Howdy Neighbors

"If you want a show before bedtime, you have to take a shower first."

I was certain that statement would buy me enough time to clean up the dinner dishes.  Wrong.

They began to shed their clothes like snake skin as they raced up the stairs.  Thump.  Thump.  Thump.

A few moments of blessed silence, and then the yelling began.  "Mom, is this green stuff soap?"  "Mom, which is the shampoo?"  Ugh!  The older two kids had it down and were finished in no time (thanks to the multiple bathrooms in this place).  However, I guess it's a bit much to ask a three and almost five year old to bathe themselves.  Go figure.  I assumed I would be finished cleaning and able to help before they would actually need me.  Wishful thinking.

After helping Jack determine which products to use and helping Caleb take his shirt off, I headed back to the kitchen to finish up.  That's when the screaming began.

"Mom, I think something's wrong with Jack," Parker said worriedly.

My compassion meter seemed to be broken today.  Maybe it just ran out at about hour 4 at the theme park where I was barraged with questions about buying junk food when I'd spent half the morning packing healthy snacks, or maybe it was when I learned Aaron had to work late, or maybe when I'd burned the chicken while tending a crying child.  Whenever I lost my mommy mojo, it was just GONE.

"Tell him to come down," I said tiredly.  (I was in the basement/walkout level, and the boys were up on the 4th level of our split level home.)

Jack came rushing into the kitchen, naked, of course.  "Mommy, somefings wong wif Cawub...He keeps trying to grab my penis!"

Maddie and Parker started giggling at this point.  My mommy eyes were shooting daggers at them.  "And what did you do?" I asked.

"I shouted 'No!' and ran away."

Parker and Maddie began smiling and marching, "Shout 'No!', Run Away!  Tell Someone today!  Shout 'No!', Run Away!  Tell Someone today!"

Gosh, I hope the new neighbors are listening in.  I promise we're not freaks...at least, not all the time! *sigh*

"That's right, Jack, but remember, Caleb is still really little, and your penis is right in his face.  I'll talk to him."

Maddie chimed in, "Well, it's good he didn't grab a girl's private part.  That would be really bad, right mom."

"Yes, that would be bad."

Jack looked perplexed.  "Why?  Girls have penises."

Maddie burst out laughing.  "No they don't!  Girls have vaginas!"

"No, big girls have giant ones," Jack corrected her.

"No, Jack, she didn't say 'giant ones,' she said, 'VAGINAS!'"

Seriously, I am sure my new neighbors, on their back porch, smelling our burnt chicken, watching my kids running around naked, and hearing me shouting about vaginas just can't wait to come over and spend some quality time at our house.

Happy 9th birthday, Parker

Dear Parker,

As the years rush past, it becomes more and more difficult to write this annual birthday post.  Not for lack of material, mind you.  I am no longer simply recording physical milestones and cute anecdotes.  You are such a complex little/big guy these days.  Your heart and thoughts run deep.  Your questions are thoughtful and hard to answer.  

You are changing every day.  It seems the bend in my elbow when I rest my hand on your head is a little more pronounced each day.  Your legs nearly touch the floor when you sit on my lap.  How is that possible?  You can run and play and sweat in this Singapore heat and humidity for hours on end, launching Nerf attacks, swimming, and exploring with your friends.  

You are into music and video games which we strictly monitor.  There is plenty of junk out there that you will hear and see soon enough.  You've been exposed to bits of it here and there, but for the most part, you maintain a sweet innocence that brings tears to my eyes.

You are a humble leader.  You love to lead a little gang of "troops" around at school and in the neighborhood and are quick to make sure everyone feels included.  You are still my sensitive guy who can be wounded by the unkind words of a peer.  

It is hard being the oldest in the house.  There are times you want to watch shows that your siblings find boring because they aren't animated.  You often have one or two brothers begging to tag along in your war games.  Your Lego creations are unintentionally destroyed by tiny, playful hands when you are at school (and mom is busy).

You are a master negotiator, an experienced fort builder, a young seeker of truth and God, a cunning business man, a loyal friend, a Lego master, a terrible liar, a kind brother, and the best 9 year old son a mom could ask for.   It is my joy and my privilege to be called your momma.

All my love,

Mom

Your last night as an 8 year old 

Your family birthday picture.  Sorry.

Keeping my phone a phone

Hello, my name is Jessie, and I'm addicted to my iPhone.

I resisted smartphones for many years.  I am not technologically savvy.  I didn't want apps.  I didn't need bells and whistles.  However, when it took me twenty minutes to return a text because I had to press the number 7 four times to get to the letter "s," I relented.

I naively thought I would simply use the phone, texting, and maybe the camera, only on special occasions, of course.  Ha!  Four million pictures (and Facebook posts) later, I find myself jumping at every "ding," as texts come through confirming or canceling playdates, doctor appointments pop up, and field trip notifications blare.

Enough, iPhone!  Enough!  Uncle!  I cringe when you are dropped.  My heart skips a beat when you are caught in the rain.  I have lost you more than once, and the panic that ensues may very well be the cause of at least some of my white hairs.  You have been my constant companion for too long.  You follow me on dates (so I can be available if the sitter needs to reach us), and then tempt me with you Facebook notifications while I order.  How many times have I mumbled, "Uh huh," while a sweet little voice prattles on beside me, meanwhile my eyes are trained on a tiny screen and my fingers are tapping to reply to that Evite invitation for so-and-so's birthday party?

I say it again, ''Enough!"  You were designed for me.  Not the other way around.  Somehow in my fear that I would miss something, that the balls I'm juggling would fall, that I would offend someone by not responding quickly enough, I allowed myself to become your slave.  I can no longer justify my continual state of distraction.  No more!  I will be present - with my God, my husband, my kids, and my friends.

And you, iPhone?  You are on probation.  You can stick around for now.  Your new place will be on my desk with the ringer turned up high.  If someone needs me, they can CALL.  If someone texts me, they can WAIT.  (I will take a set amount of time each night to read and respond to texts and emails.)  I'm going old school.  I'm going to carry around a little notebook, and as I think of things I need to do throughout the day (emails to return, gifts to mail, play dates to plan), I will *gasp* WRITE IT DOWN.  It can be entered later.  That calendar hanging on the wall in the kitchen is about to get a lot more attention.

You can join me when I'm out and about...in case the school (or someone else) CALLS.  You can be my camera from time to time, but you can't be my friend anymore.  And if I can't stick to my new rules, who knows?  I may just need to get a flip phone again...

My Beef with Caillou's Mom

I used to watch the same show with Parker every night when he was little.  It's a cartoon on PBS featuring a four year old boy named Caillou (KI-you) who had an unusually high-pitched, whiny voice.  The story lines were simple and positive, and the shows were short.  Parker was allowed only 15 minutes of TV a day because, you know, he was the first child, and I strictly adhered to the American Academy of Pediatrics' recommendations.  (These days our fourth child watches 7+ hours of PG-13 rated shows a day...not really - just 6 1/2....)   

But back to Caillou...For at least one solid year, this was my daily allotment of television.  I didn't have the time or energy for adult shows.  I fell into bed every night, utterly exhausted.  Each day I watched Caillou, I became a bit more bitter.

"Why?" you ask.  It wasn't the annoying boy who was the problem.  It was his mother!  Apparently her name is "Doris."  Well, Dolly, you're on my list.  I'm just going to call a spade a spade and say, "You're a fraud!"  

For years I watched you deal with your whiny son and care for his baby sister all Mary Poppins-like.  Not once did your eyelids droop from exhaustion or annoyance.  Not once did you snap at the kids.  Nope, you bebopped along with a spring in your step and the patience of a saint.   

Doris a.k.a. The Fraud

I think the problem was that I used to buy it.  I used to think I should be Doris.  I should always be cheerful and energetic and sunny.  The problem is, that's just not realistic.  It's great to be positive, but even the most positive mom has a bad day.  

Now, 9 years and a million cartoons and books later, I have a larger sample of fictional moms with whom I can compare myself (because I'm sure that's super-healthy and productive, right?).  I can relate to these ladies.  Why?  Because they look haggard.  They have young kids, and they are tired.  Isn't that what all momma's really have in common?  We love our kids, but we are T.I.R.E.D.  Allow me to share some illustrations of more realistic cartoon moms...

The Family Circus mom...

 

Llama, Llama Red Pajama's Mom...

Arthur's mom...

Phineas and Ferb's mom...

I'm not saying I want all moms to be miserable.  I'm just saying, let's keep it real, people.  No one, but no one can be as chipper as Doris all the time.  So mommas out there, struggling to do everything just right, to keep a smile on your face, to just keep your eyes open, give yourself some grace.  Turn off Caillou, dump some blocks on the floor, and curl up on the rug for a nap next to your little one.  

[End bizarre cartoon rant.]

Dear Kids

It's funny how exhaustion makes me all weepy and sentimental.  Daddy has been gone for about 4 days, and he won't get back until after bedtime tomorrow.  Our poor helper, who was sick in bed before he left, is finally on the mend today.

But despite my tiredness, despite the endless logistics whirling around my brain, despite my sadness over missing your dad, I want you all to know how much joy you brought me tonight.

Most of the evening was actually pretty crummy.  You did not sit in your chairs at dinner.  You fought over the television.  You got soap in your eyes at bath time, and refused to put on your pajamas.  You made snippy comments to each other resulting in the loss of story time.  But...

God is gracious.  I prayed for patience, and He answered me in a big way.  I stayed in your rooms.  Waaay past bedtime.  We talked and prayed and talked some more.  This exhaustion is totally worth it, kids.  I want to hear your silly songs.  I want to hear your fears about the social scene at school.  I want your snuggles.  I love that you followed me into my room to ask me if you could eat with a special spoon in the morning, to tell me "G'nigh mom," to give me that last hug.  As grueling as it feels, I love this season of life.  And I love you more than the words in this blog could ever express.

Each time when I write love notes to you late at night, my chest tightens a bit.  I feel a desperate need to capture, commemorate, savor a sweet little slice of life.  I suppose that on some level I fear life could never again be this good.

But that's a pretty foolish way to look at life (and one I hope you won't adopt).  Because if I look at previous posts, though your behavior hasn't necessarily improved (just look at paragraph 3 above), my love for you has only grown deeper.  I trust that it will continue to increase as you grow, allowing us to face our struggles together, with God's help.  I love you to pieces dear ones!  Sweetest dreams!


May the Lord make your love increase and overflow for each other and for everyone else, just as ours does for you.  1 Thessalonians 3:12

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.  Romans 8:28

Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.  1Peter 4:8

Perspective

I find myself looking down.  A lot.  I see the top of your blond head, bent low to examine the sidewalk.  What will fit through this hole?

I bend low, too.  I watch your tiny fingers grasp even tinier bits of twigs and leaves, only to release them into the grate.  This can go on for hours.  And it's ok.  I love watching you discover.  I love your focus.  I love that little round head.

I want you to always share your discoveries and treasures with me.  I want to see them through your eyes.  Sand is a treat, not a nuisance.  Today we will lose our shoes, and I'll enjoy the sand, too.
Thank you!

You beg to go home.  I am frustrated with your screaming until I realize that you are really begging for a soft bed and a place to lay that sleepy head.  I lie beside you.  Will anyone ever love you as much as your momma?

Oh sweet little boy, you are still my baby.  See how your tiny hand curls as you sleep?  Yes, you are growing, but you are still my baby.  Thank you for sharing your day with me.

Making Singapore Home

Attention grandparents: Don't have a heart attack when you read the title of this blog post!  I'm not talking about residing here indefinitely.  I'm talking about really living here now.

It's taken me a long while to allow myself to live here.  Though a counselor who came to talk to our MOPS group strongly encouraged us to "make Singapore your home" about a year ago, I sat in my chair, tears steaming, shaking my head.  It certainly didn't feel like home last Christmas.  "Home" didn't fit, and I wasn't convinced it ever would.

Having lived here for nearly a year and a half, I am content to call it home.  Home is where my family sleeps.  It is where we get ready for school in the morning.  It is where our stinky van sits, unwashed, in the shade of the tree.  Home is where toys are spilled across the floor and milk across the table.  It is where we read books in the big green chair and build pillow forts in the living room.  It is where we eat, and pray, and live together.  

The external changes that were so hard to swallow in the beginning, have slowly become our new normal.  For one, we walk more than ever [I am a Fitbit queen!].  The weather is gorgeous  - 80 and sunny nearly every day - so why not?  Public transportation is incredibly efficient here, so my child is more comfortable on a subway at age 2 than I was at 20.  We share a car.  So, Aaron enjoys walking and riding the bus to work.  Often, the little boys and I will drive him, so we can get a morning coffee together on the way (and so he's not sweating out of his suit by the time he arrives!).

When we do drive, it's not nearly as stressful as it was in the beginning.  I have gotten used to driving on the wrong side of the road (sorry to offend my British and Singaporean friends, but it will always be the "wrong side" to me).  There are not a lot of two way streets, so if you got lost, it's not a simple matter of turning around.  Google Maps has become my best friend.  I can also find parking now (lots are few and far between, but giant carparks are in nearly every building if you can find the entrance).  When I do need to park on the street, I have mastered the arcane ticket system which must be displayed on the dash and have a huge stash of them in my glove box.  I don't even mind the fact that the spaces are so tiny that everyone (even a child) has turn sideways to exit the car in order to get out.  We just do it now.

We can access our money now.  Banking was one of our biggest challenges when we arrived.  For some reason, though the funds were in the account, we could not find an ATM (you have to use the ones specific to your bank), and when we could, we couldn't get money out.  Because Aaron was the primary account holder, I would have to meet him at a branch during inconvenient banking hours in order to get any cash (and many places only accept cash - like the PTA office at school where you have to buy the uniforms).  Now that we can use ATMs and actually know where to find them,  we're golden.

We have learned to expect a certain amount of bureaucracy in any given situation.  Getting a driving license takes 3 separate trips to the licensing office?  No surprise.  The management office has to inspect our leaky roof, then send three separate contractors on different days to put in bids, and then a committee has to approve the repairs?  Okay.  The saying here is: "TIA" (this is Asia).  I often wonder what foreigners in the U.S. think of our systems there.  What seems so simple and straightforward to a native, can confound the uninitiated.

I wish I could adequately describe what it's like to live in Singapore.  Imagine trying to explain to someone from another country what it's like living in your country.  It's challenging, right?  It's so complex, and depending on where you live, your job situation, your family situation, etc., there could be a million different answers.

Living internationally has been a huge rollercoaster ride for me.  I love it, love it, love it.  Then, I don't.  I soak in the Botanic Garden (less than a mile from our home - filled with shady, winding paths, ponds, waterfalls, and flowers), then I gripe about wilting in the heat and humidity (which is unrelenting).  I bemoan the fact the kids have to ride the bus 45 minutes to school one way, then I go visit their international fair day and am blown away by the awesome education they are receiving.  Every Monday I drag the two little boys, kicking and screaming, to the wholesale center at the docks where we dodge forklifts and semitrailers to save money on our produce, but I come home with a bounty of the freshest (and cheapest) fruits and vegetables we've ever eaten.  I cry and complain that Aaron travels more than he ever has, but because of that (and my own fears we could have some type of emergency) we have an amazing, live-in helper.  I struggle to adjust to having another adult living in our home, but I have more dates (after the kids have been put to bed) with Aaron than we have had in our 15 years of marriage.

I find that I tend to talk to communicate more with friends and family back home when things are at their worst.  When I have had it with the unfamiliar.  I forget that just because things are different, it doesn't mean they are worse.  I tell the kids all the time, "It's not better.  It's not worse.  It's just different."

Am I homesick?  Absolutely!  Am I looking forward to going home this Christmas?  Heck yeah!  I can't wait to wear sweaters and boots and park in a big ole spot right in front of Target - oh who am I kidding? -  the Dollar Tree, and stand in those aisles that are wide enough for a standard sized shopping cart, and buy cheap stuff.  I want to wear clothes that aren't labelled XL, and eat food whose ingredients I recognize, and hear some southern accents.  I want to hug my family.  I miss it.  All of it.

Am I sorry we moved here?  No way!  This has been one of the most transformational experiences I have ever had in my life.  This move has stretched me in ways I didn't even realize were possible.  It has challenged and strengthened my faith, forced me to confront prejudices in myself I didn't know I carried, caused me to be more assertive than I ever have been, and provided me with absolutely beautiful friendships.  It's allowed our family to see parts of the world we would have never in a million years been able to visit together.  It has deepened my appreciation for Aaron and the sacrifices he makes for our family.  It has made me appreciate family bonds - near and far.

I don't know how long God will keep us here, but while we are here, I hope and pray we choose to really live here every day and embrace our new home.

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things.                                                                                                                                                  Philippians 4:8