*this post is inspired by Jimbo’s 2 Sunsets …hope you don’t mind me pinching your idea 
*
Am very pleased with my LX3, a 2-month old acquisition which has done nothing but delighted me everytime the shutter button is depressed. I’m not abandoning my DSLR, but its bulky body proves to be prohibitive when I’m out and about with baby. It’s pointless even to compare these 2 models because they serve different purposes. For now, my nifty little compact meets my needs - small enough to stuff into the baby bag without sacrificing creative control. Best of all, it shoots in RAW! My Sony Cybershot can now rest in peace.
I do think sunsets on this side of the country are more spectacular 
Damai Beach, Santubong. Aperture-priority, RAW. I thought the camera held up pretty well despite the fading light.
View from my balcony. Allison witnesses this wonderful sight everyday while having dinner. Scene mode, SUNSET. JPEG by default.
We shall call this the Great Gawai Cookout.
Armed with a big resolve NOT to ever have my girl eating processed food from jars again, a roadkill of a shopping trolley, a shopping list of superfood for babies and a tingle of excitement over my noble little project, I prowled the aisles of a supermarket, leaving no fruit unsqueezed, no food label unscrutinized and no veggies unturned.
I was going to cook for my little baby
I picked avocados, broccoli, butternut squash, pears, apples, sweet potatoes and lentils. Avocados, to be mashed and fed directly…except they have, till this day, yet to ripen. The rest to be prepared as glorious purees and the lentils…ah, the lentils. I’ll figure out what to do with them legumes later.
You see, I had no qualms feeding my muffin jarred baby food the way I struggled with failing to provide her breast milk exclusively, but the sporadic outbreak of rash was giving birth to the horrible guilty-mummy complex again. I wasn’t going to find out if it was actually an allergy.
Besides, how hard can it be? Steam or simmer the goodies, then puree and store. Well the hard bits no one ever reveals in glossy recipe tomes or glamourous cooking shows - the washing and peeling and chopping and dicing! It’s obvious I’m no Martha Stewart, but I’d also never make a good surgeon or butcher, being ever ever so klutzy with knives. And the washing up that comes after you’ve dripped puree on the floor and found yourself all drenched in perspiration is the least appealing part!
But oh, I could do a mean Nigella Lawson mmm-mmm-mmm *licks fingers seductively* without even trying, because the purees in their unadulterated forms are really that yummy!
So far she’s lapped up the broccoli - thank God! - and squash with relish. If she never eats another type of vegetable in her life again, I could live with that 
I think I deserve some brownie points for trying and succeeding, although any idiot can puree food. If I feel foolishly ambitious enough I might even give recipes with words like “sautee” and “stock” in them a chance.
Now, I’ve got to go google for ways to ripen and pit an avocado. 2, to be precise
This is a tale of MY perfect weekend.
Of waking up to baby babble,
followed by cuddles and giggles under the duvet.
Of delightful roti-banana-and-jackfruit,
and potato masala breakfasts.
Of walks by the Riverside,
watching trawlers and barges cruise by.
Of drizzles and gloomy skies,
and rolling in bed, doing nothin’.
Of dinners on the balcony,
breeze and setting sun for company.
Of chill-out times in my favourite cafe,
the perfect end to a perfect day.
Alas! She’ll have no memory of these lazy days,
but old enough to read this post someday
TALE : Means liberal omission of the not-so-perfect. The messy baby bit no one wants to talk about…like pooping right after a fresh diaper change, EVERY TIME! Like picking up the pieces of tissue papers she so enjoys shredding. The food missiles that always find me, the consequence of “talking” with food in the mouth. The flood of drool I’ve had to mop up. The patches of leaked urine we’ve had to live with on the family bed. How musty we all smell wearing clothes that have taken all of 3 days to dry. The condensed milk-laden teh tarik/kopi ais/teh ais, very discordant with the excellent bites offered in our new favourite Indian restaurant. The fuss she kicked up while we sipped lattes in Starbucks because it’s bedtime. There is no such thing as perfection, but sometimes we can trick our minds into believing otherwise by being economical with some truths, let go of our hang-ups and just chill.
And oh, it wasn’t poetry I was attempting
As far as firsts go, this has got to be the most ho-hum by conventional standards.
Happy Mother’s Day to me *smirk*
My day began with “Mummy, baby wants milk”, delivered NOT by an adorably chubby bub but a sleepy male next to me. It was 7am.
7.30 am - 7.50 am : Saw hubby out the house. Away again “sodomising old men” as he’s fond of referring to the prostate awareness campaign. I wonder what kind of men would turn up for free per rectal examinations on Mother’s Day…Anyway, took Allison for a stroll around the neighborhood. The friendly resident stray whom we believe has bovine blood flowing in his canine body tailed us, timidly maintaining a respectable distance. I’d name him Daisy, black and white patches and all.
8 am - 9 am : Fed her breakfast. Didn’t want to let me out of sight, even to get a bite. I was starving!
9 am - 9.45 am : Finally had time for ME! Breakfast bar and a cup of English Breakfast tea over Sunday papers. While she occupied herself with her ear-piercing screeches. Why do babies scream for fun anyway? Or is it just my baby?
10 am : Laundry, first round.
11 am - 12 pm : A bottle of milk followed by a whole jar of baby food. Had a splashing time in the tub (the baby, not me).
12 pm : Nap time finally! Ransacked the kitchen shelves for the simplest lunch solution. Aha! Bak Kut Teh-flavored noodles with egg and cabbage. A bit underwhelming for Mother’s Day, but should ward off hypoglycemia.
1 pm : Laundry, second round. Swept the floor, long overtaken by wandering ants and dust particles. What Mother’s Day?
2 pm : Checked Facebook updates. Oh my smug first-time mommie friends were having fabulous lunches and getting a pampering in spas! Not good for morale. Shut down Mac. Time for MY nap.
3.30 pm : Baby up! Mumbled “mum mum mum”. I wasn’t fooled. No one gets a first mama on Mother’s Day!
4 pm : Daddy’s home!
6.30 pm : Out for dinner but bankrupt of dining ideas. Besides, taking baby along severely limits our options. No matter, sushi it was. Growled at hubby, ” I want a Mother’s Day photo with Allison!” Someday when she’s all grown up she’d begin to wonder why all the photos were of her hanging out or getting cuddly with daddy but not mummy. Because I am the accomplished photographer in the family *ahem*
8 pm : Drove home right after dinner. It’s her bedtime, as she gets really really cranky if kept up.
8.30 pm : She’s out flat by 9 pm. And so was I!
Oh what an extraordinarily normal day! If it’s going to be the same thing next year at least have gourmet coffee served to me in bed…and all you prostates stay away from my husband!!!
I attempted to do the insane today.
I flew 2 hours across the South China Sea, took a 35-minute train ride to Sentral, attended a one-and-a-half-hour meeting in Hilton, hopped onto another train heading back to KLIA, and flew across the same ocean in the reverse direction. In under 12 hours.
Because of the annoying KCH-KL flight delay we had absolutely NO time for anything else. Not even for a vital coffee pit stop. Pity.
The incredible thing was that we had the audacity to try catching an earlier flight home, and succeeded! It was truly an amazing race (for those of you in the know I’ve always harboured a fantasy of being in the race). I could have looked more at home if I were in a tank top and cargo pants, dwarfed by a backpack twice my size. Instead I was in smart casual attire looking like what I should heading for a clinical meeting, in patent/suede wedges and a slouchy tote bag. We ran and ran, from the hotel to the station, from the train to the check-in counter, then to the gate, clutching boarding passes for the later flight, begging to be given seats as the last of the passengers boarded.
Moments like these could prove decisive. Just ask Uchenna and Joyce.
Where's the pitstop mat?!!!!
The final pit stop for this leg of the race was Kuching. And the prize? An opportunity to be in time to put Allison to bed.
(By the way I did get my coffee - grabbed a cup from the coffee station on my way out of the meeting room, but just realised that my bladder hadn’t been drained since morning!!!)