Out of the mouths of babes

K: C, don't be so aggressive. Mom, C is being aggresive!
C: I'm not being aggressive; I'm being fun-loving.

A good day

I had worked through lunch in the office for the past four days, so it was nice to be able to step out. Went for Nasi Padang at the hawker centre on Waterloo Street and learned that Nepalese food is just like Nasi Padang, minus the sweet viands and about two times more chili. Then we even had time to go to Ngee Ann for Japanese gelato, which I know doesn't sound good, but it is.

The nicest thing about that spate of eating with the designers in the office is that they keep turning up yummy things to eat. The other day, someone went to get He Mee (Hokkien for prawn noodles) for all of us. It was just two dollars per bowl but boy, was it to die for. Prawns, some greens, noodles and lots of chili. The other specialty of this stall was laksa, but I only eat that once a year. Some amazing people actually had both - he mee to start, and laksa as the main course. Scary.

Left the office at the decent hour of 6:30, and treated myself to a wander-about through the shops of Paragon, while waiting for T. Had forgotten all about Giordano Ladies. But I was sensible and refrained from knee-jerk impulse buys.

Tomorrow the merry-go-round starts again. It's idea-churning time.

Production

In gradeschool, we put out this three page leaflet in dark and heavy newsprint via the cranky old mimeograph machine. It was called The Montessori Voice and I recall being asked to draw directly on the stencil to "fill the white space". As a highschool freshman, I joined and then, we worked with an actual press. But they did all the hard stuff. The typesetting, the blueprints. All we really had to do was proofread, and a literary magazine stuffed with adolescent poetry, 200-word personal essays that we would call short stories and half a dozen illustrations done meticulously with a 1.2 tech pen - this is easy proofreading. In my senior year, I was editor for The Theresian, which we combined with the senior year book. I forget whose brilliant idea that was. But the results, as I recall them, were less than impressive as all the pictures were in black and white, and the press failed to get the contrast. We made dozens of penned corrections on the blueprint - and as an echo of my childhood, I did a small, impromptu illustration to fill up some rather awkward white space.

My one-off freshman year at the University of Michigan exposed me to The Daily. A university paper that actually came out every day - it boggled my mind. How did the editors study? Returning to the Ateneo, I joined the The Guidon. Back then, I was just a writer and I recall feeling tremendously relieved even then that I did not have to do anything but file my story. Yes, one was enough for a rather thin, bimonthly newspaper. Of course, calling it a newspaper was putting it kindly. And production - or rather "press work" - consisted of my merely dropping by to "help" check blueprints - and that consisted of rather cursory proofreading as the entire exercise was merely an occasion to hang out and flirt.

These days, we do production inhouse. We line-edit, copy-edit and manipulate both the texts and the visuals onscreen. Oddly enough, we still encounter the problems of awkward white space but there are any number of ways to address these in the suite of items called design. Because it's all computerised on In Design, a powerful programme devised and customised for the magazine business, there is no longer any typesetting. Instead we copy-edit by cutting and fitting text and controlling its shape on the page. And we give the files directly to the printer in batches of four pages called "signatures". All that's left for them to do is the final art on photos and getting the colours right. The physical shaping of the text - literally the way words and sentences are lined up on the page - that's all done inhouse.

My preference is to imitate the old-fashioned typewriter. I hate right-justified text and the ugly, irregular spaces it causes. Not to mention, I hate the way I have to try to fill those spaces with short words, or rewrite the sentence in such a way that everything fits nicely. What's wrong with the hyphen, I have been known to whine plaintively. Why does the hyphen have to be edited out of existence when it has a real purpose?

And then there are those beastly orphans and widows - the copyeditor's work is all about killing the orphans and widows. I keep forgetting which is which. But there should be no single word at the bottom of any paragraph - there should be at least two words, ideally three. And there should be final line of a paragraph starting a new column leg. Likewise no first line of a paragraph on the last line of a column leg. Who decided these rules, I'd like to know.

The work of a sub-editor is thankless. In the end, nobody is going to care about orphans or widows - they can all go live together in a paper house for all you care. Nobody will see how you magically rewrote an eight word sentence containing three three-syllable words so that it would not cause a blasted orphan or widow. Nobody counts the seconds it took you to copyfit a four page story so that it still offered the essence. And even an error - which will be pointed out to you by many of course, no fear, and for which you will feel badly about for a disproportionately long time - will very quickly pass into oblivion.

But in the late hours of the night, when it's just you and a designer and maybe an obliging writer who offered to help process a seemingly insurmountable amount of pages before the next working day, there is a joyful sense of cameraderie that lends some ease and some much needed hilarity. In fact, there is likely too much hilarity ensuing likely from too much coffee, coca-cola, chocolate, cigarettes because everything seems funny.

But as much as the work is tedious and painstaking, it's also pleasurable in a strange way. There are moments, especially at night, when you feel a kind of brilliance. When all that shoddy overmatter is cleared and spanking new pages emerge, neat as pins and gleaming like jewels.

Of course, it could just be lack of sleep.

Sleeping with the kids

Letting the kids camp in my room while T is away, and my only thought is, Why didn't I do this before?

Bee Gees Night with the Idols

Two good choice songs from Melinda. Only one from Jordin in Run to Me - Woman in Love isn't what I would consider a great Bee Gees song. If I had to pick from the Streisand album, I would have gone with Starting Over but of course, it's a duet. What about Emotion by Samantha Sang? I would have picked (naks, kaps...) Words and How Deep Is Your Love, which I still can't believe nobody sang. That's the all time greatest Bee Gees song.

What would you have chosen?

Prior to flying solo for the week...

...we managed to have a full weekend anyway. Friday night, we scooted home for dinner with K and C - homemade burgers, the can't-be-beat beet coleslaw with lignan oil and lemon, plus oven crisp fries. We hung out with them long enough to find out what happened in school that day and read them a couple of stories, something they still enjoy, although they have long been able to read by themselves. Then we hied off to Vivo City to see Spiderman 3 with the Fs.

Aside: I though Spiderman 3 was terrible, by the way: long and unwieldy and all-over-the-place plotwise. Its flaw lies primarily in the screenplay which felt like a very, very rough draft - actually, it felt like it was being written by the actors as they went along. I felt like the screenwriter was passing off outright telling as characterisation - in fact, it was all telling, no showing at all. Then halfway through, they tried to go campy - and seemed to be striking flat notes all the way through. If you're camp, you're camp - and you have no business going into a moral - unless the moral is also camp. It was surreal. Plus Kristen Dunst - I'm sorry, but I really feel she peaked at Interview with a Vampire. Toby McGuire has fared better, but no great shakes here, either. They even looked like they were floundering. Exasperated and fatigued, I allowed myself to nap - not once but multiple times - and each time, I was like Are we still here? But enough of this rant. Maybe I'm pushing 4o and I'm too old for superheroes. Then again, I loved the X-men.

Saturday morning, T showed us his new digs at One Raffles Place, then we took the MRT to City Hall and ambled through Citilink to Suntec to eat Turkish food - doner lamb kebab and pide bread...taking a nice long amble back. When we finally got home, there was just enough time to get dressed for Catechism and Choir practice for 6pm mass. Choir was lots of fun...and if J and A have anything to do with it, it will be fun for a long time. On the agenda: at least one Pinoy English song from JMM for each mass that we sing. Should be good. Then it was home for calamares cooked two ways - adobo and prito, layguls and fruity agar agar. Lots of episodes from House 3.

Sunday, bright and early, we crammed our vocabulary words for Mandarin, right before Lao Shi appeared. Then lunch at my old haunt Bongout - an eating spot that was hotly contested by the kids, and then later they were pleased by it. K had the pan-fried beef, and C had shoyu ramen with pork and they gobbled it up like greedy goblins. Then there was nothing left but errands at Great World and then home to help T pack, or in my case, whine and mope. He left at 6:30...and we had pizza to cheer ourselves up.

For the week ahead - we're closing, so likely there will be late nights. I'm also letting the kiddies camp in our room, in the hope that I will be able to sleep better. Tomorrow, a girls' night out then dinner with M from Ann Arbor on Tuesday. Mandarin on Thursday and maybe I'll take the kiddies to see a movie Friday night at Great World, if there's something appropriate.

We shall see.

You gotta love em...

Parenthood

The hardest job I've ever had.

May Day

Everyone was game about breakfast out - so after some expected dilly-dallying, we were off for eggs, bacon, rosti and pancakes courtesy of Cedele. Then it was to Borders, to Cross Com, the school bag store at Forum. Then all the way to Marina Square, where K finally settled on the same more affordable school bag that C got. We were home by 12:30, and each went to his or her own puttering. T surfing and prepping for the trip. Me with the paper and Tom Plate's Confessions of an American Media Man, which is surprisingly engaging. C switched on Ninja Turtles and K played Penguin. Must confess that there was a bit of napping taking place, too, at least where T and I were concerned. At 3:30. we had a shamefully late lunch of tuna dressed with lignan oil, onions and sun-dried tomatoes in toasted wholemeal pita pockets, lettuce, pickles, coleslaw with beats, and a lovely bean soup. Then we were off to L for a long awaited massage - while K and C did Kumon in the reading room. When we emerged at six, there was time to toss the frisbee and kick the ball before heading home for baths and bistek dinner.Unfortunately, no exercise, but tomorrow is another day.

The Travelling T

After more than a decade of work in one place with travel taking place, at most, only two or three times a year, T is finding a change of pace in his current job, and by extension, so am I. Contrary to what it might seem, I am very much the ninny, unfortunately, when it comes to temporary marital separations. Apart from the accompanying anxiousness and missing, this is also largely due to the fact that I have an exceedingly difficult time sleeping alone.

But there's nothing to do except make the best of it.

Last week, T had a week-long three city trip through Jakarta, Kuala Lumpur and Bangkok. Next week, it's to be seven days in London. I, on the other hand, have bought Elizabeth Gaskell's Wives & Daughters and am saving Rome and House 3 for next week's daily evening viewing. And it's also closing week at the office. Onward ho.

Italian playboy and bombshell

That was the theme of tonight's party - la dolce vita. It's hard to go bombshell though, when you're pushing 4o and have two kids aged nine and eight, and you don't really want to make any statements, not any that call significant attention to yourself, anyway. I opted to go with a vintage halter top floral dress and strappy red heels. It seemed like the right balance and still, in keeping with the person I am.

That's probably the best thing right now. To keep to the person I am but low-key. Easier said then done, but I am trying.

hmmm

Sunday

Busier than usual with lola and lolo in town for four days. Am relieved that C resisted his all too natural impulses to be obnoxious - which he can be, unfortunately. As a mother, I find it rather difficult not to take these tendencies personally. Guilt is all the more tough to ignore when parents are in the midst. It's ironic how much more difficult and challenging parenting becomes when your own parents are on hand with any number of ready comments. Even the ones that remain unsaid blare out at you as though on dolby sound speakers.

Still, it was a fun visit and even C had moments of ingratiating amiability that made up a little for the bursts of brattiness. K, of course, was the little people pleaser, winsome and winning. Many good meals were had - Spagheddis, Wolf at Brasserie - adults only, Jumbo at Riverwalk and Marina Square food loft. Not to forget Chili con carne at home. I marvel too at the many errands that managed to be done - although we did not get to do any fun outdoor things or even the one indoor thing that I had planned. We should have been to Serenade. We should have made it to the Regent for the Sothebys auction exhibit. But it was not to be. Dentist and ear appointments for Kaylee, catechism, even a run at the track on Saturday afternoon and Saturday evening mass... and then today, the exhausting Chinese lessons, plus all the shopping for this, that and the other. ID pics were taken, school shoes bought along with school bags. Even managed to get Melin to crank up the crockpot for beef stew so we wouldn't be forced to go out to dinner tonight because at this point in my life, though I have the skills and the knowledge, I really can't be bothered to cook myself.

So now, the kids are doing homework and we're puttering around. T is trying to keep awake through K's 14 pages of homework that she had "forgotten" is due tomorrow. Am trying to get enough gump to hit the elliptical trainer for at least half an hour. Contemplating a fast tomorrow for the past few days excesses. Next week, T trips off to London for a criminal three days during which he has managed to book tickets to Wicked...lucky duck.

The bright spot this week? May 1 holiday and a new batch of HOUSE.

Parents' Day

When you live faraway from kith, kin and the closeness and connection of extended family, special occasions tend to centre around special places to eat. Today, I proposed booking a family brunch for four at our favourite Melt (usually reserved for festive occasions like Christmas and Birthdays). Not for May 13 or June 17 for one Sunday right smack in the middle, between Mother's Day and Father's Day, to be known henceforth in my little household as Parents Day. That way, we avoid the crowds and make it all our own.

T thought it was a great idea.

A matter of trust

Why fight the shoe, if it fits and everybody says the pair looks really nice on you, anyway. OK, maybe they're not you're favourite shoes. Maybe you want shoes that make you look taller or thinner or smarter. Maybe you think these shoes can't take you to the places you want to go. Or the places you think you want to go.

But really, are you the best judge of what looks best on you? Maybe, but maybe not. You like these shoes well enough. They're comfortable, and with every step you take, you feel like you're in your element. What's more, these are shoes that allow you access to other accessories, even other shoes, whole new outfits, in fact.

So why not just accept it? Stop struggling. Realise that perhaps what you think cognitively is not exactly in synch with what is right, even what is best, for you at this point in your life.

Maybe the right thing to do is to just take it step by step. Accept the shoes for what they are, for what they allow you do, and not find fault with them because of how you feel they make you look for the long term. What do you know, anyway? You're not always right.

For all you know, they are special shoes, magic shoes, ruby slippers that can click click click you into there's no place like home. And must be worn with trust and acceptance, and hope that even better, more powerful shoes are to come your way.

The way it happens sometimes

By serendipitous circumstance, A's Amazon order arrived at my house. No big deal. We agreed in a rapid exchange of emails that I would open the box, pop the books into an airmail bag and send it off, not to the city in Vietnam in which she and her family will be living for the next three months, three hours away from Saigon, but to her home in upstate New York. So I open the box and am instantly gripped by the first tome called Family Travel - an anthology of personal essays on travelling with people you love. An hour later, I am close to halfway through, and have thoroughly enjoyed most of what I've read. I also realize that I haven't read for my own fun in ages. I will send the books on to their rightful home - but not just yet.

That's just the way it happens, sometimes.

Seems like old times

Reunited 2

Reunited!

Sign we've been here 7 years

"Mom, I think my room needs an upgrade..."
-C