Rip them off!

Chinese is priceless

When I first enquired at the school, I was told that there were 2 Chinese teachers — the Malaysian teacher taught PG and N1; the teacher from China taught N2, K1 and K2.

She went through N1 with the Malaysian teacher.

When she reached N2, I received a letter from the school: Would I like to sign my child up for specialized Chinese lessons with the teacher from China? That would be an additional cost of $100 per year for textbooks & materials. If I did not sign her up, her Chinese lessons would be limited to sessions with the Malaysian teacher.

So it turned out, the teacher from China taught N2, K1 and K2 only if and only when their mothers paid extra money.

Why was this not told to me right at the beginning? Why omit? Why mislead?

[I withdrew her in the middle of N2, but I’ve heard that the school pulls a similar stunt when the children reach K2. At the beginning of the children’s final year in the school, a letter is sent out to the parents of children who are still not in the full-day programme. The letter notifies the parents that it is now compulsory for their children to be in the full-day programme in order to learn more Chinese. By then, it is too abrupt and too disruptive for the parents to go about looking for new schools and then transferring their children over. Especially when it’s for merely about another 10 months. So instead, they obediently sign their children up for the full-day programme and dutifully pay up the difference.]

A fun childhood is priceless

As a child-care centre, the school operated throughout the year as it was supposed to under MCYS regulations. However, during MOE-prescribed term holidays (which don’t apply to child-care centres by the way), the school neither conducted regular lessons nor carried out revision.

Instead, it pushed its “holiday camps” — a misnomer because the children didn’t camp over in school. A gamut of art, craft and Christmas activities were packaged together and marketed to parents as “art camp,” “scrapbooking camp,” “Christmas camp,” etc. The camps, which usually spanned a week, took place during regular school hours, in replacement of regular lessons. They cost anything from $60 to more than $200 on top of regular school fees. So that’s regular school fees for no lessons PLUS additional camp fees.

Of course, there was always the option to sit out these pseudo holiday camps. And that was exactly what happened when you did not pay up — your child would be made to sit aside and watch her friends have fun.

Example 1: Ice-cream making demonstration

One of the mothers did not pay up.

The kid watched the rest of her friends eat ice-cream.

The kid asked for ice-cream.

The teacher told her: Your mummy did not pay money.

The kid watched the teachers and principal eat ice-cream.

When they were stuffed full, they stacked up the leftover tubs of ice-cream and staggered to the fridge.

Better to hoard ice-cream than to let a little kid have it.

After all, her mummy did not pay up.

Example 2: Scrapbooking “holiday camp”

A lot of mothers did not hand over their money. Because this was freaking expensive.

Their kids were rounded up and isolated in a classroom.

One of them asked in bewilderment: We never do anything wrong. Why are you punishing us?

One of them sobbed in anger: I don’t want to go to that classroom! They could not remove him from the banister to which he was clinging on like his life depended on it. So they left him there till he gave up and surrendered himself.

Example 3: Singapore River Cruise cum National Day Celebration

I refused to pay for the Singapore River Cruise (I’ll tell you why later).

A week went by. It was the day of the National Day celebration in school. We turned up in school in school uniform — what else do you turn up in school in? — only to find the teachers changing the rest of the children who had gone on the Singapore River Cruise into red Singapore t-shirts. There wasn’t one for my child because I hadn’t paid for the Singapore River Cruise.

Why wasn’t I told that the Singapore River Cruise came with a t-shirt that would be worn for the school’s National Day celebration?

Why couldn’t they have offered to sell me the t-shirt separately?

Why wasn’t I informed that all the children would be wearing a red t-shirt so that I could have at least also put my child in a red t-shirt, any red t-shirt?

Immediately upon entering the school, my child turned to me and exclaimed: I am not wearing a red t-shirt!

Then, she reassured herself: It’s ok, it’s ok. I have a Singapore flag tattoo. It’s ok. I’m special. I’m special, right? It’s ok.

She stuck out like a sore thumb.

School’s money-making modus operandi: Break the spirits of the children, defeat the mothers. Intimidation is totally what early childhood education is about.

Childhood memories are priceless

Cost of annual concert:
2008 ≈ $250
2009 ≈ $350
2010 ≈ $450

Seriously, if I had wanted to visit a swanky yatch club, I would have. What’s up with holding a preschool concert at ONE°15 Marina Club???

School’s money-making modus operandi was once again the rule of thumb here.

If you didn’t sign up and pay up, your child would sit aside and watch her friends prance and dance every single day for 2 whole months straight, no lessons.

So, even if you refused to fork out extra money for the concert, you ended up paying regular school fees just for your child to be miserable in school.

There was really only 1 choice — suck it up, sign up and pay up.

(Which we did, in 2009. We were lucky enough not to be there yet in 2008 and we realized that we did have another choice in 2010. We got out of the money-sucker disguised as a preschool. We should not be the ones sucking it up.)

You know what else is priceless? Bullshit.

Bullshit 1

Excursion: $30-$45 per child, $30-$45 per adult

BUT if you were buddy buddy with the principal, she would either give you a discount on your child’s fees or waive it altogether. And you would get to go along for free!

Bullshit 2

Concert: $250-$450

BUT if you were buddy buddy with the principal, she would charge you less than half the price!

Bullshit 3

1 day of ad hoc full-day programme: $30

BUT if you were buddy buddy with the principal, she would take care of your child for the whole day as and when you want, free!

Bullshit 4

Monthly school fees: $800 for half-day programme, $1000 for full-day programme

BUT if you were buddy buddy with the principal, she would give you a discount of a couple of hundred dollars per month!

So the rest of the parents who were NOT buddy buddy with the principal were supposed to subsidize those who were? I paid money so that somebody else could pay less? (And that was why I refused to pay my child to go on the Singapore River Cruise excursion, or any excursions for that matter. Because I would have been paying for my child PLUS the principal’s buddies to go for free.)

BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT BULLSHIT BULLSHIT!!!

Read also:
☹ Wrong School
☹ It’s alright to leave the gates unlocked. Even if you’re next to the main road.
☹ Who cares?
☹ It’s up to the teachers’ sole discretion
☹ What Montessori? What Chinese? What childcare?
☹ Sleep is for babies, hygiene is for the weak

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Sleep is for babies, hygiene is for the weak

Sleep is for babies

The school did not encourage the children to take an afternoon nap. In fact, it seemed keen to do away with the afternoon nap altogether.

N2, K1 and K2 Chinese classes and enrichment classes were scheduled right after the children’s lunch and shower. By the time they were done with these additional classes, it was typically about 3pm — way too late for an afternoon nap. So they were fed a snack and ushered outdoor to play instead, before being stuffed into the school bus and sent home at about 4.30pm.

The first Tuesday she had to go without her afternoon nap, she returned home in tears. Every subsequent Tuesday, she asked to drop her enrichment class. It seemed almost incredulous that Chinese speech & drama was her favourite class the year before in N1. Then, she was not forced to sacrifice her nap.

Hygiene is for the weak

When we first enrolled in N1, the school did not conduct any health checks at all. No temperature-taking, no checking of mouth for ulcers, no checking of hands and feet for rashes. Na-da. Nothing.

It was only during the H1N1 scare that the teachers finally started taking the children’s temperatures in the morning.

But the way these temperature checks were carried out — they were a sham. Harsh, but there really is no other nicer way of putting it.

The children were assigned individual ear caps marked with their names. After their temperatures were taken, their ear caps were stacked into mini towers. Then they were chucked higgedly-piggedly into a small plastic storage box, to be reused the next day.

The procedure (or rather, the lack of procedure) left me wondering:

1. What was the point of assigning the children individual ear caps if they were all going to get into contact with everybody else’s ear caps?

2. Didn’t sticking a germy ear cap into the children’s ears increase the chances of them falling sick?

I couldn’t decide whether I actually preferred it when the school did NOT conduct temperature checks.

Read also:
☹ Wrong School
☹ It’s alright to leave the gates unlocked. Even if you’re next to the main road.
☹ Who cares?
☹ It’s up to the teachers’ sole discretion
☹ What Montessori? What Chinese? What childcare?
☹ Rip them off!

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What Montessori? What Chinese? What childcare?

What Montessori?

The school purports to provide a Montessori education.

By the time she left the school in the middle of N2, she had only mastered the spindle exercise. She had yet to be introduced to the large movable alphabet.

This means, at the age of 4, she had only been taught to count from 0-9. 2 letter words, 3 letter words, sight words — they all remained a mystery to her.

What Chinese?

Chinese was usually taught for 20-30 minutes, never for more than 45 minutes and sometimes not at all even.

The Chinese teacher was the default stand-in teacher. She took the place of any teacher who was absent — for the entire day. Obviously, she didn’t and couldn’t conduct her own Chinese classes under those circumstances.

For Chinese New Year, she returned to China for 2 whole months. There was no substitute teacher.

During MOE’s prescribed school holidays for kindergartens, Chinese was not taught at all. But the school is NOT a kindergarten; it is a childcare centre.

What childcare?

Childcare centres come under the jurisdiction of MCYS (not MOE, surprise surprise).

According to MCYS regulations:

1. Childcare centres should be open throughout the year except for Sundays and gazetted public holidays. Centres can observe half-days on the eves of Christmas, New Year and Chinese New Year. In addition, centres are allowed to close for an additional 5.5 days per year.

2. Childcare centres provide full-day and half-day care programmes.

We paid for her to be in a childcare centre that is supposed to operate throughout the year — but Chinese lessons were not conducted during MOE’s school holidays. Why, as a MCYS-regulated childcare centre, does the Chinese curriculum run according to MOE’s school holidays?

We paid for her to be in the full-day programme — but the school’s curriculum ended between 1pm to 1.30pm, followed by a shower, a nap, a snack and outdoor play. Whatever happened to the other half of the curriculum in the full-day programme?

Read also:
☹ Wrong School
☹ It’s alright to leave the gates unlocked. Even if you’re next to the main road.
☹ Who cares?
☹ It’s up to the teachers’ sole discretion
☹ Sleep is for babies, hygiene is for the weak
☹ Rip them off!

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It’s up to the teachers’ sole discretion

To feed your child junk food

Recite this, and you get a gummy.
Answer this, and you get a chocolate.
Keep quiet, and you get potato chips.

To call your child names

Teacher S tells her to go to the classroom upstairs to fetch her work. She totters up. Teacher E sees her and asks, “Why are you here?” Before she can say anything, Teacher E decides, “KAYPOH LAH YOU. Go downstairs.” She totters down.

To encourage your child to jeer at other children

Teacher K got all of them, on the count of three, to shout, “BOOOOOOOOOO!” at the boy who misbehaved.

To introduce your child to sex & alcohol

Teacher A teaches them to sing Cassie’s Nobody But You and Kesha’s Tick Tock:

I’m talking about everybody getting crunk, crunk
Boys tryin’ to touch my junk, junk
Gonna smack him if he getting too drunk, drunk

And don’t forget smoking, guns plus blowing somebody else’s brains out

At the annual concert, her principal and teachers put up a skit. One of her teachers mimes smoking, holds her fingers out as a gun and pulls the trigger. The other teacher collapses on the ground, dies.

HUH???

Read also:
☹ Wrong School
☹ It’s alright to leave the gates unlocked. Even if you’re next to the main road.
☹ Who cares?
☹ What Montessori? What Chinese? What childcare?
☹ Sleep is for babies, hygiene is for the weak
☹ Rip them off!

Read Full Post »

Who cares?

Because dengue fever’s a whole lot of fun
aka
Because 3-year-olds are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, that’s why I send her to childcare

The school had an outdoor playground infested with mosquitoes.

I found that out during the 1st week when she returned with 6 big bites.

I asked about mosquitoes control. Her teacher claimed they have professionals coming in to fumigate the grounds once a month, any more often would be unhealthy for the children.

I understood the school’s concerns. I started sticking anti-mosquito patches on her. 1 didn’t work, so I stuck 2. 2 didn’t work, so I stuck 3. When 3 didn’t work, I sprayed anti-mosquito repellent all over her before sending her to school.

I stuffed the bottle of anti-mosquito repellent inside her bag and asked her teacher to re-apply it on her before letting her out to the playground. Her teacher gave me her word.

She continued coming home with more mosquito bites. I showed her teacher the bites and reminded her about the bottle of anti-mosquito repellent.

She turned to the 3-year-old standing by my side and reproached, “I thought I told you to tell the other teachers to spray for you everyday before going to the playground?” And the 3-year-old whom I had entrusted to her teacher apologized, “I tell Teacher A or Teacher E everyday. But I forgot yesterday. Sorry, Teacher N. Sorry, Mummy.”

I was flabbergasted.

At one point, she had 11 of these. She couldn’t stand still because they itched, she couldn’t sit because they swelled at her joints, she couldn’t sleep because they hurt. I had to lance them with sterilized needles.

Because it’s normal to hobble
aka
Because the natural assumption of early childhood educators is that all children are naughty

Then there was the splinter incident.

She refused to go for art. She told the teachers her foot hurt. She hobbled around for the rest of the day. Nobody gave her a second glance, nobody checked her.

Within minutes of picking her up, I found a splinter lodged deep inside her big toe. Only then did her teacher come over to show some concern.

I brought her home and plucked out the splinter myself.

Because they should finish their vegetables
&
Because frankly, who cares?

And then there was the vegetarian phase.

For months, she stopped eating meat during lunch in school.

The teachers never once brought it to my attention.

I only found out after I told her off for being picky with her food during dinner at home. She retorted that her teachers allowed her to do as she pleased.

She also got away with not washing her hands after going to the toilet. Her hair was never tied up despite hanging past her shoulders. She had even been left to roam the playground for more than an hour — without supervision.

Unbelievable.

Read also:
☹ Wrong School
☹ It’s alright to leave the gates unlocked. Even if you’re next to the main road.
☹ It’s up to the teachers’ sole discretion
☹ What Montessori? What Chinese? What childcare?
☹ Sleep is for babies, hygiene is for the weak
☹ Rip them off!

Read Full Post »

It’s alright to leave the gates unlocked. Even if you’re next to the main road.

The school had 2 gates: 1 tall main gate that stands as barrier between the school and 4 very busy lanes of traffic, plus 1 small short gate that separates the inner compound of the school from the driveway that leads to the main gate and out to the roads. In addition, there were 3 doors that open from various classrooms.

The main gate was often unlocked. The small gate was almost never locked. None of the children had any problem unlocking the 3 doors.

I spoke to her teacher who was also the school supervisor (a position similar to the vice-principal) — once during the 1st week, once more during the 1st month, and one too many times over the next 15 months.

She shifted the blame to the parents and helpers who left the gates unlocked.

She explained that the small gate had an inbuilt safety mechanism. It is heavy cast iron intentionally designed to rest all its weight on 1 side. Thus, it is imperative that the gate is lifted slightly — and this can only be achieved by the strength of an adult — so as to align it before it becomes possible to lock or unlock.

I pointed out that it is precisely because the gate is so bothersome to lock up, that’s why many of the parents and helpers give up. Its supposed “safety mechanism” was self-defeating, and worse still, dangerous.

I suggested alternative locks and gates which I had observed at other schools.

She promised to convey my concern to the principal.

By the time we left the school more than a year later, I had yet to hear from the principal regarding the issue. Nothing had changed.

Read also:
☹ Wrong School
☹ Who cares?
☹ It’s up to the teachers’ sole discretion
☹ What Montessori? What Chinese? What childcare?
☹ Sleep is for babies, hygiene is for the weak
☹ Rip them off!

Read Full Post »

Wrong School

The school I invested so much effort in and spent so much time finding turned out to be wrong right from the start.

All the hints that it was an unsuitable school surfaced on the 1st day, during the 1st week, throughout the 1st month.

We tried to be positive. But the issues of concern only became more and more real, more and more pressing.

We hung on for 1 year and 3 months before withdrawing and transferring her to another school. It’s been over half a year since. She is happy, I am happy, we are happy.

But for all the angst Care-A-Lot (more like Can’t-Care-Less) caused us, it surely deserves a series of blog posts of its own. So here goes. These were what bugged us:

☹ It’s alright to leave the gates unlocked. Even if you’re next to the main road.
☹ Who cares?
☹ It’s up to the teachers’ sole discretion
☹ What Montessori? What Chinese? What childcare?
☹ Sleep is for babies, hygiene is for the weak
☹ Rip them off!

Read Full Post »

Baby Abby Cadaby & Oscar The Grouch

Ever since we watched Sesame Street Live, she’s been very taken with the new character, Abby Cadaby. She waves an imaginary wand around and *ding* us into rabbits and frogs on a regular basis.

Besides baby Abby Cadaby, good ol’ Oscar The Grouch also took a hold on her imagination. She asked repeatedly, “But why does he live in the rubbish bin? Why does he like rubbish?”

She still hasn’t figured him out, but she has made her feelings about him pretty clear.

One night, after being told off for some minor misdemeanour, she got out of the car, all sulky, totally petulant and utterly resentful.

She folded her little arms and glared up at me. I ignored her and fiddled with my car key.

A moment later, I heard a self-satisfied, “There.”

I looked down. There was a small pile of rubbish surrounding my foot.

“Did you kick the the twigs and leaves and dried mud at ME?!”

She didn’t answer but pronounced with the faintest smile, “Now you’re Oscar. And you live in the rubbish bin.”

I don’t know.

Baby Abby Cadaby looks awfully like The Grouch here.

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They say, love is staying up all night with a sick child

Day 1, Friday

I was convinced that I was still suffering from the aftermath of drinking coffee on Tuesday. I know, it’s ridiculous – much less to say impossible, but I am was a coffee virgin and what else am I to conclude from throwing up twice almost immediately after downing that monstrous mug of coffee on Tuesday, gasping from gastric pains throughout Wednesday, and knocking out from numbing headaches on both Thursday and Friday? Ok, I guess I could have concluded I was just very sick. But hey, cut me some slack – I was sick. (I’m never going to get that PhD.)

Sometime in the late afternoon, I crawled out of bed, made my way out of the main door and somehow even managed to drive myself to her school. I stumbled out of the car, and from afar, saw her favourite teacher carrying her while another teacher hovered nearby. It struck me as out of the ordinary, but it wasn’t until I caught sight of the cool patch stuck on her forehead then I finally realized – she’s sick!

The teachers informed me that she coughed and threw up about an hour ago at the start of her abacus class. Since then, her temperature’s been rising rapidly. I took her hand, and gosh, was she hot! I rushed her home, took her temperature again – 39.3 degrees celsius – that’s high. I dosed her (and myself – at this point, I obviously and finally realized that what I had taken for a bad reaction to coffee was most probably stomach flu) with Ibuprofen and sat her down in front of the TV.

I contemplated calling BFF to cancel our dinner date. But it was a little too late. Besides, dinner was already cooked. BFF arrived, we got through dinner. In fact, the Ibuprofen kicked in enough for her to even cycle around in the balcony after dinner.

That night, she slept in my bed. I spent most of the night struggling to get up to take her temperature after having just managed to settle down to sleep again.

Day 2, Saturday

Last week was the end of her Montessori classes; we had to skip only Kindermusik this week.

Mr Fluffy Hubby was away on reservice and would only be back by lunchtime, so I had to manage the morning alone despite running on hardly any sleep. I got though it by plonking her down in front of the TV again.

She took her medicines, but couldn’t eat much of either breakfast or lunch.

Before settling her down for her nap, I checked her temperature. 39.3 degrees celsius, 1 hour after her last dose of Ibuprofen. I debated on whether to feed her Calpol on top of the Ibuprofen, but decided in the end to keep my fingers crossed and let her go to sleep. Big mistake.

The next time I took her temperature an hour later, she was burning at 39.9. I yelled for Mr Fluffy Hubby to dunk her in the bath while I prepare more medicines. I returned with the meds to find them still in bed – he was cradling her in his arms. He informed me, “I took her temperature. It’s 39.7.” I screamed, “DOES IT MATTER?! WHETHER IT’S 39.7 OR 39.9?!” I mean, isn’t it common sense to go with the higher temperature reading and just bathe the kid who is nearing 40 degrees celsius??! Huh???

I snatched her away from him and got right down to bathing her myself. Her temperature remained constant. Mr Fluffy Hubby insisted that the water needed to be colder; I maintained that we shouldn’t shock her body, but out of desperation handed the shower hose over to him anyway. He doused her with much colder water, and sure enough, her temperature came down. She wailed and wailed for me. I took over bathing her again and pissing off Mr Fluffy Hubby who insisted that I was just making things difficult for him. We fought some more – most of it with me ignoring him, and consequently, with him walking away.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of sleep and medicines, interspersed with TV.

I kept a close watch on her the entire night.

Day 3, Sunday

She had to miss her art and ballet classes.

She seemed better though. In addition to TV, she was able to play with her blocks and even managed some colouring.

However, she complained of a sore throat and had begun coughing – a development that always brings about conflicting feelings in me. On the one hand, a cough means that her body is attempting to expel the phelgm – she’s on the road to recovery. On the other hand, she hacks away non-stop whenever she has a cough, so she’s most probably going to end up vomitting – mega messy!

She continued glugging medicines; I continued my vigil throughout the night.

Day 4, Monday

Her teacher called numerous times in the morning to ask after her. I’d like to think that she was genuinely concerned, but I have a sneaking suspicion she was more worried that it would be the school’s 1st case of HFMD. Thank god we didn’t make history!

She was fast developing an addiction to TV. The better part of the morning was spent watching Disney Playhouse. In the afternoon, I managed to peel her off the google box to make some art together.

I placed a small blue rubber dinosaur in front of her and she came up with this.

She spontaneously drew a self portrait of herself with her kitty cat.

She maintained a 37.5 degrees celsius throughout most part of the day, peaking at 37.9 degrees celsius (only!) when she refused (she was well enough to refuse!) to take her nap. Her sore throat had subsided, but her cough had worsened. She hacked till she was blue in the face and I lost count of the number of times she retched.

At one point, I fretted aloud, “I don’t know how to make you feel better. How do I make you feel better? I don’t know what to do!” She gasped in between her coughs, with tears streaming down her face, “Love me. Love me to make me feel better.”

Other than the cough, she was almost back to her usual sunshine self by the time her father and grandfather returned home in the evening. She fell asleep easily and early enough by 10pm since she had skipped her afternoon nap. But she woke throughout the night, coughing and coughing. I wasn’t too worried though – at least she was no longer burning away. This spell of sickness seemed much shorter than her usual 6 days.

Day 5, Tuesday

She woke up only to cough for ONE AND A HALF hours in the bathroom. In a moment of sheer helplessness and panic, I made her drink her medicines, in the (stupid) hope that they would help her stop coughing. Of course, they didn’t work. Because she proceeded to cough them all out in huge puddle of phelgm. Immediately after, she had a big bout of diarrhoea. Then she threw up her breakfast (“Ooh, Honey Stars!” she said). Poor girl doesn’t get a rest.

Strangely enough, she stopped coughing when she watched TV. So, I blasted Playhouse Disney for the rest of the morning.

Her balance bike arrived sometime in the afternoon. I tried to fix it up, without any success. In the end, I dumped it in the study room. I figured Mr Fluffy Hubby could handle it when he got home – that’s what husbands are for.

Because of the balance bike, I was running late for my post-surgery dental check-up and treatment facial. I had foolishly made those appointments yesterday when she had appeared to be recovering and it was much too late to cancel them. I had arranged for my mother to be here in the meantime, but there was still no sign of her. So I rang her up and screeched, “Where are you?!” – an act I would of course regret later – she was late because she was buying famous chendol for me; she knows I love chendol.

By the time I was done at the dentist and the beauty salon, I was late for dinner. It was my turn to get screamed at, most deservedly. Mr Fluffy Hubby barked over the phone, “Where are you?!”

I sped home to find her stoned out on Playhouse Disney. I reached out to hold her – she felt hot! I grabbed the thermometer – 38.7 degrees celsius. I was furious with Mr Fluffy Hubby – why hadn’t he taken her temperature and given her medicines?! We ate dinner in silence.

She continued coughing and retching throughout the night. She had coughed out puddles and puddles of phelgm – why hadn’t her cough gone away?! I prayed that tomorrow – day 6 – would be the last day of the fever, as it usually is.

Day 6, Wednesday

She seemed better immediately upon waking up.

She was not coughing as much, she ate her breakfast, she took an interest in my leftover Zinger burger. She watched an unhealthy amount of TV. She coloured, played with puzzles, weights and links. She balance-biked everywhere.

She lay quietly beside me during naptime, but was still wide awake when I woke up 1.5 hours later.

She was on the mend.

I say, love is staying up all night with your sick child… then spending all day with your sick grandchild, knowing that everything is made better by love.

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You hear me right

Left: Red bean
Right: Green bean
Middle: Ear wax.

MY LITTLE GIRL’S EAR WAX.

A year ago, I peeked into her ears and noticed that her left ear seemed especially dirty. So when we happened to be at the clinic, I asked the paediatrician for ear drops. I followed the instructions and dripped 1 drop into her ear that night. The very next morning, we found a large piece of ear wax on her pillow. She said she felt it drop out. (That is not the globe of ear wax pictured above.)

A year later, I peeked into her ears again. I noticed that both ears were still really dirty. (No idea how I missed the right ear the first time round.) I got another bottle of ear drops from the paediatrician and faithfully dripped 1 drop into each ear for 5 consecutive nights. Nothing came out. I stopped dripping as instructed by the paediatrician.

A few months later, I decided to torture myself and peeked into her ears again. I forgot to ask for ear drops when we were at the clinic, so I made a trip to the pharmacy instead. I randomly grabbed a bottle, checked with the pharmacist that it would be safe to use on her, and returned home with it. The instructions were to drip 4-6 drops 3-4 times daily. No mention of stopping. Even I, who couldn’t stand the sight of those clogged up ears whenever I decided to take an unfortunate peek inside, was a little freaked out by the idea of that amount of ear drops entering her tiny body. So I decided to administer in moderate dosage – 4 drops once a day, at night, before bedtime.

On the 5th night, after dripping the drops and letting them settle in her left ear, I turned her to the other side. But before I could even start on her other ear, she called out in a panic, “Mummy, the medicine is coming out of my ear!” I flipped her back so that the ear drops would flow back in. Then I peered inside her ear. AND SAW THIS GLOBE OF EAR WAX FLOATING AT THE TOP OF THE POOL OF EAR DROPS.

I yelled, “DO NOT MOVE! THE EAR WAX IS COMING OUT! MUMMY IS GOING TO GET THE EAR DIGGER TO SCOOP IT OUT!”

I sprinted to the bathroom and back to her bedroom with the ear digger. She was still obediently lying on her side. “I didn’t move, Mummy,” she informed me. “GREAT!” I shouted back in semi-hysterics. Then I hunched over her, squinted into her ear and in a jiffy LADLED THE GLOBE OF EAR WAX OUT OF THE POOL OF EAR DROPS.

Post-trauma, I couldn’t stop shrieking at her: “HOW DID YOU GET YOUR EARS SO DIRTY?! COULD YOU EVEN HEAR ME WHEN I SPOKE?! I DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW YOU GOT YOUR EARS SO DIRTY! AND I DON’T SEE HOW YOU COULD POSSIBLY HAVE HEARD ME WHEN I TALKED TO YOU! OMIGOD OMIGOD OMIGOD!”

She giggled, wrapped up her ear wax in a piece of tissue paper ever so calmly, handed it to me and told me I should keep it safe so that we could show it to her Papa and Gong Gong.

Here’s another look at it because nobody would believe me unless I provide photographic evidence:

And here’s another look at it again because I’m gross like that (WHY IS IT BROWN AND BLACK AND HARD EVEN AFTER SO MUCH OILY OILY OILY EAR DROPS?!):

So now that I’ve got her globe of ear wax out, I’ll be worrying my brains out about THE OTHER GLOBE OF EAR WAX. Because even after obsessively dripping ear drops for 2 entire weeks, nothing has come out of her right ear. OMIGOD.

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