the hubs was supposed to call my mother but he end up chatting with siri on my phone. which consist of various ways of pronouncing mom - MUM.. M O M.. MOM.. etc.. but the cold as ever siri kept responding with the same answer, i dont know who your mother is .. in fact, i do not know who you are but you can tell me...
LOL..
after keeping siri entertained for 20mins.. the hubs finally got it..
"MOM."
*siri then displays the number.
"CALL"
"CALL WHO?!"
WAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Monday, January 21, 2013
Friday, January 11, 2013
few nights ago...
the hubs: how do you want to celebrate your birthday?
me: i dont want to celebrate... we also never do anything special for your birthday... (we were at alishan on his birthday and there wasnt much choice of food for him to choose... poor boy)
the hubs: but you are special!
dunno what he have been eating in the day... honey maybe?
***
anyway, he bought me to tried the steak at black angus at orchard parade hotel. the place has been around for quite sometime but we never had the chance to go try it.
the beef is as tender as they promise it to be. good!
just wasnt juicy like normal steak cus princess says its aged.
thanks lao gong for the birthday treat!
***
just a few minutes ago..
the hubs: what you doing?
me: writing down how much my darlin love me?
the hubs: but your darlin dont love you...
me: do you love me?
the hubs: yes..
me: then who are you?
the hubs: i am your lao-gong!
-_-"
the hubs: how do you want to celebrate your birthday?
me: i dont want to celebrate... we also never do anything special for your birthday... (we were at alishan on his birthday and there wasnt much choice of food for him to choose... poor boy)
the hubs: but you are special!
dunno what he have been eating in the day... honey maybe?
***
anyway, he bought me to tried the steak at black angus at orchard parade hotel. the place has been around for quite sometime but we never had the chance to go try it.
soup and appetizer.
the main.
the beef is as tender as they promise it to be. good!
just wasnt juicy like normal steak cus princess says its aged.
thanks lao gong for the birthday treat!
***
just a few minutes ago..
the hubs: what you doing?
me: writing down how much my darlin love me?
the hubs: but your darlin dont love you...
me: do you love me?
the hubs: yes..
me: then who are you?
the hubs: i am your lao-gong!
-_-"
Thursday, January 10, 2013
My husband thinks he's God..
funny article and some how i can relate to it.. just a little bit. lol
source: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2259869/My-husband-thinks-hes-God--mothers-fault--Even-twenties-ran-bath-warmed-milk-cornflakes-AND-iced-car.html
My husband thinks he's God - and it's all his mother's fault!
By SARAH IVENS
Please don’t be jealous, but I share my house with a living saint. He was last seen on my sofa, declaring exhaustion after an hour at the supermarket with our 19-month-old son, William.
He needed to be ‘left alone’ to take a restorative nap.
Yes, my husband Russell is a self-proclaimed martyr. Don’t you know how totally exhausting supermarket shopping is on a Saturday? With a toddler in tow, no less?
I had asked him to do our weekly shop because I had been struck down by the ghastly sickness bug and he had no plans. Did he complain? Did he ever!
But before a stampede of indignant feminist wives beat a path to my door, ready to wring my husband’s neck (like I nearly did last Saturday), let me explain.
It’s not Russell’s fault he is the way he is. He was mollycoddled by his mother. Yes, dear reader, it’s her fault that the most mundane of challenges send him into the most pathetic of tailspins.
Spoiled, adored and over-indulged for nearly 30 of his 37 years on earth, I see the fact that he managed to make it to the supermarket and complete a weekly shop (albeit going slightly off-piste with alarming amounts of chocolate and a couple of lads’ mags) as nothing short of a miracle.
Janet, my mother-in-law, thinks my husband — her only son — is utterly perfect. She can’t do enough for him. No wonder he didn’t move out of the family home in Hertfordshire until he was 27.
Every morning, when he lived with her, she’d run his bath for him, then rush down to the kitchen to make his breakfast, even warming the milk for his cereal — just like she did when he was a toddler.
On winter mornings, while he soaked in his bubble bath, she’d head out into the cold and de-ice his car, so he wouldn’t miss his train to work.
After his weekly football games, she’d clean his boots in the garden, while he ate a warm, home-cooked meal.
She wouldn’t touch a sip of champagne on New Year’s Eve in case he and his friends got stuck and needed a lift home at 3am.
All she’d get as a reward was a kiss on the cheek and an occasional (very occasional, knowing my husband) bunch of flowers. But, such was her adoration of her man-child, that she simply didn’t care.
Luckily, I have a great relationship with my mother-in-law, so when she came to stay for a week recently, I tackled her on the subject — the poisoned chalice she’d handed me when I married him.
She happily admitted she’d always spoilt him rotten. 'I can’t help it!' she giggled, acknowledging that she’s largely responsible for making him expect constant praise and willing servitude from me and all who encounter him.
She explained: 'As not only our first child, but the first grandchild to my parents, Russell grew up worshipped by everyone in our extended family. He was a gorgeous little child, really funny and sweet, so he had us all wrapped around his little finger by the age of two. You know his grandad still calls him God.'
She wasn’t joking. I’d initially been a bit confused when we received cards: 'To God and Sarah'.
Until I’d been fully appraised of this unusual family dynamic, I’d always thought I was to blame for creating this domestic diva. I thought it was my fault he expected a giant pat on the back if he took the bins out.
Early in our marriage, I’d encouraged him to think he was special when he did the odd chore, to motivate him to help around the house more.
I told him he was wonderful for putting a new toilet roll in the holder, rather than balancing the replacement on top.
I thanked him profusely when his underpants found their way into the laundry bin, rather than lying, dotted like cotton stepping stones, across the carpet.
I sang his praises every time he decided to take charge of unloading the dishwasher.
I thought it was down to my own fulsome praise that, once we had started our own family, Russ peacocked around like Mick Jagger on stage whenever he deigned to change a nappy. But no: blame his mother.
But his reaction to the recent supermarket trip sent me over the edge. Ignoring that I was doubled up in pain from stomach cramps, he returned from the store huffing and puffing.
'I hope you appreciate what I’ve done,' he said. 'The store was packed with screaming kids and it took ages to get a parking space. I don’t think you realise how annoying it is, shopping on a Saturday.'
Ignoring my own pain, I managed to unpack the bags, while simultaneously keeping William away from the bottles of bleach, as Russell continued: 'I don’t mind doing it, as long as you’re grateful. I just want you to know it was quite tough but I did it.' 'You’re amazing, you’ll probably be asked to turn on the Oxford Street Christmas lights this year!' I replied, eyes rolling.
He disappeared to check the football scores and recover from his great sacrifice, while I fumed, silently cursing my over-indulgent mother-in-law.
At least I’m not alone. Plenty of wives suffer from the problems created by their other halves’ over-indulgent mothers.
I discovered this while sharing my well-versed top-ten list of Russell’s most self-congratulatory moments with my friend Nicola.
She was quick to point out her own little Mummy’s boy is just as bad. 'I entertain his family for a whole day, but he hides in his study after ten minutes of polite chat with my mother, then feels deserving of a quiet pint at the pub to recover,' she said.
'He expects a lie in if, for once, he gets up in the night to soothe the kids. At all other times, he expects to be worshipped. I blame his mother. She spoilt him. No wonder he now thinks he endures a life of hard knocks with a harridan wife.'
When I discussed this with my own little emperor later, he was unrepentant: 'I’ve always been a Mummy’s boy and it hasn’t done me any harm,' he said proudly.
But now someone is stealing his thunder: his own son William, who is — in my opinion — much cuter, sweeter and more deserving of attention than his father could ever be. Will William finally put an end to Russell’s status as treasured number-one son?
It would appear not. Russ seems to handle the competition surprisingly well; he has grown up to be so secure and confident he feels certain there is plenty of love to go round. And he has a point.
Despite being a bit misguided about what a superhero he is at times, he’s a lovely son, husband and father, and credit where it is due, I can praise him for that.
The same can be said for Janet.
'William looks just like Russ at that age,' she coos as she cuddles him, losing her heart to another boy, one generation down. 'He’s just as handsome and funny.'
I glowed at her kind words and she gave me a knowing look.
Yes, I’ve succumbed. I am now in her club: a devoted mother who would do anything for her little boy — even, I’m predicting, when he’s in his 30s with a family of his own.
Will I warm his milk? Quite possibly. Run his bath and defrost his car? Oh, all right.
In fact, I already feel sorry for my future daughter-in-law.
***
actually there is no sane parents out there who doesnt dote or spoiled their kids and they does it in their own way. my dad made me breakfast till the day i get married.
i just feel that as female, we have a stronger feel to fill his mother's shoes though that is not possible. they on the other hand expects no change in the "services" provided and little need to fill her daddy's shoes. =(
how i wish daddies are the ones who does the chores and so i can expect him to do it too!
source: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2259869/My-husband-thinks-hes-God--mothers-fault--Even-twenties-ran-bath-warmed-milk-cornflakes-AND-iced-car.html
My husband thinks he's God - and it's all his mother's fault!
By SARAH IVENS
Please don’t be jealous, but I share my house with a living saint. He was last seen on my sofa, declaring exhaustion after an hour at the supermarket with our 19-month-old son, William.
He needed to be ‘left alone’ to take a restorative nap.
Yes, my husband Russell is a self-proclaimed martyr. Don’t you know how totally exhausting supermarket shopping is on a Saturday? With a toddler in tow, no less?
I had asked him to do our weekly shop because I had been struck down by the ghastly sickness bug and he had no plans. Did he complain? Did he ever!
But before a stampede of indignant feminist wives beat a path to my door, ready to wring my husband’s neck (like I nearly did last Saturday), let me explain.
It’s not Russell’s fault he is the way he is. He was mollycoddled by his mother. Yes, dear reader, it’s her fault that the most mundane of challenges send him into the most pathetic of tailspins.
Spoiled, adored and over-indulged for nearly 30 of his 37 years on earth, I see the fact that he managed to make it to the supermarket and complete a weekly shop (albeit going slightly off-piste with alarming amounts of chocolate and a couple of lads’ mags) as nothing short of a miracle.
Janet, my mother-in-law, thinks my husband — her only son — is utterly perfect. She can’t do enough for him. No wonder he didn’t move out of the family home in Hertfordshire until he was 27.
Every morning, when he lived with her, she’d run his bath for him, then rush down to the kitchen to make his breakfast, even warming the milk for his cereal — just like she did when he was a toddler.
On winter mornings, while he soaked in his bubble bath, she’d head out into the cold and de-ice his car, so he wouldn’t miss his train to work.
After his weekly football games, she’d clean his boots in the garden, while he ate a warm, home-cooked meal.
She wouldn’t touch a sip of champagne on New Year’s Eve in case he and his friends got stuck and needed a lift home at 3am.
All she’d get as a reward was a kiss on the cheek and an occasional (very occasional, knowing my husband) bunch of flowers. But, such was her adoration of her man-child, that she simply didn’t care.
Luckily, I have a great relationship with my mother-in-law, so when she came to stay for a week recently, I tackled her on the subject — the poisoned chalice she’d handed me when I married him.
She happily admitted she’d always spoilt him rotten. 'I can’t help it!' she giggled, acknowledging that she’s largely responsible for making him expect constant praise and willing servitude from me and all who encounter him.
She explained: 'As not only our first child, but the first grandchild to my parents, Russell grew up worshipped by everyone in our extended family. He was a gorgeous little child, really funny and sweet, so he had us all wrapped around his little finger by the age of two. You know his grandad still calls him God.'
She wasn’t joking. I’d initially been a bit confused when we received cards: 'To God and Sarah'.
Until I’d been fully appraised of this unusual family dynamic, I’d always thought I was to blame for creating this domestic diva. I thought it was my fault he expected a giant pat on the back if he took the bins out.
Early in our marriage, I’d encouraged him to think he was special when he did the odd chore, to motivate him to help around the house more.
I told him he was wonderful for putting a new toilet roll in the holder, rather than balancing the replacement on top.
I thanked him profusely when his underpants found their way into the laundry bin, rather than lying, dotted like cotton stepping stones, across the carpet.
I sang his praises every time he decided to take charge of unloading the dishwasher.
I thought it was down to my own fulsome praise that, once we had started our own family, Russ peacocked around like Mick Jagger on stage whenever he deigned to change a nappy. But no: blame his mother.
But his reaction to the recent supermarket trip sent me over the edge. Ignoring that I was doubled up in pain from stomach cramps, he returned from the store huffing and puffing.
'I hope you appreciate what I’ve done,' he said. 'The store was packed with screaming kids and it took ages to get a parking space. I don’t think you realise how annoying it is, shopping on a Saturday.'
Ignoring my own pain, I managed to unpack the bags, while simultaneously keeping William away from the bottles of bleach, as Russell continued: 'I don’t mind doing it, as long as you’re grateful. I just want you to know it was quite tough but I did it.' 'You’re amazing, you’ll probably be asked to turn on the Oxford Street Christmas lights this year!' I replied, eyes rolling.
He disappeared to check the football scores and recover from his great sacrifice, while I fumed, silently cursing my over-indulgent mother-in-law.
At least I’m not alone. Plenty of wives suffer from the problems created by their other halves’ over-indulgent mothers.
I discovered this while sharing my well-versed top-ten list of Russell’s most self-congratulatory moments with my friend Nicola.
She was quick to point out her own little Mummy’s boy is just as bad. 'I entertain his family for a whole day, but he hides in his study after ten minutes of polite chat with my mother, then feels deserving of a quiet pint at the pub to recover,' she said.
'He expects a lie in if, for once, he gets up in the night to soothe the kids. At all other times, he expects to be worshipped. I blame his mother. She spoilt him. No wonder he now thinks he endures a life of hard knocks with a harridan wife.'
When I discussed this with my own little emperor later, he was unrepentant: 'I’ve always been a Mummy’s boy and it hasn’t done me any harm,' he said proudly.
But now someone is stealing his thunder: his own son William, who is — in my opinion — much cuter, sweeter and more deserving of attention than his father could ever be. Will William finally put an end to Russell’s status as treasured number-one son?
It would appear not. Russ seems to handle the competition surprisingly well; he has grown up to be so secure and confident he feels certain there is plenty of love to go round. And he has a point.
Despite being a bit misguided about what a superhero he is at times, he’s a lovely son, husband and father, and credit where it is due, I can praise him for that.
The same can be said for Janet.
'William looks just like Russ at that age,' she coos as she cuddles him, losing her heart to another boy, one generation down. 'He’s just as handsome and funny.'
I glowed at her kind words and she gave me a knowing look.
Yes, I’ve succumbed. I am now in her club: a devoted mother who would do anything for her little boy — even, I’m predicting, when he’s in his 30s with a family of his own.
Will I warm his milk? Quite possibly. Run his bath and defrost his car? Oh, all right.
In fact, I already feel sorry for my future daughter-in-law.
***
actually there is no sane parents out there who doesnt dote or spoiled their kids and they does it in their own way. my dad made me breakfast till the day i get married.
i just feel that as female, we have a stronger feel to fill his mother's shoes though that is not possible. they on the other hand expects no change in the "services" provided and little need to fill her daddy's shoes. =(
how i wish daddies are the ones who does the chores and so i can expect him to do it too!
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