It's pretty quiet; we're settling into a good routine. The day's go quickly since Wm has decided he needs to be asleep by 7, which means start brushing teeth at 6:30. Tonight, when Patch was having difficulty settling down, I heard through the bedroom door: "Patch, it's nighttime. you need to sleep so you have enough energy to play tomorrow."
I laughed- Greg and I had said that almost verbatim to Wm countless times over the years, back in the days when Wm used to scream himself to sleep every night. thank goodness we have kuya (big brother) to help settle Patch down and avoid those terrible bedtime fits. (knock on wood!)
The only real difference is that Patch is starting to put a few words together into thoughts. Like Wednesday when he came to pick me up from work. I climbed in the car and he asked, "No Dada?" it was kind of cool to see that he expected Greg, recognized he wasn't there, and figured out the words to express what he was thinking. The baby days are gone for real now, I think. Especially since this evening, he went and sat on his potty and told me, "close door" like Wm says. When he knocked on the door a few minutes later, it was a successful trip. Maybe it's time to try potty training for real...
We have a vegetable garden that Lea and the boys are tending. Okra and squash, I think, are our first experiment. The seeds sprouted, so hopefully veggies will come! And some basil and mint growing by our front door.
We're fully moved in now - I had the living room painted sage green, and it looks great. I might see if I can convince someone to add some shelves in the laundry room and more towel rods in the bathrooms, but otherwise, we're done settling in. Now to enjoy the next 18 months before we pickup and start over again in some unknown location.
It's more lonely being home, I think, than being the one traveling. Abroad, there's always something new to see - whether grascutters at an African market or rows of silk at an Indian expo. At home, though, I think more about missing the usual routine and chit chat after toe boys go to sleep. It's quiet!
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Plunging in
Remember yesterday I was impressed by how many foreigners there were around here? How the food was served in holes-in-the-wall? I was cured of this today - today some impressions of what one might call "the real Africa".
I went to the Makola Market today. I'll admit, it was not quite was I expected. I'd been to markets before, in India and the Middle East. If I might say so, this one put them to shame. First of all, it's far larger than any Indian market I've been to or any souk I've wandered in the Arab world. I took a taxi there and he took me to the edge of the market, then asked where I was going. "No idea," I shrugged. I paid my fare and got out. I saw a sign that said "Makola Mall". In I plunged. Finally, the crowds I expected. The exoticism I imagined. Strange and unexpected things around every corner. To be clear, a "mall" it was not. Instead, there was aisle after aisle of stalls, at first selling the junk you find in many developing-world markets. Cheap dishes, cloth, pots, beaten-up electronics.
Eventually I reached the food section, which seemed even bigger. Happily the ground was mostly dry; I can't imagine what it would have smelled like had there been pools of stagnant water. There were plenty of fish, but not a shaving of ice. The crabs came in several varieties, and were still alive, climbing on top of each other as they tried to escape their prisons inside plastic tubs. Piles of pink pigs' feet and more stacks of an unidentified red meat. I slowed down to take a closer look at those; I stopped when I got to the snails. They were also still alive, crawling around on top of other snails' fist-size shells. No, I'm not exaggerating, and no, I've never seen anything like it. "Do you eat them?" I asked. "Yes, want to buy some?" the hawker replied. "No, thanks, but can I take a picture?" She wanted money from me. I took no pictures. Still, the snails were probably only the second most shocking things in the market.
I only saw it once, but I couldn't keep walking when I saw the pale brown rodent the size of a small cat (for the Indian readers, it was about the size of an Indian bandicoot, complete with the giant front teeth). The creatures were dead, to be sure - hacked in half by one clean cut from what must have been a rather large machete. Seeing my stare, the vendor asked if I wanted to buy any. "What is it?" I asked. "Bush meat: grasscutter." I kept staring. The vendor's friend laughed at her and said, "You asked him if he wanted to buy any, now he's going to stare for a while longer." I've eaten bush meat before - nice big animals like kudu, ostrich, wildebeest. I shan't be sampling the grasscutter any time soon.
Sadly, I didn't get any pictures, even though I had my camera in my pocket. I had read and heard several warnings about how Ghanaians don't like to be photographed. I had also been warned that the police will come quickly if they see someone photographing a government building, and of course I had no idea which were government buildings. Most significantly, I was alone in the middle of a big crowded city. On one hand, the crowd made me feel safer - no dark lonely alleys here. On the other hand, crowds in poor countries like this can become mobs quickly. I had no desire to be at the center of one of those, so I kept as low a profile as my white skin would allow. Luckily, I'm not the first one to visit the place, and there are plenty of pictures online. Oh, and foreigners? None. It was about as much Africa as I could take for one morning, and after about an hour of wandering, I found a cab and returned to the relative comfort and familiarity of the posh side of town.
I went to the Makola Market today. I'll admit, it was not quite was I expected. I'd been to markets before, in India and the Middle East. If I might say so, this one put them to shame. First of all, it's far larger than any Indian market I've been to or any souk I've wandered in the Arab world. I took a taxi there and he took me to the edge of the market, then asked where I was going. "No idea," I shrugged. I paid my fare and got out. I saw a sign that said "Makola Mall". In I plunged. Finally, the crowds I expected. The exoticism I imagined. Strange and unexpected things around every corner. To be clear, a "mall" it was not. Instead, there was aisle after aisle of stalls, at first selling the junk you find in many developing-world markets. Cheap dishes, cloth, pots, beaten-up electronics.
Eventually I reached the food section, which seemed even bigger. Happily the ground was mostly dry; I can't imagine what it would have smelled like had there been pools of stagnant water. There were plenty of fish, but not a shaving of ice. The crabs came in several varieties, and were still alive, climbing on top of each other as they tried to escape their prisons inside plastic tubs. Piles of pink pigs' feet and more stacks of an unidentified red meat. I slowed down to take a closer look at those; I stopped when I got to the snails. They were also still alive, crawling around on top of other snails' fist-size shells. No, I'm not exaggerating, and no, I've never seen anything like it. "Do you eat them?" I asked. "Yes, want to buy some?" the hawker replied. "No, thanks, but can I take a picture?" She wanted money from me. I took no pictures. Still, the snails were probably only the second most shocking things in the market.
I only saw it once, but I couldn't keep walking when I saw the pale brown rodent the size of a small cat (for the Indian readers, it was about the size of an Indian bandicoot, complete with the giant front teeth). The creatures were dead, to be sure - hacked in half by one clean cut from what must have been a rather large machete. Seeing my stare, the vendor asked if I wanted to buy any. "What is it?" I asked. "Bush meat: grasscutter." I kept staring. The vendor's friend laughed at her and said, "You asked him if he wanted to buy any, now he's going to stare for a while longer." I've eaten bush meat before - nice big animals like kudu, ostrich, wildebeest. I shan't be sampling the grasscutter any time soon.
Sadly, I didn't get any pictures, even though I had my camera in my pocket. I had read and heard several warnings about how Ghanaians don't like to be photographed. I had also been warned that the police will come quickly if they see someone photographing a government building, and of course I had no idea which were government buildings. Most significantly, I was alone in the middle of a big crowded city. On one hand, the crowd made me feel safer - no dark lonely alleys here. On the other hand, crowds in poor countries like this can become mobs quickly. I had no desire to be at the center of one of those, so I kept as low a profile as my white skin would allow. Luckily, I'm not the first one to visit the place, and there are plenty of pictures online. Oh, and foreigners? None. It was about as much Africa as I could take for one morning, and after about an hour of wandering, I found a cab and returned to the relative comfort and familiarity of the posh side of town.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Under African Skies
After not coming within 10 years or 1,000 miles of Ghana in 2011, I've now been in Africa for just over three days, so it seems like as good a time as any to put down some of my thoughts. First thing: it's definitely a step behind both India and the Philippines. Ghana is generally known as one of the more successful and progressive of the sub-Saharan African countries (excepting South Africa, which "Africa people" don't seem to consider a proper African country at all). Still, the first thing that struck me on landing at the airport was that, within just a few miles of the capital and largest city, half the roads appeared unpaved. I went to India for the first time in 2005 expecting to find unpaved roads, candlelit homes, and streets filled with cows. Err, ok, so the bovines are there in herds, but unpaved streets in or around a major Indian city? Not a chance.
The biggest thing to happen in Accra this month was the recent opening of a KFC. As far as I can tell, this is Ghana's first outlet of a western fast-food chain. I also struggle to recall seeing a local equivalent, a west African Jollibee. Instead, there are tiny streetside restaurants galore, little more than holes in walls with dusty floors and rickety wooden tables and chairs that look like they're about to fall over under the weight of a plantain. (Incidentally, I sampled the fare at KFC and was pleasantly surprised to find that it tastes like KFC. Not bad.)
On the flipside, while it was often difficult to find a face from outside South Asia in India, central Accra has no shortage of foreigners. I ran into Lebanese, Pakistanis, Filipinos, and various types of white people in just a couple of hours today, not to mention what I'm sure were a dozen different flavors of Africans whose nationalities I'm unable to identify. (I know I'm still an Africa newbie because half the men here still look just like Hakeem Olajuwon to me, especially the ones with moustaches. I'm not bad at this point at picking South Indians from North Indians, Sri Lankans from Bangladeshis, etc. Africans? Not a chance.) Most people were interested but not shocked to find an American in their midst. I admit, however, that when I went into the carpet shop and found myself alone with a slightly sketchy-looking Pakistani, I professed that I was a Filipino. Sometimes it's nice to look like you could be from anyplace.
Finally, a word of advice to anyone traveling to Africa: learn enough soccer/football to have a five-minute conversation about it. All you really need to be able to do is name two or three players from whatever country you happen to find yourself in, but should you happen to be capable of really discussing how much better Arsenal looked before Frimpong (a Ghanaian, conveniently) was sent off against Liverpool and how awful they were without him against United, you'll find that it elicits huge smiles from the locals, and breaks down barriers exceptionally quickly. And if you're American and really in a tight spot, simply mention your nationality and remind a Ghanaian how much you hate it when our team plays the Black Stars, their national team who has beaten us the last two World Cups. I've tried this twice, and was greeted with howling laughter and claps on the shoulder. Actually, the first time there was no shoulder clapping - the Ghanaian was on the other side of the visa window. But there was plenty of laughter. And why not? For a country as small and relatively poor as Ghana to be genuinely better than the US at something that they really care about is something they should be proud of.
The biggest thing to happen in Accra this month was the recent opening of a KFC. As far as I can tell, this is Ghana's first outlet of a western fast-food chain. I also struggle to recall seeing a local equivalent, a west African Jollibee. Instead, there are tiny streetside restaurants galore, little more than holes in walls with dusty floors and rickety wooden tables and chairs that look like they're about to fall over under the weight of a plantain. (Incidentally, I sampled the fare at KFC and was pleasantly surprised to find that it tastes like KFC. Not bad.)
On the flipside, while it was often difficult to find a face from outside South Asia in India, central Accra has no shortage of foreigners. I ran into Lebanese, Pakistanis, Filipinos, and various types of white people in just a couple of hours today, not to mention what I'm sure were a dozen different flavors of Africans whose nationalities I'm unable to identify. (I know I'm still an Africa newbie because half the men here still look just like Hakeem Olajuwon to me, especially the ones with moustaches. I'm not bad at this point at picking South Indians from North Indians, Sri Lankans from Bangladeshis, etc. Africans? Not a chance.) Most people were interested but not shocked to find an American in their midst. I admit, however, that when I went into the carpet shop and found myself alone with a slightly sketchy-looking Pakistani, I professed that I was a Filipino. Sometimes it's nice to look like you could be from anyplace.
Finally, a word of advice to anyone traveling to Africa: learn enough soccer/football to have a five-minute conversation about it. All you really need to be able to do is name two or three players from whatever country you happen to find yourself in, but should you happen to be capable of really discussing how much better Arsenal looked before Frimpong (a Ghanaian, conveniently) was sent off against Liverpool and how awful they were without him against United, you'll find that it elicits huge smiles from the locals, and breaks down barriers exceptionally quickly. And if you're American and really in a tight spot, simply mention your nationality and remind a Ghanaian how much you hate it when our team plays the Black Stars, their national team who has beaten us the last two World Cups. I've tried this twice, and was greeted with howling laughter and claps on the shoulder. Actually, the first time there was no shoulder clapping - the Ghanaian was on the other side of the visa window. But there was plenty of laughter. And why not? For a country as small and relatively poor as Ghana to be genuinely better than the US at something that they really care about is something they should be proud of.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Review of the Compound
We're five months into compound living. Since that's just one month shy of 25% of the time we'll spend here (yes, really!), I figure sufficient time has passed to give compound living a balanced review.
On the whole, I'd say that for our family at this point in time, it's a good place to be. On average, we have about a 15 minute commute to work, which I love. The play ground, dog park, and swimming pool are all less than 50 feet from our front door. We just signed up for a vegetable plot.
From what I've seen of the other residential options, our compound is the only place in the city where Wm can ride his bike freely, without so much as a glance back to see where we are - or a gasp from us each time he comes to a corner. The clinic is a 5 minute walk, and they allowed us to sign a release allowing Lea to bring the boys in in emergencies (a privilege used only once so far, knock on wood). The embassy maintenance staff take care of anything that goes wrong - quick and reliable service.
Now that more families are being assigned to houses and apartments here, Wm and Patch have built in playmates. It's easy and the compound culture for the stay-at-home spouses or nannies to just knock on doors to play - I don't have to pre-arrange play dates (though we do with Wm's two friends who live elsewhere, which means driver schedules must be coordinated :) ). When Patch gets old enough, he'll hopefully start at the preschool right here, which will require zero coordination for transportation.
My life = simplified.
Not to say it's all peachy keen. Friday afternoon, for instance, we talked about going out for dinner that night. But we just didn't feel like braving the evening traffic to try out some new places in Makati or the Fort - and we didn't want to go to MOA (Mall of Asia) again. The nearby dining out options are quite limited. And the traffic to get to other areas is miserable.
It's true - the bedrooms are much smaller than the off-compound leased houses and the finish is basic. But look at it in perspective. If we were back in DC working at the mother ship, we'd be living in our condo that's half the size of this place. And the finish is just like you'd find in a well maintained normal middle class home. After coming from our apartment in India where everything had a patina of high class finish - but questionable functionality - I'll take reliable and nondescript any day. Slip covers, rugs, and wall hangings do the trick.
If we had older kids - or no kids - or no dog - or were single - or basically were at any other point in our life where we really just enjoy spending time at home, the compound would likely seem stifling. But for the next 19 months, it will suit us just fine!
On the whole, I'd say that for our family at this point in time, it's a good place to be. On average, we have about a 15 minute commute to work, which I love. The play ground, dog park, and swimming pool are all less than 50 feet from our front door. We just signed up for a vegetable plot.
From what I've seen of the other residential options, our compound is the only place in the city where Wm can ride his bike freely, without so much as a glance back to see where we are - or a gasp from us each time he comes to a corner. The clinic is a 5 minute walk, and they allowed us to sign a release allowing Lea to bring the boys in in emergencies (a privilege used only once so far, knock on wood). The embassy maintenance staff take care of anything that goes wrong - quick and reliable service.
Now that more families are being assigned to houses and apartments here, Wm and Patch have built in playmates. It's easy and the compound culture for the stay-at-home spouses or nannies to just knock on doors to play - I don't have to pre-arrange play dates (though we do with Wm's two friends who live elsewhere, which means driver schedules must be coordinated :) ). When Patch gets old enough, he'll hopefully start at the preschool right here, which will require zero coordination for transportation.
My life = simplified.
Not to say it's all peachy keen. Friday afternoon, for instance, we talked about going out for dinner that night. But we just didn't feel like braving the evening traffic to try out some new places in Makati or the Fort - and we didn't want to go to MOA (Mall of Asia) again. The nearby dining out options are quite limited. And the traffic to get to other areas is miserable.
It's true - the bedrooms are much smaller than the off-compound leased houses and the finish is basic. But look at it in perspective. If we were back in DC working at the mother ship, we'd be living in our condo that's half the size of this place. And the finish is just like you'd find in a well maintained normal middle class home. After coming from our apartment in India where everything had a patina of high class finish - but questionable functionality - I'll take reliable and nondescript any day. Slip covers, rugs, and wall hangings do the trick.
If we had older kids - or no kids - or no dog - or were single - or basically were at any other point in our life where we really just enjoy spending time at home, the compound would likely seem stifling. But for the next 19 months, it will suit us just fine!
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Shots
I'm headed to Ghana for work in a few weeks, and I needed two shots to go there. One was called "meningococcal", which doctor-speak for meningitis. The other is "yellow fever", which is doctor-speak for yellow fever. Unfortunately, our med unit at the embassy doesn't stock yellow fever vaccine, and I was referred to something ominously called the Bureau of Quarantine.
Knowing that this was a government office, I entered with low expectations. The place is located in the port section of Manila, which made sense when I walked in and realized I was surrounded by Filipino sailors about to head out to sea. All of this was fine until I completed the pre-inoculation for and answered, honestly, that yes, I had received a vaccine in the past seven days (specifically, the meningicoccal that had been administered an hour earlier at the embassy med unit). "Oh no, po", I was told, "you have to wait a week between vaccinations." As any well-vaccinated American knows, this is nonsense - we get multiple shots all the time. I also knew that I had just spoken to the embassy nurse about getting the yellow fever shot, and she had said it was just fine to go now. Third, I had just read the CDC information sheets about both vaccines, and both said that they were safe to receive at the same time as other shots. Finally, the doctors at the Bureau of Quarantine weren't citing medical reasons not to get the shot, they were going on about their policies.
So I was pretty sure there wasn't actually a medical reason I couldn't get this shot. But if I waited a week, I would start to push up against my departure time, and I couldn't get my Ghana visa until the yellow fever shot was completed. Lying seemed like a real option. At the same time, I like to be an honest person whenever I can.
What to do?
Well, I'm only sort of sorry to say that for just a few minutes I put aside my sense of propriety and remembered that I was dealing with government officials who just want to follow the rules. I made it easy for them - "Sorry, po, I misunderstood the question - my meningicoccal shot is right after this one, I haven't gotten it yet." A bit of discussion in Tagalog ensued. A was asked a few more times if I was sure about this, which I dutifully answered in the affirmative. (I'll note here that if I *had* gone to BQ first, then the med unit, I'm 100% certain that I would have gotten both shots in one day with no problem.) With no real alternative presented, the government doctor and nurse gave in. I got the shot - in the left arm, of course, because the right was still a bit sore from the other one, and still had a bandage on it.
It's at times like these that I try to remind myself that I, too, am but a lowly bureaucrat. I get it. All a good bureaucrat needs is a plausible explanation for how what they do is within the rules. So that's what I gave them. Shame on me.
Knowing that this was a government office, I entered with low expectations. The place is located in the port section of Manila, which made sense when I walked in and realized I was surrounded by Filipino sailors about to head out to sea. All of this was fine until I completed the pre-inoculation for and answered, honestly, that yes, I had received a vaccine in the past seven days (specifically, the meningicoccal that had been administered an hour earlier at the embassy med unit). "Oh no, po", I was told, "you have to wait a week between vaccinations." As any well-vaccinated American knows, this is nonsense - we get multiple shots all the time. I also knew that I had just spoken to the embassy nurse about getting the yellow fever shot, and she had said it was just fine to go now. Third, I had just read the CDC information sheets about both vaccines, and both said that they were safe to receive at the same time as other shots. Finally, the doctors at the Bureau of Quarantine weren't citing medical reasons not to get the shot, they were going on about their policies.
So I was pretty sure there wasn't actually a medical reason I couldn't get this shot. But if I waited a week, I would start to push up against my departure time, and I couldn't get my Ghana visa until the yellow fever shot was completed. Lying seemed like a real option. At the same time, I like to be an honest person whenever I can.
What to do?
Well, I'm only sort of sorry to say that for just a few minutes I put aside my sense of propriety and remembered that I was dealing with government officials who just want to follow the rules. I made it easy for them - "Sorry, po, I misunderstood the question - my meningicoccal shot is right after this one, I haven't gotten it yet." A bit of discussion in Tagalog ensued. A was asked a few more times if I was sure about this, which I dutifully answered in the affirmative. (I'll note here that if I *had* gone to BQ first, then the med unit, I'm 100% certain that I would have gotten both shots in one day with no problem.) With no real alternative presented, the government doctor and nurse gave in. I got the shot - in the left arm, of course, because the right was still a bit sore from the other one, and still had a bandage on it.
It's at times like these that I try to remind myself that I, too, am but a lowly bureaucrat. I get it. All a good bureaucrat needs is a plausible explanation for how what they do is within the rules. So that's what I gave them. Shame on me.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
A Filipino Hill Station
If the Philippines had hill stations like India, Tagaytay would definitely qualify.
For our anniversary, we took a one night trip to Sonya's Garden (http://www.sonyasgarden.com/). Living on the compound has its perks - I did not worry at all about leaving Wm and Patch with Lea for one night while we were only a 2 hour drive away.
We arrived about 3 in the afternoon, checking into a beautiful room with crisp white embroidered linens - think English countryside visits the Philippines. I then went for a massage, a good rub with a little shiatsu thrown in (my first time having someone bend me). The massage oil was scented with goju, a local something - I can't find it on google, so perhaps I have the name incorrect. The slightly sweet and minty smell refreshed me.
Then we went to Antonio's for dinner, probably one of the best reviewed restaurants in the greater Manila area. The salad's lettuce was freshly grown in their own organic garden. Roasted tomato soup with basil foam followed. Main course of chateaubriand with hollandaise. I had a dark chocolate soufflé, and Greg a chocolate terrine, for dessert. Portions of a normal size, but the soup and the cut of beef definitely worth writing home about :)
Situated near the Taal volcano, Tagaytay's elevation makes it much cooler than Manila - I was a bit chilly at night in just a sundress and no shawl. Our room at Sonya's Garden had beautiful large (screened) windows, so we slept with them open, enjoying the mountain breeze. Such a treat after the constant AC in Manila. A night time down pour caused Greg to roll a bit closer to my side of the bed to avoid getting a bit damp. A poor placement of the bed or an added bit of romance? We decided to think of it as the later.
The next morning after breakfast of omelette, fruit, and freshly baked bread, we went back to the room to read. Well, Greg read. I just ended up falling back asleep again. Greg woke me at 11 to go take our class on "the art of doing nothing" - but we couldn't figure out where the class was held, so we just wandered the gardens experimenting with macro photography. Check out the results at: https://picasaweb.google.com/gregory.rankin/SonyaSGarden#
For our anniversary, we took a one night trip to Sonya's Garden (http://www.sonyasgarden.com/). Living on the compound has its perks - I did not worry at all about leaving Wm and Patch with Lea for one night while we were only a 2 hour drive away.
We arrived about 3 in the afternoon, checking into a beautiful room with crisp white embroidered linens - think English countryside visits the Philippines. I then went for a massage, a good rub with a little shiatsu thrown in (my first time having someone bend me). The massage oil was scented with goju, a local something - I can't find it on google, so perhaps I have the name incorrect. The slightly sweet and minty smell refreshed me.
Then we went to Antonio's for dinner, probably one of the best reviewed restaurants in the greater Manila area. The salad's lettuce was freshly grown in their own organic garden. Roasted tomato soup with basil foam followed. Main course of chateaubriand with hollandaise. I had a dark chocolate soufflé, and Greg a chocolate terrine, for dessert. Portions of a normal size, but the soup and the cut of beef definitely worth writing home about :)
Situated near the Taal volcano, Tagaytay's elevation makes it much cooler than Manila - I was a bit chilly at night in just a sundress and no shawl. Our room at Sonya's Garden had beautiful large (screened) windows, so we slept with them open, enjoying the mountain breeze. Such a treat after the constant AC in Manila. A night time down pour caused Greg to roll a bit closer to my side of the bed to avoid getting a bit damp. A poor placement of the bed or an added bit of romance? We decided to think of it as the later.
The next morning after breakfast of omelette, fruit, and freshly baked bread, we went back to the room to read. Well, Greg read. I just ended up falling back asleep again. Greg woke me at 11 to go take our class on "the art of doing nothing" - but we couldn't figure out where the class was held, so we just wandered the gardens experimenting with macro photography. Check out the results at: https://picasaweb.google.com/gregory.rankin/SonyaSGarden#
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Wm's New City
Since January, many of our conversations with Wm have talked about "new cities." India and Hyderabad are the "old city" (he doesn't quite grasp the city vs. country concept), while Manila is our current "new city." But he does know that eventually we'll move to another "new city" and another child will live in our current house. At this point, these conversations are quite matter-of-fact, as much a statement of the obvious as observing that it's raining for the umpteenth straight day.
At our parent-teacher conference this week, Wm's teacher said he's adjusting well to his new situation, but he's still sensitive to moving and change. One of his classmates recently moved to Singapore. For the week after, Wm kept asking his teacher if that new city was a nice city and if nice schools existed in that new city. He was the only one in the class who even questioned where the classmate had gone and why - because he is the only one who has moved cities.
(Humorous side note: when I related this story to a friend at work, she remarked that at least Wm's bidding strategy is concurrent with ours: a nice city with good schools!)
Another day, during painting time, he told his teacher he was painting a road to a new city. She asked him where the road went, and he replied he didn't know yet. Only too true!
I'm very interested to hear in a few years, when Patch is 4, how Wm explains the "new city" concept to his little brother. I may never get the chance to listen in on that conversation (and perhaps, if I'm present, a version of Heisenberg's uncertainty principle will apply).
At our parent-teacher conference this week, Wm's teacher said he's adjusting well to his new situation, but he's still sensitive to moving and change. One of his classmates recently moved to Singapore. For the week after, Wm kept asking his teacher if that new city was a nice city and if nice schools existed in that new city. He was the only one in the class who even questioned where the classmate had gone and why - because he is the only one who has moved cities.
(Humorous side note: when I related this story to a friend at work, she remarked that at least Wm's bidding strategy is concurrent with ours: a nice city with good schools!)
Another day, during painting time, he told his teacher he was painting a road to a new city. She asked him where the road went, and he replied he didn't know yet. Only too true!
I'm very interested to hear in a few years, when Patch is 4, how Wm explains the "new city" concept to his little brother. I may never get the chance to listen in on that conversation (and perhaps, if I'm present, a version of Heisenberg's uncertainty principle will apply).
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