New Kid On The Blog

30-MAR-2010:

I read the first chapter and thought I would give up, but somehow and I read on and in the 2nd chapter, things got interesting. Before I knew it, I've finished the whole book. It is about an African woman, Mma Ramotswe (her name was Precious Ramotswe, who set up the first and only private detective agency in her hometown (Botswana) which was run by a lady detective. From reading the book, I deduced that the Africans address their women as 'Mma' (which may mean madam or mrs) and men as 'Rra'. Mma Ramotswe started her detective agency with the money that her father left her. He earned everything that he had from working in the mines in South Africa.

But things were bad in the past. Before we built our country we had to go off to South Africa to work. We went to the mines, just as people did from Lesotho and Mozambique and Malawi and all those countries. The mines sucked our men in and left the old men and the children at home. We dug for gold and diamonds and made those white men rich. They built their big houses, with their walls and their cars. And we dug down below them and brought out the rock on which they built it all.

Obed Ramotswe (Mma Ramotswe's father) died at the age of sixty.

I am sixty now, and I do not think God wants me to live much longer. Perhaps there will be a few years more, but I doubt it.

Some people cannot bear news like that. They think they must live forever, and they cry and wail when they realise their time is coming. I do not feel that, and I did not weep at the news which the doctor gave me.

At the age of sixteen, Precious Ramotswe met her husband Note Mokoti, who was a Jazz musician. He was also violent, and eventually left her with her unborn child. The child passed away just 5 days after he? she? was born.

He hurt her. She asked him to stop, but he put her head back and hit her once across her cheek. But immediately kissed her where the blow had struck, and said that he had not meant to do it. All the time he was pushing against her, and scratching at her, sometimes across her back, with his fingernails. Then he moved her over, and he hurt her again, and struck her across her back with his belt.

He came home late and he smelled of beer when he returned. It was a sour smell, like rancid milk, and she turned her head away as he pushed her down on the bed and pulled at her clothing.

"You have had a lot of beer. You have had a good evening."

He looked at her, his eyes slightly out of focus.

"I can drink if I want to. You're one of these women who stays at home and complains? Is that what you are?"

"I am not. I only meant to say that you had a good evening."

But his indignation would not be assuaged, and he said: "You are making me punish you, woman. You are making me do this thing to you."

She cried out, and tried to struggle, to push him away, but he was too strong for her.

"Don't hurt the baby."

"Baby! Why do you talk about this baby? It is not mine. I am not the father of any baby."

After her father passed away, she lived alone, running her detective agency. The book talked about the cases that she dealt with. Some of them are rather interesting particularly one where an Indian father hired her to find out who his daughter's boyfriend was so that he could get rid of him and arrange another man for her daughter. Such was the culture of the Indians.

There is a sequel, but I only recommend if you have nothing to read. :-D It is not bad, but not one of my favourites.

# posted by Skye @ 9:32 pm 0 comments

26-MAR-2010:

Saimun arrived back here yesterday afternoon! When I got home in the evening, Dom was having dinner and he ran to me with a very sweet smile, hugged my hips (because he could only reach my hips) and said "Mummy, I'm so happy!".

Later that evening, his daddy showed him all the toys he had bought for him - almost the enitre suitcase and his toys alone weighed 8kg. There were some clothes too, which he ignored and 2 pairs of shoes which were too small for him (never mind, will save them for Emily instead). After all the excitement, he leaned his head against his daddy's lap and said, "Daddy, I am so happy!".

That night, he insisted that his daddy slept with him, which he did, and after he fell asleep, his daddy sneaked back into our own bed. As usual, in the middle of the night, I woke Dom up to pee and noticing that his daddy wasn't in his bed anymore, he asked, "Where's my daddy?" After I reassured him that the huge, dark lump lying on our bed was his daddy, he promptly went back to sleep.

Shortly before 7am, he woke up on his own - he never woke up on his own in the morning, I always had to drag him up and "support" him while he half-walked out into the living room to snooze on the couch for about 5 mins before brushing his teeth. This morning, he woke up and his first word was, "Daddy?"

The 3 of us squeezed into his single bed and my little boy was the happiest boy in the whole world.

# posted by Skye @ 12:11 am 0 comments

23-MAR-2010:

I'm thinking about the International Certification in Bread Making - course takes only 2 days. Taylor's staff gets 20% discount. What do you think?

# posted by Skye @ 4:24 am 0 comments

23-MAR-2010:

It actually doesn't look too bad here (the morning after the cut, before the first wash), but subsequently it turned quite bad. :-( Feel like having another hair cut now.

# posted by Skye @ 4:07 am 0 comments

23-MAR-2010:

Was having a hair cut at the saloon last Wednesday and saw this ad in a magazine.

# posted by Skye @ 3:44 am 0 comments

23-MAR-2010:

Ahh ... so tired!

# posted by Skye @ 1:24 am 0 comments

Taken from Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes

As the lift doors opened, Lisa sharply nudged Ashling and sneered, 'Well, look who it is.'

It was - of all people - Clodagh, looking extremely nervous.

Clodagh stepped forward when Lisa left. 'Just tell me to get lost if you want, but I was wondering if we could talk.'

Ashling was helpless with shock and it took a while to find words. 'We'll go to the pub next door.' They located a seat and ordered drinks and all the while Ashling couldn't stop staring at Clodagh. She looked good, she'd had her hair cut much shorter and it suited her.

'I've come to apologize,' Clodagh said akwardly. I've grown up an awful lot over the past few months. I'm different now.'

Ashling nodded stiffly.

'I see how selfish and self-obsessed I was and how cruel I've been,' Clodagh spilled. 'My punishment is having to live with all the damage I've caused. You hate me and I don't know if you've seen Dylan lately, but he's ruined. He's so angry and ... hard.'

Ashling agreed. She didn't like being around him any more.

'Did you know that I asked him to come back and he wouldn't?'

Ashling nodded. Dylan had almost taken out an ad on national television to publicize it.

'Serves me right, huh?' Clodagh managed a weak smile.

Ashling didn't answer.

'We've sold the house in Donnybrook and me and the kids are living in Greystones now. Miles out, but it was all we could afford. I'm a single-mother now since Dylan decided he couldn't cope with custody. It's a steep learning curve -'

'What was it all about?' Ashling interrupted sharply.

Clodagh twitched anxiously at the anger in Ashling's voice. 'Something I've been asking myself a lot.'

'And? Any conclusions? Bad patch in your marriage? They all have them, you know.'

Clodagh swallowed nervously. 'I don't think it was just that. I should never have married Dylan. This is probably hard to believe but I don't think I ever really fancied him. I just thought he was the kind of man you married - he was so good-looking and charming and had a good job and was responsible ...' She glanced around anxiously at Ashling, whose set, thunderous face wasn't exactly encouraging. 'I was twenty and selfish and I didn't have a clue.' Clodagh longed to be understood.

'And what about Marcus?'

'I was desperate for some fun and excitement.'

'You could have taken up bungee-jumping.'

Clodagh nodded miserably. 'Or white-water rafting.' But Ashling didn't laugh. She'd honestly thought she would. 'I was unfulfilled and frustrated,' Clodagh attempated. 'At times I used to feel like I was being suffocated -'

'Lots of mothers are bored and frustrated,' Ashling snapped. 'Lots of people are. But they don't have affairs. Especially not with their best friend's boyfriend.'

'I know, I know, I know! I can see that now, but at the time I was clueless. I'm sorry, I just thought I should have anything I wanted because I was so miserable.'

'But why Marcus? Why my boyfriend?'

Clodagh reddened and looked at her lap. She was taking a real risk admitting this. 'Probably anyone would have done.'

'But it was my boyfriend you picked. Because you didn't have any respect for me.' Ashling cut to the heart of the matter.

Shamefaced, Clodagh admitted,'Not enough. Which I hate myself for. I've spent the past months feeling guilty and shitty about it. I'd give my left tit for you to forgive me.'

After a long, sweaty pause Ashling sighed heavily. 'I forgive you. Like, who am I to judge?' I've hardly lived a perfect life. As you pointed out, I was a total victim.'

'Oh, I'm sorry!'

'Don't be, you were right.'

Clodagh's face lit up. 'Does that mean we can be friends again?

Another long pause as Ashling thought about it. She and Clodagh had been friends since they'd been five. Best friends. They'd lived through childhood, adoloscence and early adult-hood together. They shared a common history and no one would know her the way Clodagh knew her. That sort of friendship is rare. But ...

'No,' Ashling broke the tense silence. 'I forgive you, but I don't trust you. To lose one boyfriend to your friend is misfortunate, but to lose two is careless.'

'But I've changed. I really have.'

'It doesn't matter,' Ashling said sadly.

'But ... ' Clodagh objected.

'No!'.

Clodagh realized it was pointless. 'OK,' she whispered. I'd better go. I really am sorry, I just want you to know that ... Bye.'

As she left she found she was shaking. It hadn't gone the way she'd hoped. The last few months had been nasty in the extreme for Clodagh. She was shocked and indeed surprised by how painful she found her life. Not just her new grim, single-mother circumstances, but the insight she'd been given into her own self-seeking behaviour.

Contrition was a new emotion for her, and she'd expected that if she explained the understanding she'd had into her selfishness, and stressed how very sorry she was, she'd be forgiven. That instantly everything would be perfect again. But she'd underestimated Ashling and she'd learnt yet another lesson: just because she was sorry didn't mean people were ready to forgive her and just because people forgave her didn't mean she'd feel any better.

Sad and lonely and still burdened with the fruits of her destruction, she wondered if she'd ever be able to fix all that she'd broken. Would anything ever be normal again?

As she passed Hogan's a crowd of boys noticed her and began whistling and shouting compliments. At first she ignored them, then on a whim tossed her hair and gave a dazzling over-the-shoulder smile which elicited whoops of wild appreciation from them. All at once her heart lifted.

Hey, life goes on.

The End.

# posted by Skye @ 3:59 am 0 comments

Taken from Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes

To cut the story short, Clodagh broke up with Marcus and wanted Dylan back ...

Sitting down, Clodagh crossed her legs and agitatedly bounced up and down on the ball of her foot. Dylan had taken the kids out for the afternoon and was due back any minute, and though he didn't know yet, they were going to talk.

Every time they met, things were civil but unpleasant. He was bitter and she was defensive, but all that was about to change.

How could she ever have thought that Marcus would do? Dylan was wonderful: patient, kind, generous, devoted, hard-working, much more attractive. She wanted her old life back. But she expected a certain amount of rancour and resistance from Dylan and she wasn't looking forward to having to eat humble pie to win him over.

A racket of childish voices at the front-door indicated that they were back. She hurried to let them in, and gave Dylan a friendly smile which fell on stony ground.

'Could I have a quick chat with you?' She forced her voice to remain bright.

When he shrugged a flinty 'All right,' she put Craig and Molly in front of a video, closed the door and came into the kitchen where Dylan was waiting.

She swallowed hard. 'Dylan, these past months ... I was wrong, I'm very sorry. I still love you and I'd like you to - ' she choked, 'I'd like you to come home.'

She watched his face and waited for the golden light of happiness to wash over it and cleanse away the glittery hardness that had taken up residence there since all this started. He gazed at her incredulously.

'I know it'll take a while to get back to normal and for you to trust me again, but we can go for counselling and all,' she promised. 'I was out of my mind to do what I did to you, but we can make everything all right again ... Can't we?' she asked, when still he didn't reply.

Eventually he spoke and he said only one word. 'No.'

'No ... what?'

'No, I'm not coming back.'

She had not anticipated this. Not in any of her scenarios. 'But why?' She didn't really believe him.

'I just don't want to.'

'But you've been devastated by what I ... um ... did.'

'Yeah, I thought it was going to kill me,' he agreed thoughtfully. 'But I supposed I must have gotten over it, because now that I think about it, I don't want to be married to you any more.'

She began to shake. This wasn't happening. 'What about the children?'

That got him. 'I love my children.'

Good.

'But I'm not going to get back with you because of them. I can't.'

She was losing. All the power she'd thought she possessed was being revealed as a mere facade. And then something so unlikely as to be almost laughable occurred to her. 'Have you ... you haven't ... met someone else?'

He laughed unpleasantly. I did that, she thought, suddenly ashamed. I've made him like this.

'I've met lots of someone elses,' he said.

'Do you mean ... are you saying ... you've slept with women?'

'Well, not much sleeping gets done.'

She belly-flopped, feeling betrayed, jealous, cheated on. And his knowing, taunty tone roused a horrible suspicion. 'Do I know any of them?'

His smile was cruel. 'Yes.'

Her stomach flopped again. 'Who?'

'What a question to ask a gentleman,' he scorned.

'You said you'd wait for me,' she said quietly.

'Did I? So, I lied.'

# posted by Skye @ 2:04 am 0 comments

22-MAR-2010:

Saturday saw me taking Dom and Em out to lunch again, this time at Mid Valley Mega Mall. Some people (particular those who don't have kids) wondered how I managed to bring the kids out so often. Well, this time I was faced with some small difficulties. :p

I had arranged to meet a friend (Adel) for lunch. Lunch is normally around 12:30pm and I thought I would leave around 11am, so that:

1. I can find parking and beat the jam
2. I can go to Maybank and open accounts for the kids before I meet Adel (but where is Maybank in Mid Valley? I still don't know.)
3. I can top up my phone before lunch

I thought I would reach there at 11:30am and have 1 hour to do all those before lunch. Plenty of time. :-)

As per planned, we got there and parked our car just on schedule. But then, oh ... shit ... I felt a full blown stomachache. You know, the kind that you had to 'go' asap? Right. It's okay, I thought, plenty of toilets in there and we have plenty of time. The first that we found didn't have a disabled toilet. How? Where will I leave my kids? There wasn't enough space there for the buggy too. And there were people queuing up. Definitely not safe to leave the kids there by themselves. So off we went to look for another one. One floor up and we saw the symbol of the wheelchair. Cool! But Alamak! It was locked! Never mind, I just saw a signboard pointing 'Hotel' right ahead. Hotel toilets should be nice and cosy and cleaner too. So we crossed over to the other building to Gardens Mall. For those of you who don't know yet, Mid Valley now has a 'new wing' and an 'old wing'. The new wing is called Gardens Mall and that's where you'll find all your Coach, Prada and whatever.

Very nice place there. There was no crowd, the place was quieter and definitly more 'high class'. Looking forward to their comfy toilet. But alas! They charge RM5 per entry because it was a 'Premium Toilet'. Nah ... I wasn't going to pay RM5 to take a dump! So I asked if there were any other toilets in the building and the man hired just to collect money in front of the loo said, 1st floor, one floor up. By now, Dom was already complaining that he 'got no energy left'. Good boy, he had been tagging along without any complaints. One floor up later, we saw this sign: "Closed for maintenance, sorry for the inconvenience!" We eventually found a loo. A normal one, not one for the disabled. It was clean and rather spacious and there wasn't a lot of people, so I told Dom to stand by the buggy and 'take care of Emily', while I did my business. Haha. Had to keep talking to him through the door to make sure he was still there.

By the time we were done, it was time for lunch already. After lunch, we shopped around and I even bought a blouse, but ALMOST lost my wallet! Enough excitement for one weekend already. We stayed home the whole day on Sunday, except to the church.

# posted by Skye @ 10:36 pm 0 comments

Taken from Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes

Clodagh thought she was cracking up, she was certain she was. But she had to get dressed and collect Molly from playgroup. Once back, she returned to bed and attempted to take up where she'd left off, but Molly began agitating that noodles be microwaved for her. With resignation, Clodagh got up again.

Since ten o'clock this morning - was it really only this morning? - her entire life had become an out-of-body experience. From the moment she'd heard Dylan's key in the door, she knew. The gig was up.

She's paused from her frantic bucking beneath Marcus and cupped an ear to listen. 'Sssh!' In a fluid movement he'd rolled off her: frozen and bug-eyed, they'd listened to Dylan mounting the stairs.

She'd had every opportunity to jump from the bed, fling on a robe and hustle Marcus into the wardrobe. Indeed, Marcus had tried to skid out of bed, but she'd arrested him by gripping his wrist tightly. Then she'd waited with horrible calm, the scene set to change her life.

For the last five weeks she'd endured sleepless nights wondering where her affair with Marcus would end up. She'd vacillated between ending it with him and resuming a normal life with Dylan, or fantasizing about a situation where Dylan was magically absent, but without her having actually told him it was over.

But as she listened to Dylan's footsteps get ever closer, she'd realized that the decision had been taken for her. Suddenly she wasn't sure she was ready.

The door to the bedroom opened, and even though she knew it was Dylan, his presence shocked her into a stupor.

His face. The expression on his face was so much worse than she'd imagined it could be. She was almost surprised at the amount of pain there. And his voice when he spoke was not Dylan's. There was an Oof to it, as though he'd been slammed in the abdomen. 'At the risk of sounding like a song lyric,' he'd struggled for breath with pathetic dignity, 'how long has this been going on?'

'Dylan ...'

'How long?'

'A month.'

Dylan turned to Marcus, who was clutching the sheet to his chest. 'Would you mind leaving? I'd like a word with my wife.'

Cupping his genitals coyly, Marcus edged crab-like from the bed, snatched up some clothes and muttered to Clodagh, 'I'll call you later.'

Dylan watched him leave, then turned back to Clodagh and asked quietly, 'Why?' A hundred thousand questions were contained in that one word.

She struggled for the right words. 'I don't really know.'

'Please tell me why. Tell me what's wrong. We can fix it, I'll do anything.'

What could she say? With sudden certainty, she knew she didn't want him to fix it. But she owed him honesty. 'I think I was lonely ...'

' Lonely? How?'

'I don't know, I can't describe it. But I've been lonely and bored.'

'Bored?' With me?'

She hesitated. She couldn't be that cruel. 'With everything.'

'Do you want to fix this?'

'I don't know.'

He studied her in a long, painful silence. 'That means no. Do you love this ... him?'

A miserable nod. 'I think so.'

'OK.'

'OK?'

But Dylan didn't answer. Instead, he slid a holdall off the top of the wardrobe, bounced it on to the bed and, slamming drawers open and closed, began flinging in underwear and shirts. Nothing had prepared her for how shocking it was.

'But ...' she tried, her eyes flicking back and forth, seeing ties, his shaving stuff, then some socks hop into the bag. Everything was happening very quickly.

Suddenly the bag was bulging-full. Then Dylan was zipping it with a high-pitched whizz. 'I'll be back for the rest later.'

He swung from the room, and after a panicky second Clodagh dragged on a dressing-gown and ran down the stairs after him.

'Dylan, I still love you,' she implored.

'So what was that all about?' He jerked his head upstairs.

'I still love you,' she repeated, her voice more subdued, 'but ...'

'You're no longer in love with me?' Dylan finished harshly.

She hesitated. But she had to be honest. 'I suppose ...'

He shuttered his face. 'I'll be back tonight to explain things to my children. You can stay here in the house for the time being.'

'For the time being?'

'The house will have to be sold.'

'Will it?'

'I can't afford to pay the mortgage on this place and another. And if you think you're staying on here while I'm in some smelly shoebox in Rathmines, you're very much mistaken.'

And then he was gone.

She reeled from shock, from the speed it had all happened at. She'd fantasized about Dylan removing himself from her life, but now that it had actually come to pass it was ugly. Eleven years wiped out in half and hour, and Dylan in such agony. And talking about selling the house! Yes, she was wild about Marcus, but things weren't that simple.

Too stunned to cry, too frightened to grieve, she sat in the kitchen for a long time. A ring at the front door jolted her back to the real world. It might be Marcus.

But it wasn't. It was Ashling.

Clodagh hadn't been expecting her. She certainly wasn't ready for her. And Ashling's uncharacteristic angry hostility compounded the whole horrible mess. Clodagh had always been surrounded by love, but suddenly everyone hated her, including herself. She was a pariah, a scumbag, she'd broken every rule in the book and wouldn't be forgiven.

After Ashling left, then she cried. She crawled back into bed, between the sheets with their smell of abandoned sex. She'd never laundered so much bed-linen as she had in the past five weeks. Well, no need to do it today, nothing to hide any longer.

She reached for the phone and rang Marcus, so he could remind her that they hadn't really done anything wrong. That they were mad about each other, that they couldn't help it, that theirs was a noble entanglement. But he wasn't at work and wasn't answering his mobile, so she had to endure her anguish alone.

This isn't my fault, she repeated again and again like a mantra. I couldn't help myself. But, like a fissure into hell opening, she caught a glimpse of the atrocity she'd perpetrated. What she had done to Dylan was unforgivable. Unbelievable. With shaky speed she grasped the nearest magazine to hand and tried to forget herself in an article about stencilling. But the fissure opened again - worse this time. It wasn't just Dylan she'd fucked over. It was her children. And Ashling.

Her heart beat faster and with a hand slidy with sweat she pressed buttons on the remote control until she found Jerry Springer. But he wasn't enough to distract her from herself - normally the people he had on seemed like cartoon characters with their ridiculously convoluted private lives, but today she didn't feel any different from them.

She flicked to Emmerdale, then Home and Away, but nothing worked. She trembled with shock and disbelief at her own actions, at the devastation she'd wrought. Then she remembered she'd have to collect Molly from playgroup and had a panicky seizure of paralysis. She couldn't go out. She really couldn't. It was impossible.

She couldn't be on her own and she couldn't be with anyone else and for a horrible moment she wondered if she was cracking up. This beyond-the-pale thought held her in its grip for a nightmarish while, then she struggled from the embrace of the bed. Cracking up was even more unpleasant than having to face the outside world.

Note: Ashling = best friend, Marcus = Ashling's boyfriend

# posted by Skye @ 1:34 am 0 comments

18-MAR-2010:

The other day, while talking on the phone with Saimun about Emily, he asked, "What else can she do now?" Well, nothing much actually, but here's a list of her "progress" since last month.

• Has two lower incisors now. It shocked me to see her start teething at 4 months+ but a quick search on Google revealed that the normal age for a baby to start teething is between 4 and 7 months, so I guess she's normal. Just a bit on the early bloomer side.
• Has started to become "demanding". She makes noise when being ignored, stops making noise and gurgles happily when being talked to (this applies to anyone in the house - myself, her grandma, grandpa, brother, cousins). Laughs when being picked up. Cries angrily when being put down.
• Grabs things that are placed next to or near her. Holds and inspects the "thing" before her eyes.
• Drinks 140ml (about 5 oz), 3 times a day during my absence. Have not started any solid food yet.
• Sleeps at regular times. No change to sleep patterns. She wakes up around 10-11am, naps again at 12pm+ after her first feed, wakes up at 3pm+ for 2nd feed, then naps again, and wakes up at 6pm+ for the 3rd feed. Goes to bed around 8:30pm.
• Can move forward to grab toys when lying on stomach - quite strong, can move very quickly when determined.
• Cannot sit unsupported yet. At this age, Dom could already sit unsupported.
• At this age, Dom could also bottle feed himself already. Not sure if Emily can because I don't bottle feed her. May ask FIL to try it.
• Can listen to a whole book being read from beginning to end (Julia Donaldson's Monkey Puzzle, for example, so that you know how long the story is). Looks intently at pictures in the book and tries to grab book. Dom used to get impatient and cry everytime I read him a book when he was a baby.
• Talks to herself in the mirror and squeals with delight. Maybe she thought it's another baby.
• Adores her brother. Always smiles when brother puts his face in front of hers. Turns her head and searches for brother when she hears his voice.
• Lifts both her legs up and exposes buttocks to be cleaned after doing a poo. I think this is so cute! When done, she will put her legs down again.

# posted by Skye @ 10:03 pm 0 comments

Taken from Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes

The pile of discarded clothes on Clodagh's bed grew higher. The tight black dress? Too sexy. The palazzo pants and tunic? Too glam. The see-through dress? Too see-through. What about the white pants? But he'd seen them already. The combats and trainers? No, she just felt silly in them. Of all the fashionable clothes she'd bought over the past two months, they'd been her biggest mistake so far.

For a moment the cloud of clothing anxiety cleared and she was inflicted with a sudden, unwelcome overview. What am I doing?

Nothing, she thought defensively. She was doing nothing. She was meeting someone for a cup of coffee. A friend. A friend who happened to be a man. What was the problem? This wasn't some Muslim country where she'd be stoned for being seen in public with a man who wasn't her husband or brother. Anyway, he wasn't even her type. She was just having fun. Harmless fun.

But she shook back her swishy hair, feeling exhilarated, buzzy, tingly.

Black trousers and a tight candy-pink T-shirt were what she eventually decided on. She looked into the mirror and saw herself through his eyes. His regard for her was endearingly obvious and she felt beautiful and powerful.

Coffee, she reminded herself firmly, as she swung out into the street. That's all. Where's the harm in that? And she pushed away guilt and anticipation that swirled nervously in her belly.

# posted by Skye @ 9:29 pm 0 comments

Taken from Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes (see below for notes)

It was Clodagh's night, no doubt about it. The comedians - intimidated by Lisa, sick of the sight of Joy and respectful of Ashling being Marcus's girlfriend - swarmed around Clodagh with her swishy new hair, gorgeous face and tight, white trousers. Ted's dark little face was miserable, but he was hopelessly out-numbered.

Clodagh, blazing a trail through Red Square after Red Square, was having a blast. During one of the breaks, Ashling overheard her saying to a cluster of men, 'I was a virgin before I got married.' With a twinkle in her eye she added, 'A long time before, mind.'

Everyone fell into convulsions and Ashling couldn't help a shameful little thought, It wasn't that funny. She pushed it away - it wasn't Clodagh's fault she was beautiful. And it genuinely was nice to see her enjoying herself so much.

Then Clodagh crossed her legs and all eyes flickered to the movement. Unselfconciously she eased her embroidered mule off her foot and let it swing idly on her big toe. Ashling watched several sets of eyes - all male - scud back and forth in time with it, looking mildly hypnotized.

Ted's act went down a storm and when he came back to the table, alight with triumph, Ashling watched Clodagh rub his shoulder and say, 'You were brilliant!'

Some time later Ashling saw Clodagh smiling at Jack Devine with the tip of her tongue poking out saucily through her teeth. Then Bicycle Billy got the same treatment. Oh no! It was her I'm-gorgeous-and-I-know-it smile, at least that was what she thought. But to quote Phelim on it, it was her scary-old-bat-from-Benny-Hill leer.

The next time Ashling looked, Clodagh had deteriorated markedly. With the slinkiness of an affectionate cat, she was rubbing her face against people's shoulders and explaining with charming bleariness to everyone, 'I've two children, so I don't get out much.' She hugged Lisa and said earnestly, 'I'm pissed! You see, I don't get out much.' Then she saw Ashling looking and exclaimed, 'Oh Ashling, I'm pissed. Are you cross with me?'

But before Ashling could demur, Clodagh had turned away and, skimming over the top of her words, was explaining to Mark Dignan, 'I've two chirn, soadoan get out much.'

Marcus was last on the bill and as took the stage Clodagh was whispering and giggling with Jack Devine. Ashling was annoyed, she'd really been looking forward to showing off how good her boyfriend was.

'Shush,' she elbowed Clodagh, then indicated the stage.

'Sorry,' Clodagh said loudly - too loudly. Then proceeded to absolutely scream with laughter at everything Marcus said. When, amid rapturous applause, he returned to the table, Clodagh propelled herself into his arms and insisted, 'You were HILARIOUS!'

Marcus gently disentangled himself from her and steered her back to her seat beside Ashling. As he sat down he squeezed Ashling's hand and gave her a secret smile.

'She's right,' Ashling murmured, 'You were hilarious.'

'Thanks,' he mouthed, and they shared a moment of warm mutual regard, which went on for far longer than was decent.

'Is that it, then?' Clodagh demanded. 'No more funny stuff. Do we have to go home?'

'Jesus, no!' Jimmy Bond looked aghast. 'Late bar until two.'

'Brilliant!' Clodagh exclaimed and promptly knocked over someone's glass. It clattered against the table and sent a stream of lager rushing over Bicycle Billy's thighs. 'Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry,' Clodagh insisted, fuzzily. 'God, I'm verr sorry.'

'Ah, the poor thing,' Ted sympathized. In unison, most of the table chorused, 'She doesn't get out much.'

Mark Dignan had just rejoined them and took in the scene, Bicycle Billy rubbing his soaked legs with the sleeve of his jacket, Clodagh apologizing thickly. Before anyone started to condemn her, Mark had some news for them. 'She's got two children,' he confided and furrowed his brow to urge compassion, 'so she doesn't get out much.'

Next Clodagh started up a long, huddled head-to-head with a woman from another table. They looked as though they were solving the problems of the world, but when Ashling eavesdropped, all they seemed to be saying to each other was, 'If you don't have chirn yourself, you can't understan'.' 'Thass right. If you don't have chirn yourself, you can't understand'.'

Then Clodagh went to the loo, and when she hadn't returned to their table after ten minutes Ashling anxiously scanned the room and saw her in intimate conversation with a trio of girls. The next time she looked, Clodagh was laughing with a man. Shortly after that Clodagh was talking to two boys, making elaborate hand gestures that looked exactly like she was demonstrating how to express breast milk. But she seemed happy - and so did the two boys - so Ashling decided to let her alone. Not long afterwards Ashling went to the bar and as she placed her order she saw Clodagh weaving between tables, then bumping into one, sending a dozen drinks rocking. 'Whoops!' she exclaimed loudly.

Two men leaning on the bar were also watching Clodagh.

'That was close,' one remarked, as the drinks just managed to pull themselves back from toppling.

'Ah, yeah,' the other replied, 'but she has two kids so she doesn't get out much.'

'Excuse me, could you change one of those Red Squares to a Red Bull?' Ashling, on impulse, asked the barman. Clodagh had had enough to drink.

But amazingly, drunk and all as she was, Clodagh knew she'd been fobbed off with an alcohol-free drink, and turned slightly nasty. 'Mus' think I'm a big gobshite,' she complained. 'Mus' think I'm a big, stupid, gobshite.'

'Should we get her home?' Marcus murmured.

Ashling nodded, so grateful for him.

'I'm not leaving until I've had another drink,' Clodagh insisted belligerently.

Marcus was sweet, as though explaining to a child. 'You see, Ashling and I want to go home, and it seems like a good idea to drop you off.'

'Well, go home,' Clodagh ordered.

'But we'd really like you to come with us in the taxi.'

'I might,' Clodagh said sulkily. 'But it's only because I like you.'

'Do you need any help?' Ted asked hopefully.

'No.' Ashling was firm. 'We're just going to drop her home to her husband.'

Clodagh enveloped Ted in a big hug, then puckered up - Ashling flinched - and kissed him on the forehead. 'You're cute,' she said fondly. 'Don't forget to come and visit me.'

'I won't!'

'Come one.' Ashling took her arm, but Clodagh had turned around and was trying to get to someone else.

'Bye, Jack,' she carolled.

'Bye Clodagh, nice to meet you,' Jack smiled.

'Nice to meet you too.' Clodagh's voice was like cream. 'Hope to see you again soo- Ow! Ashling! You're pulling my arm off!'

Grimly, Ashling tugged her towards the exit.

Notes: Marcus = Ashling's boyfriend and also a stand-up comedian, Lisa = Ashling's boss, Jack = Ashling's big boss, Joy = Ashling's neighbour and friend, Ted = Ashling's neighbour and friend and also a comedian, Red Square = Red Bull + vodka

# posted by Skye @ 1:33 am 0 comments

Taken from Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes

On Sunday morning Clodagh woke, perched precariously on the six inches at the edge of the bed. Craig had shunted her to the margin of the bed, but it could quite easily have been Molly or both of them. She couldn't remember the last time she and Dylan had slept unchaperoned, and she was so well practised at sleeping hanging over the side that she was sure she could manage a great night's sleep on the edge of a cliff, at this stage.

Something was telling her it was very early. Five o'clock early. The sun was up and the gap where the calico curtains didn't quite meet glowed in a line of acid-bright light, but she knew it was too soon to be awake. The unseen seagulls beyond her window wailed shrill and plaintive. They sounded like babies from a horror film. Beside Craig, Dylan slept heavily, his limbs thrown across the bed in a random tangle, his breath whistling rhythmically in and out, each exhalation lifting his hair from his forehead.

Despondency lay heavy upon her. She'd had a bad week. After the disaster with the employment agency, Ashling had urged her to get a second opinion. So she'd put her expensive suit back on and tried again. The second employment agency treated her with almost as much disdain as the first had. But to her enormous surprise, the third proposed sending her for a two-day trial, making tea and answering the phone at a radiator-supply firm. 'The pay is ... modest,' the recruitment man had admitted, 'but for someone like you who's been out of the workplace for a long time, it's a good start. They're bound to love you, so off you go. Good luck!'

'Oh. Thanks.' As soon as Clodagh knew she might have a job, she didn't want it. Making tea and answering the phone, where was the fun in that? She did it at home all the time. And a radiator-supply firm? It sounded so dreary. In a strange way, getting a job and then finding she didn't want it was almost worse than being told she was unemployable. Though not much given to introspection, she vaguely realized that she wasn't actually looking for a job - she certainly didn't need the money - she was looking for glamour and excitement. And the reality was she wasn't going to find them at a radiator-supply firm.

So she rang Mr Recruitment and pretended she couldn't start because Craig had got measles. Children had their usus, she reflected. If there was something you didn't want to do, you could say they had a high temperature and that you were worried about meningitis. It had absolved her from attending Dylan's Christmas party last year. And the year before. And she fully intended to use it this year as well.

She shifted uncomfortably. Something sharp was digging into her back. A forage revealed it to be Buzz Lightyear. Outside the windown the seagulls shrieked again, their ugly folorn cries echoing within her. She felt trapped, painted in to a corner, blocked. As though she was locked in a small dark airless box, which was getting ever tighter - she couldn't understand it. She'd always been happy with her lot. Her life had happened exactly as it should and its progress had been ever forward, ever positive. Then, with no warning, it seemed to have stopped. Going nowhere with nothing to look forward to. A horrible thought wormed in - was it going to be like this forever?

# posted by Skye @ 3:26 am 0 comments

Taken from Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes

To cut the story short, Clodagh was bored with her life and contemplated going back to work. During her shopping trip with Ashling ...

'I am very busy,' Clodagh acknowledged. 'Apart from a couple of hours when I go to the gym, I never have a moment to myself. Mind you, it's all inconsequential stuff; changing clothes that's been puked on or having to watch Barney video after Barney video ... Although,' she said, with a glint in her eyes, 'I've put an end to Barney.'

'Sometimes,' Clodagh sighed, heavily, 'I just wonder, what's the point? My day is filled with ferrying Craig to school, Molly to playgroup, Molly home from playgroup, Craig to his origami lessons ... I'm a slave.'

'But bringing up kids is the most important job anyone can do,' Ashling protested.

'But I never have any adult conversation. Except with other mothers, and then it's all so competitive. You know the sort of thing - "My Andrew is much more violent than your Craig." Craig never hits anyone, while Andrew bloody Higgins is a junior Rambo. It's so humiliating!' She fixed Ashling with a bleak look. 'I see magazine articles about the competitiveness of the workplace, but it's nothing compared to what takes place in the mother-and-toddler group.'

*****

Pushing open the door of the city-centre employment agency, fear and excitement manifested themselves in Clodagh's trembling hands. She stopped before a young girl with a pale-haired chignon, whose fresh, apricot-bloom skin was smothered with heavy foundation.

'I have an appointment with Yvonne Hughes.'

The girl stood up. 'Hello,' she said coolly, with surprising confidence. 'I'm Yvonne Hughes.'

'Oh.' Clodagh expected someone a lot older.

Then Yvonne gave her the mother of all firm handshakes, as though she was in training to be a male politician. 'Take a seat.'

Clodagh palmed over her CV, which had got slightly bent in her bag.

'Now let's have a look.' Yvonne had a delicate, very deliberate way with her hands. She kept stroking the CV with the pads of her splayed, child-like fingers, flattening it out, straightening it up, realigning it with the edge of her desk. Then before she turned the page she took a moment to grasp the corner of it between her thumb and forefinger and did a brief frenzy of rubbing just to make sure she hadn't picked up two pages at once. For some reason, this really irritated Clodagh.

'You've been out of the workplace for a long time?' Yvonne said. 'It's ... how many ... over five years.'

'I had a baby. I never intended to stay away so long, but then I had another child, and the time never seemed right until now.' Clodagh defended herself in a rush.

'I ... seeeeeee ...' Yvonne continued to toy with Clodagh's nerves as she studied her career details. 'Since you've left school, you've worked as a hotel booking clerk, receptionist at a sound studio, cashier in a restaurant, filing clerk in a solicitor's office, goods inward for a clothing company, cashier at Dublin zoo, receptionist in an architect's firm and a booking clerk at a travel agent's?' Clodagh had made Ashling put down everything she'd ever done, just to show that she was versatile. You stayed ... three days at Dublin zoo?'

'It was the smell,' Clodagh admitted. 'No matter where I went I could smell the elephant house. I'll never forget it. Even my sandwiches tasted of it ...'

'Your longest stint was at the travel agent's,' Yvonne interrupted. 'You were there for two years?'

'That's right,' Clodagh said, eagerly. Somehow she'd moved forward so that she was sitting on the edge of her chair.

'Were you promoted in that time?'

'Well, no.' Clodagh was taken aback. How could she explain that you could only be promoted to be a supervisor and that everyone both despised and pitied the supervisors.

'Have you done any of the travel-agency exams?'

Clodagh nearly laughed. The very thought! That's why you leave school, isn't it? So that you never have to sit another exam?

Yvonne twiddled her fingers in the air, before bringing each one down separately, to deliberately, hypnotically stroke the page flat again. 'What software did you use there?'

'Ah ...' Clodagh couldn't remember.

'Have you typing and shorthand?'

'Yes.'

'How many words a minute?'

'Oh, I don't know. I just type with my first two fingers,' Clodagh elaborated, 'but I'm very fast. As fast as some people who've done a course.'

Yvonne's child-like eyes narrowed. She was annoyed, although not to the extent that she would have you believe. She was just playing, having fun with the power she had. 'So I take it that you don't actually have any shorthand?'

'Well, I suppose, but I could always ... No,' Clodagh admitted, having run out of energy.

'Have you any basic word-processing skills?'

'Ah, no.'

And even though Yvonne knew the answer, she asked, 'And you're not a graduate?'

'No,' Clodagh admitted, fixing Yvonne with one normal eye and one red-veined one.

'OK.' Yvonne exhaled long-sufferingly, licked a finger and used it to smooth down a ragged corner of the CV. 'Tell me what you read.'

'How do you mean?'

There was a pause, so tiny it barely existed, but Yvonne had created it to convey what a hopeless idiot she thought Clodagh was.

'FT? Time?' Yvonne prompted. She didn't exactly sigh, but she might as well have. Then she added cruelly, 'Bella? Hello!?'

All Clodagh read were interiors magazines. And Cat in the Hat books. And occassional blockbusters about women who set up their own businesses and who didn't have to sit through humiliating interviews such as this one when they wanted a job.

'And I see you count tennis among your interests. Where do you play?'

'Oh, I don't play.' Clodagh gave a near-teenage giggle. 'I mean I like watching it.'

Wimbledon was about to start, there had been lots of pre-transmission publicity on telly.

'And you go to the gym?' Yvonne read. 'Or do you just like watching that too?'

'No, I really go,' Clodagh said, on much more solid ground.

'Although that hardly counts as a hobby, does it?' Yvonne asked. 'That's like saying sleeping is a hobby. Or eating.'

This caught Clodagh on the raw.

Clodagh wavered, then admitted, 'I'm not really. But you've to put something down, don't you?' (When Clodagh and Ashling had finally stopped inventing joke hobbies such as rally driving and devil worship, and had tried to assemble a list of real ones, pickings had been slim.)

'So what are your interests?' Yvonne challenged.

'Ah ...' What were her interests?

'Hobbies, passions, that kind of thing,' Yvonne said impatiently.

Clodagh's mind was frozen. The only thing she could think of was that she liked playing with her split ends, peeling the broken bit along the shaft of the hair, seeing how far up it would go. She could spend hours amusing herself thus. But something stopped her from sharing this with Yvonne. 'You see, I have two children,' she said feebly. 'They take up all my time.'

Yvonne flashed her an if-you-say-so glance. 'How ambitious are you?'

Clodagh recoiled. She wasn't at all ambitious. Ambitious people were weird.

'When working at the travel agent's, what gave you the most job satisfaction?'

Making it through the day, as far as Clodagh remembered. The idea was - and it was the same for all of the girls she worked with - they went in, suspended their real lives for eight hours and poured their energies into enduring the wait.

'Dealing with people?' Yvonne prompted. 'Ironing out glitches? Closing a sale?'

'Getting paid,' Clodagh said, then realized she shouldn't have. The thing was, it had been a very long time since she'd done any kind of interview. She'd forgotten the correct platitudes. And, as far as she remembered, she'd always been interviewed by men before, and they'd been a damn sight nicer that this little cow.

I'm not really interested in working in a travel agent's again,' Clodagh said. 'I wouldn't mind if you got me a job in a ... magazine.'

'You'd like to work in a magazine?' Yvonne pretended she was finding it hard to stifle a smile.

Clodagh nodded cautiously.

'Wouldn't we all, dear?' Yvonne sang.

Clodagh decided she hated her, this poweful, merciless child. Calling her 'dear' when she was half her age.

'What kind of salary did you have in mind?' Yvonne asked, turning the screws.

'I don't ... ah ... I hadn't thought ... What do you think?'

Clodagh handed the last vestiges of her power over to Yvonne.

'It's hard to say. I don't have much to go on. If you'd consider retraining ...'

'Maybe,' Clodagh lied.

'If anything comes up, I'll be in touch.'

They both knew she wouldn't be.

Yvonne accompanied her to the door. It gave Clodagh savage pleasure to see that she was slightly pigeon-toed.

Out on the street, in her hateful, ridiculous, expensive suit, she walked slowly to her car. Her confidence was shattered. This morning had been a terrifying lesson in how old and useless she was. She'd hung all her hopes on a job but, manifestly, the world of work was a too-fast place which she didn't have the skills to belong any more.

Now what was she going to do?

# posted by Skye @ 8:37 pm 0 comments

11-MAR-2010:

One of my uncles has a sophisticated and expensive camera. One of those large ones with huge lenses. SLR, they call it, isn't it? When we were back in Ipoh for the CNY, he was snapping away with the camera - during the lion dance at the shop, of Emily when she was awake, of Emily when she was asleep and of the rest of the people too. That afternoon when we were home, I said, hey can I upload those photos of my beautiful daughter on to my Flickr now? He said, just a moment, he needs to convert the photos from its 'raw' format first, otherwise Flickr will not recognize the files. I think he took at least a couple of hours to do that (but that's due to a technical error). Then he spent some more hours adjusting the color of the photos, the hue, the saturation and what not ... one photo at a time. I felt exhausted just watching him do it. So my question is, what's the point of having such an expensive camera when you still have to spend so much time to digitally 'correct' the photos?

Let's just say that you're out shopping one day and somebody, say from UNICEF or WWF stopped you, said that people are suffering, the earth is suffering and would like to donate a small amount of money to help out? It's not a big amount. Just maybe RM36 per month, which comes up to only RM1.20 a day. What reason have you got to decline? I can't find any. I mean I am out shopping. On a work day. And I have spent a lot more than RM36. I can't say I can't afford to. But I can say that I don't want to ... which makes me feel selfish. What would be your excuse?

# posted by Skye @ 2:14 am 0 comments

Taken from Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes

At quarter to seven on Saturday morning, Clodagh was woken by Molly. Head-butting her.

'Wake up, wake up, wake up,' Molly invited, fractiously. 'Craig is making a cake.'

There were some benefits to having children, Clodagh thought wearily, dragging herself from the bed - for instance, she hadn't had to set an alarm clock for five years.

She was meeting Ashling in town. They were going shopping.

'And I think we should start early,' Ashling had said. 'To miss the crowds.'

'How early?'

'About ten.'

'Ten!'

'Or eleven, if that's too early.'

'Too early? I'll have been awake for several hours by then.'

After she'd cleaned up the cake mess, Clodagh gave Craig a bowl of Rice Krispies, but he wouldn't eat them because she'd poured too much milk into the bowl. So she made him another bowl, this time getting the milk-cereal ratio just right. Then she gave Molly a bowl of Sugar-Puffs. As soon as Craig saw Molly's breakfast, he took violently against his Rice Krispies, declaring that they were poisonous. With much spoon-banging and milk-splashing, he loudly demanded Sugar-Puffs instead. Clodagh wiped a splatter of milk from her cheek, opened her mouth to begin a speech about how he'd made his choice and that he had to learn to live with it, then couldn't be bothered. Instead she picked up his bowl, tipped the contents into the bin and grimly banged the box of Sugar-Puffs down in front of him.

Craig's delight dimmed. He didn't really want them now. Getting them had been too easy, yet not quite right.

As Clodagh tried to get ready for her trip into town, the children obviously sensed she was trying to make good her escape. They were more clingy and demanding than usual and when she got into the shower, they both insisted on accompanying her.

'Remember the days when I was the one who used to get into the shower with you,' Dylan observed wryly when she emerged, trying to dry herself, children hanging on to her.

'Yeees,' she said, nervously. She didn't want him remembering how raunchy their sex-life once used to be. In case he asked for his money back. Or worse still, tried to reactivate things.

'Here, dry her.' She pushed Molly towards him. 'I'm in a hurry.'

As Clodagh reversed her Nissan Micra out of the drive, Molly stood at the front door and bawled, 'I want to go!' with such agony that several of the neighbours rushed to their windows to see who was being murdered.

'So do I!' Craig screeched in harmony. 'Come back, oh Mummy, come back.'

Contrary little bastards, Clodagh thought, as she sped down the road. They spent most of the week telling her that they hated her, that they wanted their daddy, then the minute she tried to have a couple of hours for herself, she suddenly became flavour of the month and immersed in guilt.

# posted by Skye @ 8:38 pm 0 comments

10-MAR-2010:

Dominic used to like watching You Tube videos on the Internet, as well as culinary videos on food.about.com. When he was small, he used to say, 'Mummy can I watch food about dot com?' He has stopped doing that now because the Internet here is - I quote Dom - 'very very slow'. He would ask why is it taking so long and I would say, just wait, it is loading.

When Dom was small and when he used wake up very early in the morning, I always told him to go back to sleep because 'it's not morning yet'. Most of the time, he would just lie awake in bed and when the sky finally got bright he would say, Mummy, it's morning now, can we wake up?

Now that he is going to school, he wakes up very early in the morning, i.e. at 7:15am, and he leaves the house at 7:40am. The sky is usually already bright when he leaves but on one particular morning, we woke up earlier than usual and the sky was darker than usual. We had the following conversation.

Mummy, why?

Why what?

Why are we waking up?

Because you need to go to school.

But it's not morning yet.

It's morning already.

But I can't see the sun.

The sun is coming up. Very slowly, but it's coming up.

(Quiet for about half a minute) Ohh ... I know. The sun is loading!

Haha! We sat out in the front porch and watched the sun rise. We ended up with a few mosquito bites on the arms and legs. Nevertheless, it was my first time watching the sun rise with my son.

# posted by Skye @ 11:00 pm 0 comments

Taken from Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes

On Monday morning Craig followed his mother around the room. 'Why are you tidying?' Clodagh snatched up a snarl of tights and flung them in the linen basket, then launched herself on the mountain of clothes on the bedroom chair, her arms a blur as she tossed jumpers into drawers, dressing gowns on to pegs and - after a short hesitation where everything became just too much - everything else under the bed.

'Is Grandma Kelly coming?' Craig pestered.

He fully expected the answer to be in the affirmative - this sort of frenzy was usually followed a short time afterwards by a visit from Dylan's mother.

'Nope.'

Craig ran behind Clodagh, as she Tasmanian-devilled into the en suite bathroom, and noisily jostled a toilet-brush around the bowl.

'Why?' he demanded.

'Because,' she hissed, irritated at the stupidity of the question, 'because the cleaning lady is coming.'

'Molly, hurry,' Clodagh roared in the direction of Molly's elephant-friezed room. 'Flor will be here any minute.'

The thought of staying in the house while Flor did her stuff was beyond the pale. Not just because all Flor wanted to talk about was her womb, but because Flor's very presence made Clodagh feel horribly middle-class and exploitative. She was young and able-bodied - having her house cleaned by a fifty-eight-year-old woman with problems up the frock was indefensible.

She'd tried staying in for a couple of Flor's visits, but ended up feeling like an outlaw in her own home. It seemed that every room she went into, Flor arrived seconds later, girt about with vacuum cleaners and varicose veins, and Clodagh never quite knew what to say.

'Ah ...' followed by an uneasy smile. 'I'll just, er, move, ah, out of your way.'

'Not at all,' Flor would insist. 'Stay right where you are.'

Only once had Clodagh taken Flor at her word, and sat flicking through an interiors magazine, pulsing with shame, while Flor huffed and puffed with the Hoover around her feet.

Flor charged five pounds an hour. Guilt compelled Clodagh to pay her six. So uncomfortable did she feel that Clodagh couldn't bear to even see Flor, always making it her business to be well gone before she arrived.

'Molly,' she bellowed, thundering down the stairs. 'Hurry!'

In the kitchen, one eye on the clock, she grabbed her pile of wallpaper samples and scribbled a note for Flor on the back of one. In a couple of strokes she drew a Hoover - an upstanding rectangle with twirly lead snaking from it. Then she sketched a few squares and drew rainfall coming down on top of them. Next she drew two arrows - one pointing to the pile of shirts on the table, the other pointing to the duster and Mr Sheen next to them.

Now Flor would know that Clodagh wanted her to hoover, to wash the kitchen floor, to iron clothes and to dust and polish.

Anything else? Clodagh did a quick zoom around her head. Next door's cat, that's what. She didn't want Flor letting him in like she did last week. Tiddles Brady had made himself so comfortable he was practically watching telly with the remote control in his paw when she'd got home. And the minute Molly and Craig saw him they fell in love and roared crying when the cat was promptly escorted off the premises. So, speedily drawing a circle for his face, on top of a bigger circle for his body, Clodagh finished the quick protrait of Tiddles by doing his ears and whiskers.

'Get me a red crayon,' she ordered Molly.

Molly duly returned, offering a blunt, yellow pencil and a Banana-in-pyjamas.

'Oh, I'll get it. If you want anything done properly, you have to do it yourself.'

Talking angrily to the air, Clodagh rummaged madly through the painting box and found the crayon, then - with no little satisfaction - gouged a big, red X through the cat. Surely Flor would understand that?

Her last drawing done, Clodagh sighed heavily. She'd love a cleaning woman who could read. It had taken her weeks to find out that Flor was illiterate. In the beginning, she used to leave her all kinds of complicated notes, requesting Flor to do specific things like take the washing out of the washing machine when it finished its cycle or defrost the freezer.

Flor never complied and although Clodagh used to lie awake at night fuming, she was too mortified to take her to task. Despite the problems, she didn't want to lose her. Cleaning women were like gold-dust. Even the crap ones.

Not to mention that Clodagh had no faith in her own ability to command respect in this situation. She had visions of herself trying to berate Flor in a voice that quavered with lack of conviction, 'Now look here, my good woman, this simply won't do.'

In the end she forced Dylan to be late for work one morning so he could have it out with Flor. And, of course, she 'fessed up to Dylan, who was sympathy itself. Dylan had what they called Good People Skills. And, on Dylan's suggestion, they came to their current arrangement where Clodagh drew her instructions to Flor.

Between the guilt and the drawings, it almost seemed easier to do the housework herself. Almost, but not quite. Despite everything, Clodagh savoured the one morning a week when the pressure was off her. Taking care of the house was like painting the Forth Bridge, only worse. She was never on top of things, and the minute something was done it needed to be done again. No sooner was the kitchen floor mopped - no, wait! Even while she was mopping it - they were skidding across it in their shoes, etching stripes of mud through her good work. And her linen basket seemed to be like the refillable pint of mythology. Even after she'd done three loads of washing and to her knowledge laundered every item of clothing in the house, her warm glow of achievement disappeared the instant she went into her bedroom - for the linen basket which had been empty mere minutes previously would be mysteriously once more full to overflowing.

At least she didn't have to worry about the garden. Not because it was nice. On the contrary, it was a muddy shambles, the grass flattened and sparse due to being overrun by children, and there was a great bald patch beneath the swing. But she was absolved from having to do anything about it until Molly and Craig were grown up. Just as well. She'd heard terrible horror stories about gardeners from hell.

After several false starts - Molly wanted to wear her hat, Craig had to go back in and get his Buzz Lightyear - Clodagh hurriedly pile them both into the Nissan Micra. As soon as she put the key in the ignition, Molly screeched, 'I have to go wee-wee.'

'But you've just gone.' Clodagh's exasperation was heightened by the fear of running into Flor.

'But I have to go again.'

Molly was only recently toilet-trained, and the novelty of her new-found skill hadn't worn off yet.

'Come on, then.' Roughly, Clodagh bundled Molly from her car-seat and hustled her back into the house, turning off the alarm she'd only just set. As predicted, despite much contorting of her face and promises that 'It's coming,' Molly couldn't summon any wee-wee. Back to the car again and away they went.

After she'd dropped Craig at school, Clodagh wasn't sure where to go. Usually on Mondays, she dumped Molly in playgroup and took herself to the gym for a couple of hours. But not today. Molly had been suspended for a week from playgroup for biting another child, and the gym had no creche. Clodagh decided to go into town and go around the shops until it was safe to go home. The day was sunny and mother and daughter traipsed slowly up Grafton Street, stopping - at Molly's urging - to stroke a homeless boy's dog, admire a flower stall and dance to a fiddle player. Passers-by smiled indulgently at the beautiful Molly, cute and ludicrous in her pink, furry, deerstalker hat, attempting to do Riverdance.

As they made their way up the street Clodagh was in a pocket of besottedness, her heart swollen and sore with love. Molly was so funny, with her little sergeant major's strut, marching along with her chest puffed out, wanting to befriend every child she encountered. It wasn't always easy being a mother, Clodagh admitted dreamily. But at times like this she wouldn't change her life for anything.

The paper seller openly admired the short, shapely woman trailing a small girl in her wake.

'Herald?' he offered hopefully.

Clodagh looked at it with regret. 'But what would be the point?' She elaborated. 'I haven't had time to read a paper since 1996.'

'Not much profit in buying one so,' the paperman agreed, appreciating the back view of Clodagh as she walked away from him.

She knew he was watching her and it felt surprisingly good. His bold, roguish stare stirred memories of when men used to look at her like that all the time. It felt like a very long time ago, almost as if it had happened to someone else.

But what was she doing? Getting excited because a newspaper seller had given her a glad eye?

You're married, she scolded herself.

Yeah, she answered wrily, married alive.

It took a contented hour and a half to reach the Stephen's Green Centre and by then, according to the law of averages, Molly and Clodagh were due a bust-up. Sure enough, when Clodagh wouldn't buy Molly a second ice-cream, Molly promptly threw the mother of all tantrums. She behaved as though she was having an epileptic fit, thrashing about on the floor, banging her head on the tiles, screeching abuse. Clodagh tried to pull her up but Molly wriggled like an octopus. 'I hate you!' she screamed and though Clodagh was ashrivel with embarrassment, she forced herself to speak in a steady voice, assuring Molly that a second ice-cream would give her a stomach-ache and promising that if she didn't get up and behave herself immediately, she'd be going to bed early every night for the next week.

Scores of hard-faced mothers passed, laden with children whom they cuffed and hit on an automatic rota. 'Hey, Jason,' Ddush! 'leave Tamara alone.' Smackkk! 'Zoe,' Thump! 'if I catch you at Brooklyn again I'll fucking kill you.' Clouttt! With their scornful looks, the women derided Clodagh's liberal principles. Give that brat a good belt, their school-of-hard-knocks' faces sneered. Going to bed early, my foot. Bate a bit of sense into her, it's the only language they understand.

Clodagh and Dylan had made a decision never to hit their children. But when Molly started kicking her, while continuing to screech, Clodagh found herself yanking the child off the floor and administering a smart smack to her bare leg. It seemed the whole of Dublin gasped. Suddenly all the slab-faced child beaters had melted away, and instead Clodagh was assailed by pair after pair of accusing eyes. Everyone around her looked like they worked for ChildLine.

A wave of crimson shame slapped her in the face. What was she doing, assaulting a defenceless little girl? What was wrong with her?

'Come on.' Hastily she tugged the roaring Molly away, appalled by the mark of her hand on Molly's tender leg. To atone for her guilt, Clodagh immediately bought Molly the ice-cream that had prompted the ructions in the first place, and expected peace for precisely the length of time it took Molly to eat it.

Except the ice-cream started to melt and Clodagh was asked to leave a fabric shop after Molly rubbed her cone carefully along a bolt of curtain muslin, patterning it with a thick white trail. The morning had soured and, wiping a Father Christmas beard of ice-cream from Molly's chin, Clodagh couldn't help feeling that life seemed to have had more of a sparkle to it once, a kind of yellow glow. She'd always rushed forward to greet her future, blithely confident that what it delivered would be good. And it hadn't ever let her down.

Her requests of life had never been overly ambitious and she'd always got what she wanted. On paper everything was perfect - she had two healthy children, a good husband, no money worries. But lately everything felt like unrelenting drudgery. Had done for quite a while, actually. She tried to remember when it had started, and when she couldn't, fear squeezed perspiration through her pores. The thought of this mind-set crystallizing into anything like permanence was terrifying. By nature she was a happy, uncomplicated person - this she could see by comparing herself with poor Ashling who tied herself in knots about almost everything.

But something had changed. Not so long ago she was fuelled by anticipation and optimism. What was different, what had gone wrong?

Note: Ashling = best friend

# posted by Skye @ 3:02 am 0 comments

5-MAR-2010:

On Tuesday, there was a CNY celebration at Taylor's. According to the others, there is one every year. Basically, there was a variety of food, lion dance and other performances. I left early (because of my babies).

This is what I had: Ikan bakar, yong tau foo, roast lamb with garlic bread and salad, popiah.

This is what I had the second round: Fried chicken wing, char kuey teow, tempura and ais kacang. There was assam laksa and curry noodles as well but I ran out of time - needed to leave before everyone did otherwise there may be a jam. But before I left, I managed to 'ta-pau' some chocolate cake and tarts for Dom.

# posted by Skye @ 10:59 pm 0 comments

Taken from Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes

It was after nine before Dylan got home. Clodagh had managed to get both Molly and Craig to bed, which was nothing short of miraculous.

'Hiya,' Dylan said wearily, flinging his briefcase against the wall in the hall and pulling at his tie. Swallowing anger as the briefcase buckles scratches the paintwork again, she braced herself for his kiss. She'd have preferred it if he didn't bother. It wasn't like it meant anything, it was just an irritating habit.

She opened her mouth to launch into her horrible day, but he beat her to it. 'Christ, the day I've had! Where are they?'

'In bed.'

'Both of them?'

'Yes.'

'Should we ring the Vatican to report a miracle? I'll just go and see them, then I'll be back down.' He'd changed out of his suit and into sweatpants and a T-shirt when he came back.

'Any news?' she asked, eager for information and excitement from the outside world.

'No. Any dinner?'

Ah, dinner.

'Between Craig's stomach-ache and Molly's tantrums ...' She opened the fridge looking for inspiration. Nothing doing. The freezer didn't help either. 'Alphabetti Spaghetti on toast do you?'

'Alphabetti Spaghetti on taost. Good job I didn't marry you for your cooking skills.' He shot her a smile. Was she imagining a certain tightness to it?

'Good job indeed,' she agreed, fetching a can from the cupboard. She couldn't be sure whether he was angry or not. He always acted sunny even when he was raging. Not that she minded, it made life easier.

'So how was work?' She tried again. 'What has you so late?'

He sighed wearily. 'You know that big American sale? The one that's been dragging on forever?'

'Yes,' she lied, sticking bread in the toaster.

'I can't remember what the state of play was the last time I talked to you about it. Had they actually made any decisions?'

'They might have been just about to,' Clodagh attempted.

'OK, so after deliberating for ever, they finally narrow it down to three packages. Then they say they want to test them. Which, as you know, is a huge waste of fucking time so I offer them the reports from the trial sites. First they say OK, they'll accept that. Then they change their minds and send over two techies from their Ohio office to run the tests ...'

Clodagh stirred the saucepan and tuned out. She was disappointed. This was extremely fucking boring.

Slumped at the table, Dylan let it all pour out. '... Then I get a phone call this afternoon, they've only gone and bought a package from Digiware, and they're not even going to test ours!'

This was the point where Clodagh tuned back in. 'But that's brilliant! If they're not even going to test yours!'

# posted by Skye @ 2:02 am 0 comments

4-MAR-2010:

Monday was a very busy day. In the morning, I registered Dom for his primary school (which he is starting in year 2012). The night before, I googled the Internet to find out what documents I needed to bring along with me, but there was no such information, no even in the MOE website. Seriously, the MOE website is like shit. It is totally not informative (not for me anyway) and it doesn't even look good. When we were in London, the primary school application procedure was clearly documented and we were able to find out all the information that we needed, even for people like us who had no idea which school we wanted to apply for. Anyway, my SIL told me that I only needed Dom's birth certificate and a photocopy of it. Later that night, my brother called and he told me that I should bring along photocopy of my own IC and proof of address (i.e. water/electricity bills). Even later that night, my friend TS called me and said that I would need passport size photographs of Dom! In the end, you know I just brought whatever I had (just in case), but my SIL was right. All I needed was the birth cert.

We reached the school at around 8:30am (I went with SIL) and there were people already queueing up. The queue wasn't that long but the office was small and there were two queues. On the desk were two manila-card-folded signs that said '2004' and '2005', meaning one queue was for children who were born in 2004 and the other for those who were born in 2005. The trouble was that a lot of people missed those signs because there were placed on the desk and not hung up high and it was impossible for people who just came in and were at the back of the queue to see them. There was some confusion and a few people who misunderstood that one queue was for boys and the other for girls, gave the wrong information to others who came in later. I felt rather disappointed. They must have done this many, many times since every year, students need to register for school. Why haven't they learnt from their mistakes? Or maybe they just didn't bother to improve things. Anyway, the process was very quick and we managed to reach home at about 9am and I reached the office at 9:30am. Thank goodness it's not like in Singapore where you have to be a sponsor and do all sorts of volunteer work to get your child into the school that you want.

At work, it was rather busy as well. Saimun has finally decided that he will come back in mid April, so there was Oyster cards to be cancelled, vouchers to be claimed and used, loyalty points to be redeemed and all sorts. :-D Plus the renovation work on our new house has started and there were details to be finalized and huge checque to be issued. Top that up with my daily milk-expressing routine, I have to say, there was very little time to 'relax'. Hehe! And of course, I did some 'real' work too. I had a meeting offsite in the afternoon and met a professor from Netherlands who has been living in Malaysia for 17 years. He just said that he prefers Malaysia to Europe! That's a new one.

In the evening, my reno contractor came over to have a chat, and that totally messed up my schedule. I was so late and Emily was fussing to go to bed and I didn't have time to breastfeed her. That night, she had her last feed at 6:30pm and didn't wake up to drink until 3:30am! It almost made me worried.

# posted by Skye @ 10:58 pm 0 comments

Taken from Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes

Clodagh woke early. Nothing new there. Clodagh always woke early. That's what having children did to you. If they weren't roaring to be fed, they were squashing into the bed between you and your husband and if they weren't doing that, they were in the kitchen at six-thirty on a Saturday morning, clattering saucepans ominuously.

This morning they were on clattering-saucepans-ominuosly duty. She would subsequently discover that Craig, the five-year-old, was showing Molly, the two-and-a-half-year-old, how to make scrambled eggs. Out of flour, water, olive oil, ketchup, brown sauce, vinegar, cocoa, birthday candles and, of course, eggs. Nine of them, including shells. Clodagh knew from the quality of the racket that terrible things were taking place in the room below her, but she was too tired, or too something, to get up and intervene.

Eyes focused on nothing, she lay listening to chairs being scraped along the new limestone-tiled floor, month-old SieMatic cupboards being opened and slammed and Le Creuset pans being battered to within an inch of their lives.

Beside her, still in deep sleep, Dylan shiften, then threw his arm over her. She snuggled into for a moment, looking for relief. The froze in familiar reluctance and wearily moved away again as she felt his arousal unfurling and straightening against her stomach.

Not sex. She couldn't bear it. She wanted affection, but whenever she moved her body against his, seeking out comfort, he got turned on. Especially in the morning. She felt guilty every time she turned away from him. But not guilty enough to oblige.

He stood a better chance in the evenings, especially when she'd had a few drinks. She never deprived him for longer than a month because she was too afraid of what it would mean. So when the deadline loomed, she always orchestrated some form of drunkenness and delivered goods, her enthusiasm and inventiveness in direct proportion to how much gin she'd consumed.

Dylan reached for her again and she slithered across the sheets out of reach, with a nimbleness borne of many months of practice.

'Little fuckers,' Dylan mumbled, sleepily. 'They'll knock the house down on us.'

'I'll go and shout at them.' It was safer to get up.

... to be continued.

# posted by Skye @ 3:54 am 0 comments

3-MAR-2010:

Last Friday was the Prophet Muhammad's birthday and was a public holiday. I had such a long weekend with no plans at all that I spent Friday and Saturday at home with the kids. On Saturday evening after dinner, my BIL made an impromptu suggestion to visit the I-City at Shah Alam. I was all for it. Anything to get me out for the house. :p

At I-City, it was "people mountain people sea", meaning there was a crowd. What is that place anyway? There were trees (fake ones, probably) decorated with bright colourful lights, sculptures of animals and plants again decorated with colourful lights. There were stage performances but I think only because it was a special weekend - Chap Goh Mei or whatever. As usual, with this sort of thing, traffic was horrendous and parking was nightmare (but we were lucky to find a space relatively near to the site). It was 11pm by the time we got home and close to midnight when we finally got into bed.

We got the kids some "light sabers" (according to Dom).

And Emily just entertained herself with her favourite past time - sucking her thumb.

The next day (Sunday), I took the kids to church as usual where the pastor talked to the kids about the Lent season and temptations. How much could Dom understand, I'm not sure, but at least he participated by raising his hands, saying his favourite food is McDonald's and that chocolates are not good for you (because somebody said he/she was giving up chocolates). I think kids are so cute, especially when one of the boys (older ones) raised his hand and said that he has given up vegetables! And another asked if he can give up school and homework. Haha! Last night, when talking to his daddy on the phone, Dom exclaimed, "Daddy, you cannot eat chocolate for four days!". "Not four days", I said, "It's forty days!". In fact, it is more than 40 days because you don't count the Sundays. Last year, I asked a friend if it means we can take a break on Sundays if they're not counted. I forgot what her answer was but last Sunday the pastor told the kids that they are not required to fast on Sundays. Therefore, after church that day, off we went to McDonald's! Dominic gobbled up a whole chicken burger while Em sucked her thumb. Dom didn't last 3 days without chocolate. :p

# posted by Skye @ 10:57 pm 0 comments

2-MAR-2010:

Thank you God for the delicious milk that I just had.
Thank you God for my daddy and mummy who love me so much.
Thank you God for my brother who is simply fantastic and funny.

On behalf of my brother, I thank you God for the McDonald's burger that he had for lunch.
My brother would also like to thank you God for the McDonald's chips.
And the coke.
And the ice-cream.

Dear Lord, please let me grow up quickly so that I can taste the McDonald's burger.
And the McDonald's chips.
And the coke.
And the ice-cream.
My brother said they were delicious.

Thank you God for everything, thank you for bringing me into this world.

Father in heaven, please bring my daddy home safely to us.
Let him bring back lots of toys and pretty stuffs for us.
Please remind my daddy to bring home a birthday gift for mummy.

God, I also pray for my brother to be good.
Quick to obey and slow to talk back.
So that mummy will have more time for me.
But most of all God, please keep all of us healthy and safe.
Amen!

# posted by Skye @ 11:27 pm 0 comments