I’m afraid that I am broken.

I spent much of Friday in dark thoughts and sobbing with my crying baby, who just could not stay asleep, no matter what I did. In the end, I cuddled him and he slept on my chest for two hours.

And then I headed over to the in-laws’ for dinner and all it took was thoughtless and insensitive words spoken and the waterworks begun all over again. I hid in the bathroom as tears rolled down my cheeks. I needed help and I texted the first person I could think of: my godsister.

When I came home, I headed straight for the bathroom and continued sobbing.

Something’s clearly broken inside me and I need to put myself back together again.

I’m afraid that like Humpty Dumpty, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put me together again.

But I will be fine.

This, too, shall pass.

The last time I sat behind the wheel, I scratched my father-in-law’s car.

I had gotten my driver’s license back in 2007 but didn’t drive much because I didn’t have a car. And really, you don’t want to test your newly acquired driving skills on the car of your then-boyfriend’s father.

But when we got married, my in-laws were very kind and insisted that I practise my driving so from time to time, I would take over the wheel and prowl the roads, with husband sitting next to me. Unfortunately, my lack of spatial skills meant that I was terrible at parking and in carparks. And while driving up the multi-storey carpark at our estate, I scratched the side of the car along the wall.

And since then, I have had a phobia of driving.

It’s just so much easier to not drive. We bought a flat near the bus interchange and MRT station so that we wouldn’t have to buy a car. Plus, when you are married to someone who can drive with one hand and one foot and his eyes closed, it’s far simpler to let him take over the driving duties.

But with the impending arrival of the nugget, we have had to get our own set of wheels so that we can ferry the bubs to my mother’s place when I return to work after my maternity leave. And since I am the one who gets to have free parking in school and leave work on time, I would naturally be the chauffeur.

Which means I have to get used to driving. EVENTUALLY.

So the car was purchased just last week and I decided to christen it Zeus today. And clearly, the Greek God wasn’t pleased that I was using his name on our sleek chariot.

Because I dented our new old car. TODAY.

I was on half day leave today and wanted to head over to the Squirts’ and my mom’s after work. It made sense to drive and I talked myself into getting behind the wheel for the first time in three years. And it went well! I drove to school, parked and heaved a sigh of relief.

That sense of relief continued when I got myself and the car in one piece to the Squirts’. And thereafter, I drove to my mother’s place successfully. The technique of driving was coming back to me and I was getting used to handling the car. All in all, I was feeling mightily pleased with myself when I drove into the freaking carpark opposite my mama’s block.

I made my way gingerly up the slopes of the multi-storey carpark (DO I SENSE A PATTERN?!) and was contemplating parking on the second floor instead of the fourth, which was linked directly to her flat. But I decided that it was a good opportunity to practice my navigation skills since there weren’t many cars around. As I was carefully preparing to go up the penultimate slope that would take me up to the fourth floor, an Indian worker carrying a water hose suddenly appeared in my direct path.

WTF!!
I was stunned.
And my hands froze and stopped turning the wheel.
And the car lurched heavily into the wall.

The fellow actually stared me down for a good five seconds before moving out of my way. I slowly reversed and turned the car into the correct angle to go up the slope while my heart was pounding and my brains were going OHSHITOHSHITOHSHIT. I managed to get to the correct deck and parked – albeit sloppily – and got out to survey the damage.

There it was: a dent in the bumper.

It doesn’t appear to be anything major, the car was fine (save for that dent) and so was I. But I was so miserable at ruining our car on my first drive out. I felt like such a BLOODY FAILURE.

Husband was very nice about it: he waved away my offers to pay for the damage out of my own pocket and even gave me loads of consoling hugs and kisses. And the gang was sweet about it when I texted them – they didn’t laugh at me and told me it was okay was long as I was okay.

But I couldn’t help recounting every moment of that crash, right down to the sickening crunch of metal against concrete, the entire night. I kept thinking to myself, if only I had stopped and parked on the second floor, dammit.

Ah, hindsight.

I had on Jem’s Just A Ride on repeat mode the entire day; I kept telling myself it’s just a car ride and nothing to be scared of

My mind snapped to wakefulness this morning at 5am.I don’t know why, it just happened. I tossed and turned and tried to go back to sleep but I couldn’t.
My body was aching and creaking in all sorts of ways from the activities of the past two days.
My left hip was sore, my lower back was grumpy, my feet were tired.
The little bubble in my belly flipped around a couple of times, as if to say, morning mama!
In the end, I got out of bed at 615am and decided to make breakfast.
French toast, it was decided on the spur of the moment.

I came to work and was excited about my tutorial today. There were chocolate bars that I had wanted to share with the kids.
But only half of them turned up for class, the other half decided to stroll in some 45 minutes later.
They were rushing to complete a project, they explained, but I had none of it.
Threw them out of the room and carried on.

And now, here I am, tired and cranky. But, as they say, the show must go on.
Lessons to be carried out. Lessons to be planned. Essays to be graded.
The next couple of weeks will be a little tough.

So Christmas is, erm, so 2011. Heh. But I was going through my photo archives on Flickr and I realised that I hadn’t written about the afternoon tea pack that I had put together for my friends. And I kinda like those pictures a lot (even if they are spike-worthy since they are not sharp)! So here you go.

I had wanted to make/bake something again this year, like what I did with the homemade strawberry jam last year. That had marked a turning point for me: I realised that buying presents can never really be the same as making something by hand. But between birthing classes, spending time with loved ones and running baby errands, I didn’t have the luxury of time to stew over the stove or oven as I had intended and decided to be a little less ambitious with my goal.

But I was adamant about putting my own little touches to the project, even if I am not exactly the most crafty of persons. And since I love having afternoon tea so much, I decided to turn that into a gift for our friends.

We got plain mugs from Ikea and initially, I wanted to try DIY glass etching but meh, no time. And I didn’t think people would like to receive tacky, gaudy coffee mugs screaming “MERRY CHRISTMAS 2011!!” so I left the mugs as they were.

I then spooned individual servings of hot chocolate powder topped with a mountain of marshmallows (cos that’s how I like mine done) and stashed each mug with a sachet and an earl grey tea bag (cos, erm, I love earl grey). Tie a jaunty bow onto the mug and then pack them into cute Father Christmas paper bags. Voila! An afternoon tea pack with love!

After Christmas, I came to the conclusion that I would really not like to receive thoughtless gifts anymore. Receiving something that you know wasn’t bought with a lot of thought or heart feels sad and a present that is bought because you need to gift someone with something is quite a waste of money. Goodness knows how many things are now stowed away in our storeroom because they aren’t things we can use or like.

For Christmas this year, I hope we can do something with a difference with our money, instead of buying meaningless presents.

So I turned 31 yesterday without much fanfare. Went to school, taught, and then took off to spend the rest of the day with my love.
Nothing was planned, everything was decided on the day itself, from the movie to the dinner venue.
No fancy restaurants either – dinner was at a little dim sum place at the heart of unglamorous Jalan Besar.
And then we went home where I spent some time playing with my cats.
The day ended with Mr Thick reading the Yellow Submarine e-book to the little guy.

There was no cake, no candles to blow out. There was no present.
Well, the real present will arrive on Saturday: tickets to watch Wicked!

So simple, so fuss-free.

I like.