Engaging Her Playmates

Small fry has playmates at our condo complex. They're all older than her. The youngest is six.

Most days she runs around the place with Troy, the six year-old. They play catch, hide-and-seek or other manner of games that kids their age play.

One day, Troy wanted a game of hide-and-seek. For some reason only known to her, small fry was in no mood for hide-and-seek. She ignored all Troy's attempts at playing. He asked nicely, tried cajoling and in the end, went for all-out crying and stamping his foot.

"Sophia! Play hide-and-seek! Sophia! Play with me!" while bawling and stamping his feet.

Small fry coolly ignored poor Troy and told Jona she wanted to come back upstairs.

I guess that was that. So much for a productive play session.

My three year-old reduced a six year-old to a sniveling mess. God help us all when she discovers her feminine wiles.

Straight From The Horse's Mouth

I'm constantly reminding myself and remarking to the small fry that she has too many toys and that we are not getting her any more. Her toys litter the living room, take up half the closet space in the guest room and occupies many corners and walls around the apartment.

While shopping for her friend's birthday present at Toys R Us today, small fry came upon some hula hoops and promptly took one down off the hook and started playing with it. Or rather, she tried to shake her booty while hanging on to a much-too-large-for-her hoop.

I spied her in action and got daddy to look. He then said that maybe we should get her one. I wondered aloud which one to get. 

Overhearing us, small fry quipped, "I have too many toys, Mummy!" and dutifully put the hoop back. 

Looks like the child is reminding the parents about their resolve. 

Note to self: remember what you keep telling yourself. 

A Ride In The Clouds

On our way back to Singapore from Subang, the ATR 500 turboprop aircraft sailed over a pocket of air and we felt a little pull of gravity like we'd just gone over a speed bump.

Small fry giggles and says, "Ooh, Mummy. That tickles!"

We hit another air pocket and my stomach drops again. 

Laughter from the small fry, "Another tickle!". Giggles.

Small fry's take on flight turbulence makes us adults look boringly prosaic by comparison.

Failed Social Experiment

A couple of weeks back, I thought I'd take small fry to the cinema.

We were going to watch Babies since she'd thoroughly enjoyed the antics of the cross-continental babies in the trailer. In order to prepare her for the experience, I explained to her that the cinema would be dark and that it may be quite loud but that it was OK, that i she didn't like it, we could leave.

"Mmm...it's going to be loud and dark, Mummy."

So we headed off on a weekend for the 11 am show. As we were on the way, small fry kept repeating, "I'm going to the cinema with you, Mummy! We're going to watch the babies!"

When we got to the ticket counter I told the lady what show we wanted tickets for. She looked at me then at small fry in her stroller and asked if she was going in too. I said yes. She said she couldn't let us in as the show was rated NC16.

Oops. Someone forgot to check the restrictions.

Fearing the worst (small fry had so looked forward to this as I'd told her a few times that she was going to the cinema with me prior to heading there). Her facial expressions promptly screwed themselves up and she bawled on the spot.

"I want to watch!" Bawl. Yikes.

The aunty at the counter tried being helpful, saying that there was another show - Alpha and Omega - that she could watch. I wheeled her to the poster so she could look at the cute dogs wolves but she would have none of it.

In the end, I placated her with a lunch of onigiri and noodles and that we'd go right away. And that if the DVD ever came out, I'd make sure to buy it and we could watch it at home together.

Till this day she remembers the route we took to get to the cinema (it's a little offshoot from her regular route to playgroup) and she points out that, "That's where we go to the cinema. I wanted to watch the Babies but the old woman at the counter said I couldn't watch, then I cried and cried and cried."

Square Peg

On the last day of term a couple of weeks back, small fry's class had an end-of-term party.

When I went to pick her up from playgroup, I found most of the kids decked out in face paint; the boys were mostly animals. There are only three girls in her group; two of them had a rose each painted on one cheek.

And the small fry?

At first, I thought she'd had a major sunburn: her face was all pink! On closer inspection, I thought it looked like a jellyfish, but she doesn't have a jellyfish among her toys. Instead she has a couple of beloved octopi. So I said, "Oh hey! You're a pink octopus!"

"No, Mummy. I'm a jellyfish na!"

Yup, the small fry is a jellyfish among the roses.

What's All The Fuss About?

On a recent visit to the bookstore, small fry convinced Gong-gong to get her a magazine. On the way to the cashier, small fry took her own sweet time to get to the counter, stopping every once in a while to check out the rest of the merchandise on display.

She ambled on so slowly that a line was starting to form behind her and afraid that she'd hold it up any longer, Gong-gong promptly told her, "Hurry up, Sophia! There are other people behind you."

She retorted, "Don't make a fuss, Gong-gong!" and casually strolled up to him at the cashier counter.

Needless to say, the people behind her had a good laugh. Including the guy manning the cashier.

Died People Congregate In Water

Small fry is into her Lego blocks in a big way these days. She likes constructing 'fountains' and giving them away to me.

Tonight, after her storytelling session with Dad, they proceeded to build more stuff with the Lego blocks. When it came my turn to take over with book reading, small fry declined in favour of her blocks.

She promptly made me a few 'fountains' and made the following proclamation:

"Mummy, this is for you! It's a fountain. Say 'thank you'."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome! See, this is a fountain with died people inside!"

"Dyed people? What do you mean, baby?"

"Died people. Like the died people in the water? With their eyes closed? In Daddy's movie?"

Scratching head and racking brains. Bewildered as to what she means by dyed people. Dike people? Diet people? Could she possibly mean dead people? Why's she talking about dead people?! And where did she learn that word - died?

"Remember? In Daddy's movie, mummy?"

Click. Lightbulb goes on. Yikes.

"Oooooh! Where the man fell into the water?"

"Yes! And he couldn't get out? And the died people were all in the water!"

Said died dead people that small fry means is in direct reference to The Lord Of The Rings where Frodo falls into the bog and Gollum snatches him back up. The bog holds all the dead souls who were sorta calling out to Frodo.

Small fry was with us in the living room when Daddy turned on the DVD and surprisingly she didn't flinch. And apparently remembers the died dead people from the bog in the movie. That was two days ago.

The kid is a sponge. What a morbid sponge.

Creative Assessment

Small fry is unrelenting in putting her dirty shoe up on my thigh and my newly made bag while we're on the train.

"Stop it, babe! Please take your foot off my bag. Your shoes are dirty!"

"Mummy, did you make this bag?"

"Yes, I did."

"Mummy, it's not very pretty."

Yeah, shoot me, why don't you? After I spent two backbreaking afternoons tracing the patterns and cutting the material. As well as a whole Saturday of ignoring both her and her Daddy while sewing the multiple pieces, pockets and zips together, and almost sewing my finger into the bag in the process.

But it was worth the mountain of effort because it is my best bag ever! Daddy was so impressed that he got over his grumpiness at being ignored and proclaimed that it was all worth it because it looked totally awesome. He even went on to say that if sis saw my bag, she'd probably want it for herself, hahah.

All that and today the small fry announces that it's not very pretty.

I guess it's time to take it up with the bag designers at Farbenmix/Studio Tantrum then. It can't possibly be my choice of colours and fabric.

Maybe a few years from now when she's battling with me for use of my bags, I can throw her comment back into her face.

I just can't wait for her to see the yet-to-be-made skirt when it's completed and that she helped pick out the fabric for.

High Heels And Johnny Polanco

I was missing my salsa the other day. So while having lunch at home, I blasted Jimmy Polanco on the Book and was bopping in my seat while the small fry was being read to.

Salsa music just gets my blood moving and my feet itching to dance. So I dug out my dance shoes, strapped them on and tried out a few rusty moves.

Not to be left behind, small fry scampered down from her perch on the dining chair and skittered around my legs as I moved. Tried carrying her and mambo-ing a bit but the small fry ain't so small anymore.

When I took off my shoes, she promptly put them on and since the music was on, shimmied her little butt to the music too. Hahah, small fry will turn out to be a salsa dancer yet. And more of a pro at wearing heals than her mum.

When and if I ever get the photos uploaded into the Book, I'll post them for everyone's viewing pleasure.

When I'm Not At Home

I've had to sneak out of the house a couple of times during the small fry's nap times to minimize the fuss she makes. On one of those occasions, Jona reported to me on her conversation with the small fry when she woke up.

"Where's Mummy?"

"Mummy's gone out."

"Oh dear, naughty Mummy!"

"Why do you say Mummy's naughty?"

"Because she went out when I was sleeping!"

"!!!!"

"Stupidlah, Mummy!"

This is the small fry at 3 years-old. I wonder what she will say when I'm away when she's teen.

*Shudder*

The Soothing Dictator

Hubby's driving the car, small fry's in her car seat and I'm seated next to her. I'm trying to have a conversation with hubby but it gets increasingly difficult with constant interruptions from small fry.

“Don’t talk, Mummy, don’t talk!”

"Don't talk!"

“Calm down, calm down.”

Pat, pat, pat, pat on my knee.

"Calm down, Mummy!"

Pat, pat, pat.

“Calm down, calm down, aaahh. Don’t talk.”

Pat. Pat. Pat. Pat.

"Don't talk."

Pat. Pat. Pat.

Tea For Two

We had a loooong day today. And we finished off with tea for two.

Wednesday is gym day, so we got done with class at about 1pm. I'd decided small fry needed to see the doc today because she's sounded like a wheezy old man for the past week or so. The Rhinathiol is so obviously not working.

Our beloved Dr. Vas was on leave when we went to her clinic on Monday. She's just back today but was at Paragon in the afternoon. The clinic there opens at 2:30pm and we were there by 2:15pm. Waiting there outside the clinic suite for 15 minutes or so, the line started building up. By the time the doors opened and we registered ourselves, the clinic was full and we found out that Dr. Vas would only be in at 3pm.

So I sat down and popped open my book while the small fry entertained herself with the myriad of toys and the toy kitchen at the clinic. Made a friend while cooking too. And when she got bored, she alternated between watching videos on my phone and playing with the iPod. All in all, very well behaved.

Astoundingly, when she was called in, she was extremely cooperative with Dr. Vas, even coughed on demand. What I love about Dr Vas is she will only give antibiotics as a very last resort. So I discovered why the Rhinathiol didn't work to curb the cough; it needed to be taken as a combo with Fedac, Zenmolin and Singulair. We walked out with a course of antibiotics for standby with strict instructions to only take that as a last resort if the cough didn't clear.

I was starving and small fry seemed to think she was too despite gobbling up all her snack while waiting to see the doc. So we went for tea.

It was a table for two with cushy velvety chairs, one for small fry and one for me. I ordered stew with bread on the side and a hazelnut latte. The small fry busied herself with the iPod so I popped open my book again. And there we sat like two civilized girlfriends out for a spot of tea, each ensconced in our chair doing our own thing but enjoying the other's company too.

Small fry was curious about the hazelnut latte when it got to the table and insisted on stirring the froth with the spoon. Which led to her wanting to try the latte. Note to self: order a normal or bitter latte when out for tea with small fry. Hazelnut latte is slightly sweet and of course the small fry decided that latte was her cup of tea.

"I LIKE it!" she exclaimed after tasting the froth off the spoon. I had to contend with giving her a few more small spoonfuls of the latte before she promised that the next spoonful was the last one.

So there it is. I can now have a civilized session of tea/coffee with my 3-year old. How cool is that?

Consumerism Starts At Three, Maybe Younger

Back in March during our trip back to KL, small fry learned the fine art of consumerism.

I drive an old 7-series beamer and the logos on both the front and back of the car is all but almost peeling off. Still, a beamer logo is quite distinctive, I suspect. Because after a couple of days of being driven around in the car, the small fry started pointing to other beamers and saying, "Mummy, that looks like your car!"

It didn't matter what colour or which series beamer the car was; white, grey, black (mine's a dark navy blue) or what size; 3-series, 5-series, whatever. She'd pick out a beamer and announce loudly, "Mummy, that looks like your car!"

Initially, while we were in KL, I thought it was a fluke. But the habit continued in Singapore while we were walking along Orchard Road, waiting to cross at the pedestrian lights. A white beamer would pass by and she'd go, "Mummy, that looks like your car!"

Or we'd be waiting for the bus and a beamer would drive pass and she'd say excitedly, "Mummy, that looks like your car!"

It's a tad scary how young they start recognizing brands, isn't it?

Eat It And A Tree Will Grow

Small fry has a thing about eating watermelon with the seeds in it. We're not talking about the big brown/black seeds but the small unobtrusive little white ones where you can just bite through them or swallow them whole; she'll insist on having me take them out before she eats the watermelon slice.

Not wanting to have to fuss over it, and knowing how much she likes Totoro and growing trees, this is what I told her:

"Babe, these seeds can be eaten. You know why?"

Small fry looks curious.

"You know, when you eat these seeds, then maybe a tree will grow out of the top of your head, like Totoro growing the trees! You like growing trees like Totoro, right? So if you eat these seeds, then you could have a big tree growing right out of your head! Isn't that nice?"

Small fry promptly ate the watermelon slice, seeds and all.

HAHAHAHAHAH!! I'm a genius!

The Cat Did It!

It's 7am and Pixel's sprawled on the back of the couch, looking out the window behind it.

Small fry is having her breakfast of Nutella toast and milk at the couch. I'm having mine at the table. I look up and the boy (Pixel) looks hilarious spread out on the back of the couch, somewhat like a piece of salami.

"Babe, what's the boy doing on the couch, looking out the window?"

"He's looking for the remote (control)!"

"Why's he looking for it?"

"Because he threw it out the window!"

Hm, never ask a 3 year-old a dumb question.

Headaches Can Happen Anywhere

So there we are, the small fry sitting at the head of her bed, watching a recent video on my phone of herself playing together with her best friend; I'm reading my book next to her but on the floor next to bed, on the floor chair against the wall.

Small fry taps me on my shoulder and smiles.

"Mummy, Sophie's got a headache."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I've got a headache on my legs."

"How did you get a headache on your legs?!"

"I fought on the wall, *fob* and fell down and got a headache on my leg."

"So how?"

"Because I jumped on the wall, and slipped like this."

"Really?"

"Ya."

"Is it OK?"

"Ya."

"OK, if you say so."

Back To The Beginning

We're sitting on the floor, small fry facing me on my lap and I'm watching TV.

"Mummy, I want to go into your tummy!"

????

"You're a bit big to go back into my tummy, babe. You were this small when you were in mummy's tummy, you can't go back in again now, you're too big!"

"When I get smaller, I can go back into your tummy. I want to go back into your tummy, Mummy!" She then puts her head to my abdomen and tries to 'push' herself into my tummy.

"See, I went back into your tummy!"

Riiiiiiight.

The Boys Do It Differently

Small fry standing at the mouth of the toilet bowl with her pants down:

"The boys stand like this to wee-wee."

"Are you wee-weeing like that?"

"No, I sit down and wee-wee."

Hm, those communal trips to the toilet during playgroup (they hold on to each other's shoulders and shuffle along in an orderly line) sure does open her eyes to other ways of doing things.

Fat, Big And Tall

While watching TV this evening, small fry quips, "Mummy, mummy! You are fat!"

"What? Why do you say that?"

Silence and a mischievous grin.

"How about you, then? Are you fat?"

"No, I am tall!"

"You sure you're not fat?"

"No."

"How about Daddy, is he fat?"

"No, Daddy's BIG!"

"Oh, Okaaaay."

About Having Legs

Hubby hoisted the small fry up to go to bed after she'd pestered him away from the PC to tell her a bedtime story.

"No, Daddy, NOOOOOOO! I can walk on my own!"

"I HAVE LEGS!"

This coming from the girl who pesters everyone on a regular basis to "Carry! Carry!"