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. 

Going Local Down in Acapulco. Didn't Take Too Lo-oh-oh-ong!

I have a bad feeling that this post is going to end up being just a bit racist.  But to cite an excellent Oprah Winfrey episode from the late 1980's, "We are all inherently racist even though we don't think we are", conducted by an emminent professor of psychology from a leading American university, I am covered legally.

Leaving that aside for a minute.  Do you like my new header?  It only took me five hours to do and I am fully aware that the right side has been cut off.  (reb - that stands for Rolling Eye Balls. Lol).  I will fix it when I next have five hours to spare and can find my spectacles.

Well, since my last blogpost I have now been in balmy Singapore for two weeks and without jet lag to blame for my attitude, behaviour and mood, all my personality flaws are becoming quite apparent.  Either that or as my racist husband has commented, I am going all "Indian".  Given we have been together for 15 years and he clearly has not spotted that I am actually of the Sri Lankan disposition he is not only a racist but an idiot and has demonstrated again how he really does not pay me much attention.  But enough of our marital problems.

Back to us going a bit local.  There could be some truth in this given a few altercations I have had this week and the manner in which the children and I ate our lunch today.  I will once again split this post into sections for easy digestion.

Lunch
We had a rip roaring cracker of a thunderstorm last night which woke everybody up at 4am and resulted in the children spooning with us until 7am.  I say spooning but what I mean is kicking us in the guts, clothes lining us multiple times and generally fidgeting.  

The rest of the morning was busy beeing and the afternoon was a total thundery showery wash out.  The children are now too scared to go on the balcony because of the thunder and the balcony houses the only table we have in the apartment.  

Due to their foolish paranoia, lack of understanding of thunder, lightning, physics and advanced weather patterns we had to sit on the floor to eat our roti prata with mutton curry and butter beans.  

As we sat there, cross legged, hunched over and eating with our fingers, I realised it only took two weeks in Asia for the kids to not only go feral but for their inner brown to rapidly materialise (bit racist?).

Smiling
This is not a society big on smiling.  Just a general point of note.  Of course meeting individuals in stores or restaurants has on the majority of occasions been wonderful and I have found the loveliest lady in the form of a newsagent in the village, who is delightful.  We have had a few long discussions on parenting and agree that when we were both growing up in the 1940's children were generally nicer, appreciated the value of money, were not greedy fat spoilt brats and had jobs from which all the money earned went to the parents.  Altogether a better situation indeed.  These discussions often take place as my children stand outside the lego shop next door to her newsagents screaming "I want that!".

Generally however, people here do not smile too much.  I was criticised for this comment having lived in London for the majority of my life and London being cited as hugely unfriendly.  I disagree with this completely.  I actually think London can be friendly but only if you make eye contact with somebody.  If you catch someones eye in a lift or in a queue they will most likely acknowledge you with a smile which I think is as about as close as you can get to an all singing and dancing scene from Oliver! and really does make my day.  Of course, catching someones eye in a pub should be avoided as that can result in a stabbing or a date with a drunk, unwashed septuagenarian.

Few people smile here and I have realised it is because it is too hot to smile.  Every bit of energy needs to be conserved when one leaves ones home because at some point you have to get back there and you cannot be wasting energy smiling when you should be saving it for duck walking.  So, I no longer smile, not because I am trying to fit in, but just because physically I am now unable.

Bus Drivers
Sweet mother.  I think they are officially the most impatient people I have ever had the misfortune to meet.  On Monday I spent a good part of the day with the children riding on the bus up and down one street because the bus driver gives the passengers disembarking exactly five seconds to do so before they pull off, even before closing the double doors.  We were then sent over a mile further down the road to have to then cross the overpass to the other side to then get another bus back to where we originally wanted to get off to once again not be allowed to get off because the joker was in such a rush to get to the next stop.  

This may sound trivial but when it is 34 degrees, humid and you are carrying shopping and two whinging children, it is enough to make you want to rip out your chest hair.

I don't really like my children much at the moment having been with them every day for the last three weeks due to no school and no sign of school for another 6 weeks but as they are mine I am the only one who is allowed to be horrible to them and not consider their feelings or safety.  Anybody else behaves that way to them and they will get The Hulk version of me to deal with.  I had a fight with one bus driver in front of all the other passengers on a packed bus when he did not wait for us to come down the stairs and the kids got jolted as he pulled off before we had a chance to get off the bus.  I did a lot of shouting like "use your camera ON THE STAIRS as that is what it is there for" and "I have two small children yadda yadda yadda" and "couldn't you see we were getting off etc etc".  I should also mention that I did lots of hand gesticulations while slipping into my version of Singlish.  Apparently, another sign that I am going local.

Needless to say, it was all in vain as we still got dropped miles away from our destination and he probably just thought it was my time of the month.

Rudeness
I have become rude (see above).  I also shouted at a child at the cinema on Monday because he pushed in front of me and split me from my children (it is completely pitch black in the theatres) and hit me in the head with his plastic booster seat. 

I was also the victim of heinous rudeness on Saturday when I sauntered down to the local wet market on my own.  There are very few expats at this particular wet market so I felt super clever going there on my own.  Of course I quickly forgot that I look like domestic help if only for the fact the live in maids do dress a lot better than me, so I really had nothing to be smug about.

I really did like going to the wet market.  It was only about twenty minutes out of my day and thoroughly enjoyable.  Not something one does much living in London or a big town.  Generally it is a once a week thing when you hit the market for your bunch of fresh flowers, olive bread and good organic meat to put in your special once a week organic jute bag.  Here it is more an every two day thing as fruit and vegetables do not keep so well due to the heat so you tend to buy for a couple of days and then go to market again.  Wery wery nice.

I skipped on in like Little Brown Riding Hood with my organic jute bag and bought lots of lovely fruit, some fresh eggs decorated with chicken poop and some fish.  I bought a massive seabass for around £3.  Given I just spent about £15 on 750g of mince beef at the supermarket to give the kids some bolognese as a break from local cuisine, I thought the fish market wasn't too shabby on price.

I was so excited about buying my fruit and fish and chatting away to the locals who were shopping alongside me that I strolled off to the egg aisle without getting my change.  Back home, during my Saturday job days as a teenager in WHSmiths, if a customer forgot their change I would call them a fool and pocket the money, but here, not likely.  People here are so honest and so law abiding that not only did the proprietor lady of the fish counter that I bought my seabass from close up her stall to come and find me to tell me I did not collect my change, she also shouted at me for about five minutes in front of everybody in the entire market.  If I wasn't so scared I would have told her she could just keep the money, but I sheepishly walked back apologising profusely and took my change.  She refused to accept my apology, told me over and over again that she had been calling me and calling me but I did not listen and did not come back and of course when the telling off was concluded, she did not smile at me either.