Wildlife

The braces wearing National Health specs sporting 10 year old and member of the RSPB was unleashed during our first few weeks in Singapore as we saw kingfishers in the gardens around the pool, hornbills in the trees above us and some sort of sea eagle type thingy along with various birds of prey soaring in the skies above our apartment.  It caused such excitement.

That said, like a good sweet juicy mango, these things are all seasonal and I have not seen a kingfisher or a hornbill in four months. 

I have seen two dead mice and a good many pigeons, my London nemesis who have clearly followed me here to make my life an ongoing ducking hell.  Pigeons are like bats.  Bat's we all know pretend they have sonar so we think they are as clever as whales, but like pigeons are unable to fly without brushing your cheek with their diseased wings or take off without caressing the top of your head with their horrid little clubbed feet. 

So, while Singapore probably has one of the best zoo's in the world, free roaming orang-utan's, giant panda's, white tiger's and a host of other wonderful creatures and we had a fortnight of seeing some terrific bird action locally, the last month of my life has been spent dealing with a variety of less welcome infestations.

First we had strange tiny black scarab type beetles all over the place.  They were rather crispy to touch and I spent most of three weeks picking them off cupboards, walls, floors, just about everywhere.  Luckily, I found the source of the problem was the fact they were breeding in the brown rice that clearly cannot cope being stored in the humidity.  In the bin it went.  The little bugs however seem to have made a home for themselves somewhere inaccessible within the cupboard, so we are still seeing them around.

Then we have the giant ants which we traced back to a hollow door frame in the bathroom.  It was quite a shock when I stumbled into the bathroom in the morning half asleep to then relieve myself and find four huge ants in the toilet.  At 6am, it is plausible to think they fell out of your body.

We also have some tiny little itsy bitsy teeny weeny insects that run single file from our balcony into the living room skirting the wall.  They are rather annoying as you don't really want a thousand insects however small in your house.  However we tolerate them as we have noticed they provide a valuable service.  

I live with two nail biters who not only bite their nails but spit them out.  We found a small pile of said bitten nails collected in a heap in our bedroom where these little creatures had collected them. 

My solution to all of this is petroleum jelly of which I am going through tubs.  Blocking up holes, vents and gaps.  So far it seems to be working as we have found a few little bugs trapped like Frodo in Shelob's web.  We leave them there as a deterrent to future insects that try to take us on.  Our own version of the Tudor’s Traitors Gate.

Furthermore, I am sure you are thinking the fact I have these infestations is due to the fact I have a dirty house.  I can happily reassure you that I have a cleaner who comes once a week and does a mostly crummy job.   

Yet, I don't want to be one of those women who is too lazy to do her own housework and then moans about her cleaning lady.  I am so ashamed of my laziness that when she comes over I sit on the balcony with my laptop, phone and iPad and pretend I am a stock broker who works from home.  I even wear my glasses so I look more cerebral.  I sometimes call my husband with regard to something like what we should do for dinner and say a few things loudly in a business voice.  Drop a few "touch bases" and "bathing level reality checks" in for a bit of convincing office bull.  

I am sure she can see through my facade given when she looks over my shoulder I am invariably on Facebook or watching Homeland.

Anyway, the fact of the matter is I do forget occasionally that even though Singapore does have the architecture of Canary Wharf on acid it is still located in South East Asia and Asia is hot and is a playground for the insect world.  It will continue to be a battle ground I fear but as long as the ones who are useful continue being useful clearing up toenails and not getting into my food stores I am happy to share my apartment with them.

The Ubud Crisis

Have you heard of Ubud?  I hadn't, until I read my guidebook to Bali and learned that it was a major artistic and cultural stop on the Bali tourist trail.  

Pictures of Ubud looked wonderful and we were at that point where we had decided that every holiday out here shouldn't just be about the beach. The children are now old enough I feel to be subjected to a bit of culture and Ubud was a short hop from the airport and the beach.  The perfect cultural break for three to four days getting away from the udder sporting Cujo's, hair wraps and leathery skin.  I will leave you to work out whether I am talking about the tourists or the dogs. 

I also learned that Ubud featured significantly in the book "Eat, Pray, Love" and the movie of the same name, which starred Julia Roberts.  I have not read the book but have seen short clips of the movie so I was unsurprised to see the majority of tourists to Ubud were young couples making a little cultural stop, the fledgling writer (as the Ubud literary festival was taking place when we were there) and the remaining 90% of lone forty something pouting women in flowery skirts carrying a big camera with a big lens and strolling around with a wry smile on their faces.

Our main joy on holiday is to people watch.  We get little time for this with the children these days but we are beginning to catch a few opportunities to stare and comment when the kids are goggle eyed playing Angry Birds.   Therefore, how my husband and I hooted with laughter every time we saw the cliche on legs that is a lady on her own wearing a moomoo, carrying a journal and staring into space while eating some nasi campur.

I have to hold my hand up as the most cynical of the Witch and Warlock that we are on holiday, who scoffed about the ladies of a certain age trying to "find themselves" in Ubud. Probably after a divorce, maybe hoping to fall in love with a rugged expat masseuse who has made a serene life for himself in Ubud after throwing in the towel working in high finance in New York and opened up a rustic bed and breakfast looking after people with great hospitality between meditation and toning his finely tanned physique practising tantric yoga.

Yet, after a couple of days of leaving Ubud and arriving in Sanur which was the sun and sand end of our trip to Bali I really was yearning for Ubud.  And that was because I am nearly forty and I do really like massages and taking photographs and strolling and shopping in markets for colourful skirts and tiny bottles of perfume made from local flowers and if I could find a partner who would at least be willing to do yoga with me than ask whether he should take his Kindle to his first massage I would most certainly jack in my current life and run off to Ubud for a wonderful, beautiful, cultural and peaceful midlife crisis. 

I mean, if you are going to have a nervous breakdown, you might as well do it somewhere pretty.

Assimilation Part 2

Last week I failed at qualifying as a bona fide Tai Tai in Singapore because I am short, brown and continue to wear a selection of shorts and t-shirts from Primark.

This week I continued my determined assault to get in with the locals by trying out the two words in Mandarin I have learned from the children.  It started ever so well and then backfired very quickly.

My efforts to assimilate into the local and expat community like some sort of subtle but pervasive flesh eating parasite, is really not working very well.  I am making good in roads but keep tripping up.  Obviously, looking like the help is not aiding my position amongst the locals as a "lady what lunches" and my efforts at shopping locally and speaking in Mandarin is making me look like a buffoon.

I am a determined chap and will continue to grind them down until I am treated as an equal amongst all the communities in which I foist myself.

My latest foisting I think has now resulted in someone developing a crush on me.  Yes, unbelievable, particularly after last week's toes story.

This 17 year old youth who works behind the fish counter at the local Chinese supermarket is my new love interest and I can only assume that he thinks I am some sort of Desperate Housewife requiring my printer fixed when he has finished work gutting barramundi.

I have acquired this unwanted attention because I said thank you to him one day in Mandarin.  He responded by bursting out laughing and telling his co-worker something in Mandarin about me saying thank you in Mandarin.  Anyway, I felt like a bit of a fool but since that humiliation and because I am a fool I have continued to say good morning and thank you to the fish boys in Mandarin.  As I said, I am determined and believe they will eventually not think of me as a joke if I persist.

Unfortunately this has gone wrong and he clearly thinks I am in love with him.  As soon as he sees me now he constantly peeps over the counter to try to make eye contact which I initially avoided as I didn't want him to ask me to "go steady" or whatever kids do nowadays.  But as I get excellent cheap fish from this supermarket I have to keep going there and just resigned myself to the fact I have a boy crush.  He continues to smile, try to make eye contact and waits for those alluring words "thank you" in Mandarin to part from my lips before his little face lights up.

I did go there once with my husband and the children but it did not stop him grinning at me.  I guess he thought I was their maid.

What can I do to fit in here and not just with the power Mum's I meet at my children's school, whom I actually fit in less with than the lady who sells eggs at the market.  I think persistence is key here and I do hope I will increasingly be able to converse with the local people at the wet markets and Chinese supermarkets as I shop there regularly.  

As for my new boyfriend, I guess I will know I have truly assimilated when we move from grinning and smiling to eventually meeting his parents.  I do look forward to that day when he asks and I say no.  By then, I will know that I truly belong.

Assimilation Part 1

Last week, I had my first experience of what they call in this part of the world, "Tai Tai" and one hour later was knocked right back into my place.

Tai Tai is a Chinese colloquial term for a "wealthy married woman who does not work".  In the case of my dear friend and I who hit the town the only part of that which is accurate is "married and does not work" and in my friends case, "woman".  It is an interesting term as it is sometimes considered flattering in being referred to as a "lady" and yet also carries with it a subtle insult.

Anyway, our Tai Tai experience started as a coffee at my apartment followed by a stroll into town to have a pedicure.  This was virgin territory for me having in 38 years never had anybody family, friend or foe near my feet.  Firstly I am intensely ticklish and secondly after having the beautiful feet of an innocent child when I was a child I now have the gnarly, green hued thick toenails of a 38 year old who has done a lot of hiking and worn those stupid shoes that lots of short girls wore in the late 90's that were actually platforms disguised as nice shoes.  This was my ankle buckling falling off the kerb phase that required me to always be holding on to someone when I walked anywhere.  Furthermore as these were platform shoes nobody was going to fall for the fact that I was actually 5ft 7 as they would clearly see I was 5ft 1 wearing 6 inch blocks on the bottom of my feet.  In order to make the illusion more impressive I wore trousers that were too long to cover the blocks.  Of course, I then tripped over those.

I digress.  My first pedicure was wonderful.  We were given beverages and Hello magazine.  Fodder for the bitter and vindictive mind.  We sat next to each other and chatted away while some poor young lass tended my revolting appendages.  If quasi modo was a toe then I have 6 modo's.  My big toes look like a tortoise's head appearing from a shell.  Lollipop toes if you will. Lindsay Lohan.  Stem with a big head on top.  My little toes are rotten through and through.  And yet this young girl worked a complete miracle.

As I mentioned before about quasi modo, my middle toes are all hump and little head / nail.  She managed to painlessly slice the skin back so I actually had more than a 2mm deep toenail that could be painted.  She chopped away at the kettle chip passing for my little toenails and made them shapely and paintable.  There was nothing she could physically do about the lollipops but you can't have everything.

The feet were then given a thorough pumicing, filing, creaming and massaging during which I squealed with laughter.

We were each given a basket of finger nails from which to pick what colours, styles we wanted.  Initially, it looked like the sort of basket you would find at a serial killers house but once I saw that each one was painted pretty I realised it was the equivalent of a Dulux colour palette.

My friend and I made our selection had our toes painted beautifully and then had our feet put under some sort of portable disco which dried the nail polish to perfection.

Amazingly, when I slipped back into my Birkenstocks, I could hardly walk.  My feet were so smooth that I was sliding in my sandals.  It was like the natural velcro that I had grown on my soles these 30 years had been removed to be replaced by silk.

I decided that I could get used to this and intend to justify having a monthly pedicure on health grounds.  As I am always in sandals my poor little feet are always exposed to the elements, the searing sun and the flooding rain.  In fact last week my feet were stained orange for three days following a massive downpour that took most of the orangey clay soil off the flower beds on the pavement and provided me with a gritty foot bath.  Luckily Singapore is very clean otherwise I would probably have needed both of them amputated.

So my initial foray into the expat Tai Tai world had commenced and as I sauntered through the shopping centre with my extremely lovely and very beautiful friend also from my hometown of Guildford, strutting my new toenails for the world to see, I felt rather swishy.  Of course this came crashing down when I noticed, as we walked together, the various people from the shops handing out flyers for their products only seemed to be handing them to my friend and not to me.  I suddenly realised and mentioned this to her that I think they think I am her maid and therefore do not warrant receiving their flyers.

Yes, I am a bore about the treatment of maids out here and yet I will continue to wear my shorts and t-shirts and not trade up to a selection of dresses from Mango to prove I am something other than what a lot of people here perceive me to be. 

But in future and because I am slightly irritated, I might ask my friend if I can walk in front of her wherever we go, talk with my poshest English accent very loudly and try to find some of those 6 inch platform shoes from the 90s as I think being tall and dusky as opposed to short and dusky might enable me to get hold of some of those fancy pants leaflets that I so desperately want.

Life Through A Lens

The cultural and behavioural differences between peoples, countries and continents are certainly what make life so rich and unusual but also make us baffled and irate.

We took our children to the Sea Aquarium on the leisure island of Sentosa this weekend.  The aquarium is absolutely phenomenal and my 4 year old who is ocean obsessed after getting a set of top trumps on deep sea creatures was beyond excited.

We had a lovely day which would have been perfect if we could have actually seen anything due to the five deep throng of people standing in front of every fish tank combined with their tablet PCs, camera's and phones taking pictures of every single thing in the tank before moving on to the next tank to do the same.  I don't believe anybody actually looked at anything in those tanks with their own eyes.

My husband being a man of little patience lost his temper quickly as my four year old was shoved out of the way by a lady wanting to take a picture of a fish.  He put his arm out in front of her and told her not to push our son using a few choice words, to which her response was "it's okay I am taking a picture" and he said "no, it is not okay to push a child so you can take a picture" plus a few more choice words.  She then said "okay", took the picture anyway and said "thank you" with no hint of sarcasm and moved off to the next tank.

As I tried to find a bucket of cold water in which my husband could douse his steaming head I reminded him that shouting and screaming does not work here and the camera snapping folks of this part of the world will continue to snap away irrespective of how much he stamps his feet.  Nobody is aggressive, just determined.  But when you are being butted out of the way over and over again, the motives are frankly irrelevant.

The UK is a unique place in that we place great store by manners, polite society and our ability to queue for hours without getting even slightly stressed.  However, a lack of manners, impoliteness and queue jumping or being inconsiderate of ones neighbour causes major patience loss within seconds.  Unfortunately due to the "Generation Me" effect sadly sweeping the modern world, I worry that very soon everywhere will be standing in front of a fish tank holding a tablet PC above their heads while small children stand at the back unable to see anything.

The funnier part of this tale was this lady seemed to wander around with us from tank to tank and chat to our children as they oooed and aaaaed at the wonderful tanks of tropical fish and deep sea monstrosities.  My husband was still developing piles elsewhere but I was all forgiveness, particularly when I saw this lady forcibly position her little girls head against a cylindrical tank holding jelly fish to take another picture.  In fact she pushed her daughters head about three times against the glass to make sure she was in shot with the jellyfish.  She then told her to stand on the other side of the tank and whacked her head into it a few more times before getting the money shot from a different angle. As we all know, cylinders don't really have sides.

Of course, with the exception of the inconsiderate determination of the photo obsessed folks of South East Asia we had to wonder when they actually looked at all these pictures.  When pondering this fact all I could do was just feel terrible sympathy for their families at home who would be subjected to hours of boring photo montages of endless fish behind smudged glass squashed against a small child's cheek.

Papoose

I wanted to relate a lighter parenting moment that I witnessed after last week's moaning about maids.

Talking of maids and my firm stance on the subject, I just saw an amazing film called "Ilo Ilo".  It won the Camera D'or at Cannes and was a beautiful tale about an ordinary Singaporean family and their newly hired Filipino maid at the time of the Asian economic crisis.  I came away from it feeling totally confused about my feelings to the hiring of maids in Singapore.  It did seem like everyone loses in the end but part of me felt we should hire someone because we will be so nice to them and make them comfortable so they can earn money to send home to their children.  As I read that back all I think of myself is "yes, you really are a stupid simplistic expat prat".

Moving on. 

On arriving at Singapore Zoo when it was in full family filled flow we saw a young family with a three year old and a 1 year old.  The 1 year old was in the buggy and the three year old was forward facing in a Baby Bjorn sling being carried by its mother.

Needless to say this clearly very fit broad shouldered young Mum was buckling under the weight of this enormous child as its head sat just under her chin and its legs dangled below her knees.  Before you all start squealing at me, I know that it is hard to pin point children's ages and maybe she was just a very young child and was just really tall and we should not make assumptions blah blah blah.  Anyway, in my capacity as thorough fact finding amateur journalist I am making up the fact that this girl was definitely around three years old.

I didn't really understand why they didn't just put the baby in the sling and the toddler in the buggy.  Anyway, this is one of many unusual things you see when you move to a different country.  Little behaviours can prove an oddity at first. 

In fact I saw a man taking his dog for a walk the other day and the dog was wearing baby shoes.  One colourful little leather booty on each paw so his feet didn't get wet on the damp grass.  The fact that he was probably going to get his own urine on them was neither here nor there.

I have no doubt as I gradually make Singapore my home and become more assimilated that I will probably end up carrying my 7 year old in a papoose even though like this 3 year old she has those remarkable things attached to her bottom, called legs which I believe are quite useful in enabling one to get from A to B.

Wushu

There really is something quite extraordinary in watching a lady bend your child's legs backwards so they actually look like they are broken while sitting on their chest to get it flat to the floor at the same time.  I am assuming for this reason most parents do not stay to watch their children take part in the Chinese Wushu classes that we subjected our children to this weekend.

Now that I am native Singaporean Chinese having been here for two months I am speaking local.  For you non-Chinese folk, I am talking about Kung Fu.  The beautiful, disciplined and powerful art of Jackie Chan and Po the Panda alike.

Singapore provides a multitude of activities and sports for children ranging from "speed pot stacking" (this is genuinely an extra-curricular activity at my children's school and before you ask, it is not related to illegal drug manufacturing) to the usual football, tennis and gymnastics.

Even though I have invested a small fortune in swimming, football, rugby and gymnastics lessons for my children these last four years and was keen to continue those lessons to not make our investment a waste and help them build on their skills, I began to feel it would be a missed opportunity not to get them trained in a sport or activity that had its origins in Asia.

I looked into Taekwondo, Judo and Karate but all are combative which I knew my daughter would not like and given my son spent last week being beaten up on the school bus, I didn't feel anything with a shade of fisticuffs would be a great idea.  Kung Fu or Wushu seemed ideal.

I tried to find a class not run by expats as unfortunately they do try to make the classes fun for the children and our children have had enough fun.  They need to do some of that hard learnin'.

We wanted something very local and found a class not far from Little India taught by a Chinese lady, expert in Wushu who is extremely nice to the children but is strict to the point of giving them a smack on the legs if they are not listening or being disruptive.  My kind of girl given I was chased around the house frequently by my Mum and her wooden sewing ruler in my youth. 

This really was a grilling in discipline, flexibility and gymnastics.  They were instructed in English and Mandarin which we thought was wonderful. 

Of course before the children can really take on some of the dynamic moves of Kung Fu they have to become flexible and given my son is like a five day old cadaver in terms of flexibility he did amazingly well and his teacher in fact thought he was very good and had potential (could not see it myself).  My daughter did well too but as she attempted some of her stances, my husband and I could not help but be reminded of the fabulous episode of Blackadder when Prince George is learning from a couple of Shakespearean actors how to stand with authority when orating.  If you have not seen it, it is very much crotch forward.

Their teacher informed us at the end of the class that within a few weeks the children will become very bendy but each week she has to keep pushing them and forcing them physically into these contorted positions.  As a parent it really was eye watering watching their legs being bent backwards and their feet pointing the wrong way.  When we returned home I tried one of the moves myself and got stuck in the position, ended up with horrific cramp in my thigh and calf I had to be untangled by the children.

I am now looking forward to my children becoming the next Jet Li and Michelle Yeoh and spent the evening watching the fight scenes in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon with great hope.  My daughter spent her evening practising the new moves that she learned and my son overjoyed with his new Wushu kit spent the evening prancing around in his black satin trousers not doing any Kung Fu moves at all.  Once again, money well spent.

Touchy Subject

I am entering a big minefield but I am going to attempt it and hopefully not get my legs blown off.

Help or live in maids is a delicate area for discussion amongst expats out here.  It is hard not to come across as judgemental but of course, I am going to be judgemental.  Just as much as those folks with live in help are very dogmatic in their belief that as an expat I should have a maid.  I feel fairly justified in taking an equally firm stance to the opposite.

There are many reasons why we do not feel it appropriate for our family.  Mainly because our children are now in full time school, we do not have a massive home and like our privacy and as far as I am concerned the small windowless cupboard in the wet kitchen which currently stores all our luggage and domestic detritus is not a fit home for anything requiring oxygen.  Yet, we are most certainly in the minority in making this decision.

Don't get me wrong.  For those families with very young children, for parents who work, the elderly or infirm or the downright lazy,  I see the value in having somebody to take the domestic drudgery off your hands. I think I would have sung a different tune if I had a little baby as I would most definitely appreciate the cooking, cleaning, laundry and shopping done as it would mean I would have all my time free to spend with my children.  That said, based on my parenting skills, that might not be such a good thing.  However, in theory it is a wonderful prospect.

Based on this, two things I saw this weekend baffled me.

We had a superb meal in a great food hall on Saturday at a place called Vivo City.  It has one of the best Hokkien Prawn Noodles I have ever tasted and I shamelessly drank the remaining prawn, noodle, chilli sauce liquids from my plate like an ill-mannered oik because I could not bear to waste a bit.  But I digress.

Vivo City is primarily a big mall and has a nice little play area for children including water shooting fountains in which small people can cool off.

It was here that we saw another family with a little boy, probably not even a year old.  The child was playing in the water in the sunshine with the maid while the parents stood in the shade and watched laughing, smiling and clapping.  Once I saw the mother run in to give the childs hat to the maid and then run back into the shade to sit down.  It is possible that both mother and father are allergic to the sun or to water or to their child. In fact, I am sure I have seen a Channel 5 documentary entitled just that,  "I am allergic to my children".  In this case however, the parents looked perfectly healthy but did not spend one moment engaging with their child but instead looked on very happily from the side lines.

I certainly will not win any awards for outstanding parenting of the year but I do love my children in my own unique way and the weekends living here are blissful. The fine climate and family friendly places make it a wonderful place for really quality time with the children.  Our weekends in the UK were boring most of the time because it was always raining or cold or glum.  Most of my friends would suck it up and say, nope, we just went out and jumped in muddy puddles and had a great time.  Well, good luck to you.  Not my idea of fun.  I refer to my point about good versus bad parenting.   So being the bad parents we are, we would watch back to back movies and nod off drunk on the sofa instead of taking our children out in the rain for some healthy outdoor merriment.

Here, however, we relish our weekends.  The island is so small, going anywhere is no hassle and transport is cheap and quick.  We have not spent a single weekend in since we got here because there are so many nice things to do and to eat that even if all you do is jump a bus and grab some food somewhere, it is still a really lovely experience and great time spent as a family, mainly because I am not cooking and am therefore instantly in a good mood.

So why on a lovely weekend would you choose not to be with your child while they are having such fun in the sun and the water and instead just enjoy viewing them from the distance as your help does, what I can see, is the really fun part of parenting.

A second case in point was a couple who left their maid with their child in the buggy outside and went into a coffee shop for about half an hour and then came out again and walked off together.  Parents in front, with the maid pushing the buggy, behind them. 

This is a lifestyle that is totally foreign to me but to some degree I should not be surprised by some families out here behaving in this manner as it is perhaps exactly the same way they were raised and their parents were raised so is the only life they have ever known.  We have heard some stories of newborn babies sleeping with the maids so they can manage the night feeds.  For me this is rather unsettling and unfathomable to our perspective on family life.

That said, the fact that I managed to notice all these goings on shows I clearly was not spending any time engaging with my children, because I was too busy staring at everybody else.

Also, a young Indonesian girl pushing a buggy behind a family out here is probably no different to some bonnet wearing aristo walking behind the Queen carrying her bunch of flowers.  In fact the maid probably has a better deal as the aristo most likely doesn't get paid to carry her Majesty's gerberas.

I don't really know what to think of it all.  It is a choice that people have made and I do not begrudge them.  I also know some families adore their live in help and cherish them dearly.  My struggle with this is reconciling caring for somebody so much as a member of your family and yet still being comfortable with them walking behind you in shops carrying everything you have bought while you carry nothing. 

Gone

The children were gone and I was a wreck on Monday morning.

Having moved from a town where I knew everybody, my children knew everybody and the transition from an adorable pre-school into a lovely infants school was just so easy due to the close knit community we were part of, the horror of packing your 4 and 6 year old onto a school bus to be deposited on the other side of the island was traumatic to say the least.  My little one gradually slumped into a worried ball in his seat and neither of them could really look at us as the bus pulled off.  After finally ushering my dithering husband out of the door I managed to have a good old cry.

Then I thought to myself.  Honestly!  There are children in some African nations who walk miles on their own to get an education and kids in rural parts of the UK who have probably taken buses from a tender age to get to school and here I am crying over my lucky children who are getting into an air conditioned bus to be driven half an hour to their state of the art school and will be dropped back at my door in the evening.  I felt like a tool.  But as is always the way with these musings and guilty feelings, after about 10 minutes I thought, well, I don't know those kids in Africa or those kids in the Highlands of the UK so ultimately I don't really care and started crying over my poor little offspring again. 

My initial worry about my small children heading off on their first day on the big scary school bus was mainly because the bus amah (a lady who is installed in the bus to take care of the younger children)  was about 100 years old and therefore left me with little to no confidence as I saw her strap in my youngest with his rucksack still attached to his back.  

Anyway, once I had collected myself, I grabbed my organic cotton John Lewis shopper bag (why do we get so terribly flag waving when we are abroad?) and then popped to Holland Village to buy a few extra ingredients that were missing following my back breaking trip to the Chinese supermarket on Sunday morning.  I thoroughly enjoyed my shop there but my trolley was so full and so heavy I could not lift it into a taxi so had to drag it all the way back home.  Unfortunately, the exertion, weight of dragging my trolley and heat combined, has resulted in a thrown shoulder, muscle strain across my abdomen and some other physical problems which I will not go into but if I say bunch of grapes you may comprehend.

Anyway, I picked up my last few ingredients.  I was missing one item exactly from the three meals I planned to cook.  I did manage to get everything I needed in a variable form to that of home.  So, I cooked goulash (worth more than gold due to the price of beef here), some Thai salmon burgers to go in the freezer and Chinese braised pork with ginger and Shaosing rice wine.  I could not get Shaosing rice wine so had to settle for foochew rice wine. I believe "chew" means "wee wee" in Tamil which was a tad worrying but it was all they had so it was going in.  I also could not get spring onions of  the variety one gets in the UK so bought some sort of purple spring onions that were about 5ft long.  I picked up a beautiful non-soggy fresh bunch of coriander for 25p which made me very happy and then trooped home.

What I discovered on my first day alone with both my children in full time education:

1.  I cannot skin fish.  No idea. Four large fillets of salmon were bought to make these burgers.  About three fillets actually went in.  The rest were attached firmly to the skin and went in the bin.  Given I did this with a laser sharpened fish knife was a pretty poor show on my part.

2.  Crying, after your kids have left is terrible and sad but cooking while listening to old skool ska is truly joyful and triumphant.

3.  Cooking, in this country is hot sweaty work.  I moved one of the fans into the kitchen while I was cooking.  Problem with that is it blows the gas flame out.

4.  I completely burned my Chinese pork.  I have a freaky steam oven that I don't know how to use.  Clearly.

5.  When I asked my husband to get some household products including a bottle of Cif, I did not expect to find a yellow bottle of concentrated yellow gloop Jif from 1978 in the cupboard.

And, on an unrelated cooking point:

6.  Week 9 and my skin is a disaster.  Flawless skin is sadly not found amongst the majority in Singapore which is rather worrying.  Society here is unfortunately rather acne clad and not just a few spots here and there.  I am talking pebble dashing.  I have been advised that it takes five months before ones skin improves in line with the sweat glands adjusting to the climate, so I will just have to accept my skin feels like braille and I look like I am the victim of some sort of chemical attack for the next few months.  

I plan to buy myself a handkerchief to keep from using my germ infested hands to wipe the buckets pouring off my face, which could be causing the spots.  Handkerchiefs are normally the preserve of gentleman who blow and pocket (yuk) but will now be my Elinor Dashwood style dab and pocket.  Realistically it will be more likely a violent wipe, wring out and pocket and then two minutes later, do it again.  This will all simply result in an ongoing sweaty face, as well as a sweaty pocket.

I planned to be lazy this week and just read and swim and rest but I have discovered that while the children have been at home I have not done any of the domestic essentials that one would do when you arrive in a new country like registering with a doctor and a dentist.  I only just organised a cleaner today and bearing in mind I complained about my inability to clean in this heat about two months ago, you can imagine what a cesspit my apartment is now.  I still need to get my pictures and mirrors hung as I had to cancel Ricky Martin last week due to our rum tums.

Once I have done these things, which will probably take all of this week.  I will dedicate next week to myself to relax and work out how to fill my days.  I have been invited to a few lunches and I do need to sign up to Pilates again and would like to give yoga a whirl.  Given the grapes, this is really a matter of urgency and as I now lug grocery trolleys and shopping bags around unlike the terribly civilised Sainsbury's deliveries of yester year, I need Pilates to straighten out my rounded shoulders, separating core and back hump that combined with my polonium face is making me quite the catch!

Singapore Deranged

I have had two interesting episodes with the deranged this fortnight gone.  Please note that I am not mocking the deranged, although I do feel slightly within my rights given I have had numerous hairy encounters with nut cases (yes, not PC) in London over the years.

As you know I have stopped smiling as a means of conserving energy.  I did the same thing in the UK following a very scary encounter with a mad cyclist who followed me and kept talking to me for about 20 minutes outside Senate House (the main University of London library) while frothing at the mouth and telling me how well spoken I am and that I must be a news reader and work for the BBC in documentaries.  He became insistent that he would walk with me to the three stations I said I was going to during this unnerving conversation as it got darker and darker outside.  I ended up saying I forgot something at Uni and ran back into Senate House knowing he could not get in as it was for college students only.

I often tell the children this light hearted story as we watch "Nanny McPhee and the Big Bang", as Senate House doubles up as the War Office in this movie.  How we all laugh as I reminisce about running terrified into the building in fear for my life, wondering if this lunatic was going to wait outside until I reappeared.  Yes, it was certainly a hoot.  It was, in all honesty, very frightening and I swore that I would only ever wear the guise of a miserable cow from that day forth.  And it worked, as I was never bothered by any captain crazies again.   

Anyway, even though I have not smiled for 20 years and intended not to since we got to Singapore, I just can't help myself sometimes.  The weather is so warm and everything is so clean and I was going to buy mangosteens and so of course, I got caught again.  This time by a woman.  Probably in her forties. I don't know why being in her forties is relevant but I suppose it explains her taste in clothes. She stopped me not very far from our apartment.  The conversation went as follows:

Lady:  I really like your shorts.  Where did you get them from?
Me: Oh, these.  They are from England.
Lady:  Where are you from?
Me:  I am from England?
Lady:  Do you live here?
Me:  Yes
Lady:  You work?
Me:  We are here with my husbands job?
Lady:  Can I work in England? 
Me:  Errrr...
Lady:  Cleaning?  Is it possible?
Me:  Errrr...
Lady:  How much are flights?
Me:  Errr... well I just looked into it for my Mum and if you book early its about £670.  It isn't cheap.
Lady:  So can I work in England?  Do I need a visa?
Me:  Errr...
Lady:  Paddington.  Can I work in Paddington?
Me:  Err...
Lady:  I don't have big education.  Just little.  Grade 5 but I can do cleaning.  Can I do cleaning in England?
Me:  Err...
Lady:  How old are you?
Me:  Err... 38
Lady:  How old is your husband?
Me:  42
Lady:  Where is he from?
Me:  England.  He is English
Lady:  Do you know anyone I can work for in England?
Me:  Err.. no.  I don't know how easy it is to move from here to England and find work
Lady:  How old are your children?
Me:  6 and 4
Lady:  You have a girl and a boy?
Me:  Yes
Lady:  I know Paddington

I didn't know if she meant the station or the bear and by this point, I could not even see the children because they were half way to the village. I realised this lady might not really like my shorts afterall, so I excused myself by saying my children have run off and goodbye.

My second conversation with the mad was today when I phoned up Ikea to see if they had the Solvinden solar powered string lanterns in stock as they do have them pictured on their website but without any pricing.  The conversation went as follows:

Ikea:  Hello, how may I assist you?
Me:  Hello, I would like to find out if you have a particular item in stock.  It is the Solvinden solar powered string lanterns for the garden
Ikea: Can you give me the article number?
Me:  No, I am afraid not, as it is not listed on your website, only pictured
Ikea:  How do you spell the name?
Me:  S O L V I N D E N.  They are solar powered string lanterns for the garden
Ikea:  It is not coming up on the system.  Can you tell me what they are?  Is it a table or a chair?
Me:  They are solar powered string lanterns for the garden.  Solar powered.  By the sun.  For the garden.
Ikea:  No, they do not have it in stock at Ikea Alexandra.
Me:  Can you check if it is at Ikea Tampines?
Ikea:  Yes I will just check.  Please hold the line while I assist you.
Ikea:  Hello ma'am.
Me:  Hello
Ikea:  No, they do not have it either.
Me:  Do you know when either store will have it in stock again
Ikea:  No they will not have it in stock as this is a summer product.  If you come back next year and quote this number 301.457.809 you can get it then.
Me:  Yes, thank you very much.
Ikea:  Can I assist you with anything else today?
Me:  No.  You have been very helpful and I will come back in 2014.  Goodbye.

The deranged part of that conversation was:
1.  It is a summer product. Yes, Singapore has a wet season but basically it is 30 degrees all year and is noted for the fact it has no seasons... therefore.... there is no summer.... as it's all summer... 365 days of the year.
2.  She asked me to come back next year.

I am definitely enjoying the Singapore lunatics so much more than the ones back home.  I think it might be the nice climate.  Everything is so less threatening.

Quiet

I have been rather silent these last two weeks due to much excitement.

Firstly, a lovely weekend in one of the Singaporeshore islands.  A bit like Geordie and Jersey Shore but without the Geordies and Jerseys.  The island is called Bintan and ridiculously, is bigger than Singapore.  It was a wonderful break with the family, much needed and enjoyed. Plus, the visa takes up a whole page in ones passport.  I think that is capital, given it only took 45 minutes to get there.  A few more weekends on Bintan and my passport could be mistaken for Michael Palin's.

Secondly, our sea freight arrived the Monday after we returned.  Needless to say, I was in seventh heaven and spent the rest of the week unpacking, arranging, shifting, manipulating, building and tweaking.  I have a handy gentleman coming over on Thursday to hang our numerous mirrors and pictures and then we will be complete and the apartment that has so far been the preserve of two adults and two children, quite a lot of spiders and every trades person in Singapore, courtesy of the resident idiot developer, (see Singaportrait A Week) will feel like home.

I do expect the handy guy whose name is Ricky to hate me as I am rather pernickity about how pictures are spaced on a wall.  I have not decided if I am going to call him RI_IY from Eastenders parlance or roll my "R" in the Spanish form a la Rrrrrricky.  I might just call him Ricky.

Thirdly, the Thursday and Friday of the same week were public holidays in Singapore.  Thursday was Hari Raya Puasa which I believe is the end of Ramadan and Friday was National Day in Singapore.  Due to my ignorance I didn't even know who Singapore were celebrating their independence from.  I asked my husband if it was from the Mongols, then the British, as everyone in the world has celebrated that at some point or perhaps Mauritius?  No, apparently they are celebrating independence from Malaysia.  Need to do a bit of work on my south east Asian history.

Since we arrived in Singapore we have witnessed a daily fly by of chinooks, various helicopters carrying giant flags, tornado jets blasting past, all we assumed in rehearsal for the big celebration on Friday.  The country has looked great with flags being hung out of windows across entire blocks.  A veritable sea of white and red.

We were contemplating attending the ceremony but my little boy came down with a fever and tummy bug and we decided dragging ourselves down amongst the crowds was probably unwise.  After watching about twenty minutes of the broadcast on TV I was very glad I did not go to the trouble.  We turned on about half an hour into the official show and were watching a demonstration of how the police deal with hostage situations, many of the police going into the crowd and mock shooting the "terrorists" down as families in the audience watched on.

There was then a huge amount of tankery, gunnery, shootery and blastery going on which I found rather odd.  Singapore is a very small nation, multicultural, successful, peaceful, safe and I apologise for saying this, a fairly minor player in the global scheme of things. I was therefore confused as to the need for such a chest beating army dominated performance.  We came to the conclusion it was small man syndrome.  I talk too much and have a loud voice because I am short.  Same principle with Singapore.  Anyway, we stopped watching shortly after the military eight year olds stepped up to do some sort of hip hop dance in uniform.  Bless them, they would not have won Britain's Got Talent.

Well, now that I have insulted a nation and no doubt the Singaporean Big Brother satellites who are watching me as I type this heresy will be stamping a big black mark next to my name and having some ganglord plant a bag of heroin in my luggage for my future trip to Thailand, I can lead on to the fourth reason I have been quiet.

The kids and I have been stuck in Monday and Tuesday of this week because my nail biting son, who no doubt got his stomach bug from the bus bogeys he injested by chewing his fingers, making the fact he is very vigilant about washing his hands when he comes home utterly pointless, has now passed his bug on to me.  I foolishly shared his drink as most stupid parents do because they are still our little darlings even if unwell.  So I have been in the last two days with stomach cramps and a headache. On the plus side the kids are having such a boring week so far, they will be gagging to hit school on Monday morning.

You might have gathered from my last few posts that I am rather excited about the children starting school having being alone in the water with them since early May.  Yet, I know come Monday I am going to feel pretty choked up.  Mainly because I am not taking them to school, but they are being collected by a school bus at 7.45am and will be deposited back at our apartment at 4pm.  Between those two hours, I will have no idea what they are doing.  I do plan to hop a taxi and hide out at the school peeking through door cracks and hopefully blending into the surroundings like one of the X-Men and making sure they are not unhappy, not that there is much I can do about it.

Anyway, watch this space and think of me next Monday as I stand in the road wearing my slippers, nicotine stained pink flannel dressing gown, ratty hair and a vodka tonic in my hand at 7:45am waving my children away, the youngest for his very first day at big school and know that I will be missing home and specifically the convivial school drop off at that precise moment, I will be wondering what the hell I am going to do with my future now both my children are in full time school, but will probably start this new stage of my life by watching the Ice Age movies back to back without childish interruption, just to get me through my first morning alone.

I will probably go dress shopping after that as my Singapore uniform of shorts and vest top combo is not working as I continue to be mistaken for domestic help.  Not that I mind being mistaken for domestic help.  I just do not like the indifference that is afforded me because I am thought of as domestic help.  Fairly poor show by Singaporeans and Westerners alike to treat these young ladies with such disregard.  I guess sweating around with a trolley and a couple of latte coloured children does not help me much in looking the expat missus.

Anyway, I have had enough and I intend to buy some nice floaty dresses and will no doubt attempt to do my best impression of Madonna trying to pass for an English rose.  I am sure I will fail, as did Madonna and as my dear friend back home said, with a tone of disappointment that I was no longer going to be an expat undercover maid, will instead end up looking like Hyacinth Bouquet.

Mass Murder

Following my death by fugu poisoning slump last week I entered week five of living in Singapore with a spring in my step.  We had a lousy Friday and Saturday which requires an entirely separate article but our Sunday was probably our best so far.  A fantastic day at East Coast Park cycling as a family in one of those weird canopied shopping trolleys with bicycle wheels and two baskets in the front to store your children.  We had a super feed of chilli crab and then a lovely stroll along the beach counting the hundreds of shipping containers who have their own particular style of terrifying grace and then back home for a well earned swim after the days sweatathon.

By Monday, we realised that our 6 year old daughter's ability in the water had improved hugely given she can now swim faster than me (well, that isn't really anything to crow about given I only doggy paddle) and was therefore deserving of a super new snorkel.  It was purchased and applied to the child and she took to breathing underwater with it like Potter on Gillyweed.

On Tuesday we had another lovely day.  Lunch in the village followed by a trip to the cinema with a short diversion to buy fins to match the snorkel and less exciting; an epilator. This contraption has been owned by me for three days now and I am too scared to use it given the instructions talk about the pain, redness, swelling et al that one can go through on the back of having the hair ripped out of their legs one at a time with tweezers.  I am also worried that the constant pulling of the hair might pull my veins out and I will end up with varicose veins as well as hairy legs.  I am not entirely sure I know how one gets varicose veins.  Anyway, I have spent a small fortune on this item and being a bit of a simian it is a necessity as shaving is becoming a nuisance.  I digress.

So, to sum up, Sunday to Tuesday were most jolly.

I did notice over the last two weeks that my daughter had been very pensive and in fact had been looking really quite sad.  I thought she might be going through a similar dip to me but being of the opinion that six year olds are rather simple minded I was sure all the distractions, outings and activities would be enough to help her ride out these fun but aimless weeks until our sea freight arrives and school starts.

As it turns out she is a bit more complex than I thought.  On Tuesday night after our really lovely day she sloped off to bed and when I went to kiss her goodnight she had tears in her eyes.  When I asked her what was wrong she started sobbing saying she wanted to go home, she wants her friends and she is really lonely.  It was a heartbreaking moment for a parent, as even though she is a drama queen, these were not crocodile tears.  We both felt so bad for her.

Unfortunately, there is little we can do other than continue to keep her busy.  My clever husband suggested we went back to England for a few weeks to which I responded with the contempt that comment deserved, "this is the reason I did not want to come out until term ended as two months with no friends, no focus, no routine and no stuff from home is incredibly tough for the kids as well as for me".  As you can see, I do try to protect his feelings as much as possible.  Furthermore, as much as I love home and do miss it I don't think I could cope returning to the post Murray jingo madness and now the royal baby sickophantia (that spelling was deliberate).  Think I would rather be a bit down in the dumps here than bilious at home.

Anyway, after the drama of Tuesday night she seemed better on Wednesday but I did notice that she was displaying the symptoms of fugu poisoning.  We had depression and now she had moved to anger.  She has been repeatedly bullying her little brother very violently I might add and on Wednesday while in the pool having a splash about she splashed me so aggressively that I did think for a minute she was trying to drown me.

This took me back to We Need to Talk About Kevin which is a fantastic and terrifying book and for those of us who have children were almost certain that if we had not had children prior to reading that book, we would not have had any at all.  I never thought that she would be capable of mass murder.  I thought my son was a better candidate based on his toddler years.  But after her recent behaviour and aggression towards her brother and to me I can only assume that I will end this week tied to our balcony with a bunch of arrows in my face.

As we do near the end of this week I think her desire to murder us is still there but following our second excellent trip to Singapore Zoo on Thursday which always promises a different experience, she seems a bit happier.  This is because she got to play in the aqua park, feed and stroke the kangaroos and the white rhinos, which was awesome.

My plan for the next three weeks, while my hubby is travelling with work, is to keep taking them back to the zoo so they can feed as many different animals as possible as that seems to be the one thing that keeps her happy.

Of course, whether my husband will get to China next week is another matter.  He has a very important meeting today presenting to the CEO of the company.  Colleagues have flown in globally to see this address to the President.  Not one for great emotion or conversation regarding work he has been very nervous about this presentation as I assume anyone would be when presenting to the Grande Fromage and his Babybel's for the first time.

I helpfully wished him good luck this morning as he left and encouraged him to take his little carry-on bag with him just in case he gets fired and needs to get his taxi straight to the airport and not be allowed back in the house.  In which case we will be coming home too, so Eleanor will get her wish to see her friends again, Arthur will get to see his Grandparents as they are really the only people he would choose to live with and I get to go back to my house to sit there without any of my stuff for another eight weeks as it is all being unpacked in Singapore. 

It would be a bit annoying if he did get sacked as we have just booked two holidays.  A short break in Bintan and its neighbouring island Botox (that's not true) and an October vacation in Bali.  After huffing and puffing about organising holidays last week, having actually done it now, is a good feeling.  It does make a difference having a few vacations in the diary as it provides a focus and I think that is all we need at present.

In two and a half weeks we should have our sea freight and in the meantime I have booked Beavis and Butthead into a five day summer camp next week to play tennis.  I am hoping five mornings of sport will wear them out, give them a challenge and provide Kevin with somewhere to grunt, hit and smash other than in the swimming pool or on her brothers head.  But most importantly give me three hours a day respite from the thought that one day I might find some autopsied rodents in her cupboard and a pistol.

Eating Fugu

The children have a favourite episode of The Simpsons.  Namely, when Homer eats a Blowfish at a Japanese restaurant that has been cooked by someone not trained in the dangerous art of cooking Fugu.  Anyway, he has 24 hours to live and Dr Hibbert runs through the four emotional stages of coming to terms with this news.  It was something along the lines of 1.Anger.  2.Denial.  3.Desperation  4.Grief  quickly followed by paralysis and death.

After the last couple of blogspots guffawing about life in Singapore,  I think I am honestly at stage 1 if not 3.  I am hoping I don't get to paralysis and death before the kids start school otherwise life for my family could become tricky, logistically speaking.

One discovers a great deal about oneself when out of the usual routine.  I think I have learned very quickly that I am not so good with endless amounts of free time and nothing to do.  Not that I am crazy to fill that time as I am inherently lazy and the humidity here makes my laziness tenfold.

Summer breaks were not so difficult back home.  Mainly because there were activities for the children that stayed constant and you simply built all your free fun time around those constants with trips out, time spent with friends and of course throw a family holiday in there somewhere along the way.

I think I am having a full day circadian dip having been out and about over three consecutive days with the children which is very tiring in this climate.  We have had good fun, although I think exhaustion was setting in yesterday when my husband started shouting at the staff about the lack of chips on our plates at Jurong Bird Park.  Fair enough I say, after spending $50.00 on three burgers.  We didn't actually feel like eating all the chips when we were given extra after all the yelling, but had to on a matter of principle.

We are in week four of our time in Singapore and following last week's rudeness, I am at Stage 1 of death by fugu poisoning: Symptoms of anger.

Yesterday, we decided after all the stress of this year we needed a short break.  Just a long weekend escape from Singapore where we can relax, swim, vegetate on a beach while the kids paddle and we can snorkel.  The choices around here are endless.  Bali, Thailand, Malaysia and countless little islands that are a short plane or boat ride away.  I spent about three hours trying to find somewhere for us to go and by the end of my search I was ready to throw the laptop over the balcony and decided I didn't want to go anywhere on this damn continent because I hate beaches. (This is not true as we have spent our last two holidays in the Caribbean) and my wanderlust is at fugu poisoning stage 6.  Dead!  This might be true but should be recoverable.

Anway after losing control of my laptop and my senses we decided perhaps to wait and not go anywhere until the October half term holidays.  This does make sense as travelling in August is pretty stupid given it's peak season and we can go to any of these islands at anytime.  Also, I think trying to organise holidays when we still have not found our routine in Singapore is probably a bit foolish and is the main reason I am feeling so frustrated.

It is amazing how little a home is a home until your crap is in it.  And how I long for all my crap, which is literally on a slow boat to China and should be arriving at the spooky container ports in Singapore at the beginning of August.

I am no Delia but without my pots, pans and essential Le Creuset I have no idea what in the heck to cook.  The wet markets are wonderful but other than 50 Shades of Pak Choi and some vegetable that I can only describe as a snozzcumber, I am struggling with my greens.  Fruit is easy peasy lemon squeezy.  Fish is simple and cheap but cooking anything from back home, just to have a bit of a break from the wonderful local cuisine takes a lot of effort and expense.  All of these small trivialities are getting my panties in a bunch. 

Furthermore, until the children are in school I am really not going to find my mojo and when I say mojo I mean that strut in your step that you have as you walk to the shops while the soundtrack of your life plays in your head.  Most likely "Stayin' Alive".

My annoyance is really compounded by the fact I have the children in tow.  Sadly for them, they are having to get dragged around every wet market, supermarket, shop and foodhall and being 4 and 6 they complain incessantly, that everything is "stinky".

I was an outstanding Mum in that I spared the kids any trips to the supermarket or shops with me in the UK. Never did they have to trail behind me as I squeezed avocado's and sniffed mangoes, a decision that I now regret as they are making every shopping trip out rather trying.  As a result, I am not shopping at the wet markets or supermarket very often and our fridge only contains two jars of jam, some potatoes, olive spread and milk.  Not a great improvement  from our first week in Singapore!

All our eating is done at the hawker centres locally which are fantastic but still a fifteen minute walk up and down a big hill which they of course do not enjoy because the end of the journey does not end with lego but instead some pontian noodles that I force them to eat in exchange for some melted moam stripes.

My short term misery reminds me of a conversation I had with the admissions lady at the children's school two weeks ago.  We discussed the fact that we would not have a car in Singapore and she said, "It is hard without a car because you do feel like your wings have been clipped".  When I think back to that comment I think she was trying to make me cry as it reminds me of the freedom I had back home being able to drive.  That said, we will not be getting a car so I will just have to suck it up and public transport around here is excellent and cheap.  I think I am still in my Brit mindset that it is far too la-di-bloody-dah to be taking taxi's everywhere.   

Anyway, I am sorry to use this blog as therapy but I am having a bit of a dip.  I am really confident that I will be back to my old positive self once our shipment arrives and the kids start school so I have a routine and a purpose again.  I think in fairness, by the end of three weeks, even in the UK most parents are ready to see the back of their little darlings. 

Trying to find more positives, I have just eaten some amazing black pepper beef hor fun noodles and that seems to have temporarily fixed my mood.  Of course, all this public moaning could be due to the fact it is Monday.

We are having a nothing day today and I will take the kids off somewhere again tomorrow.  I don't think kids should have to be entertained all the time but it is hard for them to entertain themselves without very many of their things with which to play.

My little boy has spent this morning asking me to smell his feet every few minutes and my daughter I know is sneakily using my precious double sided sticky tape in her room.  I am so lacking in energy I don't even have the will to tell her off for stealing my tape and as for my little boy I am just smelling his feet because it is quicker and easier than not smelling them.

I am hoping that I do not progress past the first stage of dying from Fugu eating.  After all, Homer survived.