Studio 123

We never knew how tiring a photo-shoot can be. We know now, and it was us who were exhausted. Daryl was still playing and laughing at the end, as if he wanted to stay behind and spend the night there.

Swimsuit Model

Any major magazines looking for a smart and lovely kid as a swimsuit model? Why not Daryl? He's young, he's lovely, and he's available! Please call his agent for details. Thanks.

Daryl's First Kiss

Was given to a gorgeous model (on a leaflet).

Daryl and His Car

Daryl visiting the playground, where he tried out the latest model of a blue 4X4 jeep, made of technologically-advanced materials - hard plastic.

Studio Daryl

We must have been bored.

A couple of days ago, we decided to set up a temporary studio and bought some poster colours, drawing paper and things like that.

And take a look at some of his very first works.

Don't think that we were forcing him to do so. He was laughing and yelling all the way. And most importantly, he was not harmed by the poster colours as we washed them all away immediately.

Hey Sotheby's, interested in selling some of his works for us?

Letter from Santa

In May, of all time.

Last November, in anticipation of Daryl's first ever Christmas, we decided to write to Santa Claus in Finland, hoping that he would send us some gift or souvenir. Yet as Christmas went by and 2007 had arrived, we never got or heard anything from him. So we thought that Santa doesn't exist, or may be dead.

But now this. We finally received Santa's reply today (Daryl's 11-month birthday incidentally), and although it's not a hand-written letter, it is a reply nonetheless. Now we can tell Daryl that Santa DOES exist and is alive and kicking. But since he's a very old and busy man (or woman? Well, who knows?), we really have to give him ENOUGH time (say, six months?) to reply us.

So I'd better stop now and start writing to Santa again for this year's Christmas.

Daryl the Poet

Daryl's secret gathering place with fellow poets, somewhere in Kowloon. (No, not the one with panties hanging at the window.)

Spelling Bee

This is how my name is spelt!

Things You Don't Know about Daryl

We, being the notoriously thrifty parents, always buy clothes at least one size too large for Daryl, hoping that he can wear them for as long as possible. While the loose fit outfit makes him a fashion diva with an extremely lovely hip-hop look, it has also given him trouble.

Last week Daryl was wearing a pair of ultra loose khaki shorts and while I was helping him stand during a meal in a restaurant with my family, his shorts simply slid along his legs onto the chair on which he was standing.

Luckily no one (except me) witnessed it firsthand (I found out at least 10 seconds after the pants were gone). Otherwise they would have laughed or even choked to death.

Or he would have been arrested by the Police for indecent exposure.

...

Perhaps it is just babies' nature, I simply have to admire Daryl's courage for expressing explicitly his desire for something which we may find a bit embarrassing.

A number of witnesses have confirmed that Daryl becomes especially happy and excited when being carried by "busty" women. And some have even pointed out that Daryl would touch (but never fondle or caress, for that matter) their breasts with his tiny and soft hands.

This clearly and surely explains why Daryl doesn't like to be carried by me.

And for the record, I never teach him that trick. So don't sue me.

...

We may be in line for the Nobel Prize for discovering a perfect and easy cure for insomnia.

For those of you not being able to have a good sleep night in and night out, here is a simple suggestion.

Buy a baby car seat, strap yourself into it and ask the driver to start driving. I can guarantee that you will fall asleep within seconds.

Still skeptical? Just ask Daryl and he will tell you how well he sleeps when he's traveling in our car.

Pretty Potty Play

Breaking news: Daryl nailed his potty test in flying colours earlier today. He never missed the target and was a perfect two-for-two, despite playing in an incomplete kit (look, his shorts are missing!) in front of the capacity crowd (his nanny and, well, his nanny).

Maximillian's Warning

Maximillian's Warning: Potties are hazardous to your (and your neighbour's) home. They can cause serious flooding, water seepage and various pollution problems. Children and babies without proper supervision should not try using them at home.

Yeah, We Did Go Hiking!

During the Easter Holiday, we decided it was time for us to go hiking with Daryl and Creamy.

While all of us were exhausted and tired by the walk up the "steep" hill, Daryl was the one who had the easiest ride. The theories of quantum physics and relativity say that we don't need to be physically strong to be pushed up and down the hill while sitting in a pram.

The trail at Mount Parker isn't the most physically demanding one, but was hilly enough for the Fab-Four, oh no, the Fat-Four (my wife, our domestic helper, Creamy and myself) to be panting like horses and swearing like sailors while at the very bottom of the hill. And when we saw many elder people running past us with absolute ease, we knew that we should have cut down on our snacks.

But none of us said anything, as we still madly in love with our snacks.

Speaking of snacks, we had a simple picnic and our helper had prepared some delicious chicken and cabbage sandwiches for us. While there wasn't that much food, we had made a serious mistake in our choice of beverage.

By bringing along three cans of regular Cokes (not Coke Light or Coke Zero) with us, we had definitely taken in far more calories than what we had burnt.

It was the best time of the year for hiking and picnic. The weather was fine and it was neither too cold nor too hot. That's why we also saw so many people hiking and picnicking with their babies or pets. But then I suddenly realised that we were the only ones to go hiking with a baby AND a pet, as if their babies and pets are estranged and cannot stand one another, and as if they'd rather have a chubby pet than a lovely child.

It was also the first time our domestic helper had met Creamy. Probably it was an outdoor settings, Creamy didn't bark and seemed to welcome our domestic helper with open arms, or front legs to be exact.

Creamy was obviously exhausted afterwards, as she once again refused to walk occasionally to take a breather on our way home. Just when I was about to scold her for being lazy, I found myself sitting comfortably in the couch, with stinky sweat covering my body, and another big can of Coke and big bag of chips in my hand, and not willing to move or do anything (taking a shower included) at all.

And what did Daryl do after the picnic? He had a huge dinner with rice and congee, and then went to bed immediately. Hey, at least I was still moving a little bit (i.e., picking up the remote controls) after having all the snacks.

Talk about like father, like son.

Hey, We Went Hiking!

Details on our hiking trip coming soon ...

Happy Haagen-Dazs

You thought that children are always an embarrassment when you bring them to an eatery? Think again, as Daryl proves that a 9-month-old kid can ask for a menu, make up his mind and order the things he wants.

Oh Girls!

Luckily Daryl is a boy. Otherwise I would have suffered a massive heart attack when I saw what happened to Daryl on Children's Day.

It was a dinner gathering at the neighbouring Cityplaza for us with his two godmothers and, after enjoying a good meal, we took Daryl to the ice-skating rink. Daryl had been there for a number of times, but that was the first time we went close to the rink. I bet when Daryl saw such a big piece of white ice on the floor, he must have been wondering, "What the heck are they doing on my spilled milk?"

Anyway, as we were watching the boys and girls circling the rink time and again, three girls (I bet none of them was more than 10-year-old) suddenly came straight at Daryl and started yelling at him. They were visibly excited (as the Plexiglass around the rink blocked what they said) and were trying their very best to capture Daryl's attention. They waved and jumped and yelled and spun, and the only things they didn't do was to flash their body and moon him.

I thought Daryl must have been the provocateur by making some obscene gestures to them, so I took a look at him. But he was just sitting there, taking everything into his eyes as if he had seen them all before. (And I don't mean I have flashed my body to him or mooned him.)

I am not sure what had happened to the girls (like whether they were on drugs or stuff like that), but as we were leaving the rink, our conversation was filled with words like "bold", "Oh my God" or even "(bleeping) b_tchy". And luckily their parents were not around as they would have spanked us hard after hearing what we had to say.

But Daryl was just enjoying the ride in his pram, not a bit flinched or disturbed by his crazy and adoring fans. And for a baby who has never produced any albums or starred in any blockbuster movies, the girls' action falls somewhere between childishly funny and plain ridiculous.

I wonder what the girls would have done had Daryl been really a Hollywood star. They would have flashed their bodies to him, mooned him, and then some.

And their parents would have spanked them, hard.

And so there goes my plan of giving birth to a daughter (at least for the moment).

Part-time Parents

Parents in Hong Kong are the unlucky ones.

The unreasonably high living standard makes it virtually impossible for any of us to become a full-time parent. If you are lucky enough, you will have your ass saved by being a tenant of the public housing estates where the rent is cheap and the price is low. But if you aren't one of them, you will have to work your brains out to repay your mortgage with the bank for the teeny tiny flat you have bought, which is so small that you can't even flex your legs when you sleep.

Yours Truly and Yours Truly's wife are the semi-lucky ones. While we aren't tenants of the public housing estates, we aren't flat owners at the moment either, currently renting a flat as our temporary home. But that doesn't mean we don't have to work hard. Milk powder, clothes and food all cost a fortune, and remember, we don't have to spend money on education, piano lessons, soccer class and tutorial, YET.

Yours Truly always blames himself for not being smart enough to be among the top echelons of some international conglomerates. That means Yours Truly's wife can't quit her job to stay home to take care of our Dear Daryl full-time, and that we have to hire a live-in domestic helper to help us out.

Our daily routine looks like this:
- Wake up at 6, and play with Daryl for a short while;
- Leave home at about 7, and watch how Daryl is doing through the IP cameras;
- Go home at about 7 and play with Daryl for a short while;
- Dinner at about 8;
- Play with him for another short while; and
- Daryl goes to bed at about 10.

If you do the math, you can see that there is just a couple of hours (quality or not) we can spend with Daryl every day. No wonder we have found it quite difficult to make him laugh sometimes. Sadly, we have missed so many memorable moments in his rapid development. Very often we have to listen to our domestic helper about the wonderful things that Daryl has done while we are busy at work.

Yours Truly's friend, Angry Eyes, says that she is sad that she can't be a full-time mother. Yours Truly feels the same too. But what can we do?

Get a Mark Six ticket, of course!

Otherwise we'd better suck it up and stop sulking.

Daryl vs Ryan

It was Daryl's first real encounter with a baby of similar size. Ryan (right), courtesy of Angry Eyes, is the more active of the two while Daryl (left) is extremely shy and slow-responding, just like his Mummy and Daddy. Perhaps it is time for us to send him to a playgroup, to teach him some badly-needed inter-personal skills?

Crawling Nowhere

So far, Daryl has been doing everything fine. He's passed the hand-eye coordination test by the local maternal and child health centre (albeit at the second attempt, as he was unwilling to cooperate with the nurse in the first try because she wasn't pretty) in flying colours, and his vital statistics are right about where they should be. But there is something he still isn't able to do, yet.

He can't crawl, yet.

We've been encouraging him to do so since his neck became strong enough when he was just three to four months old, but whenever we put him onto our bed, he would flatly collapse and lay prone, as if he's been shot in the buttocks (which is partly true because I always tell him that all buttocks facing the sky are liable to be spanked (by me), hard), or as if he's ducking to protect himself from gunfire and an air raid.

We've tried every trick in our sleeves. We've tempted him with food and his favourable electronic gadgets, but he would only look up and support himself with his arms, and just refuse to crawl.

When we told my parents about it, I was extremely worried about their reaction as grandparents are usually much more nervous than the parents themselves. And when I heard what they say, I became even more worried.

They told me that Daryl probably won't crawl as a baby, forever, without showing any emotion at all.

Relax folks. Before you go berserk, cry foul or scream for help, just keep on reading for the reason, but whether it's a well-justified one is up to you to decide.

My parents told me that all the family members in my family, including my parents, uncles, aunts, second cousin once removed and myself, did not crawl when we were kids. No matter how hard we tried, we just wouldn't crawl. And fortunately, they said that our inability to crawl has never hampered our growth and development (which I totally disagree given my lack of height, strength and athletic talent, in no particular order).

Does it make any sense to you?

I'll keep my fingers crossed and hope that Daryl will be much stronger and taller than I am, without being affected by his (thus far) inability to crawl.

And so there go our chances of winning any big prizes in the much-publicised and ultra-exciting baby crawling races.

Gourmet Daryl

(Note: After a couple of picture posts, it's time to go back to the normal posts.)

Daryl simply loves eating. But wait a second, he isn't that crazy about his milk or congee or those sorts of baby food. He's crazy about the adult food. (When I said the word "adult", I didn't have anything remotely related to NC17 or X-rated in mind. But now I do.)

And don't blame us. We are not the culprit.

As many of you can testify under oath, you didn't kill anyone, and elderly people are sometimes are just as naughty as the young kids. They will try every trick up in their sleeves just to poke fun at and annoy you.

Perhaps we have been way too protective. We simply don't want Daryl to be exposed to any risk or danger that the smallest thing may bring about, including food and other possible allergens. So we have been extremely careful in choosing and preparing food for him.

But like many other elderly people, my mother-in-law (Oops, this is a possible landmine situation. I've got to be very careful here. Otherwise my lovely wife will spank me, hard.) loves to feed Daryl with all sorts of food. Long before Daryl had had his first tooth, she had already given him bread, rice, soup and biscuits, all these kinds of things, when we are away for work. In fact, she's so naughty that she would feed Daryl the "contrabands" when our domestic helper looks or walks the other way.

I have known her for over a decade now and have never noticed her funnier and naughtier side, until now.

I don't have a problem about the food itself, as Daryl will someday start eating them anyway. The problem is, once Daryl knows how good the adult toys, no, food tastes, he will no longer want to eat his simple, plain and tasteless baby food. That's why whenever we are having meals at home now, he would stick his neck out like a giraffe, hoping to see what we are eating.

The other day when we showed him a piece of pork chop, a big drop of saliva came straight out of his mouth and onto our dining table, just like the B-2 Spirit bombers raiding Baghdad, as if he had been starving for decades.

Of course we didn't let him eat it. But hopefully that won't make him think that we are being mean, especially when he sees how fat his daddy is, which may have led him think that his daddy has eaten all his food.

And I certainly wouldn't mind eating his healthy food.

Movie Star

Some day, Sylvester Stallone will just have to retire ...

Cover Boy

Sorry Angry Eyes, my copycat instinct has gotten the better of me. Daryl is on the cover too, courtesy of fd's Flicker Toys once again.

Daryl vs Andy Warhol

(Courtesy of fd's Flickr Toys)

You Reap What You Read

Unlike most of my colleagues (such as Angry Eyes), I have never been an avid reader, which is quite bizarre given the nature of my work. Imagine a soccer player who hates playing soccer. That is simply unimaginable and inexplicable.

In fact, I am a selective reader. I don't read a lot of things, as I often find books and texts boring. But you can still find a lot of books and magazines in my bookshelf, the reason being most of the them are related to sports.

I have always been a sports fanatic, but my interest is strictly limited to being a spectator instead of a participant. When I was a small kid, I would tape a lot of sports programmes on TV (Italian Serie A and the NFL in particular) and watch it again and again whenever I had time, and so I could and can still remember nearly every word of the commentary. For example, my man Martin Tyler reminded us, after an excellent 2-1 home win over Bologna early in the 1990-91 season, to "watch out for Sampdoria", which would go on to win its first and so far only Serie A title that season. I still have a couple of seasons' (from the early to mid-90s') worth of Serie A and NFL tapes in my cabinet, ready for me to pop into the VHS player when and if I have time.

You may say that watching the same tapes again and again has made me more laconic, which is probably true. But the flip side is, the excellent commentary of Tyler and Peter Brackley, among others, has greatly enhanced my English proficiency.

Anyway, when I finally have some (NOTE: not "a lot of") money, I decided to buy sports books, lots of them. My collection mainly consists of books on Formula One, but the number of baseball books is also increasing at a rapid rate. When Michael Lewis' "Moneyball" created a lot of controversy a couple of years ago, I immediately bought one from my trusted old friend, Amazon. And being an avid follower of Rob Neyer, I just can't miss any of his work. But despite being a huge fan of soccer and American football, I don't have too many books on them in my collection.

As for magazines, there is only one that I have been reading regularly for nearly 15 years: Sports Illustrated. It has the two things that I am looking for: Excellent coverage of sporting events (mostly in North America) and fantastic columns by renowned columnists like Rick Reilly and Steve Rushin. To say that I am trying to imitate Reilly's style in this blog, but to no avail (possibly forever), would be an understatement.

Daryl is now nine-month old, and we hope that he would pick up reading as a habit, as experts always say that it would be good for his development in terms of speaking and writing. At the moment he can only play with his toy books, and still can't turn the pages properly. I know we still have time, but being his parents, we are always worried about a lot of things.

No, we don't want to force him too much, but there are just some things that we should tell him to and not to do. We want him to love books and we want to build a nice little library for him. But instead of a sports library, we want his to be a general one, with topics involving every aspect of mankind. Otherwise he would be like me, who know nothing but sports.

But first we have to find a bigger flat, and buying a Mark Six ticket may help realise our dream.

Pressing All the Right Buttons

For some reason, Daryl loves buttons.

No, it was neither the clothes buttons, the belly button nor John and Jenson Button. He is crazy for the buttons on electronic gadgets like the remote controls and phone at home.

We found out months ago when we put him on the sofa to sit on his own, which he likes a lot. As usual, he arms were flapping like a mad bird and slapping his legs and the sofa. It was no big deal for us as he had already been doing this for quite a while at that time and we knew that he could never lift off like a plane. But suddenly, we could not longer hear the clapping sound anymore. As we were worried that something bad might have happened to him, we checked him out immediately.

Something bad had really happened, but not to him.

It turned out that something really bad had happened to our remote controls, which had been put into a bag slotted along one of the sofa's armrests.

What happened was Daryl somehow discovered the remote controls on the armrest and decided to play with it (probably out of boredom). I am not sure whether it was a touch of genius (no pun intended), but I clearly saw him aiming his index finger right at the buttons of the remote controls. Amazingly, he knew that the plastic portions of the remote controls are not meant to be pressed.

If you are wondering what bad thing had happened to the remote controls, you must have too much free time at hand to read my random and senseless thoughts on this tiny little thing called "Blog". Here you go: Do you like your entire body covered in saliva? Apparently, we were a little too late in finding out the torture he's had inflicted upon the remote controls, as he had already tasted them and found them neither tasty nor chewable when we came to their belated rescue.

Talk about damage control: In the days after, we decided to remove the batteries of one of the remote controls and let him play with it under our close supervision, in order not to inflict any more harm on it again. I am not an expert on human biology, so I have no idea how Daryl could leave so much saliva on the controls which would have drown them to death but for my intervention (I know you're thinking mouth-to-mouth resuscitation). But my wife also told me that the remote control for our TV is not functioning properly these days.

Likewise, Daryl also loves playing with the phone. He would press the buttons and be amazed by the "beeping" sounds it produces. But when we put the phone onto his ear and asked him to listen and talk to person at the other end, it looked as though he was wondering how a fluffy and messy mass of fat like Yours Truly can sneak into the tiny phone at home. He was simply stunned, perplexed by one of the greatest mysteries of mankind.

If Daryl turns out to be the second coming of Albert Einstein, a lot of credit should go to these tiny little gadgets.

And if I turn out to be really good at mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on gadgets like remote controls, full credit should go to Daryl.

When Daryl Meets Creamy

Like Harry and Sally, my beloved Liverpool and the evil Chelsea, and the almighty God and everyone one of us, Daryl and Creamy are destined to meet each other.

As many of you may have already known, before Daryl was born, my wife and I have a little (shall I say "chubby"?) companion at home. That's Creamy, a lovely little, er, chubby Schnauzer whom we treat as our own daughter (which is not to say we GAVE BIRTH to her, for Christ's sake).

Following the so-called professional advice by a number of medical practitioners, we decided to separate them after Daryl was born. And on the very day my wife went to the hospital for delivery, someone (my dad) broke into my house and kidnapped Creamy (so that she could move in with them) and asked for a huge ransom (to buy food and snacks for her).

And being as ignorant and careful as many of you may have been, we decided to follow the professional advice by not letting them to see each other before Daryl's six-month birthday. Once Daryl is more than six-month old, we decided to lift the embargo and let them meet.

You may say that we have been preparing for this day for quite a while. But the truth is, we didn't do anything special. We just wheeled Daryl to my parents' home in his pram, and voila, they had their first encounter.

Being as naughty and energetic as ever, Creamy was so curious about Daryl that she tried every trick she has learnt to reach Daryl. No, she didn't want to bite him. She just wanted to take a sniff at him, as if to see if he's got illegal drugs in his possession, as every dog will do by nature. And as if merely taking a sniff wasn't enough, she even wanted to kiss Daryl, just like a crazy fan dying to inch closer and closer to her superstar idol. But she was swiftly blocked and turned away by Yours Truly's dad and Yours Truly, the rookie tag-team bouncers.

However, that wasn't Creamy's first encounter with Daryl. Creamy always loves sleeping with us on our bed, and sometimes would kind of cry if we didn't let her to. Yet long before we were aware of my wife's pregnancy, Creamy one day suddenly decided that enough is enough and jumped off our bed, most probably because, I thought, of my seriously annoying snoring problem. But judging from the timing and her reluctance to get back onto the bed afterwards, we have every reason to believe that she knew of Daryl's existence long before everyone did. Talk about a really smart and caring dog.

Technically speaking, that wasn't their first encounter. Daryl had already visited Creamy when he was a month old. Yet he was sleeping all the way through and didn't even notice her existence. So that doesn't count.

As for Daryl, we never imagined how excited he would be when he saw Creamy. While sitting in his pram, he suddenly moved his upper body towards the front, as if he wanted to have a closer look and touch her with his hands. We had never seen him done that before, probably because nothing in our home, including us, is as attractive and lovely as Creamy to draw his full attention.

Delicate Touch

There are so many tricks that men can use to soften the toughest of hearts of women or loved ones. Well, don't ask me which of them works the best. I've been married for so long that I have forgot all those naughty tricks (I have to say this because my wife always watch this tiny little thing called "Blog"). But for Daryl, he has already mastered one of them at the young age of seven months.

We have learnt for quite a while that Daryl loves moving his arms around, no matter he is sitting on his own, or being carried by us. A couple of weeks ago, when I picked him up to my eye level, his arms moved above my shoulders, and I started to wonder what he was going to do next. (I was so scared that he would slap me as I'm not the best daddy in the world.)

He then proceeded to touch my face with his soft and tiny hands and fingers. And he looked at me with his big round eyes while doing so, kind of like wondering who the heck I really am.

I was really surprised. I was surprised not only because he managed to do so, but also by the tenderness and warmth of his tiny hands. I can tell you, it's one of the most wonderful feelings in the world. My heart simply melts when he moves his hands along my face.

The more his does this, the more I understand why he is doing so. Daryl is curious about our face, especially the big clumsy metal-cum-plastic thing which we call spectacles. But unlike the maddeningly unpredictable ways his arms are moving when he is sitting alone, he is always very gentle and slow when touching my face, as if he knows my face is a work of fine art (by God of course).

And when I found out that he does the same thing to anyone who is holding him, no matter it's a man or a woman, I wasn't jealous at all. I said to my wife, "I think Daryl is going to do the same thing to all the girls he's going to meet, and the girls will love it." To which my wife responded, "You've lost your mind!"

She cannot be more right. Daryl's hands are really driving me crazy.

Godmothers

Because of the incredible amount of stuff in our home ("They're enough to support a dozen people," said our domestic helper), I always say that we have a lot of EVERYTHING in the world. The only thing we don't have is money.

And the same goes for Daryl. He has no money yet (What? You think he has a million-dollar bank account? He will if any of you give him, or us, one.), but has a lot of clothing, toys and other stuffs.

And no, he doesn't have one godmother. He has TWO in fact.

These two crazy girls are two of my very best friends. They are my high-school classmates, and they love children a lot, and one of them has been other kids' godmothers before.

How crazy are they? They once said that we can simply concentrate on supporting Daryl's study and buying his food, and they will take care of all his clothing. Then during the very hot summer days, they told us that they have already bought a super-warm quilt gown for him. And when scorching summer finally ended and the weather became cold, they decided to tell us that they have bought some swimming wears (notice the "s") for him.

And a quick check into Daryl's wardrobes confirms our belief: We, as his parents, have only bought him the cheapest of clothes from the cheapest of places. Meanwhile, almost all of his "designer" clothing are bought by his godmothers.

But their "donation" is strictly "in kind". When we suggested them make stock or fund investment for Daryl, they flatly said no, as "stocks and funds won't make Daryl prettier!"

Sometimes they are evil. They would sneak into our home when we were away at work and visit Daryl. As they have already won over the trust of our domestic helper, we are really worried that one day they will kidnap Daryl and ask for a huge ransom.

And they are also the main reason why we have to move. They always threatened us that if we don't move to a bigger place, there will not be enough room to store the things they have bought for Daryl. We, as kind and friendly as always, have no choice but to accommodate their request.

But at the rate they're buying things for Daryl, we'll soon have to acquire the flats (notice the dreaded "s" again) next to us, just to have enough room for us go to the toilet without tripping over.

Nevertheless, Daryl is a lucky boy. We always thank God that everyone loves him a lot, and it's really a blessing for him to have two such caring and loving godmothers.