The eye of the Storm

Hubby's on a business trip to Miri for two days, so that means I'm staying at Mak's house again. And Nuaim has gone to bed early, which means I get to use the Internet, or read any of the three books I have lying about - so here I am!

Finally, after several frantic weeks at the office, we've achieved some semblance of order. It's pretty ironic that at a time when our manpower requirements have taken a dip, we finally have all five engineers available for the job. I am now cracking my head thinking of tasks to keep my juniors occupied, instead of running around like a headless chicken (I've never actually seen one, a real headless chicken running around that is) looking for some masking tape to put it all back together. But enough of office gossip and politics, be it of the office or national variety.

Nuaim's right eye, however, keeps throwing up new surprises. Just as the teariness seems to have disappeared, a ketumbit (stye?) came out on his right upper eyelid. Old folk's tales would say styes are the result of playing peeping Tom, just like getting a boil on the bum from sitting on a pillow. Anyway, it appeared when I was in Bintulu, and after some antibiotics and eyedrops it popped on its own within a week. But it's made a reappearance a week later, and Nuaim is always so difficult to deal with when it comes to eyedrops and eye creams. He usually ends up screaming at the top of his lungs, which of course worries Mak no end. Everyone suggests that I do it while he's asleep, but it's even more difficult then because he'll always turn his head the other way. So between Hubby and me we don't really have much choice but for one of us (usually me) to hold him in a vice-like grip while the other applies the treatment.

He's also prone to some very violent behaviour whenever he gets upset, embarassed or really excited. Whenever I come back home from work, I'm greeted with a report on how he's bitten Mak's arm or leg, leaving her black and blue all over. He bites me too, but fortunately doesn't leave any marks behind. He does, however, slap me on the head, then complains that his hand hurts, whenever he's told off. And sometimes it's not even me doing the telling off, but I'm almost always at the receiving end of his anger. Once, at a restaurant, we saw another boy his age playing about and kind of suggested they play together. Unfortunately, the boy decided to greet Nuaim by scratching his face and barking some unintelligible monosyllable. Nuaim didn't like it, but did he retaliate? No, instead he just stood there silently, looking very unhappy while pinching my arm with his sharp little nails. Adoiiii!