Weekend

C screamed and sobbed. It was more than an hour now. Before this, she was happy, doing word play in the bath. “Mama?”, she would call from her tub. “Ya?”, I would reply looking in.
“Papaya,” she said, “Papaya. Mamaya.”
So incredibly cute.

We ruled out hunger, obvious physical discomfort and fever. B took her for a walk. I could hear her screams floating up to our flat. A came out from the bedroom just in time to hear the screaming. “Can you hear Mei Mei?” I asked. “She’s crying.” He looked concerned, “I want Daddy”.
“Daddy’s with Mei Mei for a walk. Mei Mei is upset. Why is Mei Mei upset?”
“I want Daddy.”

I carried A – his shoes were in the car – and we went down for a walk. I tried not to heave but he’s getting heavy. Her distressed wail floated by. It seem from everywhere and nowhere. We found them finally. She was sobbing so hard, she got sleepy from the effort. A wore a look of distress. “Daddy carry A.” We went over to pat her back to distract him.

At home, all of us sat on my bed while she cried. What is it? We never did find out. It could be teeth because when I asked if her mouth hurts. She cried harder sitting on my lap. A came in, hobbling with a toy racket. “Old man,” he declared of himself. She laughed. We fussed over A who got his sister to stop crying.

I took a nap. In the living room, the kids shriek and laugh. B was making rules for a new game.

Later, I woke up to cover a red velvet cake box cake with frosting. Now it’s not the time to bake from scratch. The timing tests out there that says it’s not much quicker. They forgot skill. Not everybody can knock one up.

Curiously

I have no interest to learn about arts or literature after discovering that there are hundreds of high quality university level courses online. I seem to want to work with outwardly practical and useful material things like maths and science – chemistry in particular – and Buddhism.

I worry over this temporary loss in engaging with beauty.

Writing spaces

Just like I love the idea of having written more than the writing, I love the idea of having a writing room. When I was single, a writing room will include a long bench which has a laptop, some music machine, a day bed for naps and a shelve for books. These days, I think a small one, just enough for a desk, a chair and a small bookshelf sounds great. To have one is impractical for me – I would probably spend more time reassuring little A. that I am not abandoning him, and if I do ever get away, I would be looking up at the baby monitor every 5 seconds.

Apartment Therapy has this collection of sheds and the guardian has this collection of writers’ rooms

Lately, I have been playing with DIY skin care. I have a standard recipe for a B5/Hyaluronic acid, B3 toner, and a Vit C serum. I would like a bench with a stainless steel top for my DIY serums/toners/etc

I think I just like space.

Making new friends

Before I posted an ad seeking a writing buddy, I went through SG CL, strictly platonic ads. Most make me want to ask them over to my house to feed them a bit of bread and some simple pasta.

Like this girl who has a free bottle of champagne. It is her birthday and she is alone. Or this guy who feels that he lacks good conversation. Or this person who seeks a break from routine. I feel sorry for them – I have felt the same way at times. While such feelings are not unpleasant, it is much nicer to feel that one belongs.

Update: I did post that ad. The replies I seem to attract from are illiterates. Bleah.

On work

p.s: You can’t tell from the scan that this is a Rhodia pad in 90gsm ivory paper. It seems a waste to use this on the typewriter. Perhaps my next post shall be handwritten.