A decade without my Mama

Ten years today, that’s how long since I’ve last held my mama.


Every Second of July each year, I mourn all over again. It’s that one day in the year when my mind is elsewhere and my tears are abound.

How did I even manage to go through life without her? And for ten years? I don’t know.

Our mother-daughter relationship was not perfect, that’s not what I am trying to tell you, nor was I the model daugher. Our relationship was normal. We had our fights and our make-ups. We had our moods, bad days and good days, but one thing remained true, she loved me and I loved her back. 

I had a different blog during the time when I lost her and I wrote what had happened on our last day together. I knew that time that one day I’ll forget how she sounded like, so I had to immortalised that day through a blog post. I never want to forget. No matter how painful it was.

And here I am again, sharing it to the world.

Story time.

I was by her side when she passed away, something that I am always grateful for. My mum gave me my holiday travel dates to Manila and she was adamant I must book exactly the dates she’d given. It seemed that she knew she’ll be leaving and she wanted to make sure I am home.

1 JULY 2006

800 am – My dad’s cry for help woke me up. I was sleeping at the next room.  He’s been awake all night with her. She was in agony and so scared all night. Her fight didn’t start that day, it just hit its point of no return.

Panic has set in. She didn’t want to be brought to hospital. She’s scared from our previous ambulance accident the day before.

But against her will, I picked up the phone and rang the hospital. 

I rushed everyone to get ready but my mama. I told her to be calm and that help is on its way.

815 am – Ambulance arrived. A doctor and 2 nurses came in. They didn’t say much, but I knew she’s not doing very good.

The doctor said she is in critical condition, something about only taking 60% of oxygen.

We got into the hospital safely. No accident this time.

830 am Doctors and nurses gathered around her. It was an out of body experience. I was there but I felt I was watching what was happening.

I started to panic. I can’t see my mum with all of them around her. They pulled different machines, tubes, drips. There are about 10 people around her and some are on top of her. Frantic and trying to attach something or finding something.. and then they stopped.

Three nurses walked away and finally, I had a glimpse of her, a very quick glimpse. My legs felt like jelly but my whole body wanted to bust those double doors and just get her out of that table.

There was a tube in her mouth and drips on her arms and thighs. All these things attached to her. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. I saw her eyes. I saw how scared she was. She was trying to find us but she couldn’t turn her head.

Doctors came up to me and my dad, they started asking us questions. how long did she have cancer? what is she eating? what medicines she taking? how many chemo sessions did she had? when was the last chemo? do you have her medical records? where are her xray films?

I zoned out. I let my dad answer everything. I just stared at my mum.

I can still remember the smell of that emergency room. Hospital grade alcohol and something burning.

Events started to look like in slow motion.  Sounds became incoherent to my ears, more like mumbles and groans.  I was there but I wasn’t there. This is not happening.

The main doctor came and saw me, dressed in pink skirt, high-heeled slip on shoes and a very expensive looking bag. No white coat on, no scrubs, nothing. She didn’t look like a doctor but they said she was the best.

She asked us to leave the room for a moment and just like that, the emergency doctors and nurses gathered round her.

I can’t hear anything nor can I read their lips. Some nurses were writing notes, doctors nodding. Some shook their heads and took a deep breath. The others just looked so sad like they knew what’s coming.

Then suddenly *bleep*!! lights were off! The hospital is now in total darkness. Power outage, one guy said. I burst in, through that double doors and yelled at someone, “someone look after my mum! She can’t breathe”. 

“Is she breathing?”

I saw her eyes, she was even more scared. She was moving her feet, telling us that she’s scared.

A nurse started to take the tube off the machine and attached to the “manual” balloon like device. I can hear them counting in unison… 1, 2, 3, 4 pump, 1, 2, 3, 4 pump 

My dad then said something, something that made me smile..

dad: “This reminds me of you when you were born. All of us were outside the delivery room. Your Tatay Caloy was fighting with the power company begging not to turn the power off because your mum was about to have the c-section. You were about to be born”

I smiled because he remembered.

The power is back on! Feeling relieved was an understatement. The nurses put her back in the machine and I saw her calming down. Her body is relaxed. Alive but relaxed.

Ten minutes later, the power was off again, and it seemed that someone has pressed replay. The nurses gathered around my mum and attached her back to the blue balloon and the counting started again.

The power went on, then off, then back on and then off again. 

I wanted to scream at someone.

And by some form of divine intervention, the power stayed on. I went inside the room, held her hand. She squeezed it. I kept on telling her that we are here and to not give up. She nodded, promising. She squeezed my hand again and again.

I told her to be strong, to not give up, to keep on fighting. She replied with tears. She was yes to me but she knew she can’t keep the promise.

The main doctor came back. Her face was serious, so serious that my gaze didn’t leave my mum’s face. I knew she’s going to be taken away. I kept on looking at the breathing machine, the heartbeat monitor, the oxygen rate, her feet, her hands, her face. My dad had to pull me back, away from my thoughts and begged me to listen. The doctor spoke for 20 and I only gathered:

– your mum is in critical condition

– she is not stablelising

– the medicines are not working as much as we expected

– her blood pressure is dropping

“there is a 50-50 chance of survival. very slim. If she survives overnight, I will be surprised”   

So much for compassion. I found myself getting worked up and shouting at the good doctor. I wasn’t my character, but can you blame be if someone says to you they’d be surprised if your mum survives the night?

I apologised to her. She understood. I don’t think I am the first person ever screamed at her.

“we will do everything we can”, she promised.

I believed her. We believed her. I trusted her. 

Relatives started calling and like us they were hopeful. they wanted updates, progress, anything. I didn’t disclose the possibility of a surprised doctor come morning next day. I only told them she’s breathing and she’s being looked after.

1600 pm – 2230 pm

There was no progress, except for a good 2 hours, my mum was stable. I was relieved to know and started hoping that some doctor is indeed going to be surprised.

Head doctor heard the news. She came back and checked on mum.

She was very pleased, but despite the good news, she didn’t let the doctors leave. Somehow, that  made me nervous.

The following hours were all about holding her hands, fixing her hair, talking to her, telling her stories, reminding her to fight.

And all she did was respond to me.

Then she managed to speak, she’s very thirsty and hungry she said. 

Granting her wishes was next to impossible. All I allowed to do was wet her lips with water. I was heartbreaking. She was the best cook and fed us with delicious foods, and here I am just wetting her lips with water.

We were then transferred to her own room.  She was stable and giving good signs. I was hopeful.

Just as we were about to move her, a strong sound started beeping like crazy. 

The head doctor’s name is now being paged throughout the hospital

I started crying.

After 40 minutes of trying to make the sound stop, the main doctor said, “your mum’s vitals are dropping”

they added new medicine tubes, they injected new medicines.

And then we were transferred.

Some doctors and nurses came with us.

We marched like an army. I walked with my mum. I was still holding her hands, even inside the lift I was still holding her hands. 

2230 pm– 0045 pm

We got into her own room. They tried to put things back in order, machines up, medicine lines up, suction up, heartbeat machine up.

We had 5 doctors and 6 nurses in the room. 

I was still holding her hands.

I started asking her questions.
“are you tired now?”
“are you sleepy now?”

her answer?! — continuous nodding.
her eyes were still half open, she was sedated but she refused to sleep.

So I talked to her more. I told her to sleep for a while and that we will be here, we wont leave her side. I told her that she got the best doctors and nurses, I told her that I won’t let go of her hand.

she nodded, kept on nodding

I started crying. She started crying.

I continued to wet her lips with water. I continued my stories.

0045 – 100

I started feeling tired and my mum had fallen asleep.  I told her I am just going outside the room. 

I sat outside the room, in the hallway.

I started eating my very late dinner, when Flor, a family friend, hurried outside to get me. She was crying and in panic, she said “come in quick, your mum is awake”

I came in as quick as I can. I saw from where I was standing that my mum’s eyes were fully open like in shocked. I looked at all the monitors, heartbeat on, oxygen on. She’s was OK.

I woke my dad and my brother and told them that she’s awake.

Her eyes were searching, so we stood up next to her, close enough to see us all. The moment she saw us, she lifted her head and her eyes were saying, “hey, there you are, I am going now, I am sorry”. She also looked like she saw someone familiar, someone she hasn’t seen before and then tears fell down her cheeks. She gazed up the ceiling, her eyes still wide open.

I knew, from that second, that we lost her.

Her vitals soon went down so fast the doctors and nurses couldn’t keep up.

2 July 2016

100 am – 130 am

Her vitals kept on dropping.

She’s not responding to anything I say, to anything we say.

Her body reflected someone who has surrendered. Peacefully.

Her heart was still beating. 

Her breaths were still evident.

The whole room became so cold, so cold I started shivering.

I couldn’t stop crying.
I pulled her hand begging her to squeeze mine.

The doctors told us, “there’s nothing we can do to save her, we can do CPR if she reaches flat line”. 

There was no brain activity.

I looked at her frail body then I looked at my dad.
We agreed to let her go. 

A priest came to bless her.

And then she flat lined. *beeep*

I felt numb, I knelt down and cried hysterically.

Then suddenly her heartbeat went up again.

I stopped crying, looked at her.
She’s not moving. She’s not responding.

150 am

She flat lined again. *beeeeeep*

This time, it was permanent.

She’s gone..

I held her, hugged her, kissed her. I was shaking her so much I wanted her to wake up.

I couldn’t stop shaking. 

She was gone.



Thank you for reading all the way through.

Reading this entry again made me feel sad but at the same time glad that I wrote it. I never want to forget.

I know she’s happy now and pain free.

She was our light. She was our strength.

She is forever and deeply missed.

Thank you again for reading xx


A boy!

We are having another BOY! insert all blue love hearts possible.


We are over the moon excited as you can imagine and I can’t wait to meet this little guy! insert more blue love hearts emoticons here.

I didn’t have a strong preference nor gut feeling, although, I admit I was getting excited to the idea of a baby girl.

Let’s get a little bit serious, shall we? Story time!

At the beginning of the pregnancy, I had mixed emotions on my geneder preference, even if in reality, I would accept a boy or girl.

Having a girl would mean we have one of each. Question is, will they be friends? Will they get along?

Then I get this pang  of sadness, I wish I could ask my mum how I was as a baby, as a toddler, as school age girl, as a teenager.  Alas, my questions will remain unanswered.

I was a goody-two-shoes kind of teen. I aimed to please my parents and didn’t do anything to make them upset. I grew up too quickly and worried about life too early. I aimed to please my mum the most and did everything in my power to make her proud, happy and content. To me, she was my light and everything. I did everything for her, even agreed to moved to a different country to make sure my entire family has got a chance of a better life. All I wanted was for her was to be happy. Always. But what if my potential daughter hates me and be the complete opposite of me?

Then I look at my relationship with my brother. It’s not perfect but we’re there for each other. We will do anything for each other no matter what. But what if I have a boy and girl and they hate each other and don’t ever want to help each other?

Then I started imagining having 2 boys and the same worries hit me. What if they don’t like each other? hate each other?

And then, reality hits, no matter what I am having, I can’t predict the relationship they are  going to have. I can only teach them how to love, tolerate and respect each other.

End of Story time.

I have so many worries just like any parent but I know that we can only guide and teach our children to be in the path we want them to be, have the values we want them to have, create the life we imagined them to live just as much and the rest is all on them. You can’t control everything.

I do have a list of things that I’d like to tackle differently than how my parents did and hope for the best. We all have the ideas of how to be a better parent than our own and pretty sure our children will have the same ideas when it’s their turn. The key word is “better”, means it’s a win win. It’s a positive change.

Some people say we are our parents but in all honesty,  I don’t think we are. We are our own kind of parents. We just know their habits that we grew up with and subconsciously finding ourselves following them. Most are good and some are bad. Changing the bad habits means you care so much that you didn’t want to commit the same “mistakes” as your parents did. Mistakes and how we define them are subjective. Some are clear mistakes, ie, abuse, negligence, etc. And some are “choices” that our parents made that were deemed right for the family at that time. We don’t know how hard parenting is when we’re young. Not me at least.

Parenting in general is really hard. Making sure you’re on the same page as your partner is even harder. It’s no easy feat. And no one is perfect. We can only aim to be good if not better.

End of serious talk.

What a serious post! LOL

So..a penis is growing inside me. For those SATC fans, you know who said this.

I am having a boy and I remain the Queen of my household!

Hope you’re having a lovely Friday! xx

“no I don’t want to”

We’ve established that I live with a Threenager. We’ve also established that the struggle is real and for all of us parents with three year olds, we all know that our patience is the ultimate measuring device on how much wine you can drink far your child can push the boundaries. Often times they are right there on the edge.

My threenager’s mood is deeply affected by his day at daycare or food or the clothes he’s wearing or screen time or time at the park or all of the above (all at once).

The opinions that comes out of his tiny mouth are unbelievably witty, the boy got some things to say.

Recently, a phrase is getting a lot of air time in our household, to a point that a body language (including the lower lip pout) is manifested each time the said phrase is spoken.

“No I Don’t Want to!”

The first few times you find it cute.

Oh look at you Little Mr Defiant. Too cute, but I want you to pack away those toys please.

“No! I don’t want to!”

Oh come on now darling, we need to pack away so we can go to the park.

“No! I don’t want to!”

Come on I’ll help you? 

“No! I don’t want to!”

Do you want to race and see who’s faster in packing away? (I let him win this game all the time, just saying)

“No! I don’t want to”

And then his cool is outta window!

I don’t pack away just because he loses the plot. I wait until he’s done crying and all calm (or almost calm) then ask again what I initially wanted him to do. Sometimes this lasts for 2 hours. True story. But I don’t care, I don’t budge. I also stopped making excuses like “oh he’s just tired” or “he’s a had a bad day” because in reality he’s just being a little turd.

When this happens, the turdness, profanities will start sitting just at the tip of my tongue, but I refuse to get down his shitty level. I am better than this. I am the parent. If I lose my cool then I already lost. Mantra to myself.

Disclaimer: I do lose my cool occasionally,  I am not perfect.

Threats of potential sentence to time out corner are given as a first warning. Then if all fails, I start counting and boy when I count one to five backwards, I mean business and he knows it.

In all honesty, 3 out of 5 times, the little boy will get up and do what was asked of him, happily. I just have to be a broken record. Sometimes he thinks that it’s funny to annoy me, like it’s a game of “how far can I actually push her this time before she starts counting backwards”.

The struggle is real.

And even more when you’re in public. I learned this new phrase from a dear friend, she once told me about Dignity Graveyard. It’s a place where your dignity goes 6 feet under and the very grave is dug by your threenager. The judging eyes of other parents are the dirt that goes in your grave and this can be any public place where parents and children are seen together, like the park or a restaurant or public transport or parents room, the shops, everywhere.

I’ve had my fair share of dignity graveyard and it is not fun while in the moment. However, it’s hilarious after 10 years few days.

I have no real advice because your little turd of a threenager is different than mine. But I’d like to let you know that you are not alone.

Just remember, when all the shitty moods are gone, we are always left with the sweetest little creatures. At least mine is. Hugs and kisses galore and apologises for being a turd. And then tomorrow, we will do it all over again.

For all the single parents, my hat is off to you!!

I am pregnant!

Yes, you read that right, I am pregnant! After a year of trying and failing, it finally happened.


People told me that once we stopped trying then it will happen. I hated that advice with a passion. I never once thought of myself being able to not try, I know too much about my body now and my ovulation, it’s just too hard to switch off, but that’s how this new journey started. We stopped trying.

We decided to stop trying (aka for me to stop obsessing about everything) until we see a Fertility Specialist. It’s been a year and  it was time to see a specialist. I got all my paperworks, first appointment booked and a doctor’s referral. I got it all sorted and we were just waiting for the day.

I cancelled the appointment.

Story Time!

Five days before the appointment, I had a terrible gas pain. For the first time I didn’t associate it as pregnancy symptom, instead, I put it down as something I ate like a normal person would. The day carried on as normal, chasing taming a toddler, cooking, cleaning, complaining about gas pain, toddler in timeout, laundry. It was a public holiday, long weekend.

The following day was different, I still had the gas pain and I can’t seem to relieve myself with all the remedies I can think of to release the bad gas. So I decided to pee on a cheapie stick at 4am in the morning, because why not. If I can’t get rid of the bad gas, I’ll just pee on the stick.

3 minutes passed.

Picture me in the toilet holding up the cheapie pregnancy test, trying to find the best possible light/angle because I swear I can see a second line. I swear!

5 minutes passed.

Picture me in the toilet now wearing my glasses, holding up the cheapie pregnancy test, bending backward and forward, still looking for the best possible angle, because I really see a very faint second line.

Nah, it can’t be. It’s 4am and I am possibly sleep walking.

I threw the cheapie stick in the bin.

I pulled it out.

I wrapped it in toilet paper then threw it in the bin.

I pulled it out again and took it with me to bed, clutching it in my hand.

I then put it in my bedside drawer.

I went back to sleep.

Seven O’clock alarm woke up and he is screaming Mummy. I got up and first thing I checked was my drawer. Did it really happened?

I carefully opened the drawer, cautious that something will just jump at me. I saw the tissue paper, shook my head in disbelief, I opened it, blinked a few times to adjust my eyes, and there I see the second line.

And so I held my pee for 2 hours

I did another cheapie pregnancy test, in secret. The husband mustn’t know.

3 minutes passed.

I see a much darker second line.

Wait, don’t celebrate yet. Don’t even jump. What should I do?

I was confused. I was happy and scared at the same time. I was only 10DPO (days past ovulation). Why am I getting a positive test this early?

I kept the secret for one more day because I was still convinced it’s a false positive.

Sunday, I woke up at 6am with a mission.

I took my only and last digital pregnancy test from my secret stash and headed to the other toilet. Away from the husband.

I didn’t want to mess it up so I peed in a cup.

Dipped the digital test in the cup.

5 LOOOOOOONG Minutes passed

The “hourglass” was still blinking. At that point, I was feeling deflated. It shouldn’t take that long, should it?

I started filming myself and the blinking hourglass. I thought I’d document what’s happening.

And BAM!

Pregnant. 1-2 weeks.

I didn’t know what to do. I was shaking.

I sat down the toilet (lid closed).

I stood up.

Paced a little.

I was still filming. Cut the filming. Looked at the test. Sat down the toilet again.

After an hour, I woke up the husband and presented him the most unhygienic yet most wonderful gift.

End of Story time.

It was a very confusing time. I wanted to be excited but I can’t. I was emotionally cautious. I didn’t want to get hurt again and have my hopes up.

It was not until I had my first scan and saw a pebble looking blob with a strong heartbeat at 6w3d, that I realised I am indeed pregnant.

My son is inlove with the belly and my husband and whole family are just as excited as I am.

I am now 14w and counting and I can’t wait until I meet this baby. I think this time he/she is ready to be part of our family.

If you read the whole post, thank you. High Five!

Hope it’s warm and sunny where you are 🙂

5 Facts that proves my son is mine

Let’s not account any scientific evidence that he’s mine. Let’s just base it on habits, temperament and mannerisms.


Bean fed like clock work when he was a baby. It’s always on the 3hour mark. If you miss it by a second, because you decided to clean your nipple shield first, you’ll be deaf. There’s no in between range of cries. It’s just FEED ME! Or Imma cut you!!

Yup, that’s me. Once I reach a point of hunger, you will know. Errrbody will know. No one is safe.  

Remember that Snickers ad? You’re not you when you’re hungry? That’s my autobiography. 



My son refuses any kind of help when he’s on a mission. He once carried a tub of cars and a box of blocks all by himself, all in one go, sweat and tears. It was painful to watch. He lost it a few times when I tried to help him. Horrible mum for helping. He lost it just by me asking a question if he wanted help. He’s too independent for his own good.

Well this is me too. When I have something in my mind I’d like to do, I do it on my own. I don’t ask for help even if it would be easier to accept help. I find myself telling my son, let mummy help you. When mummy doesn’t let anyone to help her. OMG, this is so deep. LOL.


This is my threenager:

Bean walks to the fridge.

Your drink bottle is in the fridge,  I tell him. MELTDOWN.

Bean leaves the dining table and gets some wet wipes.

Please wipe your hands and face,  I tell him. MELTDOWN.

Bean goes to the bathroom after being on the potty.

Don’t forget to wash your hands!,  I tell him. MELTDOWN.

Now this is me:

Photo Source and Credits: Google Images, SNL Tumblr

“Watch out for the car, slow down now, use your left indicator, oh move lanes now, wait for this guy to turn, go go go now”, my husband instructs me while I drive. DEATH STARE WITH GLARING EYES. I am doing it!

I go clean the kitchen and  wipe the kitchen counter.

Are you going to wipe the dining table?, my husband asks. DEATH STARE WITH GLARING EYES. I am doing it!

Are we getting the point?


I don’t know how I survived when Bean was a newborn. I was probably just grumpy all the time?

But man if you find me or my son asleep on the couch, on the floor or on the table or under the bed, DONT.YOU.DARE Wake us so sudden.Or just don’t you dare wake up us. We will find our way.

Finally my favourite, MEMORY FAIL

Where is my dummy?  I can’t find my dummy. Oh here it is,  I found it in my hand mummy.

Where is my car mummy? Where is my red car? I can’t find my red car. Oh here it is on my lap.

Where is my car key? I can’t find my car key. Oh here it is in my bag.

Where are my eyeglasses? I can’t find my eyeglasses! Oh here it is on my head.

Where is my pen? I can’t find my pen. Oh here it is in my bag (again).

Where is the Apple remote? I can’t find the apple remote? Oh here it is in my jeans pocket.

I mean, I don’t actually know what’s the term for it so I just call it forever baby brain?


The boy is a mini version of me for sure. He is half me. While this post is focused on things that may look like bad temperament, rest assure my son is not an a bad child. I just like to self-deprecate for humour purposes.

I am sure he’s got some of mine and his dad’s good traits. Here’s hoping.

Hope you have a wonderful Easter break!

I’ll speak to you next week!






Parenting Style


Photo Source: Buzzfeed and the Internet. LOL

I don’t know when, but I was asked before about my Parenting Style.

Heeeeeyy. I haven’t seen you here before. Is that your son? OMG,  he’s sooooooooo cute! Are you Asian? OMG, that’s sooo adorable. I love Asian!. Sooooooooooo, what is your parenting style? 

Possibly not a very accurate depiction of what really happened, but you get the picture. A well-meaning (I hope!) stranger asking me a personal question, at a park. As you do.

I find it too personal to be asking about someone’s parenting style. It’s like being asked if I am a folder or scruncher.

Was it a trick question? Who’s listening? Who wants to know?

I answered the well-meaning lady , “A little bit of everything really”. Which is possibly true.

But what the heck? Who answers like that? WHY DID I EVEN ANSWER IT? To be polite. I was raised to be polite. I was probably feeling some form of pressure to break the awkward silence too  and the fear of being kicked out of the park? 

She wasn’t too impressed with my answer. I am not sure because my allegiance to one parenting style is not established? Does she know something I don’t about my parenting style? Maybe because I didn’t ask her back, What about you? What’s your parenting style. 

Maybe I should have just answered, “I refuse to answer on the grounds that I may incriminate myself”

I don’t want to be in a conversation about how parenting should really be, in a public place, with complete strangers, so I chose World Peace. 

Playback my answer: “A little bit of everything really”

Arrggghhh.. CRINGE.

If I were to answer it today, I would say…….

Not that it’s your business, but I follow a very PRAGMATIC approach to parenting. I do what works best for my family.

Yes, I breastfed my child.

Yes, I gave him formula too.

Yes, I did controlled crying when I needed him to understand boundaries.

Yes, I cuddle him a lot. ( I mean A LOT)

Yes, I do time-outs. 

Yes, I praise him a lot.

Yes, I shout at my kid too (I mean, who doesn’t? Introduce me to someone who has not yelled at her/his kid ever, I want to know the secret to perfection too).

Yes, I let my child sleep in his room on his own

Yes, I co-sleep too.

Yes, I give him milk in the middle of the night.

Yes, I nag him about asking for milk in the middle of the night.

Yes, I laugh at my kid


Yes, I display authority (I am the boss most of the time)

Yes, I let him win too. What would you like for snack, banana or apple? This kind of winning.

Yes, I question myself, for the decisions I make.

I mean, parenting is personal. It’s customised to the family’s needs, values, beliefs, etc. I don’t think it’s a topic to discuss with strangers. I personally think there is no right or wrong way. It’s only ” what’s right for your family” way.

The shaming that happens when one parent disagrees with another parent’s parenting style is not something I’d like to get involved with. No one should really shame anyone about their parenting styles. It’s a waste of bloody time.

The Judging bit is inevitable. We’re human. We judge when we don’t understand. I am guilty of this! Once you’re in that same situation, the one you judged, I am pretty sure you will feel like a dick bad for judging at all. I was the perfect parent of a toddler until I had a toddler myself.

Why not discuss each other’s achievements and our little parenting successes instead of shaming and judging other parents’ parenting style.

Why not have an open mind to people’s individual choices and praise each other for job well done.

Why don’t we encourage each other to be happy for our choices?

Discussions with other parents on how you parent should be a healthy discussion and not a debate. No flags of “I am better than you” should be waved. Don’t be a dick.

Everyone is entitled to their opinions. Sure. But it doesn’t mean you need to force it to be the only case of truth (or norm).

We all have one goal, and that is to raise decent human being who will (hopefully) change the world for the better.

Other people’s choices on how they parent their child is theirs to own, and not yours to worry about unless it has a direct effect to your child’s well-being. Save your worries on “real things to be worried about”.

We should be building a community together. We should helping out each other.We should be encouraging each other.

PS, I am a folder! LOL

Hope you the start of the week has been good for you!







Working From Home

My manager is very family oriented. She understands. She’s a mother too. This is why I am happy being a full-time working mummy. My boss understands. I can be with my son when I have/need/want to without feeling bad or getting penalised for it.

Australia is a very family oriented country and so it’s been part of the working lifestyle for most employers to be more understanding when it comes to staff with children.

Another privilege I have with the role I am in, is the ability to work from home when my son is sick.

While it’s a wonderful privilege to have, I feel bad for my son because I maybe home, and yes I am with him, but I can’t really give all my attention to him while I am suppose to be on the clock and doing working.

There’s also the constant need to prove that you’re actually doing work while home. Sending emails, replying to emails, chatting with co-workers about work online and even returning phone calls. It can be stressful.

So where do you draw the line? You want to have the best of both of worlds, but can you really? I guess to some extent.

I guess, we as parents, should decide where to draw the line: when to actually just take the day off to care for your sick child and when to work from home to care for a sick child. We know our kids better and our priorities. There shouldn’t be guilt associated with either of the choice, unless of course the privilege is being misused.

Personally, I am grateful that I am able to do this.  I am grateful to be able to drop everything and be with my son if needed.

Working mummies shouldn’t be shamed as well for working from home. Everything that we do for our family are all decisions made out of love. Love for yourself. Love for your kids. Love for your partner.

At the end of the day, we do what we can for our family


have a great weekend!


xo WCM