Anthony

Both E and M have an Anthony in their respective classes this year. And for some reason, the name appears to be hard for children to pronounce. I only realised this after some checking, because for the longest time the girls were telling me about a child in their class, and called them by funny sounding names, and I chalked it up to modern newfangled naming practices. For months, E would tell me about a nice boy in her class that she played with sometimes called Infanny (In-fe-ni). I thought that was a really weird name for a boy, but wondered if it was some sort of obscure Catholic saint. Then one day months later, it occured to me to ask her how Infanny's name was spelled, and she said A N T H... and I was all WTF. Her attempt at pronouncing his name just blew my mind. But I thought it was maybe an E thing.

Then one day I was walking M into her classroom of other 2 to 3 year olds, when she saw a classmate and got really excited. She kept saying Effie! Effie! In a very happy tone, Not really thinking much about it but also not quite believing M, I said to the boy, who was also with his Mom, Hi Effie, if that is even your name. And the Mom said Hi back on behalf of the boy, and clarified his name was Anthony. And I was left thinking, WTF, again???

Anyway next week is Spring Break, and we will be going to New Orleans for a holiday. It's the first time Jon has been back since he graduated, and it will be my first time visiting. New Orleans was always one of the places I wanted to visit when I first moved to the US, and somehow because of time and money, never got around to visiting. Of course it will be a very different experience visiting with kids versus before I had kids (not that I was a big drinker and partier before, but at least my bedtime wasn't 10pm), but it should be enjoyable nonetheless. And in a funny stroke of coincidence, we will also visit Jon's friend, Anthony, who moved back there to work after a spell doing his training in NYC. I wonder if the girls will attempt to pronounce Uncle Anthony's name, or just not call his name at all. Either way, it will be nice to see him and his husband, Jacob. The last time I saw them was right before I left NYC to go back to Singapore in preparation for E's birth in 2019, so it has been several years. Between COVID and kids, time has really passed quickly.

Passing

Yeh Yeh passed away yesterday. 

I had spoken to my parents in the morning and they mentioned that he was unwell, and my Dad was going to bring him to the doctor's the next day. When at 2:47 and 2:48pm, (am, Singapore time) I saw two missed calls from my mother, I immediately knew what happened. Phone calls at unexpected times are also how I heard Suze and Artie, my old neighbours from Sarawood, passed away (at two different times). There's something about seeing that missed call, or an incoming call from someone you don't normally chat to on the phone to know that Someone Has Passed.

Anyway what was particularly shitty about the timing was that I was overcome with sadness and crying, and I still had to hustle M out of the house to pick E up. I was hoping nothing showed on my face because I didn't want to talk about it with my Mom friends. And if they saw anything, they didn't mention it. I probably looked tired as usual, since it wasn't like I had a lot of time to cry anyway before heading out (received news at 2:52pm, left house by 3:10pm).

The grief of losing an older person is very bittersweet and mixed. Unlike a younger person, older people have led long lives, and are usually sick or ailing by the time they pass. When they finally leave, it's a small blessing because you know that they are no long suffering in their mortal bodies. And my grandfather has been very vocal about how miserable he has been ever since his accident that left him partially paralysed and unable to walk in 2021. I was pregnant with M at the time and Covid was still a fearsome spectre. Since the accident, I managed to fly back to Singapore twice for several months with Jon and the girls, as we at least got to see him then.

In one memorable incident, we had come back late, and found ourselves locked out of the house. Usually the front door would be open, because their house also had a front gate. This time we were locked out however, and had no key. We stood outside trying to get Rosie, their domestic helper's, attention, but it seemed she went to sleep early that night. Then we slid the front glass doors open and tried to get E, who was maybe 3 at the time, to open the door. She was small enough to fit through the grilles, but too small to be brave enough to do it in a dark house. In the end we got into the car and drove to my parent's place to get a set of keys from them. 

When we got into the house, Yeh Yeh called out and scolded us, lol. He said he could hear the ruckus we were making, but couldn't do anything but lie there in his room. He said we were stupid and that there was always a set of extra house keys in the car (we didn't know). Also why didn't we take the keys? Lol. I hadn't been scolded by him like that in a long time, and I guess it was the last time he scolded me. Jon says that's his greatest memory of Yeh Yeh, because Yeh Yeh never really did many distinctive things anyway. He was always sort of just... there. 

As his grandchild, I never had to deal with the bullshit and trauma that came from his wife and children in their respective relationships with him. As not-a-big-troublemaker, I was also spared any ignoring or outbursts that his other grandchildren has to deal with. It goes without saying that out of the 4 grandkids, Ryan was his favourite, and I guess by sheer elimination that makes me the next favourite. In essence I am probably one of the family members that had the least complicated feelings about him, while still spending a substantial amount of time with him as a child. 

I am sad and will think of him.

The Trial of the Pears

On the last day of January, a Friday, E suddenly fell sick with a fever in school. I was with M at a check up at the pediatrician's office, and so had to delay picking her up for a while, and felt pretty stressed and bad about that. Anyway we stayed home that weekend, and on Saturday evening M started to feel warm and show symptoms too. On Monday I kept E home just in case, and by late afternoon she was down with a fever again. By Tuesday Jon was starting to feel sick, and by Thursday I was definitely 100% sick and feeling shitty. As an adult however, I still had things to do. That Thursday schools were closed too, because of a snow/ice storm, but I had to send out a stack of time sensitive registered mails for our renovation permit. So for the first time in a long while, I wore a face mask and went to the post office, and then got groceries after.

That week sucked. The kids basically missed school all week. Although they were sick, they largely seemed unaffected by it, because they were as hyper as usual. For the adults however, we were wiped. Then because my brother-in-law and his family from Florida were visiting, we met up with them at The Buffet with my parent-in-laws. I don't know if it was the food I consumed even though I was still feeling unwell, but that incident triggered horrible GERD symptoms in me. For that night and the rest of the week, I'd wake up in the middle of the night and be unable to fall asleep for hours, and I didn't even know what the problem was until days later when I was basically about to have a breakdown from lack of sleep. I don't know how I made it through that week except through lots of prayer and willpower.

Anyway it's been a month, but my stomach is still messed up. Usually I take my stomach medicine once a day, but now I have been taking it twice a day. The last time I tried to test the waters last week, I was again punished by a middle-of-the-night wake up for hours until the medicine kicked in. My craving for flavourful food has gone down the drain, and so mild wraps are now my desired lunchtime food. Even the thought of a chicken/tuna mayonnaise sandwich seems too 'tasty' for me. It's like I'm pregnant again, except there is no baby as a promised reward this time (not that I want another baby, I am barely coping with two).

Amidst all this fun stuff, was the weather, and our fridge breaking down, and the fact that I had volunteered to bring pears to church for fruit baskets. The church we attend has the Sunday School kids bringing in different types of fruit to make fruit baskets for homebound parishioners on special occasions. The last time was for Christmas/Advent, and this time was for Valentine's Day. The usual fruits that you can sign up to bring are oranges, apples, bananas, and pears - and almost always no one wants to bring pears. Per pound, pears are usually the most expensive and they also have the shortest shelf life. So because we signed up late (We weren't going to go that week because we were going to meet with in-laws, as mentioned earlier), and only because an email was sent out mid-week asking for people to contribute. So, like a sucker for a plea, I agreed to bring 2x bags of pears (for 2x kids).

Then of course all hell broke loose later that week with the adults falling sick. So even feeling like shit on that Thursday, when I had to go to the post office, I went and purchased $18 of pears at the grocery store, because I was feeling too sick to go to another, cheaper, grocery store (and the weather was also bad). Then Friday morning rolls around, and it turns out another winter storm is predicted for late Saturday night/Sunday morning, so they have decided TO POSTPONE THE FRUIT BASKET MAKING TO THE FOLLOWING WEEK. So now I had 16 pears, and I knew we weren't going to finish 16 pears, and those pears were not going to last the week. 

I drove around with the pears in the car that day (7th Feb), thinking of what to do with the pears. I even thought about offering them to random parents at E's school pick up, but I thought that was too weird even for me. Instead when I went to Kumon, I offered them to Miss Debbie, E's teacher. Turns out Miss Debbie likes pears, and so I give her 6. Then as a joke to one of the kids sitting next to E, I offer him pears. Then it strikes me that his dad, who I have been friendly with, and spoken to a few times, is probably waiting in his car in the parking lot, so I go out to look for him and offer him 6 pears too, and he happily accepts them. Although I am happy that the pears did not go to waste, I am annoyed that I had to pay through the nose for the pears, and still have to repurchase them next week.

Then Saturday night, the fridge starts making loud noises. We can't tell what's wrong with it. Sunday morning Jon thinks the freezer is not working, because things are starting to melt. It is still cold out and in the house, so it's hard to tell what is happening - we think maybe the refrigerator is just not cooling very well, but that it still 80% works. Monday I am so out of it and exhausted because I haven't slept, and the fridge still seems cool. I am preoccupied with trying to stay alive, cook, do chores, and bring E to her Girl Scouts meeting while watching M in the library. I feel like death.

Tuesday I start to wonder if the fridge is really kaput, and I open the freezer and everything has thawed. There is blood from meat everywhere, and it has mixed with melted ice cream. I see it and want to throw up. I am so exhausted, sick, and miserable, I almost have a breakdown, except maybe I am too tired to even lose it. Jon orders a small fridge from Amazon, scheduled to arrive on Wednesday. For 24h the reality hits that we have no fridge, and I don't know to provide and take care of my family and I still feel physically like death. M keeps trying to eat cheese from the broken fridge. I think Jon bought take out that night, I don't remember. 

Wednesday comes and I still feel physically wretched. My stomach is so messed up I can't even nap, or if I do it's a very light sleep for only 10 minutes at a go. I feel like collapsing. Just before I leave to pick E up, the fridge comes. It's a decent size, a little bigger than a mini fridge. It's about the same size as the fridge I had in my dormitory room when I was in Teacher's College. When E is at her gymnastics class, I drag my sorry ass over to the nearby Shoprite to buy some things for dinner, like a rotisserie chicken, and some basic supplies like milk. I also decide to repurchase the pears, because I felt so sick I didn't know if I would be able to make another trip to a grocery store before Sunday. I viciously decide to pick smaller sized pears this time, and pack only 7 per bag instead of 8 like I did last week. The bill is still probably $15 or some absurd figure - why are pears so goddamn expensive???

This of course, brings rise to another problem, where do I store the pears? If I keep them inside the house, they will ripen quickly and spoil. I can't put them in the fridge either, because we simply have no space. Every time we need to put anything into the fridge, it's like a mini Tetris game. So, I tie the pears up in a reusable bag, and leave them outside by our back door. It's where I also put some cans of seltzer, because there is no space for them in the fridge either. It being February, the weather is of course still nuts. One day it snows and turns into rain, and the other it drops way below freezing. Two of the seltzer cans swell until it looks like they are about to explode. But I still have no place to put the pears and so I leave them outside, and every time I wonder what is happening to them with the crazy temperatures they are subject to, I am filled with grim resentment. I resent these fucking pears and I hope they suffer from the vagaries of the weather. I only agreed to purchase and bring them to church, I didn't promise to take care of the pears in the interim. I notice the bag also moves around a little, but I didn't think much of it. 

Somewhere around Thursday I realise that  I am probably suffering from bad GERD. I have been having heartburn, which is why I wake up wide awake at 2am and then am unable to fall asleep until hours later. I end up take my GERD medication twice a day, and I am able to sleep again. While I have been suffering from GERD, my other cold symptoms have completely disappeared. Jon on the other hand, has still gotten bad lingering symptoms and is exhausted too. I don't remember what happens that Saturday night, but when we wake up on Sunday I know we are not going to church that day, but I still need to deliver the pears. E wakes up around 10am, and Jon goes to take a nap around that time. Around 10:50am after dragging my feet all morning I finally go to get ready just so I could drop the pears off at church after service. Before leaving I retrieve the bag from the back door, and to my (slight) dismay, I realise there are small chew marks on two of the pears. The squirrels must have somehow wriggled their faces in and given the two of the pears little teeth scrapes. Whatever, not my problem.

I drive over to church, and I am still grumpy as hell. I bring the fruits to the parlor, where the fruit basket assembly is to take place, running into various people. I tell them about the ordeal I had with the pears, and they are all sympathetic about the broken fridge and having to throw food out. Even though I am still resentful and annoyed about the pears, my mood does shift a little as I start to interact with friends. Then as I am hanging around, Julie appears, and while racing around like a madwoman she asks if I have time to help pack the fruit baskets. Considering that this is the rare time I don't have kids to take care of at church, I grudgingly agree, and so then I find myself helping with the fruit baskets. I team up with N, Julie's son to pack the bags together, and it is fun guiding him to pack 2 bananas and etc. in each paper bag (not a literal basket). I am less pissed about the pears, but I have fulfilled my promise, and I know the pears will be appreciated by their recipients.

It's been almost one and a half weeks since this nonsense wrapped up, and even now as I recall the whole ordeal of the pears, I am still irritated. It's just one of those ridiculous things in life when the shit hits the fan all at the same time, and it's so absurdly mundane yet aggravating. So anyway, fuck pears.