On birthdays there should be Big Thoughts. You should of course ruminate on how old (or not) you feel, how much more mature (or not) you could be, how you’ve failed in your aspirations for the last x amount of years, how you’ve completed your aspirations in the last x amount of years, what you hope to accomplish in your next however many years. (I’m afraid my Dickens is showing–forgive me!) But on my most recent birthday, I accomplished few Big Thoughts.
I did, however, manage to make a cake in our new (much larger! so nice!) toaster oven that is actually big enough to bake something in without the top burning long before anything else is even warm.
And while it almost melted in the Singapore heat in spite of being stored in the freezer whenever it was not being built, it tasted great. Although anything with four layers of homemade lemon curd covered in lemon cream cheese frosting would probably taste great anyways.
Did I ever imagine that when I was 25 my main accomplishments would consist of making a cake for my birthday and not getting mad at the baby (and doing dishes, of course–one can always do more dishes)? I don’t really know. I’m not one of those people (like Jared) who was born ambitious. When I was ten I had a breakdown when I had to write an assignment about what I wanted to be when I grew up, because I had no ambitions to be anything! (I finally settled on teacher as the least bad option…and now I’m a teacher. So maybe 10-year-old me knew something after all?)
What I’d like to think is that one doesn’t have to accomplish great things for life to matter. I try to comfort Jared with this platitude when he’s feeling especially down after only reading one million books instead of stopping wars or advising world leaders; somehow he doesn’t particularly appreciate it.
But I think of it this way–if everyone was busy doing great things, who would have time to stop and comfort the baby, or to make a lemon cake for all to enjoy, or to teach English to small children? Who would be involved in the business of helping the little ones become great?
We need great men and women. But we also need the homely sorts, the ones who contribute the less obvious comforts, like lemon cake. So even though I’ve accomplished little to speak of in my life these past twenty-six years, I think I may have contributed some good to the world in spite of myself.
The problem with blogging once a month is that life doesn’t slow down for you to blog it later. So now I’ve got loads of pictures from Malaysia and Sri Lanka…and little desire to write about them. I guess I’d rather not be a travel blogger?
Although, on second thoughts, we loved the short time we spent in Malacca. It was a beautiful city and probably one of the nicest things we saw in Malaysia. So maybe I’ll write about that one of these days. No promises, though!
Anyways, this set of pictures from the butterfly garden in Kuala Lumpur was too cute not to share. JQ loved feeding the fish and had the best time watching them bubble to the surface when he threw the fish food in. Plus, what’s cuter than hearing a baby say “Fizzshie!”?
One week ago, I had high hopes. We had just returned from touring Sri Lanka for a week, everyone was glad to be home, and there were All The Things to do (namely, laundry, grocery shopping, and other elements necessary for survival). And did I mention everyone was glad to be home? Surely I could crank out some blog posts as well.
But then disaster struck. On Saturday evening, Jared began to feel unwell, and on Sunday morning we were awakened by him vomiting loudly and forcefully all over the bathroom. This day was titled “Thank Goodness it’s Probably Food Poisoning,” because, like the good wife I am, I’d rather stay healthy and take care of everyone than get sick myself.
On Monday, things were a bit more back to normal, though Jared was still feeling a bit green and not eating much. JQ, however, had decided it was his duty to scatter as many of his toys over the house as he could, resulting in blocks and legos covering approximately 3/5 of the living room floor. Any attempts to pick up said blocks and legos were met with protests and immediate rescattering, leading me to wonder, “Why Are Toddlers People Too???”
On Tuesday, there was a premonition of disaster when I got JQ up from his nap to take him to his babysitter’s and he vomited all over me when I put him on my back. I, of course, wrote it off as just one of those random things babies do as he was happy otherwise and not a grouch, but should have known I was “Living in Denial.”
By Wednesday, things were feeling decidedly blue and may have culminated in a few bouts of crying as I wondered if I would always be “Living in Solitary Confinement with a 1.5 Year Old,” which, in case you’re wondering, really is that much worse than living in solitary confinement by yourself. But really, Singapore, why do you have to be so far away from everyone (and so hot)? And why does the rest of the world sleep so much during the day?
On Thursday, things were fine as I woke up and ate breakfast, until, at 10:00 a.m., I felt a twinge of “things aren’t quite right”. Jared immediately told me I was not allowed to get sick, then went to the store and got some traditional Chinese medicine as he’d been reading about all the values of traditional cultures and how much they know about everything. The stuff tasted awful, like dirt mixed with Swedish Bitters (which Jared apparently was never forced to take as a child), and had millions of little round balls which would not dissolve in water and had to just be swallowed. Oh, and it tasted terrible coming back up. A word to the wise: “Never Take Chinese Medicine When You’re Coming Down With the Stomach Flu,” or maybe, “Don’t Trust the Old Ladies at the Herb Store.” Once I categorically refused to even SMELL any more of the stuff, the day got a lot better, though it was perhaps marred by throwing up in the middle of a class.
By Friday, I had the energy of a sloth that’s been hit by a train and was just glad I only had to teach 5 classes instead of my usual 8 as I’d had the foresight to close any open slots the day before. You could call this day, “Lounging Is Too Much Work.”
On Saturday and Sunday, I was feeling better enough to pick up all the blocks and legos that had been scattered around the floor for the whole week (while JQ was in the other room, of course!). Then I figured my work was done and mostly rested, other than going to church since no one was actually throwing up anymore at this point. “What Are Weekends for, Anyway?”
And now it’s Monday morning, the dishes are exploding out of the sink, the floor hasn’t been mopped in who knows how long, and we’re back at Solitary Confinement with a 1.5 Year Old. But at least there aren’t blocks all over the floor (for now)!
Has it ever been busy around here lately! One brother decided to come surprise the other brother, so we had some fun times with brothers (still trying to convince them to write a blog post). Then once all the company left, we took a trip to Malacca and Kuala Lumpur, and as soon as we got back from that I started a training for 1v4 online classes that had a ridiculous amount of homework. So I’ve only been trying to write this post for about a month and a half. So on top of things over here!
For spring break, we decided to go to Batam, a small island in Indonesia that’s about an hour ferry ride away from Singapore. Apparently Singaporeans like to visit Batam for seafood, shopping, and a special kind of cake called Kueh Lapis that’s a lot cheaper in Batam.
However, we are not Singaporean, so we didn’t eat any seafood and we didn’t do any shopping, although we did go to a giant shopping mall because Jared and Abel wanted to see a movie (Q is pretty averse to being quiet and still so he went to the kid’s playplace instead). We DID try the special cake and it was actually quite good. Abel thought it was almost one of the best things he’d eaten in Singapore, the best, of course, being a chocolate peanut butter sandwich (for some reason fish balls just didn’t do it for him).
Our apartment building, which was close to the middle of the city but also kind of in the middle of nowhere and next to a slum, had a great view from the top–at least from the one window we could see out of.
I think it was part of a development that ran out of money: big fancy buildings that were now weatherstained and nearly empty except for a few token businesses, and, as I mentioned, sitting right next to a large slum. Call me a privileged American, but it was kind of shocking to see an actual slum and realise that yes, people do live in buildings made out of rusty corrugated iron and leave trash sitting around everywhere (trash not depicted as I wasn’t able to get a good picture of the entire slum).
And that slum was sitting right next to buildings that looked like this:
They’re a little waterstained and what not, but still. Only a few stores inhabited them, one of which was this cute coffee shop (I think it was owned by the same people who owned our hotel). It was stuffed with all kinds of toys and memorabilia and JQ took great delight in attempting to play with everything.
The highlight of the trip, by far, was the day we hired a car (and a driver) and traveled over the whole chain of islands around Batam.
We saw some more slums,
little shops by the roadside selling fruit or snacks and drinks,
more sad-looking dwellings,
some abandoned houses that a reservoir had been built over (we surmised)
and the bridge that all the tourist websites said was a must-see: Barelang Bridge.
We stopped here and stretched our legs and drank some coconut juice, which JQ “very liked.”
Then we admired the bridge some more
and Abel tried to learn some Indonesian from our driver, whose English was pretty poor.
Then we kept driving on to Vietnam village, an old refugee camp for those displaced by the Vietnam war (empty now). We all agreed that if we were refugees a camp in the middle of the jungle would not be the nicest place to be (can you say mosquitoes!).
The main attraction of the camp now seems to be the monkeys.
So many monkeys, and they looked like they were used to handouts.
Also, Abel endured his five minutes of fame for being one of the only white people around when he sped ahead of Jared and me on one of the walking trails and a nun and her friends pressed him into taking a picture with them. Jared and I laid low and took pictures from a distance while sniggering silently.
Of course, on the very next bend of the trail (which, by the way, was full of scenes from the crucifixion–so this was taken in front of the empty tomb), we were all accosted by an even larger group of people–I assume they were Indonesian–and pressed into taking a picture with them.
Much picture-taking and rearrangement of people ensued: they practically wanted a picture of everyone individually!
Once all our celebrity photos were taken (and now we have about a million photos of us on some random strangers’ phones!), we headed back to the car before I could get eaten alive by the mosquitoes.
Then we headed back home. It gets tiring to get your picture taken all day! I’m sure these deer had the same feeling.
Before we left Indonesia, we had to try some of the food (even though it’s really pretty similar to Singaporean food). I don’t remember what this was called, but it was some kind of curry and was actually much more delicious than it looks.
And we came back to Singapore feeling grateful not to live in Indonesia!
Since John Quincy was born, we’ve traveled to around 8 different countries (England, Scotland, Ireland, France, Germany, the US, Singapore, Malaysia, and Indonesia). I think he may have spent a quarter of his life traveling so far. Perhaps it’s not quite 1000 hours, but I’m starting to think we’re getting pretty proficient at this traveling thing. Here’s what we do:
Baby wear. Babywearing is the best thing for traveling anywhere, at any time. It keeps the baby contained if he’s mobile, is easily portable, and keeps your hands free. Cons of babywearing are that the baby gets heavy after wearing him all day, and if you wear him on your back, it’s tough to sit down, but I find it much less difficult than trying to hold a baby along with all my other stuff.
Don’t sleep train. There’s nothing wrong with sleep training if you’re a homebody. But if your child can’t sleep anywhere other than their own bed, traveling for several days on end is not for you. You’ll always be worrying about whether you’re ruining a sleep schedule (and you probably will be). Instead, train your kid to sleep anywhere, like on your lap in the train–
or on the airport floor.
So far, JQ has slept in trains, planes, taxis, and boats, not to mention napping in his carrier. My motto is “A sleeping baby is a good baby.” Much better than a baby that’s trying to run down the airplane aisles or steal everyone’s earbuds. And much much better than a baby that’s crying because he doesn’t have his own bed to sleep in.
Don’t schedule feedings. I know this might sound like heresy to a lot of you, but seriously, when you’re traveling, would you rather stick like glue to your schedule even though your baby is screaming his head off because he’s hungry, or would you rather suck it up and distract that grumpy baby? I go with distraction and comfort every time. I’d far rather be a human pacifier for my baby than have a grumpy baby who will inevitably make me grumpy. Like a sleeping baby is a good baby, an eating baby is also a good baby. And the best part is, eating will often make that baby become a sleeping baby.
Pack light: the more you pack, the more you have to carry. That means leave your 30 just-in-case books behind and maybe get a Kindle or something if you fear you’ll be bored. And remember, you’ll be wearing that baby for at least part of the time. And when you’re not wearing him, you’ll probably have to chase him everywhere and won’t have a break to sit down and read anyways.
Or you might only get to sit and read TO the baby. Which is good too.
Don’t be afraid to go slow. Don’t try to see everything all in one day. Of course, I follow this motto even without a baby because sight-seeing can get exhausting and I can’t stand just going to museums all day.
So take a break while you’re at the Louvre looking at the Mona Lisa and let your baby enjoy his version of museum seeing–crawling under benches and crawling out again.
Made his day. And I didn’t mind the chance to sit down for a minute either.
Find kid-friendly places to stay.
This one’s kind of obvious, but it always helps to stay at places where they don’t mind if your baby has pulled all of their pans out of the cupboard for the 574th time that day and then proceeded to be very loud with said pots and pans.
Cuteness won’t steal everyone’s hearts, especially not those who have never had babies and had to try to compensate for their messes.
The most difficult place to stay was in Germany, where we stayed with two college girls who kept their “pantry” in boxes on the floor. JQ was in heaven pulling out boxes of beans and crackers to shake and scatter all over the floor, and I couldn’t keep him away all the time as he hated being shut in our room! We tried our best, but I think they felt we were ruining their tidy house (they were German, after all!).
Now, we mostly try to stay in places where we can have an entire apartment to ourselves. It’s much less stressful than trying to keep someone’s entire house out of the reach of a thoroughly destructive baby.
Walk. A lot.
Not only is walking the best way to see things (in most places–we have visited some VERY unwalkable places recently) but it also helps keep your child occupied. All that movement will often lull him to sleep or at least keep him happy. And it keeps you out of small spaces with a screaming child. What could be better?
Jared with JQ outside Notre Dame de Paris. Somehow I failed to get the cathedral in the background, so you can imagine with the below picture:
I know that’s easy for me to say–I’m the kind of person who goes with the flow. As long as we’re not totally bored or lost forever, it’s fine with me.
BUT–personality types aside–babies have needs. Sometimes they just need some downtime or need to stop and eat. So sometimes we need to give up whatever plans we have for that day and take the time to help that baby be happy. Because when you’re traveling, a happy baby means everyone else can be happy.
A couple weekends ago we took a day off to visit Malaysia. It would have been a quick trip, but it felt like most of our time getting there and back was spent in passport control since we had a baby and couldn’t go through the automated lines. Thankfully, after spending about half an hour in one line that moved maybe two feet, an officer took pity on us (and our screaming baby who definitely feels he has better things to do in life than stand in queue for hours at passport control leaving Singapore) and shunted us through a more quickly moving line. Oddly enough, for being so much more developed than its neighboring countries, Singapore has the slowest moving immigration lines ever. Malaysia got us through much more quickly.
Once we finally got through immigration and got on the bus again and got off the bus in the city, we got some sketchy Malaysian food that surprisingly didn’t make us sick but was extremely spicy, and then got a taxi to go to a palace that had been turned into a museum. Jared had checked it all out beforehand, and on the internet it said that it had been closed for renovation in 2013 but was open to the public in 2016. Well, as soon as we got there we saw a giant sign in front: “Close to Public.” Apparently, Malaysians are quite bad at updating their websites, as the guard told us it wouldn’t be open until late 2017.
That plan put on hold, our taxi driver suggested another museum that he knew of. So off we toddled, and found that this one was actually open.
Their main activity was playing some traditional Malaysian game whereby you move marbles around a tray. Whoever still has marbles left at the end wins–although they didn’t mention that fact until Jared had moved all his marbles into the main area. JQ didn’t care about winning–but he loved moving all the marbles around.
They also had a really cool skylight shaped like the Malaysian flag.
The rest of the museum was full of random trinkets and posters about the sultans of Johor Bahru back when it was its own Sultanate. Fascinating stuff if you happen to be a student of Malaysian history and speak the Malay language. Unfortunately, neither of those is on my CV.
JQ, of course, had his fair share of admirers among the guards at the museum. He wasn’t quite sure what to think, though.
So after that, we took some pictures outside the museum.
And some more pictures.
And Abel goofed around a little.
And looked handsome.
Then we walked to the bus station and marveled at the lack of sidewalks and the masses of unfinished buildings, stood in line for another two hours at immigration, and made it home happy to be living in a city with sidewalks and crosswalks and all the other amenities of civilization.
I just realized today that I’ve never told you about our laundry situation in all the various countries we’ve lived in. Have you ever been missing out!
For the past three years, we haven’t had a dryer. And for the most part it’s been ok. It was a little hard in London when we only had a teeny tiny flat and it took clothes two days to dry because cold and damp weather is not the greatest for laundry drying (and also a significant reason we didn’t cloth diaper exclusively!), but really, in a family this size, it’s pretty easy to go without a dryer. Of course, when I was growing up we hung laundry on the line and I felt like it took all day. Probably because with 12 people in a house, there’s always more laundry to hang. But here, I actually kind of like it. Here’s why.
I’m lazy and if I had a dryer clothes would sit in it for days and then they’re all wrinkly and gross. So much better to just get it over with all at once.
It eliminates the step of putting your clothes in the dryer, taking them out, and then folding them. I do exactly none of those steps.
When you hang up your clothes as soon as the washing machine is done, all you have to do when they’re actually dry is move the hangers to your closet. That’s it. No extra hanging, no folding, no wrinkly messes that sit in the dryer for a week.
Even matching socks is easier. Of course, that could be because only one person in this house currently wears socks. The rest of us (me, and by extension JQ) can’t stand having sweaty feet on top of (underneath?) sweaty everything else and so we either go barefoot or put on sandals when the looks of disapproval and the questions become too much. But still–no dryer to eat your socks? It’s a win.
If you can dry your clothes outside, they will smell like you’ve dried them outside, which, in my opinion, is a nice smell for clothes to have. I’ve never been able to stand the reek of fabric softener and fake smells. If, on the other hand, you live in a small flat in London and only have a bathroom to dry them in….well, they will probably smell like mildew and you’ll go around wondering who’s bringing that weird smell with them. Don’t worry–it’s just you.
It keeps you on top of your laundry. There’s nothing quick about hanging your clothes to dry, so if you know you’re almost out of clean towels or shirts or socks, you have to do laundry that very minute so it can be dry in 24 hours when you actually need it. I start getting complacent when I have a dryer around, because it only takes 4 hours or so for the clothes to be ready to wear again. But it’s really a lot better for my sanity (and Jared’s) to get the clothes washed a day or two in advance of when I REALLY need them so that we actually have clean laundry.
On the other hand, it’s kind of annoying, when you only have one blanket for your bed, to have to wash it first thing in the morning so it can be MOSTLY dry by the evening. I suppose I could overcome my cheapskate tendencies and, you know, actually buy another blanket, but SPENDING MONEY ON NONESSENTIAL ITEMS (i.e. not food)!
And that’s why, in spite of having lived without a dryer for the better part of the last three years, I’m actually kind of happy that I have. Sure, a dryer is awfully convenient, but it’s better for me as a person to actually plan and act on things I know I have to do. Sometimes convenience can be sneaky and look like a friend, but often it’s actually the enemy.
So this little man is already 17 months old, and I can’t believe how fast the time is going.
I’ve been kind of hesitant to write a post about him, since I can’t imagine that very many people (with the exception of his relatives, who do probably make up a good 50% of my readership) are that interested in knowing that yet another baby is doing cute things with the portion of his time that isn’t spent doing annoying things.
Now forgive me, since I might be biased, but a lot of the things he does are awfully cute. He definitely doesn’t suffer from a lack of self-esteem either–anytime he does anything “remarkable,” like pushing a button and turning something on, he claps for himself with a self-satisfied smile.
He loves figuring out how things work, and especially loves taking things apart. One of his favorite pastimes is taking eggshells out of the trashcan and crumbling them up on the floor. I figure if we just call it a Montessori activity, we can ignore the fact that the eggshells were in the trashcan and assume that he’s wiring some good things into his brain. Besides, when he’s done crushing them up, he goes and gets the broom and dustpan and sweeps them up again (which is also so cute that you can pardon the fact that when he tries to empty it out the contents go all over the floor again). Yeah, he didn’t get that clean streak from me. Must be some long-dormant gene coming out or something.
Our daily walk outside to the playgrounds in our complex pretty much makes his day, as he can chase birds and watch them flutter away, find the random cats that haunt the place and are taken care of by the old ladies, and climb all over and hang from the playground equipment. So far the swings are his favorite.
Unfortunately, he’s turning into a bit of a daredevil. Tap-dancing on the table is almost a daily occurrence, as is climbing onto things and then hanging dangerously over the edge or riding the back of the couch. I think he just likes hearing me gasp when he’s put himself in a particularly dangerous situation because that always evokes lots of giggles.
And oh yes, did I mention he’s a tease? If anything is kept from him for any reason, like phones or the remotes for the AC, he plots ways to get his hands on them and then giggle madly when we realize what he has. He usually even waves it around in the air to make sure we notice.
One his most maddening tendencies is sitting down on the sidewalk whenever you try to get him to go somewhere he doesn’t want to go. There are few things more annoying than walking along when suddenly your companion decides he has to nearly pull his arm out of his socket and sit down RIGHT THERE because you didn’t let him push the elevator button and he really really WANTS to push the elevator button. These standoffs usually culminate with me asserting my dominance and carrying him the rest of the way kicking and screaming. I’ll leave it up to your imagination who’s doing (most) of the screaming.
In spite of his more annoying traits, he’s also beginning to show a more affectionate side and loves giving kisses and hugs, usually followed by a headbut or three that nearly break your nose. Then he’ll hand you his favorite blanket and make sure it’s bunched up just right before settling down to sleep.
I’m sure there’s a lot more cute things he does like babbling nonsense “sentences,” bleating “Maamaa?” every time he wants anything I want to get anything done, and getting upset when we don’t stick to his routine, but I’ll spare you so you don’t think he’s Wonderbaby. For that, you can wait for the Christmas letter in three years when I’m sure he’ll have won a prize in an essay competition, created his own line of specialty toys, and developed a new way to rip books apart without his daddy getting mad at him. And of course he’ll have already read Thucydides and the complete works of Charles Dickens. Who do you think we’re raising anyway?
Why not? Well, reason number one, and possibly you’ve heard of this before, if you’ve even ever heard of a durian before, is the smell.
English needs more words to describe smells. We have so few! Let’s just say that smelling a durian up close and personal is kind of like smelling a flower. It’s a nice fruity mango kind of flower–that’s gone bad. Maybe even mixed with a little onion and a little fish? It’s the kind of smell that was endemic in grocery stores in China, always making you wonder what exactly they kept in the store that had just gone off (Spoiler–it was durians).
But. In spite of the smell, we persevered. This is a favored fruit in all of Asia, and especially popular with Singaporeans, so this was a valuable cultural experience. Aren’t you glad I was experiencing it for you?
The outside of a durian is hard and poky. Very very poky. So poky that the people who cut them up wear gloves. We had a glove-wearing person cut ours up for us.
Actually, Singaporeans love the durian so much they call this building the durian: it’s round and spiky and was apparently supposed to be a microphone. The architect was quite upset they called it a durian because he’d never heard of one!
But to get back to the edible kind. There is a small amount of edible fruit in each half, and it looks kind of like mango. Not so bad, right? If you can keep from gagging as you approach.
Those who love durian praise the buttery texture, the smooth melt-in-your-mouth sensation as it slides down your throat.
This was not my experience. Sure, it was kinda buttery…mixed with stringy. Oh, and did I mention the smell?
But to get to what you really want to know–how does it taste?
Jared put a small bite on his spoon. I put a small bite on my spoon. I offered it to JQ like the good mother I am, and he turned his face away in disgust. He was not going to join us in this adventure.
Then we took deep breaths (turning our noses away), stuffed the bite in our mouths, and chewed.
It was significantly less sweet than expected. In fact, what it most closely resembled, in my opinion, is caramelized onions. Caramelized onions with a healthy topping of rotten mango and black pepper. If this sounds appetizing to you, by all means, you may eat up all the durian you wish. Just not in my house.
There’s a reason they’re not allowed on public transport or in hotel rooms here!
We finally got wifi this month, after a month of frustrating bureaucracy, and it’s been really nice to feel somewhat connected again and be able to work. I’ve got to admit it’s also nice to be able to watch a movie without finding it in advance and downloading it too (I know, spoiled millennial here!). Netflix here has most cartoons dubbed in Chinese too so occasionally we let JQ watch one for 5-10 minutes in the hopes that he’ll pick up on some Chinese. Easy bilingualism, right? I wouldn’t necessarily learn Chinese in five minutes three times a week, but kids’ brains are supposed to be porous so I’m sure he’ll get it in no time.
Of course, it should help that JQ has started getting babysat for three hours a day, five days a week, while I teach. We’ve asked his babysitter to speak Chinese around him so he’ll pick up on it–but it’s still a little early to tell whether it’s working yet as his go-to word is still “Maamaa” in various forms. He seems to be enjoying it (as in, not screaming the entire time), though he has been a little more clingy when he’s at home. Hopefully it won’t take him too long to adjust.
It’s been interesting living in a basically bilingual country. Kids on the playground switch between English and Chinese without thinking; they study both in school and probably hear both at home. It does lead to some rather thick accents (it’s really hard to figure out what people are saying!), and their English is definitely colored by Chinese-isms (like using “lah” at the end of every sentence). It also makes for some humorous moments, like when the Singaporean man at Bible study gravely started explaining the spirit of peas (he meant peace) and how it could only be explained by the love of the cross.
I haven’t taken any pictures recently because we haven’t really gone anywhere in the last few weeks, but I still have some neat pictures of downtown Singapore that I haven’t shared here.
This is the piano that Lang Lang played on….maybe on a visit to Singapore? I’m a bit fuzzy on the details, but it got its own exhibit. Shiny, huh?
I’m finally figuring out grocery shopping/cooking here and remembering how to cook without an oven. We got spoiled by having an oven in England! Now it’s back to stovetop and toaster oven cooking, although the previous residents of our flat left us their rice cooker, so I’ve been experimenting with one-pot meals to the tune of–chopping up ginger, garlic, and yellow ginger (turmeric), throwing in rice cooker with rice and water and any other vegetables I feel like, putting a fish on top, and cooking away. Jared loves it and it’s awfully easy, though rather uninspired. It also stains my fingers and cutting board a bright yellow so I look somewhat jaundiced on my left hand.
We got our boxes yesterday! So nice to unpack all the things we packed up in England–just like sending a present to ourselves to open in six months. Now we have a couple pictures to put on our walls and more stuff to clutter up the house with, like books..and…well…more books. And we still have most of our books packed in boxes in the U.S. When we finally move back, I’m not sure I’ll even know how to deal with multiple (as in, ten or so) shelves full of books any more–I’m already envying my future self.
Around where we live, there’s very few white people, so JQ’s hair and skin draw lots of looks and admiring comments. They’ve also prompted several old men to start conversations: “Where you from? You American?”
“Yes, we’re American,” I reply.
“What you think ’bout Trump? How could so many Americans vote for him?”
“Well, it was a hard election,” I say, evading the question. “Neither candidate was exactly great.”
“Well, I think Bill Clinton’s wife should have won. She’s much more experienced!”
And delivering this zinger, he walked away. Many Singaporeans feel compelled to state their opinions on American politics, and they all think I should have something to do with changing them. Sorry, but democracy doesn’t actually work that way.