Loose Tooth

Possibly the last photo of his full milk-toothy grin

The moment when a parent realises their child is officially no longer a baby, or even a toddler, is when the first milk tooth begins to wiggle. Usually, this happens around age 5 or 6, just about the time the child enters "big" school.

Little A's milk teeth came in late, with the lower two making an appearance just in time for his first birthday. So I expected he wouldn't lose them as early as other kids, either.

As the "first in, first out" policy seems to apply here, I wasn't surprised when, a week or so ago, Little A showed me his tooth, which had just started to wiggle. I explained that it would get looser and looser and eventually fall out, and then a new tooth would grow. I also told him that other teeth would get loose as well.

Finally, I ordered a book online, which was reviewed as being an excellent resource for parents, particularly those with ASD kids. I hope it turns out as good as the reviews claim, as it will be regularly read from here on in! 

A Year of Slow Reading

A few years ago, I joined a book club. Prior to that I'd just been reading, what I wanted and when I wanted. But these book clubbers are serious readers, who note the titles they read in a year, make extensive lists and, in some cases, write detailed reviews that only serve to increase the number of books one wants to read.

I am nothing if not conscientious, so I dutifully started recording my reads. For the two consecutive years I attended the Christmas parties, it turns out I read the most books among the group.

Starting last December, though, my reading pace has slowed drastically as my workload has increased. Since this year has begun, I've barely finished one book, whereas I normally average ten to fifteen a month.

No matter the pace, it's the quality that matters. For the past couple of years I've resolved to read more books by local authors, and this year that looks to be on track, as the first quarter's book discussions and read-along all feature Filipino authored works.

This year, I also resolve to read less of the self-published free books that have mostly turned out disappointing. If I can somehow narrow down my to-be-read pile from the 50 books it's hovered at for the past couple of years down to about two dozen, that would be amazing.

So, on to page turning then.

Matilda Moments

We started the new year with a trip to the mountains, Little A's home away from home. There is a set routine when we are there, places we always visit, activities we do together. One of these is a visit to the public park. There are boats on a man-made mini lake, bicycles for rent, and a large playground.

In the city Little A has few chances to visit parks, as he has a full day at school five days a week. In addition, the weather is usually far too humid. But when we are in the north, he enjoys romping on the climbing frames.

This time, he watched other boys crossing the monkey bars several times, but knew he didn't have the upper body strength to do the same. So he found another way, all on his own. He boosted himself up on his tummy, and moved across the bars from above all the while being careful not to fall through. Once successful, he was very keen to repeat this feat.

Another new thing that happened this trip was that Little A was brave enough to ride a horse. Twice, even. This was something that happened gradually, over several trips. First he would watch them, then pet them, and finally sit on one. Last visit he wasn't ready for the horse to walk, but this time he bounced up and down in the saddle to urge it forward. His first ride, the guide rode behind him and they did a full hour of walking, trotting, and a short trail ride. The second ride was in a gentle circle, and this time he was on his own as the guide led the horse.

Finally, Little A spent a lot of time revisiting his favourite places on the grounds of the country club we stay at every time we are up north. There is an aviary with peacocks, pheasants and various other birds, two reindeer couples in a pen, and a hutch of rabbits next to the strawberry field. We are all quite sad to go back to the city, but needs must, and responsibilities call. This only makes looking forward to our next mountain trip all the sweeter.

Take a Bow

This year, his first at the new school, Little A's Christmas program fell on a Saturday morning. His previous school would hold end of term plays and such on weekdays, which made it difficult for parents who worked regular day jobs to attend, Big A among them.

Thankfully, this school holds these events on Saturday mornings, and as it marked their first Christmas, this first show was quite special.

Similarly to all school shows, each class "performed" to the tune of a Christmas song. Little A usually stands and sways, watching the audience all the while, despite doing all the actions properly when practiced beforehand.

This time, a first in over a year and a half, he did not go ballistic with the applause, something that amazed all of us who knew how upset he would get over the sound of a handclap since March, 2012.

Not only did he not get upset, he was perfectly calm and kept his Santa hat on for the entire song number and bowed at the end of it. True, the "stage" platform had been in its place in the school's media centre since Halloween, and they had been practicing on it daily, but he had not been confronted with a crowd of eager parents for a while, all of them clapping.

We were very proud. After the show was over, Little A bounced back onto the stage, and bowed again and again, as if to tell us that he, too, recognised his achievement. Here's to more applause, with no more anger or tears!

Happy Christmas, all. 

Graffiti

All children write on walls. Or at least they try to. When we were young, ink pads and rubber stamps were strictly forbidden inside our house. Back then, in this Third World Country, there was no such thing as washable ink so any marks made remained, indelible.

These days, thankfully, children's art supplies mostly come off with a little water and soap, though sometimes elbow grease is still required.

Little A prefers spelling to drawing, and has little patience colouring, painting and doing crafts. He likes spilling paint on the floor, or trying to paint on the walls, specifically the location underneath our apartment's only "proper" artwork, a large abstract that runs the length of a wall next to our dining table. If not for the glass covering the painting, he no doubt would have made his own additions to it long ago.

Recently though, he decided to write on the wall. His first graffiti is still there, and will likely not come down until we repaint or move away, and heaven knows when either of those possibilities might happen.

Little A's choice of drawing is his current favourite, the Pixar lamp. He has watched all the permutations of this video on youTube, and, finally, has tried to recreate it on his own, complete with tag line from the video he likes best.

At school, he currently has an hour a week with an art teacher who specialises teaching individuals with needs. Right now they're just working on colouring larger areas within the lines, but soon, hopefully, Little A will be creating more of his own works of art. 

Pure Imagination

Forbidden from leaping tall buildings, Superboy contents himself with watching over his little city.

From about ages two to four, most little girls live in their Disney princess costumes. I've seen it countless times over the past two decades, beginning with my now 18 year old niece. She even had Disney names for all of the members of my family. She was Cinderella, my mum was Fairy Godmother, my dad Prince Charming, her mum was Snow White, my other sister was Sleeping Beauty, and I, possibly because I always had a book in my hands, was Belle.

My other nieces, goddaughters and Little A's classmates all went through the same phase. Boys, though, not so much. Yes, there was the occasional classmate who came to school in Spiderman pajamas, but this was an exception rather than the norm.

Little A was never one for costumes. Lately though, he has been insisting on wearing swim trunks around the house and sometimes to bed. Perhaps because they are comfortable, perhaps because he knows he can jump into the pool at any time, or perhaps this is simply his version of perpetually wearing a Princess costume.

Since he refuses to wear a shirt with his swim trunks (and I can see the logic, because one does not swim in a t-shirt, after all), we've convinced him to wear his swim towels, which are designed like ponchos. He agrees to this, as they do go together.

Now if only I could get him to wear "real" costumes as easily.

London Life

For 20 years, my parents co-owned a flat just off Sloane Square in London. As a boarding school student, I would spend half term breaks here, and when I was at university, my sister, best friend and I spent alternate summers using the flat as home base and visiting different cities in Western Europe.

It was very sad news when my parents decided to sell their share to my British foster father, but good to know it is still "in the family," so to speak, and may be available for use if a visit coincides with there being no tenant in residence.

Since then, my parents have been staying in the area still on their UK visits, since Sloane Square is very much our home on that side of the world. This trip, I walked by the old flat nostalgically and was glad to see that, like the rest of London over the past 12 years, much had remained the same, although there were very obvious things that had changed.

I mourned the absence of post offices and high street bookshops, which appeared to have been replaced by ubiquitous Patisserie Valeries. Even the book department at Selfridges, once a little piece of heaven on earth for me, was shrunken and modernised and now utterly bereft of charm. The Puffin bookshop at Covent Garden had gone altogther, though its neighbours remained the same.

For the first time in my memory, there were empty shopfronts in central London commercial areas, and very few supermarkets left on the high street, but Marks & Spencer food shops now appeared adjacent to nearly every large Tube station.

The best change was that the former military barracks on the King's Road, which we would walk past daily, had become a set of shops, cafes, and home to the Saatchi Gallery. It was at a lovely restaurant next to this gallery that I caught up with friends I had not seen in 21 years.

At home, Big A came down with the flu midway through the week, but Little A managed wonderfully in my absence, since my dad took him out trick or treating or just to swim at their house. We would chat via Facetime, or rather, I would watch as Little A ran around and jumped around.

In eight days, I managed to squeeze in six theatre performances. The new shows did not have the magic of the old ones, but it was wonderful to see the talent and the full audiences at every one.

All in all, an amazing break for me. I look forward to the next visit, whether it be five, ten, or another twelve years from now. And perhaps one day Big A, Little A and I can visit this wonderful city together.