Yes, we did celebrate Mooncake festival this year!

Coming home after a 2-week long vacation is a hard thing to do. There are chores scrambling for my attention – fridges (we have two) needing to be stocked; sheets that need washing, meals to be cooked, floors begging to be vacuumed and kids to scrub to a school-shine clean before returning to their teachers and peers. The thought of facing them sapped all that bouncy Floridian warmth I’d generated during those 14 days when lo and behold, what did I find in my mail box? Nestled amidst junk mail for tractor equipment and lawn fertilizers (is it obvious that we live in the country?) and stacked bills, was a nondescript USPS postbox. Slicing it open, out spilled 4 darling accordion paper lanterns -- each a different colour; 4 ‘pigs-in-a-basket’ (a Chinese pastry only available and eaten during the Mooncake Festival); a boxful of Indonesian-made plastic bubbles with fumes that makes one just a little heady, and a card from the fairy godmother herself – Wendy -- a friend from my secondary school days who I’d recently gotten reacquainted since our meeting in Singapore last year. Soft-spoken, gentle and a mother of 4 home-schooled children, small-town Ohio-living (but still bigger than Corning), mind-reading Wendy, who'd pin-pointed what I’d been missing this season.


Around September or October yearly, was when my Aunts paid homage to my Mom. It was the time when they would come knocking at our gate in Singapore, bearing packages of mooncakes – preferably double yolk – proof that she was valued and loved. My sisters and I would fight over the yolks. I would nibble all the baked soft brown crust, carefully evading the gummy lotus paste middle that more annoyingly, stuck to the roof of my mouth and then, relish the slightly salty yolk. Perhaps, I fed my dog the uneaten lotus portion, but I digress, let's not incriminate myself any further.


Mooncakes were not exactly my thing but what I loved most about the festival were the lanterns. Back then, my Dad would indulge us with our choice of cellophane-made lanterns, usually in shapes of the Chinese zodiac signs. It was the highlight for us kids, especially made more precious when we gathered with our cousins, gingerly holding our candle-lit lanterns -- trying hard not to be distracted by their more elaborate and larger lanterns -- whilst circling my parent’s front lawn. Unfortunately, the cellophane ones were delicate and often melted after one use or a hole would emerge having come too close to the cellophane walls rendering it trash material after one night of "rowdy" display.


Modern day ones have erased nostalgic inefficiencies and now children can manhandle the sterile, tacky plastic molded, battery-operated with screeching pop tunes -- for ever and ever (another friend said she’d bought one with the tune “Lambada” in it and had to dismantle the sound piece) -- or until Mom comes along and throws it out with the other dysfunctional plastic toys.


Being so far away from Singapore makes festivals that I’ve grown up with tons more charming. That coupled by the fact that I wish the same warm fuzzy memories of my childhood growing Singaporean-Chinese, be passed on to my children. I don’t make claims that I know much about all the festivals that I’ve heeded as a pudgy child. I know them as well as what a westerner would understand a plate of Chinese stir-fry – it is Chinese food....stir-fried.


So, even today, as I’m gorging myself with double yolk mooncakes with lotus paste celebrating Mooncake festival with some panache, I have a hazy idea of the true meaning of the festival armed with no more than my primary 5 Chinese textbook memory of a fair Chinese maiden and a rabbit stuck in a moon. Yes, you read right --in the moon. They weren’t the first Chinese astronauts nor did she bring thumper along for the ride. The original message was, however, lost in translation and over time on me.


As it turns out, Wikipedia has saved me from dragging my family name into the ditch and I’m now educated enough to know that the proper term for the popular name of Mooncake festival – in Singapore – is really the mid-autumn festival. It had to do with the farmers in China celebrating the harvest and enjoying the fullness of the glowing, rotund moon whilst stuffing their faces with cakes (mooncakes) and pomelos. The legend of the fair maiden, Chang’e and the Jade rabbit in the moon, is far more convoluted and less Disney happy-ending-esque, but in true stoic Confucius style, is more about sacrifices and kindness.


But, my kids don’t have to be well-versed with Wikipedia’s version of the why’s and how’s of Mooncake festival. I didn’t, and I’m not scarred by my ignorance. So, that’s why Aunty Wendy’s gift to them is all the more precious. She’s simply continuing the tradition our parents have bestowed on to us for years, or until we became too gawky and pimply to bother with holding a lit lantern -- in fear it would cast further light on our blemishes. She is giving them the same delight I had when my Dad bought me my first dragon-shaped cellophane lantern, and when I tried to embrace the thinly-made lantern in my gleeful short arms.


And to that act of kindness and sacrifice on Aunty Wendy’s part, I wish you all Zhong qiu jie kuai le! (translated: Happy mid-Autum festival people!)

They went, "wee wee wee ... all the way to school." And She went Whoo Hoo!

We had an absolutely fabulous 2 weeks in Orlando, really. And I’m pleading you not to judge my use of superlatives in this case!


There weren’t any major nor even minor mishaps; we didn’t lose any kids nor sell any in a fit of exasperation; the weather was fine even if it was roasting hot on many days scalding my lily white children & hubs. Suffice to say, Disney’s magic was enjoyed and appreciated by both young and old.


But all good things do come to a premature halt and we find ourselves marching to the tune of familiarity i.e. our lives in Painted Post.

Hum drum it may be for some of us, but at least for Aidan and Sophia, this week marks new beginnings for them. Aidan started kindergarten on Monday – a week and a half later than the other mates already mostly settled in his class. He is in a class of 18 other children and is already friends with one of his classmates -- Hannah Watkins -- whom he has known from preschool days. His teacher --Mrs Coger -- who was briefly Sean’s form teacher in Kindergarten too, has already pointed out that the two brothers are “complete night and day”. I wouldn’t consider her extremely perceptive on account of this observation because a person of lesser capability would have picked that one up too. But I'm not discounting her based on this revelation because I like Mrs Coger -- she is both firm and nuturing -- a match for my wilful 5-year old. Plus, who would want to mess with someone who towers over me head and shoulders and tells the kids that when she gets upset, "smoke comes out of her nose and ears"? I doubly love this lady!

Sophia skipped off to her first day at preschool on Tuesday, disappointed that she couldn’t join her siblings at their school but thrilled that she gained new companions and a new adoring audience for 2.5 hours twice a week. She has the same teachers who’d taught Aidan last semester. They know her well since she’s followed Aidan to class three times a week at drop-offs and pick-ups. In typical girl fashion, she’s gunning for class president 2011 -- adhering to instructions and even pointing out to her teacher how capable she is at heeding their word; memorizing words to songs in an eye blink with the accompanying arm movements… yessiree, this child is proving that pre-kindy is not a cupcake walk.

As for me, I have now 5 hours of free time a week. Plenty time to hop over to Cancun, Mexico; drink tea in fine china with a lifted pinky finger with other socialites in the area gossiping about the latest hair trends and botox treatments; or I could be realistic and enjoy the peace and quiet whilst I send my car in for servicing and grocery shop --which was what I ended up doing.

The other day, after dropping Sophia off at school, I headed to Wegmans for some groceries. I saw a Dad chasing his lively 2-year old bounding down the aisles while leaving behind the clunky and oversized cart with the attached kiddy car -- driver’s seat still warm from toddler damp.


I nodded sympathetically at the Dad and then raised my hallelujah hands thanking the Lord that I'd been spared, at least just for those 2.5 hours!

Have a Super-lative weekend!

Not very many things annoy me.


Really.


Well, OK, you had me: My kids’ whinging do sap the absolute life out of me; I’ll admit that. But otherwise, I’m fairly tolerant. I throw my head back and laugh in the face of annoyance when my toothpaste tube gets squished in the middle as opposed to my preferred end; I close both eyes to bathroom floors littered with hairs -- lots of it – left behind by the hubs (who, I suspect, has direct lineage to Neanderthal man); I’ve even appeared gracious to visitors trudging on my brazilian hardwood floors in muddy or dusty shoes, beaming in my squinty-eyed Asian demeanour and fighting back the voices chanting, “Kill! Kill! Kill!” in the deep recesses of my stone cold heart.


But when people use superlatives, especially, not one but 3 of them in one breath, my skin starts to twitch involuntarily; my eyes roll back into my head the way Nancy’s did in ‘The Exorcist’ and then my mind switches off perhaps in a desperate attempt to protect itself from self-destructing.


Yesterday, at Aidan’s kindergarten orientation, the school principal managed to use the word “great” to describe the “great elementary school”, that was a “great place for your kids” and that we, parents, will be in “great hands” -- all in one sentence. I was trying really hard not to barf into my own boredom. I wasn’t sure if she knew that she wasn’t doing her school any justice from that poorly thought-out assurance to us, parents.


Not that I doubt her testimony because I am truly fond of this particular elementary public school that works more like a well-oiled private school. My kids have had a few dedicated teachers, and maybe one that was way too loopy to preside over space-cadets like Sean but for all intents and purposes, my kids enjoy school so it must be evident of an enabling and nurturing environment. My only grief is that the cafeteria food could be better but this is America, and pizzas and greasy chicken Frankenstein-nuggets are staples just as carbohydrate-laden but protein-lacking noodles and white rice are in Asia.


But it is so disappointing when the school principal – one of whom you would think would be eloquent enough from having to perform numerous speeches, ad nauseum, in front of glaze-eyed parents and teachers --  is only capable of uttering an all-encompassing “great” to garner our attention and buy our approval? I was more upset that she did not think of better ways of substantiating how truly well this school functioned, or how (most) of her staff knew ways to bring the best out from the children and hence kids, like mine, will skip off to school -- like kids in the style of 1950s clean-cut movies -- eager to learn, see their friends and teachers.


You’d think that in a country like America, superlatives would immediately send people into a catatonic stupor and no one would pay any attention to them.


“How are you today?”


“I’m great!”


How was the movie?”


“It was really great!”


“Are these 4, all your children? How awesome is that?” (really? I get an 'awesome' just by the sheer fact that my eggs are very receptive to boy swimmers? I'm liking superlatives!)


Anyway, it is the weekend. We are off to the “happiest place on earth” claims Disney, for 2 whole weeks. I’m guaranteed a great trip. I leave my family members pictures of the kids since they wouldn’t be hearing from them for a while.


How awesome am I?

Note: Thanks to my witty hubs, I've changed my original title to the more pointed current heading, as he'd suggested. For this contribution, I will eat humble pie and forgive him for shedding like a cat though lacking the licking ability of one.

My spawn -- the mop

An envy amongst Dallas women

Do I need more reasons to point out why this boy is badly in need of a haircut? If my collage of messy cocky-hair isn’t compelling enough, then, I might need a new heart because I fear my evil ways are already plotting to use him as a mop.