What's in a name?

Celebrities nowadays give their children unique/strange names. Non-celebrities follow suit. Take the case of 'Talula Does The Hula From Hawaii'. What kind of name is that? Her parents must be totally bonkers! The worst name ever, in my opinion, is 'Number 16 Bus Shelter'. How would you call him/her? Number? Number 16? Goodness! And get this. The civil registrar allowed it!

So. What name did you give your child? And what is the worst name ever that you have encountered?

Disaster

What is the worst way to die? To plumett thousands of feet in a plane, crashing into the sea or worse, the side of a mountain? Or, what about in a ship in a typhoon at night? The fear is incomprehensible. I suppose with a plane it would be over quickly. And what about an earthquake? I suppose an earthquake depends on where you are. If you are in the countryside, in the fields, you should be relatively safe. But if you are in a large built-up city with tall buildings all around, or you could be inside a building being trapped, perhaps minus a leg or arm, does not sound the best way to go. And then the volcano. Being burnt by pyroclastic flow or molten lava is probaly fast but not nice for the loved ones who have to identify the body.

Taking all the above into consideration - plane crashes, boat disasters, typhoons, earthquakes (predicted [!] and actual) and volcanoes, where do you suppose is one of the most dangerous countries to live?

And you thought Filipinos went overseas for the dollar!

Zak's race

zak's race 1

This is my boy in action! I wanted to add here a thousand exclamation marks not because I think he is the best but because I was so surprised that he showed a competitive spirit in something other than reading or being smart. I never thought he would be so good (his team won) because he is not crazy about football when all his friends are. He plays golf, cricket and table tennis with his daddy and grandad, but only for 5 minutes and beyond that is already 'boring'. He prefers his books over his balls, literally. ;)

This summer school break, I put him down for daily lawn tennis coaching and swimming lessons. I want him to be outside the house engaged in physical activities because I am so fed up with role-playing at home. I'm sick of being Penny Morris all the time, or being the burglar, or Jess the cat. When school closes this week, I'm going to put away all the dressing-up costumes and I'm going to declare that henceforth, ye shall never be a police officer no more, nor a fireman, nor a dog.

He can keep his books but he has to play balls real hard.

Fold a T-shirt in 2 seconds!

If you're like me who is always buried in heaps of clothes that need ironing or folding, then you should try this amazing tip of folding a tshirt in 2 seconds. I tried this and it really works. It saves a lot of time, especially if you're like me who have men in the house who don't even know how to plug the electric iron on.




EXPLAINED HERE.

Comedy in the bathroom

At about 2 this morning, Zak came into our bed crying from a bad dream. Eventually, after a few minutes, he fell asleep again on his daddy's chest. So when K got up to move Zak back to his bed, I staggered into the bathroom, half-asleep, one eye closed, the other half-open. I didn't bother to turn on the light; I cleared the floor from toy-hazards before I slept. As I sat on the the toilet seat with my head lolling about, I could hear K's footsteps coming towards me. I couldn't utter a sound despite the desperate urge to shout BACK OFF!

K stood there right infront of me for maybe half a second trying to engage the gear in his brain to identify the big fat blob on the toilet seat. Half-frightened, half-curious, he covered his eyes with his left hand and extended his right hand to touch my head! This time, my eyes fluttered wide open. What the bloody thing is he doing?! As soon as he felt my hair, he went, HHHRRRRR! and did a quick successive double steps backwards like a frog gone out of balance. Because at that time only about 25% of my brain was awake, I only managed to say HEEYYYYY and he went, OH! I THOUGHT IT WAS THE WASHING!

As I crawled back into bed, I thought, how could the washing be in the toilet? Do I really look like a fat heap of dirty clothes in the dark? But I was too tired to clarify this with him; I just wanted to go back to sleep straight away. And then my body started shaking, from my feet up my hips and shoulders... I just couldn't help it! I started to convulse into a very painful and tired laughter. We were both laughing, almost crying, at the image of him covering his eyes with one hand while the other touching my head as if he was a blind priest scared to bless my soul in the dead of night in my bathroom throne. And those dance steps he did? That totally finished me off.

A day in the city

Metallic work against wood, originally uploaded by Soyy.

In our family it's illegal to use the words 'retail' and 'therapy' and 'day-out' in the same sentence, unless of course it is a declarative statement like this. We also use the word 'illegal' all the time to mean that something is not allowed, i.e., It is illegal to have a family day-out and then pop into a shop to browse at the sale rack. If you're a fly on our wall, you would hear our children saying, 'Mummy overruled Daddy' or 'You're under arrest!' or 'According to section 2, I can watch TV now'. Yes, our family is in law-enforcement. At home, Zak is a police officer who handcuffs anybody who forgets to flush the toilet. And that included the plumber who only went inside to check the pipes. This morning, Lewis shouted 'murder!' when I said the toilet didn't flush.

Anyway, we went for a day-out today. In the city this time. So we went into museums and galleries. The boys inspected the metallic works of 17th century Sheffield. Spoons, forks, vases, candle holders, tables, knives. Knives! Lewis shouted murder! again. There were exhibitions about knitting and the works of Vivienne Westwood. We ate a lot of pizza and ice cream, took hundreds of photos, gazed in wonder at the architecture of the city, waved at all the double-decker buses, pointed at the trams, played at all the water features and went on a real train. If we had the opportunity, we could have asked to go on a police car just to experience what it's like, but of course it's not possible, unless of course we do something illegal, like trying on the t-shirt of Vivienne Westwood that says 'I'm not a terrorist!' that is on display at the museum at the moment.

(Hello MI5. This is a harmless post. Don't worry! )

We went past shops a lot of times and my eyes strained to look at the display. Wow, nice top... Hey, I love those shoes! But no, this is a family day-out, not a retail bleeding therapy! How could anybody with little children claim to have a 'family outing' and yet the only activity involved is buying clothes? The children are being dragged around while mommy tries on knickers that are obviously too small for her arse. Also, how does shopping become therapeutic? Isn't it stressful? The dress you're looking for is size 10, but you're size 18, so how does that make you feel? Your eyes twinkled when you spotted a Louis Vuitton bag but it costs five times more than your monthly mortgage, so why bother?

Children and shopping don't go together. Show them anything aside from clothes on rails and shoes on racks and they get mystified. Take them around galleries and show them the paintings of your local geniuses and they'll realise the possibility for their doodles at home to be on a space on those walls they're looking at. When they get bored, they'll just say they're hungry.

With Zak and Lewis, we just give them ice cream. It's not illegal on a day-out.

more photos here