Dim Sum Mum - Tess' Little Pieces

issey, i-see, i smell

in the last few months before i moved to hong kong, i would spend an hour i didn't have wandering around a west van shopping mall spraying my collar with issey miyake, chosen fragrance du jour of the newly minted magnificent charles. (he also wore/wears farenheit).

my stomach would lurch with fear and my already cracking heart would leap with jubilation as the issey scent took me back to precious hours we had shared together and the scary realisation that there were going to be many many more hours together. even today, in a crowded area, if someone is wearing issey, i whirl around, expecting to see mc, and possibly get a little trembly in the knees. scent is so powerful.

not always in a good way.

no matter how many years it has been since you have had a baby, no involved parent can forget the odour of the truly appalling "ripe" nappy. pungeant and nasty, the ripe nappy rely-eth NOT on amount, rather a chemical reaction or decomposition, to declare its foulness. i can't describe the smell, but i can't forget it either.

which makes it criminally unfair that you can't instantly recall the sweet scent found at the back of a baby's neck. that soft area exudes a suble, glorious odour that i can't recall when i am away from it. i know i yearn it, but i can't clasp the scent.

fragrances describe their top notes as "fruity" or "floral"...but no noun adequately describes this neck-scent. the best i can drum up is innocense. it is sweet, subtle and light, happy, hopeful and intoxicating. emotional. while a good cologne is meant to empower you, make you feel sexy, smelling the back of my babies necks floods me with tenderness and joy.

and occasionally, loss. because i know this scent is not a permanent part of my child. only babies have this scent. lucky parents will watch their parents grow from babies to toddlers, and with that privilege, they lose the scent. it happened with sebastian, once he left babyhood behind. i want them to grow, even if it means that i will still wash them with the same soaps, apply the same lotions to their squirming bodies, sniff deeply and realise the baby is gone.

there is a little nook for your nose at the base of a babies neck. even though the two of the triumverate are toddling around, i can still scoop them up and press my nose against them, breathing in their scent. and then i reach for sebastian, my 3.5 year old second year blonde kindy boy, who no longer offers my senses that powerful whiff of purity, and i have to be content knowing that i can feel the pressing of his arms around me long after he releases me and happily races away. my baby.

of pink velour juicy sweats

given that i have today experienced and remembered many other crack moments, i may have to dedicate regular blogs to this topic. but for now, let's move on.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHARLES!!! you know him as magnificent, as chuck, chuckles, balls, coldballs, cbdc...whatever, it is his birthday today and he is stuck in bangalore india alone!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

can i please ask every one to send him a special happy birthday message and to remind him to finish the list of stuff he has to do before i get home? the link to his blog is on the right of this blog....thank you......

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

you know when kids have their special blanket? and as the child slowly grows out of the stage where they need their special blanket, the parents sometimes clip a square of the blanket and tuck it away, so their child will always have a piece of the blanket that gave them such comfort.

i have something even better than a blanket...i am the proud owner of a velour sweat suit, a pink one at that.

as pictures attest, i get plenty of wear out of my fuschia juicy ensemble. bought with wonderful (and now gone..sigh) friend lucy, i loved it from the point of purchase even though i suspected i looked a lot like a giant bottle of pepto bismol when wearing it. but i care not.

what qualities has to oft-worn hotpink ensemble provided me to result in such fondness?? where to start! but here we go.

1) it is easily familiar. when i am pushing the cart amongst the aisles, sebastian can easily find me as he races across the grocery store. doesn't need to stop, just turn when you see the hot pink.

2) the inevitable banana, weetabix, yogurt, dubious origin smears are easily disguised. this is velour baby, yah! the smears simply make the velour look like it was rubbed the wrong way. what a clever camoflauge.

3) there aren't too many hpvss around, and so my kidlets don't have to experience that frightening shock while climbing up the leg they think belongs to their mother and realise with a start that it doesn't. chances are, if they are climbing up a furry blindingly pink leg, it is mine.

4) this outfit washes like a dream.

5) it is so comfy

6) the top has pockets for the essentials: kleenex and cherry flavoured chapstick.

7) jokes aside, i love the colour. it cheers me up.

8) have to emphasise the outfits ability to get filthy and still look okay. i can sit on the rocks and not worry about it staining or running, this is a GREAT outfit.

9) you can wash it in hot water, cold water, delicate wash, and without soap (as i discovered the other day), and it looks as good as new when the wash is over. if possible, don't dry it, but it survives.

10) it is warm, and YELLOWKNIFE IS NOT.

11) when you've got three kids sitting in between your legs and another one on your knee, you don't want to be wearing a skirt.

re-reading this list i feel a renewed sense of love for my hpvss.

hpvss has been a low maintenance reliable friend since the word go. you may get tired of me sporting it in every single picture i am in, but while there are babies, there will be the hpvss.

and one day when the kids are cleaner, walking more, needing less picking up, and don't lift up skirts, i will wear something else. hpvss and i are not exclusive. but when velour violently goes out of style or when the hpvss discintegrates, chances are good i will clip out five little pieces of the hpvss and put them in the babies memory books. and keep one for myself.

crack is the word

i used to associate with a drug, or the sound an egg made when i sharply smacked a knife against it. a plumber, even.

no more.

just as parenthood has altered my vision of what is an acceptable way to look when leaving the house, my priorities, my experiences...just like a slow moving jellyfish in a horror movie, parenthood has subtly overtaken my definitions of words.

crack is the sound my heart makes when i remember the doctor urging charles and i to have a selective reduction performed on one of the triplets. it would have been jasper that was reduced. i look at him, rocking on the floor and flexing his fingers and lungs, and i cannot imagine my world without this beautiful life in it. crack

crack is the sound my heart makes when i see sela trying to keep sebastian's attention. she dotes on him, and sometimes, sometimes, he will shine the light of his affection on her. she tolerates being lugged around, dropped, pushed, ordered...all things she would normally not stand from a parent or fellow triplet. she laughs at his songs and actions, and grins when he plays with her. and then he gets bored and moves on, and she looks after him so wistfully and calls out a forlorn sound that i know is for him, to no avail. he's gone. crack.

crack is the sound my heart makes when i see carys, trying so desperately to walk like her big sister does. she gets so excited when someone holds her by the fingers, and she wants to walk, she screams with delight, and then she takes one step, possibly two, then collapses to the ground. and we clap for her and she looks up overjoyed and makes her hoarse cry, expressing her frustration and excitement. and my heart cracks again.

crack is the sound my heart makes when i watch sebastian reaching out to people. he is slowly emerging from his shell, and as his language improves he has more confidence. he tells more people he loves them. watching him excited about his life, waving to the float plane pilots and the joy on his face when they waved back TO HIM! they wave to me mummy! they wave! and another piece of my heart breaks.

crack is the sound my heart makes when i look at the pictures of the babies. their hospital stay...and then afterwards. we thought they were so huge when we brought them home but they were tiny! ridiculously so. how did they survive? why were they chosen? my heart dissembles as i remember looking at all of them sleeping in the cot together, the only things on their once tube covered faces were the tears dropping from our eyes. another piece of me.

crack is the sound my heart makes when i remember magnificent charles, so many days, so many ways, reminding me of his love. he cracked the shell of my heart, and it hasn't stopped crumbling since that day in 1996. 

just about every day something else happens for the now familiar bittersweet crack to pang and my eyes to well up as i observe something so sad and sweet. and i suppose that is why my definition of crack has changed so utterly: it is the action the heart makes to accommodate the daily growing love.

on immigration and intolerance

even though vancouver isn't the canadian city with the highest population of immigrated hong kong chinese, it is still known as "van kong" or "hongcouver".

before i launch into this post, these are just my thoughts. i believe the world was once one continent, and that no man is an island. my beliefs. i know very little of what it is like to have my family's life or safety affected by a flood of immigration, and if i did, i would possibly have a very different viewpoint than the one i have now.

many people are unhappy about how the chinese (and other racial groups, but mainly asians, because little italy's and portugals have been established long enough to be cool and they're english speaking...) are now the main residents of some of vancouver's suburbs. (i can hear the brahmins trembling in their shoes...being lumped with and accepting the irish and italians because there is a greater evi!)

major complaints? the numbers of people crammed into a house ruining the neighbourhood, how asians in their 30-40's come to canada, bring their parents over, get them into the local healthcare system, and then head back to hong kong to work, leaving taxpaying canadians to pay for the medicare. chinese speaking schools built with taxpayer money. pregnant hong kong women flying over to canada at 36 weeks, giving birth and therefore giving their child a canadian passport, then heading back to hong kong three days later. people are unhappy about this. i am not a canadian taxpayer, but if i were, chances are i would be unhappy as well.

but should we be unhappy with the asians, or the government that hasn't created approprate laws?

canadian immigrants are the hardest working lot i have seen. they get accused of "stealing all the jobs". lots of people say, "look at the vancouver airport, there's only immigrants working there." oh, okay, do you think the people who are cleaning the toilets and scraping gum off the floors beat out thousands of other applicants, or do you think the have the job because they're the only people who applied for it? according to airport stats, it is the latter.

i am caucausian. by the grace of God i have been born into the cultural and skin group that is highest in most countries hierarchy. the only language i speak is the language everyone currently wants to know. i was born into a country offering free healthcare and no obstacles to success for those who are willing to work hard. my parents won't disappear in the middle of the night, i don't have to worry about government sponsored violence, i can practise the religion i choose.

once when a friend of mine was grousing to my dad about immigration into canada, frugal blake responded, "you're not parents yet, but one day you will be. and you will want your child to have a better life than you had. canadian politicians aren't perfect, but the corruption is nothing compared to what so many of the immigrants encountered, and they can build a better life for their children. if i were in their shoes, i would immigrate as well. thank god i am not."

the canadian government isn't perfect, and a lot could be done to prepare immigrants arriving into canada about what life in canada is like. and patrolling to see if people are taking advantage of the system. without a doubt. something needs to be done, and that is for elected officials to do. yet it is easier and faster to take out frustration on the immigrants, instead of the people who took them into the country. how can people know that queuing is the way of life, that tipping in restaurants is appropriate, that public nosepicking isn't accepted, unless someone tells them? (then there are others who when i make this point say, "but who are we to change them? that's not what canada is all about!" - which is another argument althogether). as for the racial gang violence...that's a huge one....what is the government doing about it?

if charles and i were chinese, we would be trying to come to canada, to give our children a future with options and hope. if we were living here, we would be making sure our elected officials were doing something about the situation.

one of the interesting aspects of this homecoming is seeing canada through lita's eyes.

she has travelled internationally before, canada wasnt her first out of asia experience.

but as we walked through the vancouver international airport, i couldn't help but be annoying and ask her what her first impressions of canada were.

people seem very friendly, she commented. and that initial impression has stayed with her.

whether it was the guy at the car rental place looking at her and telling her she was very brave being a nanny to triplets and a three year old, my gran asking lita to please call her gran, the questions people ask her, the interest in her family's life....people are friendly. (lita @ left. backdrop: gorgeous Lake Okanagan)

i am wondering if it is not more an issue of respect though.

people slag canada off for plenty of reasons (taxation, the fricking cold, price of gas, the over polite-ness (sorry, its true), the habit of defining ourselves by what we aren't, the surly youths spitting and making rude comments on street corners and outside shops, the increasingly dirty cities), but the people here aren't as pre-disposed to judging someone based on the colour of their skin as they are in other countries.

hong kong definitely has a hierarchy. for some reason, white skin is at the top of that hierarchy. i have never really experienced strong prejudice, unless you count the northwest territories preferencial hiring policy, and i can't really.

in the philippines, marietess is a very popular name. there have been times when i have called various hong kong companies (gas, electricity, our management company) and when the stinking automated voice finally puts me on to a person, and my name is asked, upon hearing the "tess", there occasionally is a pause, the voice gets colder and i am asked, "are you a filipina."

and most times i will say, "why does that matter?"

and i never get an answer, they just ask me my last name. can you imagine dealing with that on a daily basis? remember that book BLACK LIKE ME? 

hong kong is very prejudiced against filipinas. from what i have experienced, canada isn't. this respect is new, and very much to lita's liking, i am thinking. going from second class citizen to welcome tourist. what a surprising shock that must be.

she has also made other observations....she cannot get over the huge amounts of pre-packaged food, how canada seems to be a real microwave and packet society. i suppose it is true. the other day she was going to make us spring rolls and nearly expired at the extra foods as my mother's hand disappeared into the freezer section, only to pull out the pre-made version. she took the packet from my mum's hand and returned it to the freezer, and laughing, grabbed the ingredients for the authentic made from scratch version. (lita @ left with sebastian - enjoying the great canadian outdoors)

she also can't believe the sizes of cereal boxes, paper towels, laundry detergent, milk (four litre plastic containers?) yogurt, cleaning materials, vacuum cleaners, ironing boards, washing machines (she is coveting our washing machine and dryer...i know it. so am i). 

it works out the same, she said. in hong kong we have small items to go in small spaces. in canada there are large items for the large houses. ends up, same amount of space.

i suppose that makes sense.

canada is a surplus society.  but it is also a friendly one, and it is great to be back.

too little too L-8

i was flicking through people magazine last night, reading their coverage on the G-8 concerts.

a couple things struck me.

why are the stars who participated in the concerts suddenly being hailed as benevolent humanitarians? giving a day of your life to be photographed schmoozing with fellow stars i don't see as such a big deal. they got press coverage and an improved image (did anyone say mariah carey?) out of their appearance. could even promote their new albums.

when they are requesting plebians like me get involved by donating or contacting our prime minister (because he'll take my call...my red bat phone has a direct connection), can i turn around and ask .... so how much did you donate?

i know the purpose of the concerts were different: this one was directed to get action from the L-8 leaders instead of fundraising for poverty, but still - if they were truly serious in making a difference in the lives of the poverty stricken, you would have thought the dips in their pocketbooks would match the dips in their butt and chest cleavage.

back in the 1980's, i was glued to my television for the live-aid concerts. i watched phil collins open the UK concert, and appear hours later in philly(?) to close the american one. lots of money was raised. but let's not discuss how it was spent.

this time round...i'm kind of interested in knowing how much money the stars donated. personally.

i can hear the defensive cries that i gave to my parents back in 1985 when they asked me the same question.. "but giving their time and talent free of charge will do so much more good than just writing a cheque!"

why don't you ask the starving in africa if they feel the same way, frugal blake retorted.

if celebs cared as passionately as they indicated they did when railing against the injustices of poverty and how forgiveness of debts can give these innocents a chance at life....if each performer donated one million dollars (as well as waiving their concert fee, nice try circa 1985 tess), that would be a strong message that they were committed to fighting poverty. and probably would make a difference.

maybe there were huge celeb donations, and if so, rock on folks. good job.

on another note: WHO and their monkey came up with the figure that 5.5 billion people tuned in to the concerts? seriously? no one in hong kong watched, very few people in canada that i know watched for more than 30 minutes. none of my american friends have mentioned it. where did you pull 5.5 billion out of the air? possibly the entire populations of china, india, the philippines, somalia, ethiopa, the sudan, rwanda and the congo watched? because you know, even though many of them don't have roofs over their heads or food in their bellies, each person has their own flat screen television. if so, excellent...i bet they're thrilled knowing that with all the glitz and glam the concerts provided, their lives won't change at all.

one million years ago bc (before children) there were many floating expressions out there that i had no interest in ever putting into practise. teaching your grandmother to suck eggs is a fine example.

so it is an example of the sinister powers of infants that days after sebastian was born i decided to practise my pucker and kiss a$$.

as with most progressions into things you always swore you would never do but ended up doing, it started off innocently.

after each vigorous scrubbing of sebastian's bow legs and bottom in order to remove that truly appalling meconium stuff (which i truly believe is made of melted tyre), i would decend upon him to get an idea if he was sufficiently cleaned. had been restored to that extremely wonderful, baby scented bald he-child i found so interesting.

that swoop was actually a confirmation for me that i was doing okay at the newborn parenting gig. i hated the pain of breastfeeding, and needed a reassurance that if i couldn't ungrudgingly fill him up, at least i was doing an above average job of cleaning the little man.

poised above that little tushie, it was a slippery slope to move forward one inch and kiss his little bottom. and then next day, both sides. then i added the butt kissing to his removal from bath routine. so fresh smelling, so bouncy so cute. and he didn't mind at all.

one of my harshest memories of the triplets was their lack of bottom. i remember the first time i saw them naked - they all had the crease/crack, but it looked like it had been painted on, because the crack was even with the skin next to it, instead of gently nestled in the slope between the two butt cheeks. seeing that my children couldn't open their eyes, had no nipples and fingernails, and backs furrier than my second year university boyfriend's was tough, but not as startling as the lack of area surrounding crack.

they did eventually acquire bouncy bottoms, and very nice ones i must admit. so it is no problem for me to once again assume my rightful role of bum smoocher. and as a parent who sees on an all too regular basis the appalling mess that comes flying out of those deceptively cute bottoms on an all too regular basis, you would think i would be the last person nosing around there. however, that is not the case.

will i ever put other strange expressions into practise? while i have no desire to put things in my pipe and smoke them, and hope that i will still continue using the lavatory instead of weeing up a rope, parenthood does strange things to people, so let's not put all our eggs into one basket.

take me to tara

well, scarlett o'hara was right, tomorrow is another day.

in a perfect world, there would be no mosquitoes, swimming pools would be warm, babies wouldn't be able to leap into each other pack and plays - and oh yes, the day following a repulsive poor mothering skills day would be delightful. and you wouldn't dream that your magnificent husband told you during a holocaust and you were living anne frank style with 30 other people that he didn't love you anymore and wanted a divorce. i have not reached that world yet, but i am pleased to say that yesterday did end, and i was able to spend the evening reading and being quiet.

very few of my yellowknife friends know that i am here. jennifer, kelly and annemieke know, because they are the gal pal triumverate, but others, who i would love to see, i haven't contacted because i dont know how much time i have to spend with them. and then of course you get the friends who knew you were coming to town (courtesy of me or proud grandparents), and say, "i've been waiting for you to call me!"

but this weekend i will see a lot of them...because this weekend is folk on the rocks, a yellowknife tradition. the 25th anniversary at that. pretty much as it sounds, the majority of the town gathers out by the airport to listen to the best of northern and some canadian musicians, dancers, story tellers, etc. it is a great opportunity for local talent to be recognised and for lesser known canadian acts to be appreciated, in a friendly, happy surrounding. during the days there are events tailored for kiddie pleasure, while the evenings are pretty much adult oriented. you can dance, eat, and swing at the unevitable mosquitoes and black flies all weekend long. i am looking forward to FOTR, it is as much yellowknife as "ragged ass road", skidoos driving down mainstreet (franklin avenue) and parking at the grocery store, the wildcat cafe, bush pilot's monument, the tee-pee shaped kindergarten, dogsledding, and the float planes.

it is a weird day weather wise, and after the babies wake up from their nap, we are going off to the museum. i will take pictures and if charles has a moment and truly cares about us, he will download them for J.I.V's and others viewing approval. but for now i have to take a ride in sebastian's float plane.

time out for mummy

between all the memorable moments, let us not forget there are four seriously overactive children under the age of four in my life right now.

it has been a relentless morning.

i couldn't sleep last night, for some reason the LIGHT was bothering me and the air was heavy and not moving around. and there was a mosquito buzzing around me and because i had got moisturiser in my eye my vision was blaaa and i never succeeded in properly killing him. i think i got one of his legs, or maybe that was one of my eyelashes. where was i.

yes, i awoke and sebastian was spinning around the place. higher than a kite and with an attention span smaller than the space between angelina jolie and brad pitt. the babies were tolerable in their own way, but sebastian kept winding them up, whizzing around them and getting them excited and then confused and then in tears. because i have been told several times by parents i trust that i am too severe (i have also been told this by people i don't trust), i tried gentle talks, i tried removing from the situation, i tried distraction, joky reminders in my sponge bob voice (yes, sebastian hits north america and very quickly learns who sponge bob is), and nothing. so finally, at the end of my tether, i we resorted to tried and proven crack your whip voice combined with a time out. oh, and a threat that he couldn't go with grandad blake to the hardware store (sebastian loves gdad blake!) unless i saw a marked improvement.

but why? he said, in a voice that wasn't challenging, but at the time i was convinced was. it wasn't whinging either, more curious. and dang it, i have to respect a curious mind.

i thought....why indeed? i should be glad to get rid of this blonde rodent for a few hours, even 30 minutes would be divine...

but i came up with, "well sebastian, you aren't obeying mummy, and if you go outside with grandad, i need to be sure that you will obey grandad, because if you don't, then you could get hurt."

this seemed a plausible train of thought for the little man, and he responded, "i listen and be a good boy." i gave him a high five, and then ran upstairs and screamed at my poor frugal father who was hiding away (wise man) playing bridge on his computer upstairs to "please go to the hardware store."

the babies ate a nice lunch (shepards pie, yogurt, currants, grapes) and just as they were finishing the hardware men returned. sebastian had been an angel, apparently. great.

so everyone went upstairs for naptime, one two three babies in their pack and plays, and sebastian sleeping in the closet. did i mention that he is sleeping in the closet? how harry potter can you get?

and the babies kept screaming and screaming. my mum went in there (because i had given myself a time out and had to walk away from all things maternal and was browsing through vanity fair) and said sebastian was up and trying to get the babies to shush and lie down. she got him back into the closet.

(i hear them crying now........ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!)

a few minutes later there is huge crying and my mother goes in there again. teresa...she calls me....

knowing that she used that name means it is serious, so i gallop into the room and what awaits me? sela and carys are in the same pack and play. both are crying. no blood, though.

did sebastian assist sela in getting into carys cot?

i don't think so.

so i put sela back in her cot and stormed out, my footsteps hidden amongst the screams of indignation and anger.

and they are still screaming.

tomorrow will be better, and probably this afternoon will be too...but these next couple of hours i predict, based on my own shortcomings, tiredness and short temper, will be tough.

so

there

we

go...

and now

here

i

go

to

rescue

the

wailing

babeolas.

his best day....ever

monday sebastian had an idyllic, exciting afternoon.

one of the drawing cards of coming to yellowknife for him was the promise of being able to watch the float planes land on great slave lake. monday afternoon i called air tindi, the main float operator, and asked them when there would be a lot of action that afternoon. come by between 4-6 they told me.

i packed a little picnic lunch for sebastian. cheese and ham slices, dried apple slices, orange and a long yogurt. a cup of milk. and a halloween sized box of smarties that i almost ate myself but decided not to.

my little sister mandy drove us down to "old town" and we parked at air tindi. sebastian was very excited, as the parking lot is about 10 feet from where the planes are parked. he raced over to the planes and started asking anyone questions about the planes. they were really patient with him.

i asked a fellow there where we could sit, and he gestured to a set of stairs leading to some rocks overlooking the water behind the main office. we clambered up there and sat down. gave sebastian a warning about walking too close to the rocky edge. he sat down between mandy and i and started rubbing the lichen covered rocks.

we talked about several topics, looked at the houseboats, watched a dog with a tongue so long it appeared to be a third ear sniffing the air jubilantly as its owner operated a little putt-putt of a boat.

sebastian got up and walked around a little bit, announcing that "i will be back in five minutes!". i informed him that would not be the case and he scuttled back to me, carefully navigating the rocks.

one of yellowknife's shortcomings can be the black flies and mossies. but there was a breeze that kept the bugs away and so we just squinted into the sun and watched the water. it was gorgeous, and as sebastian threw rocks into the water, we smiled and were very content.

and then we heard one of the floats start up, and so we raced into optimum viewing area. the plane cruised along the water and sebastian started yelling to it, "goodbye plane, goodbye!" and the pilots saw my little man and waved at him. crack, oh yes, that was my heart breaking.

it taxied for a while along the water, and then revved up, skated along the water, and lifted up.

the sky was blue and we watched the plane curve, then there is that confusing bit where you don't know if it is coming toward you or flying away from you, and then it was smaller, and finally gone. just the blue blue sky again.

sebastian was enchanted.

we witnessed this performance three more times. the sound made by the engine of one of the smaller, noisier planes really hurt his ears (little man!) so he kept close to me when they were taking off. the sun was hot, the bugs were no where near us, the sky was blue, the water was shiny.

we took some great photographs that shows how wonderful the day was. it was one of those afternoons that i wish sebastian could remember always, and probably won't. maybe the photos will help prompt memories of, if not the event, then a remembrance of what he termed, "the best day, ever."

we're going back this afternoon.