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updated 30 Mar 2014, 11:27
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Tue, Feb 04, 2014
The Straits Times
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Being a full-time mum can, gasp, be fun
by Tee Hun Ching

There is a question that keeps popping up during our Chinese New Year rounds: How is your son doing in Primary 1?

He hasn't shed a tear and I have yet to hear otherwise from his teachers, so I'd say so far so good. The one who has had problems adjusting to the new school year is, um, me.

I began working part-time about six months ago, when my husband had to travel more frequently for work and we felt one of us should be around for our two kids.

The arrangement has worked well, especially as my boss kindly allowed me to work from home as a copy editor. I can spend more time with my kids without being divorced from the working world.

Up till last year, they were enrolled in a kindergarten within walking distance of my mum's place. So whenever I needed time off to do my own thing, I would leave them with her for the day, sometimes even overnight, knowing that someone will tend to their needs and get them to and from school safely and on time.

But sadly, my idyllic life has come to an end. As my son's new school is a few minutes' drive from my place, we have switched his younger sister to a pre-school nearer our home to cut travelling time. I'm now responsible for ferrying them to and from school, making up to three trips a day, depending on their time-table.

I've had to rework my entire schedule around theirs, but the chauffeuring duties are the easy part. It is meeting their needs, mediating their fights and managing their moods 24/7 that I've found taxing beyond words. Yet I no longer have the luxury of leaving them at my mum's whenever I need a break, as she lives too far away for the additional trips, on top of the school runs, to make sense.

How do those full-time mums do it, I wondered about 200 times a day.

My husband tried to help by drawing up a time-table before school started, to get a routine going for everyone. It backfired spectacularly.

Trying to stick to his schedule nearly gave me an ulcer the first few days. It looked easy enough on paper: 2pm - lunch; 3pm - nap; 5pm - learning/homework; 6pm - play/relaxation; 7.30pm - dinner; 8.30pm - bedtime.

But I was thwarted at nearly every stage. Unused to the long hours at school, my son came home sluggish and sulky, dawdling over lunch and rebelling against taking a nap. By the time he fell asleep, it was close to 5pm. Needless to say, everything went downhill from there.

When he finally went to bed at 10pm, I was ready to keel over in exhaustion.

In comparison, working life seemed a breeze - I felt more in control and the air was less fraught with tension. I've never had to yell to get things done at work.

"I'd rather go back to work full-time," I told my husband peevishly.

After three days, I gave up forcing my son to take a nap, deciding instead to bring his bedtime forward. It worked out pretty well and gave us one thing less to fight about each day.

I was still watching the clock like a hawk, though. Each time he or his sister did something that would put us behind schedule, especially on days when I had to work, I'd snap.

The epiphany came one day last week as we were walking towards our home after parking the car. Strong gusts of wind were playing havoc with scores of fallen leaves on the ground, tossing and whipping them about. "Look, the leaves are playing catching," I told my kids. My son quickly broke free of my hand and began chasing after the leaves, followed promptly by his sister.

I felt a familiar surge of exasperation - I had work to do and lunch was waiting. "Hey, come on," I began. "Mama, come, it's fun," my son responded. The cry "hurry up" died in my throat as I looked at the pair of them squealing and giggling, enjoying a game of tag with nature. So I joined in briefly and we then went home happily. They were right, it was fun.

That day, I realised the problem was me, not them. Unused to being a full-time mum, I was trying to run my home like the office, setting goals and deadlines and expecting instant compliance, if not results. I'd forgotten my charges are only six and three years old, not grown-ups who are paid to do their job.

Yes, they need structure and to learn self discipline, but I was cracking the whip too hard, too often. I've since trashed the time-table and kept to a more fluid schedule that leaves room for some monkeying around.

If they are allowed to indulge their curiosity sometimes, within limits, I'm more assured of winning their cooperation.

By letting go of the reins slightly, I've rediscovered a sense of awe and fun through them. Yes, lunch is ready, but a dead lizard deserves at least a good five minutes of attention and discussion. And homework can wait for a bit, after my son is done clomping around in Papa's shoes just to know what it feels like.

I knew I was a changed mum when I burst out laughing at his antics one night instead of blasting him for wasting time as usual.

I'd asked him to pull his chair in at the dinner table so he wouldn't drop food all over himself or the floor, a simple request. He then began a protracted battle with a phantom foe, who was obviously hindering him from complying right away. Pulling various faces, my son kept up a heated dialogue and fought valiantly before finally prevailing over the imaginary enemy.

Happy with the reception of his performance, he proceeded to finish up his meal quickly.

I confess I still chafe at the seemingly endless childcare duties. But as most stay-at-home mums will tell you, the rewards can be surprisingly sweet.

I love how my children's faces light up when they spot me among the crowd where I'm waiting, always, to pick them up after school. I love how they clutch my hand, rattling off the things and people that have coloured their day as we head home. And mostly, I love being so clued in on their lives, from knowing exactly how a bruise came about to befriending the mums of their pals in school.

American cultural critic Catherine M. Wallace once said: "If you don't listen eagerly to the little stuff when your children are little, they won't tell you the big stuff when they are big, because to them, all of it has always been big stuff."

I do miss the dynamism of office life and the companionable lunches, but I know I will miss these gossamer days even more sorely when my kids outgrow their need for me. Hopefully, when they grow up, they will let me in on the "big stuff" as well.


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