Happy New Year!

6:00 am, Singapore

Three week school break is over and today is the first day back to school for the kids. Many of their expat classmates will have travelled home (as faraway as Canada) or gone on exotic trips to places like Myanmar and Thailand.
I promised I would take the kids ice skating...in Jurong.
This morning Eliot complained that she wouldn't have anything exciting to report to her class about the holidays because we hadn't gone ice skating. But we did make pancakes, I reminded her.
I really need to manage expectations better.

Writer's Block

"Writer's block is just an excuse people use when they can't write but they still want to be writers." 
Alexander keeping it real.
On the flip side, the house is clean, I learned how to cook lasagna, and I've read a gazillion books. If only writing books were as easy as reading them. 

Twas the Night Before Christmas

(Eliot has been writing her letter to Santa for an hour. It's like Karl Ove Knausgaard's "My Struggle" with foam stickers.)

Some questions in the letter: 
Am I on the naughty list? If yes, how do I get back on the nice list?
Are my parents on the naughty list? Because they don't get a lot of presents.
What's your phone number?
Can you wake me up when you come so I can see you?

Christmas Wishes

I see you put a reindeer on your Christmas list, Eliot. 
"Do you think Santa will leave me one when he comes?" 
Hard to say. 
"Maybe, I should have put down a polar bear as well." 
Don't you think it would be hard for a polar bear to live in Singapore? 
"We could always move to Antarctica..."

Off the Grid (aka Sentosa)

Off the Grid: A Day in Sentosa. As my friend Anna joked when I told her: "You left the island? Wild day for you then." But it had been a couple of years, so I decided to give it another try. Delicious seafood buffet, peacocks, and most importantly no sunstroke...I may be a convert. Just 20 minutes from the city and you don't have to pack, my idea of a vacation (or staycation). It's like being in Bali without the plane trip. Bintan without the ferry ride. No airport immigration lines, you get the picture. The only downside of a fancy hotel buffet: watching your kid eat rice instead of roast beef and the Christmas themed cupcakes you are forced to smuggle in your handbag. (Photos by Eliot)

Not the Sentosa I remember.

Prawns anyone?

Peacock in Singapore by Eliot

Advice My Parents Gave Me...When I Was a Kid

Some habits are harder to quit than others.

From my mother, the idealist:

1) Never tell someone you hate them...only that you are disappointed in them.

2) Never give two presents, it minimizes both.

3) A hand made card is preferable to a store bought one.

4) Shoulders back when you walk.

5) If you're invited to someone's house always bring something.

6) Remember to send a thank you card after a dinner or party.

7) You get more flies with honey than vinegar.

8) If a friend talks badly to you about another friend behind their back, chances are they are talking behind your back as well.

9) When complaining at a shop or restaurant, don't start out with the complaint but with telling them how much you have always loved coming there and what a loyal customer you are (see point 7).


From my father, the practical one:

1) Always wear a scarf in a cold climate. It's the most important piece of clothing.

2) Always shake off all the drops after a shower as it makes drying with a towel much easier.

3) Make sure you have good light when you are reading.

4) Always bring something to read when you go out.

5) When possible, avoid calling. Writing is always best.

6) Go to the gym. Every day and early as possible.

7) Eat a healthy breakfast.

8) Never talk about politics with friends.

9) Don't always walk the same route to school.

10) Don't complain, don't explain.

Some Considerations at the Gym

1) Based on the type of exercises I do at the gym, it is entirely possible people think I am recovering from some sort of sports injury. Should someone actually ask if that is indeed the case, I am prepared to answer that question with a question. "Have you heard of bobsledding?" or "Who would have thought water skiing could be dangerous?"

2) My son claims that now that I started going to the gym, I work that bit of information into every possible conversation. "You want a snack? Why just this morning at the gym..." It's just that as a conversation opener, it sounds more credible than: "Over a second helping of pecan pie..."

3) In Singapore, the gym is either freezing (somebody just left) or feels like a sauna (you're the first person there).

4) From the windows of the gym (never to be opened), you can see everything that's going on in the condo. You can spot the residents who wade in the pool fully dressed, leave the garbage right next to the bin, keep school buses waiting, car motors idling, smoke in the no smoking area, use the common condo showers instead of their own to save on hot water. You're like a human CCTV only on a treadmill.

5) The gym equipment indicating heart rate is very likely faulty. It's either that or I am having a heart attack.

6) Exercise induced allergic reaction is a real thing. Google it. This explains so much.

7) Fully dressed guy in blue jeans and long shirt working out next to me. One question. Why?

8) It's always a pleasant surprise to see the treadmill workout summary say "Good job" and not: "Are you crazy? Does your doctor know you're doing this?"

No Love Lost...for the Ballet

"What's happening?"

Twenty minutes into Swan Lake, Alexander leans over and whispers: "Will there be any talking at all?" Eh no, it's a ballet, remember?
A few minutes later, Eliot chimes in: "I don't get what they're talking about...because they are not talking."
What exactly were you expecting when I said we were going to the ballet?
"The theater. Like Matilda." That was a musical.

(Note to self: when bringing kids to the ballet for the first time possibly mention the lack of dialogue.)

The Toughest Crowd

Don't forget to read the small print.

I was looking forward to speaking to Eliot's class today...then she handed me these notes (see photo). The kind of rules and regulations you might see when signing a rental contract...only more detailed and with smaller handwriting. I guess winging it was no longer an option. These were tough guidelines to follow and point n.5 to 'make jokes along the way,' wasn't as comforting as you might think. And just in case I was feeling overly buoyant, at bedtime she added in a sweet, conspiratorial tone: "I really don't get your book."
Still, I arrived at her school fairly confident, after all I had gotten this book past the entire editorial team of Marshall Cavendish, a reputable publishing house. Surely a couple of fourth graders couldn't scare me. Since I was a little early, I checked out the lost and found which according to my children is strictly off limits to kids. Retrieving the many assorted plastic food containers lost in the past few months further boosted my spirits.
Ms. Roxanne Walker, the teacher was very welcoming and the kids were engaged, although we were off to a bit of a rough start when I showed them the cover of my book: "Diary of an Expat in Singapore," and they asked me what an expat was. Telling them that they were all expats surprisingly came as a revelation. "We are?!" After some debate, it was agreed that expat kids like air conditioning, long plane trips, roti prata, and wearing sweaters, but most importantly have passports from other countries. I then asked them to reveal one true thing about themselves as a way of differentiating fiction from non-fiction. One kid noted that in Singapore only people at airports wear jeans. Another that people wear shorts, while back home they wear long pants. Another that when you leave an air conditioned building, it feels like hot air envelopes your entire body. Another that he really liked cold air....I was starting to notice a pattern. And somewhat predictably, when I asked about zodiac signs their answers were all animals. Yep, expat kids.
Afterwards, outside the classroom, Eliot confided that she had been a little worried but that her classmates liked me. I guess sharing the chapter about Eliot as a five year old was a good idea. It's incredible how funny a five year old can appear to a ten year old. It's all about perspective. Especially, the revelation that she had once said to a host: "My name is Eliot and my Daddy ate a rabbit," brought a huge laugh from the class. Disturbingly true, yet clearly still a crowd pleaser.

Scones in Singapore

Finally a school club I can sink my teeth into!

Thanksgiving Past

My first pecan pie

When I was a kid, growing up in Verona and attending the local Italian school, Thanksgiving was just another Thursday for my classmates. But for my brother Stephen and me it was special. We would race home after school in the cold November fog, climbing the marble stairs of our old apartment building two at a time, into a house already full of delicious smells from my mother's cooking. My two great aunts, Josie and Milly, would be cheerfully setting the table and helping out on what was indisputably their favorite holiday of the year. My uncle Brother (that's what my Mom called him so that's what we ended up calling him) would be there, having just arrived by train for the long weekend and there would be the usual discussion about whether it made any sense to cook lasagna since there was already so much food. "We won't enjoy the turkey." "Oh, we definitely will," Josie and Milly would reassure everybody. They were very much pro pasta regardless of what food the occasion might warrant. 
Before Josie and Milly moved in with us (allegedly just for Christmas as my father was quick to point out), they lived with Uncle Brother. But things didn't go quite so smoothly. And they definitely came to a head on the Thanksgiving he woke up to discover that at 10 am they had already eaten the entire dinner without him. "Don't worry," they reassured him, "We'll eat a second dinner with you later." In fairness, they did wake up early. Like 4:00 am early. Milly used to take Penny out for a walk at that hour (Penny was a doberman pincher) occasionally shocking the neighbors who were certainly not expecting a doberman to come bounding down the stairs just as they were coming home from a late night out.
Sometimes, we invited an Italian friend over for Thanksgiving. An interesting cultural exchange often ensued, as the guest politely noted: "Corn on the cob? Interesting. We usually give that to livestock. And this is pumpkin pie? I guess you need an acquired taste for that. Root beer? Smells like the medicine my grandmother uses for back pain."
As I make my very first pecan pie today, with kids of my own about to come home from school (and probably marvel at the fact that I have made a pie from scratch and not just bought one from a shop), I think of Josie and Milly. And wish I could share it with them. Perhaps, with some whipped cream or a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Or the way they liked it served best, after a pasta dish.

Letting Go

My son says he doesn't want me to come to his swim meet this Saturday. "Absolutely not." On the one hand, this means not spending 7 hours (at the very least) on a bleacher in the Singapore sun, on the other hand, this is my fourteen year old who doesn't need me to watch him any longer. That can't be right. Is this the same kid who used to ask me to watch him play in the playground? I remember that clearly because I really wanted to read my book. "I'm going to play but you have to watch me, ok?" Or the little boy who used to sit on my lap while we watched The Jungle Book every single day after preschool? Surely not the same child who used to ask to hold my hair scrunchie, when we were visiting my parents and I had to momentarily leave the room, "So I know you will come back." I did have an unhealthy attachment to my scrunchie, the boy was observant like that.
Today parents were invited to attend an art class at my daughter's school. It's her last period, so naturally I assume she will ditch the school bus afterwards and just come home with me. But no, I am wrong. "I'm going to take the school bus home, is that ok?" Of course, it is ok. It's better than ok because this is the single thing I was most worried about when she started this new school: the 40 minute school bus ride. In fact, this is really great news. And it's also wonderful that my son is confident and independent enough to go to swim meets on his own now. But there's something else I can't put my finger on. Somewhere, deep down it also hurts a little. I guess that's what being a parent is about: being happy, even when it hurts a little.