May. 2, 2006 - "Mum, you are crazy"
Well, one of the interesting things about last week was that I completely forgot what day of the week we were on. Greg was getting ready for work saying something about it being Friday and I looked lovingly at him, thinking, “Man, he must be tired, it’s not Friday. Poor boy.” Imagine my surprise when the calendar was shoved under my nose as proof and I was made to recount what I had done each day up to this one…slowly it dawned on me. I was completely and utterly mistaken. It was actually Friday and not some half-way version of Wednesday and Thursday that I had led myself to believe.
The revelation was bewildering.
I went into Kenzie’s bedroom and knelt by her bed saying,
“Kenz, Dad thinks I’m crazy ‘coz I didn’t know it was Friday today.”
She didn’t even look up from her book and said in a casual voice,
“Mum. You are crazy.”
That summed it up for me pretty succinctly and I suddenly decided to make the most of my newly recognized disorder and claim all the benefits I could from being forgetful. Problem is, I forget I’m supposed to be clever and crafty and instead I suspect my family have shaken their heads sorrowfully at my demise. Being thirty is very mentally taxing I have found.
The week itself, apart from its identity crisis, was peaceful and enjoyable. The girls and I did our usual thing of finding somewhere new to explore. This time it was Tanglin Mall, an ex-pat hangout which was quiet and upmarket and I almost felt like a fish out of water!!! I definitely do not fit the standard ex-pat model and come minus both the fat wallet and the slender bronzed image.
We also went to the Singapore National Library, a brand new multi-storied building that reminded me upon walking in, of a top CIA Headquarters. We talked in hushed tones to the front desk staff who said we would have to bring Birth Certificates and other various National Security clearance to be able to borrow children’s books. We humbly left the sleek foyer but once outside I turned on my heel, and we went charging back in, past the scary front desks and found ourselves profoundly lost in a matter of seconds. May I just add at this point that we had not yet seen a single book. Nor shred of paper. What we were faced with was a bank of elevator doors and a few escalators leading to who knew where, just somewhere deep in the bland depths of this tomb-like building. A few wrong turns and up and downs in the elevator finally bought us to a glass encased room, full of books and lots of people studying in silence. In fact the silence was so intense that one could hear the hum that all big buildings reverberate with. We crept up to a You Are Here map on the wall and found the purple stripe that indicated English Children’s Books, and after a few dead ends, we actually found ourselves in the right place. The kids section was enormous. A huge cavernous space with about a dozen rows of books, tightly packed so only their piddly little spines were visible, and jammed in so tightly that it was a battle to yank one out to read. Kenzie and Maddy sat together at a small plastic table and K quietly read just over a whisper as there were huge signs on all the walls that read SILENCE PLEASE. It was oppressive and after 20 minutes the girls begged to leave. I obliged with enthusiasm and we burst out of the glass doors into the outdoors with shouts of relief at having to suppress our natural urges to make noise. Maddy leapt up and down with joy outside as inside the library her shoes had squeaked and we kept looking at her sternly with “Could you please walk quietly?” faces.
After that we walked around Bugis Junction, and I bought the girls lunch but half way through Mads needed the loo. Travelling with kids is a whole new experience as you see more restrooms than any other international tourists and I could probably rate them on a global scale. This meant we gobbled up our meal faster than the speed of light and went off in search of a clean Ladies Room in Seiyu, a huge department store.
The girls, Kenzie in particular, has a bit of a nervous breakdown when she has to use a public restroom. It has quite a bit to do with the fact that the toilets here flush themselves automatically and this nearly gave her heart failure the first time it happened. Now her normal plan of attack is to walk up and down peering in each free stall to see which are squatting holes and which are western toilets. Once a suitable toilet is located she waves us in frantically and makes me stay in front of the flush sensor on the wall so that it doesn’t flush while she’s on it. All in all it is a nerve-wracking job and once we were through, we went out and I browsed in the ladies clothing section. Why I do that to myself I can’t think, as it is not a comforting experience, but a fascinating one I have to admit. The clothes are sold in sections of different labels, each manned by their own sales staff and the colours are jewel bright, a sparkling range of soft silky fabrics that are a far cry from the plain black and white in most NZ stores. Lots of sequins and lace and frills and nonsense on these tiny little shreds of clothing, remind me of the Barbie outfits I played with as a child. Maddy’s favourite shopping game is to hide in the racks of clothes, quite a successful mission for her, as neither Kenzie or I can often find her. I have learned the secret though, is to look at the sales attendant’s faces and the one with the most disgruntled expression is the direction to head and 9 times out of ten, Maddy is deeply ensconced in their rack of designer gowns with her sticky little fingers and robust sneakers.
With the excuse of a birthday impending, I booked myself a hair appointment. I chose the busiest salon (must be good) and approached the desk a little timidly as I have the issue of thinning hair and really wanted to disguise the lack of locks I have on the front and top of my head. This was not the moment to be discreet though, as the man who came out of the depths of the shop to greet me was very local and struggled to comprehend my diplomatic references to what I required. Finally I found myself talking to him about my balding head in a manner similar to the way one talks to the garden boy in Zim, who knows only broken English, very loudly, and simply. The ladies in the waiting area heard every word of the woes of my tresses and I walked out of there feeling like I was about one inch tall. My appointment was for Saturday and I drew myself up to my full three inch height and strode back into the salon for my cut, colour and hair thinning treatment. By the time I left 4 hours later, I was in dire need of a loo, could just about speak Chinese and was so hungry I could have eaten the strap of my handbag. But the good news was that my hair had not been dyed purple and I had only mildly commented that I did not fancy a mullet to which he chopped off “my tail” as Mr Tan put it, and I actually felt happy with the change. I had received a head massage that nearly put me into a coma, finished off with the apprentice grabbing great handfuls of my hair and pulling up straight up with enormous force. I had visions of it all being ripped out and having to leave the salon with a Dolly Parton wig on squiff, but thanks be to the Lord, enough of my hair stayed on my head to style and leave without anything that wasn’t my own.
My birthday was a lovely day and I was pampered and spoiled rotten. After church we drove home via the Geyland main streets, with crumbling architecture, dollied up “street women” in sleazy doorways and numerous eateries, all with plastic furniture and advertising Frog Porridge and Pig Organ Soup. Do you know what a mind altering attitude one has to have to go to worship in a building marinated in the smell of durion and Goose Liver Rice? Enough said, except to say that one is reminded very quickly that God looks only at the heart and is no respecter of persons.
On Sunday evening we decided to go for a Singapore River Cruise in a low slung bum-boat as they are called. These are exhaust-fume billowing barges with canvas roofs, and a little man who sits at the back and steers. We sat on dirty wooden benches and peered over the sides at the incredibly pretty vista on either side of the river. We were puttering along a narrow channel with high stone walls, topped on either side with cafés and fairy light strewn trees in front of lolly-coloured street shops. The atmosphere was jovial and alive and one could hear the tinkle of glasses and the muffled laughter of socialising over the motor of the boat and the slap slap of the green water.
The boat had a canned commentary in a broad
There is something so peaceful about being on or beside water and we felt so relaxed by the end of it. We boarded the quay as the rain started and took shelter in an Indian restaurant where we had to spin gloriously long yarns about mysterious rainforest creatures (Fergus the Tree Frog) to keep Maddy still at the table and motivated on eating one grain of rice after another. Literally. They baulked at the traces of butter chicken sauce, practically foaming at the mouth and pawing for their water urgently so one child ate approximately one tablespoon of plain rice for their dinner, and another ate a man-sized serving of naan bread. We enjoyed our dinner at least!
