.
Happy 5th Anniversary, baby.
Learning to be better parents – and partners
Upon the very persuasive ‘recommendation’ of Karli (I can’t find the exact post but it’s the one with the book memes or something), I went and bought a copy of Dr John Gottman’s Raising an Emotionally Intelligent Child (link at my sidebar, too lazy to copy and paste).
And man, is this some book.
A few weeks ago, I wrote about never having read a parenting book (again, too lazy to look the post up), so Raising is really my very first one. And with every page, I was just riveted, nailed to my side of the bed or the couch or the can or wherever and whenever I might be reading it. More than once, it’s made me stare into nothingness, thinking about all those times I’d said or done all the things the book said were not the best approaches or methods to employ, and basically how my husband and I might’ve destroyed the self esteems of our two little girls forever. And then I’d jump out of wherever it was I was sitting, and look for Rae, and then give her a hug coupled with several slobbering sorry kisses, ending with my first born violently pushing her emotional mother away as though I was the plague.
For over a week now, Lokes and I have been trying out the approaches and strategies detailed in the book. What I really like about it is that it gives us real examples and situations where we might try and apply these lessons, instead of just throwing a ton of psychobabble at us which we might not be able to fathom, much less use in everyday parenting situations. So far, the results have been promising.
Yesterday, I was just reading the chapter on how we as parents should not try and solve our kids’ problems right out for them, and instead pay attention to their feelings when they share these problems with us. The example quoted was a typical situation between a husband and wife. I decided to read it aloud to Lokes. Basically, the example showed the difference between trying to tell a distraught wife how to solve her problem at work and resulting in making her feel stupid, versus giving her a backrub, listening to the problem and THEN after she talks about what she might do, to offer some advice WHEN she asks for the husband’s opinion.
This is totally OUR problem, Lokes and I. Being the ever-methodical, logical problem-solving guy, you can set a clock by Lokes’ approach to every dilemma and situation that needs to be confronted – even with the conflicts that occur between the two of us.
Having said that, you may imagine that I am quite the opposite. And IÂ am a very emotional, sensitive person. But I’m not devoid of logic. Sometimes, I find that when it comes to HIS problems, I too use his approach, the cold, unfeeling method of attacking the problem with solutions, half because I know that’s his way of dealing with it, half because I want him to know how it feels.
Of course, how do you make someone who refuses to feel, feel?
The good news is, whatever problems we have, when it comes to our kids, and for the sake of our kids, we are willing to make changes. And Dr Gottman’s book has definitely started something wonderful in our family. As I read this chapter to him this evening, Lokes actually paid attention as I went through the passages, instead of pooh-poohing at all this time-wasting emotional stuff, had it been my idea and not some doctor’s research.
“Why does it have to be like that anyway?” he asked at the end of it.
“Because even if it’s something to do with work, where we’re not supposed to be emotional, we ARE human beings. And we have feelings,” was my answer.
In many Asian cultures, to show emotion and to indulge in them is a sign of loss of control and weakness, and a source of embarassment which may bring shame and dishonour to one’s family as well. For example, Chinese movies or serials rarely have kissing sequences, except for the really risque ones that are made for less than artistic reasons. To see a Chinese or Malay couple kiss in public will invite havoc, even if they’re married. “Why are they behaving like gwailos?” would be the usual remark, when it’s really just two people celebrating their love for each other in a moment of passion, and probably have nothing to do with whether or not they’re imitating what they’ve seen in a Western movie. Inevitably, it will lead to a discussion of the erosion of Asian values and what the country is coming to and how the world is going to hell because people are all following the gwailos and kissing on the streets.
Part of the teachings in this book is to allow our children to go through the full spectrum of human emotions, including the negative ones, such as anger, sadness, jealousy and so on, because they are, after all, natural. This means allowing them to cry and to throw a tantrum, as long as nobody gets hurt or nothing gets wrecked.
This brings me to one of the most deeply entrenched tenets in Asian societies: the respect of one’s elders. This is true throughout a person’s life. We may not love our ancestors but we must honour and respect them, without question. As such, being loud and rude to one’s parents is never, EVER, done, even at home, no matter how angry one is.
However, anger and frustration are natural human emotions, and the tendency to act or lash out is just the result of these emotions. If these feelings are let out towards a parent, we will most certainly push our parental agendas to quash them simply because it is a big no-no, as uttering a loud word in anger or disappointment is as serious as slapping a younger sibling or smashing furniture around. And if even speaking loudly is not permitted, how else does one express anger?
As I continue to read, I can’t help but wonder what Malaysians would think if they see me telling Rae that it’s okay to feel angry or to be sad, instead of telling her to stop crying or to stop being silly about throwing a fit about a toy. They’d probably think I’m ‘one of those overindulgent parents who spoil their kids rotten’, letting Rae walk all over me.
And if I tell them that I read this somewhere, they’d think, “oh no, another touchy-feely book parent”. Which is, I’m sure, another gwailo thing.
Coming to the US has become more than a cultural experience for my family and I. It’s become educational as well, and I’m glad that I got to start doing this stay-at-home parenting thing here because I am just learning so much, things we wouldn’t have learnt had we remained in Malaysia because we’d probably have a maid and our parents telling us how to raise our kids (or raising them for us) instead of having to acquire the skills and knowledge to do it properly.
In learning to be better parents, Lokes and I are now learning to be better partners as well in this endeavour we call marriage. Back home, we probably would’ve lived our lives out as husband and wife, daddy and mommy, without ever experiencing the challenges we’ve faced winging it here on our own. These challenges have tested the strength and foundation of our relationship, our trust in each other and the tenacity of this love we always profess to have, without really knowing what it truly means – until it becomes so hard to hold on, but letting go would simply tear you apart.
Many years ago, a friend of mine asked me how I knew that Lokes was ‘the one’. My naive answer had been, that I didn’t feel the slightest doubt about the prospect of marrying him. Today, I know that he’s the one because I could not imagine a better dad for my kids.
Or a better partner to clean house and wipe butts with.
For the love of coffee
I got bored of going to the gym in the mornings and decided today that I would, instead, take a brisk walk through downtown Redmond, right at the crack of dawn.
And what did I have to motivate me?
A venti non-fat doubleshot latte from Starbucks.
No, not the one just a stone’s throw away from my complex.
Not the one two blocks away either.
Not the one two blocks away from THAT outlet.
But the one in Redmond Town Center, some two miles away.
I know, it’s ambitious, but you don’t know how much I value my freshly brewed caffeine, especially in the mornings. Even though I’m in coffee land where there are more espresso joints than there are bus stops so I don’t really need to walk THAT far. Thing is, I know that if I ever do wimp out, I can stop at a Starbucks (or Seattle’s Best Coffee or Tully’s) within the next five feet.
Ah, coffee and me. BFF.
ps. On a totally separate note, the seller of the house we wanted to buy in Duvall came back with a counter-offer and we had the house inspected today. Some very minor water damage in the garage which the inspector guy said to that the seller should remedy, or else. I’m not very keen on the ‘or else’ so I’m keeping my fingers, and toes, crossed.
pss. And WTF is with all the comments in my last post, huh? I craft out beautiful entries and I get like four miserable, “Aww shucks, that’s sweet”, and then something about my husband’s rekindling with Modern Talking gets a whopping 11 comments (well, two of them were mine, but still!!!). What is up with that? Friggin’ egg recipes and jinjang Joe posts getting more love than my lovingly written soul-searching pieces.
And for the record, until recently, my husband was listening to Regina Spektor, Madeline Peyroux, Snow Patrol and freakin Kings of Convenience, okay? To suddenly be assaulted by Back Street Boys and Modern Talking is traumatic. I felt betrayed, I tell you, betrayed!
A bad haiku from an undeserving wife
Sleep-deprived and slack
she lies in bed, unmoving
the baby cries, loud
Running feet enter
holding Polly, the doll, dressed
Time to wake, Mommy
Your eyes open slow
She shuts hers even tighter
Time to wake Daddy!
Yet another day
Of hungry mouths, dirty butts
And yet she slumbers
You sigh, wash your face
I should’ve heeded mom and
married another
I don’t deserve you, baby.
But I sure do love you
Trapped (meals, breaks and holes provided)
This month’s Self Portrait Challenge (reading Karli’s reminded me of it – thank God I have you on my feed, babe. I keep forgetting!) is about Enclosed Spaces.
Here’s mine:
Although I’ve been a mom for four years, I think I’ve only just discovered the verities of motherhood, and what it can do to someone who’s not ready, or might’ve had romantic or ambitious notions about the job.
Seven months into the role of a stay-at-home mom, it is not unlike the feeling of having walked into a trap. That sounds horrid, I know, but the truth is that much of it isn’t gratifying or liberating or warm and fuzzy. TOTALLY not what your mom or aunts or grandmothers want you to think it is, especially for those of you who are used to independence and travel and meeting people and long dim sum sessions and gaming into the wee hours of the night. Regiment and routine and housework and being mindful of what happens around the house and having always to set a good example for your children – all this feels oppressive and depressing. Most of the time, escape is all you think about.
But to equate full-time mothering to some claustrophobic confine is inaccurate. Unfair, even. Because there will be times that grateful relief for having been given the job will wash over. To be able to witness the priceless antics your kids get up to, moments you know can occur only once (which is why camcorders and digital cameras are a godsend). To be able to have those all-important conversations that can change so much. To rest, at the end of the day, in the loving embrace of a thankful husband for a job well done.
So using what is a bad (but functional) analogy for those who insist on one, motherhood isn’t a box. It’s a cage. You get meals, breaks and holes. For light. And laughter. For love. After a while, it even gets comfortable.
Give it another ten years and you might not even notice it anymore.
Jeans and dreams
There are times in one’s life as a stay-at-home mother, where one is faced with sudden bouts of self reflection and worrisome contemplation about one’s future.
The experience is not unlike finding and trying an old pair of your favourite jeans you know may be too small.
You sit on your bed, jeans in hand, daring yourself to put them on. Sometimes, you’d chicken out, stuffing them hastily back into the closet. Sometimes, you’d actually do it, only to be stubbornly refused somewhere along the thighs area. Defeated, you return them to their rightful place, in the box marked “old clothes”, before going downstairs for a lunch of two tomatoes and a peanut.
Did I tell you that I was once a journalist?Â
I’d started my career writing about supermarkets and hotels and food. And then I began taking an interest in computers and technology and the Internet. Before I knew it, I was playing video games and writing about them.
It was a glorious time, which culminated in my helping to organise the first ever international game development conference in Malaysia in 2005. I got to meet my idol, Chris Avellone, the lead designer of Neverwinter Nights 2. And that was my swan song, before embarking on my journey to the US as a stay-at-home mom.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss that life. Sometimes, it hits like a punch to the stomache, to realise that that chapter is now over and that I may never be a journalist again. Not until my kids go off to college anyway. And as much as I console myself with blogging and my experiments with creative writing, and the fact that I am doing the most important job of my life today, I know that part of my life is closed. Greyed out. Dead.
It does NOT feel like a noble job, being an at-home mom. It is not fulfilling, not all of the time. And God knows it ain’t easy. Most moms who do it often ask themselves when the day would come where they’d go off the deep end. Most of the time, it isn’t even because your child is sick or that they’ve somehow found paint and poured it all over the TV. It can be as harmless as the prospect of facing another day of the same old shit.
Waking up and making breakfast. Bathing the kids. Breastfeeding. Going to the playground. Cooking dinner. Doing laundry. Cleaning up messes.
Every. Single. Day. No ifs. No buts. No breaks.
I often wonder if my husband understands what a big deal this is, and why he should worship the ground I walk on for the rest of my life and let me win every fight we will ever have. I wonder if the husbands of other stay-at-home moms who could’ve had huge careers of their own – husbands who will NEVER quit their jobs because they’re, well, men -understand what a HUGE fucking deal this is, and do the same.
Why?
It’s simple. Ask yourself: If the both of you have the same earning power, will you quit your job and be a stay-at-home dad?
No?
Then you must understand that what you do will never be the same as what we do.
Unless you clean pig sties or work in a daycare or fight fires.
Â
Yes, it’s another one of those days that I’ve tried on the jeans, knowing I will never be able to get into them again.
And wonder perhaps if it’s time to throw them out.
Not so atheist after all
Since we’d come to the States, I’ve become a little more, um, religious than I used to be.
In that I would make sure to pray, especially with the girls at bedtime. I figured that now would be a good a time as any to introduce to Rae the concept of Someone being up there Somewhere, looking out for us – even though Daddy thinks it’s more of just an unfortunate human condition when things don’t work out.
Strangely, Rae has never asked me who this God was and why it is we always ended our prayers ‘in Jesus’ name’. Granted we’ve never been to church or I’ve never read her the Bible, although she does have a picture one she thinks is a story book so Jesus is probably as real to her as Peter Rabbit or Ariel. And I’ve never actually explained to her why it is we pray even. It was just something we did before sleeping, like brushing our teeth and reading a story.
Oh, we pray for the usual stuff. Bless everyone we know, especially Daddy when he flies. Bless little Skyler because she’s little. Bless Raeven so she’s also safe and doesn’t make Mommy too angry too much of the time. Bless Mommy with more patience. Bless our family and friends all over the world. We used to name everyone I could think of. It just got too long and by the time we got to Daddy’s second aunty in Teluk Intan, Skyler would be pulling her hair out, and I’m not even kidding about that. That’s what she does when she’s REALLY bored and Mommy’s got her in a gridlock because ‘praying time is a serious time’.
The one thing I really appreciate is how Daddy, the self-proclaimed atheist in the family, actually sits through the whole process. I always expect him to slip quietly out of the room but most of the time, he just sits there quietly, looking at both his daughters with their heads bowed, eyes closed, and their hands folded in prayer (you should see Skyler, she doesn’t quite know how to lace her fingers through properly so her little digits are like, all over the place – very cute).
And he even pays attention.
One time, as I was going through the ‘bless list’, he even interrupted.
“You forgot to bless Raeven!” he whispered loudly. He sounded shocked even, this man who believed that religion was a psychological catch-all for when human beings rationalise the unrationalisable, and how science explains the unexplainable.
Although I don’t think Lokes is ready to thump a bible yet, I think it’s sweet that he tries to respect my beliefs. Of course, during many of our ‘debates’, I have reminded him more than once “DO YOU KNOW I’M GOING TO HELL BECAUSE I MARRIED YOU?! I AM UNEQUALLY YOKED!”
Perhaps one day, he might even send the kids to Sunday school as per my request some years back and sit with me at the back of a church, interrupting me when I forget to ‘bless someone’.
You never know.
The Jenn & Lia Podcast #001: And Baby Makes Three!
Finally, finished with all the editing and fine-tuning and what not!
A little background: The Jenn & Lia Podcast is a tiny little Malaysian talk show with women, particularly mothers, on a range of topics from parenting to relationships to cooking, for women of all ages and professions.
Our guests are drawn from Lia’s Yahoo group members at the SAHP Malaysia community (please join!) and we started the show with the topic of how parenting can change your life – and not always in a good, tidy manner!
This debut podcast is for women who are planning to have kids and want to know what to expect. Our guests for this show are Min, a 30-something work-from-home mother with a six-year old daughter in kindergarten, and a two-year old son, and Topaz, a Malaysian stay-at-home mom living in New York with two little girls, one eight-months old and the other four. Lia, my co-host, is a mother of twin boys and another 14-month old boy.
You can post feedback to the podcast here or at the SAHP board.
Click here (.wma file so you will need Windows Media Player) to listen (or from the Shockwave player on the right of this blog – right-click to download but be warned, it’s about 53MB in size!) and be sure to comment on the show so we can improve it (I know it’s very rough and amateurish, but that IS the nature of podcasting!)
A lazy Mother’s Day weekend
So The Hubby is home and I had myself a rather lazy weekend, my Mother's Day gift apparently. For the first time in years, I woke up right before noon. Didn't know I still had it in me to sleep that late, but God, it was good. Except for the few grisly nightmares preceding my waking up and squinting at the bright sunlight squeezing through the blinds and thinking, oh God, I've slept through and am in fact, over and done with the weekend.
Now that's the nightmare.
So I gamed the whole day away, levelling my warlock to 34 and caught up on some news, such as that the Draenei will be WoW's new expansion race. Basic info on the new race here. These guys work fast! No news on when the expansion will be out though. Watch the Draenei gameplay vid here.
Frivolous pastime aside, I did cook though, for my friend Lorie, one of the parent teachers who works at the preschool, who just had a baby last Thursday. We have this meal prep thing going to help her out. She has twins, who go to school with Rae, and now a baby girl. Suffice to say, my cooking skills were put to test, or rather, my knowledge of proper after-birth cuisine that will not put Lorie's system into shock.
And so I made fried rice, and a separate dish of ginger chicken, which my mom and mom-in-law made me everyday after I had the girls. Don't know how a gwaipor will take that but really, I didn't know what else to cook! Let's hope they survived it.
I really have nothing to blog about, except to say I feel much better. Thing is, Lokes is going to be gone again to Europe, Japan and Australia this Sunday for two weeks.
God save me.
The one about sleep
I don't remember when or where, but someone said that the only time couples with kids have to talk is when they're driving in the minivan, which is SO true.
Lokes and I have had the most extreme of conversations in our car. We've fought. We've loved. And we've had the strangest and most hilarious talks driving to or from work, to or from vacas, to or from just the grocery store.
Just last Sunday, while taking one of our drives around Seattle (you can see Seattle Sights from a Car at our Flickr site), we talked about one of the most sensitive topics in our relationship: habits. From young, Lokes has never been an early sleeper or riser, but since he's become a dad, he's been waking up sub 8am for what seems like forever, and that is quite an achievement for someone who used to stay in bed half the day half his life.
However, our dear friend is now getting older, and it is apparent that he isn't as fit in body and mind now as he was ten years ago. With increased tiredness, he's also become less alert, and I believe it's because he doesn't get enough sleep, what with hitting the sack only at 2am and waking up at 8am. Although some say six hours of sleep is enough, it's not for either of us.
So anyway, I've been nagging him to sleep earlier for ages now, mainly because Lokes doesn't like to lie in bed wide-eyed and bushy-tailed before he's REALLY ready to sleep, and I mean eyes-half-closed-walking-up-the-stairs tired. Another problem is his brain is continuously being stimulated when he's at his computer.
"If you just go to bed, read a book or something, you will sleep," I told him.
"That's boring!"
"D-uh! You're trying to sleep. You have to be a little bored to feel sleepy!" (he's always falling asleep in the car or when he isn't at his PC)
"I have to stay awake to feel sleepylah…"
…..
If that's not the most nonsensical thing I've ever heard.
Anyway, so Lokes has been trying to sleep at midnight for two days now. Not really successful since I know he went to bed after 1am yesterday. Let's see how he does the rest of the week.
The Secret to Successful Stay-at-Home Parenting
There used to be a time when the roles of a housewife and her working husband were, more or less, defined.
The wife did all the housework and took care of the kids and her man. The man brought home the bacon, period.
Sometimes, they'd mow the lawn and fix the faucets, but that was it. It was deemed that spending eight to ten hours at the office was work enough. After all, the man earned the money, and money was the bloodline of the family. This, in unspoken terms, entitled the man to his after-work leisure time of watching the telly undisturbed or sharing a beer at the pub with friends.
And then came a time when we fought for our right to monetary gratification. Most of us opted to get ourselves educated and find a job so that we could also earn cold hard cash, if only to be considered true equals to our husbands. We discovered the pleasures of corporate ladders and fat bonuses, rewards we never received as plain old parents.
And we became addicted.
Today, education and changing times have brought our attitudes full circle. Many women have 'opted out'. And thanks to the Internet and fabulous little ideas like flexi hours, some parents are juggling being at home and working, thus coining the phrase 'work from home'. While in many cases, the husbands still did more of the earning, they were doing a little more than mow.
With all these 'perks', one wonders: Why become a full-time stay-at-home parent? What of the plain housewife who doesn't contribute monetarily? Where do we get our kicks from (other than those from feisty toddlers?)? Without a salary and opportunities for 'career advancement', where do we get our short-term gratification from, and the long-term motivation to keep at our job?
The answer? A generous, loving partner.
If the last week has taught me one thing, it's that a husband's role at home is more than just to help out with the housework and the kids.
Firstly, no matter what you say, sitting at the office, dealing with clients and bosses, will NEVER be as tiring as parenting. Men aren't exactly hunter-gatherers anymore, not in the physical sense, so unless you're working two jobs and one of them involves wrestling cows, you will NEVER be as exhausted as your supermom-wife at 6pm.
Secondly, fulltime parenting is a more than less, a thankless job. In today's world of key performance indexes and increasing emphasis on numbers and tracking and measuring, the worth of staying at home for one's kids is just so hard to fathom, much less embrace. We know being home for our children has SOME benefits and we can SEE it sometimes, but it is rare that we feel the fulfilment of a fat bonus or a promotion. In the end, there is little tangible, meaningful motivation to keep doing your job, and doing it well, unless you have a crystal ball to see into your kids' futures, and are ensured you ARE there for a good reason.
And this is where a good partner comes in.
I believe a husband's primary job today, above and beyond his professional call of duty, is to take extra good care of his supermom-wife, more so than ever.
And after all that's said and done, your husband will be the only thing between giving up on giving your kids the attention they deserve, and trudging on knee-deep in diapers and unwashed dishes.
Yes, you have to TRY and come home on time, work permitting, to eat the dinner she so carefully prepared no matter how burnt it is.
Yes, you have to hear her bitch about the kids and the clogged toilets because she is the one who took care of it so you can now use it for hours reading your sports magazines.
Yes, you have to, on her birthday and your anniversaries or for no obvious occasion at all, give her flowers or candy or at least a nice, snuggly spoon-hug regularly so she gets SOME short-term feedback for her efforts. Because as much as we love the kisses and hugs and messy fingerpaintings from the kids, nothing beats a little man love after a looong day.
It's not a three-month bonus, but we'll take it.
So before you go entertaining romantic notions of staying home for your kids, consider this: Is your husband going to look at you after a long day at work and say, without remorse,
"Yup, she's got it worse than me."
And then proceed to give you a kiss and a hug, and surrenders the remote control while he rounds up the kids.
Perhaps that's the only question worth asking.