Jet Lag and Other Follies

It's a well-known fact in the toddler sphere that small children thrive on routine. Change and transition, on the other hand, not so much. So, throw a two-year-old on the other side of the world, without his toys or crib or anything familiar, and a few problems are likely to ensue. Just a few.

We paid extra for the toddler package. We weren't exactly sure what it included, but we figured why not, and overall, it was a good idea. Fraser Place supplied us with a high chair, an umbrella stroller (seemingly worthless), kids' towels, two stuffed ducks (their kids theme: everything child-related here features the duck pair, Luc and Lucia), a portable crib/playpen with balls in it, a crib, and a bed with a rail. We could have requested two cribs, but since Sam will have to sleep in a bed in Paris, why not make the transition now when there's some protection on the side.

But was he ready for a bed? Probably not.

Most naps and nights he's been screaming himself to sleep and wakes up anywhere between two and five a.m. the same. Pat has started the unadvisable but desperate habit of getting into bed with him, while Finn sleeps royally in our king bed with me.

While each night we pray will be better than the previous, this arrangement has granted us some insight into the chatter that would come from Sam's room in Boston. Like a National Geographic documentarist, Pat has observed the tuft-headed sprout in his bedtime ritual. Apparently, Sam makes all the animals--now consisting of Big Bear, Little Bear, Spare Bear, and Lucia, a.k.a. "Duck," or more accurately, "Duh"--kiss each other goodnight, and then in turn kiss him goodnight. 

Last night Sam realized he can actually get out of bed and doesn't have to wait for us to answer his calls. We are exhausted and out of ideas. I don't think this is just jet lag anymore, but his adjustment (or lack thereof) to his new environment. He's been particularly difficult during the days, too: tantrums at the slightest infraction against his will; until yesterday eating nothing but his comfort food--Cheerios and milk. Perhaps now that he's starting to eat again, and Pat has started work, giving our days some shape of routine, he will settle.

And speaking of settling, it's been almost a full week since our disembarkation. We've purchased unlocked, pay-as-you-go cell phones that, with a switch of a SIM card, we'll also be able to use in Paris. (Sidebar: we got to pick our numbers from a list posted by the cashiers. I selected one for Pat that is remarkably similar to my parents' home phone and therefore immediately memorized.) We visited the Botanic Gardens and walked the length of Orchard Road, Singapore's Fifth Avenue. We revisited Cold Storage and finally got a better supply of tropical fruit. We've been having fresh passion fruit, guava, pineapple, watermelon, and Asian pears everyday. And we've walked the quays.

Pass through Robertson Walk and you are on Robertson Quay. All the quays on the river are connected in a lovely promenade. Many are occupied by wine bars and outdoor clubs and lounges--vacated and moist with dew by the time we pass by. New Years Day we followed the quays all the way to the financial district, closer than I had expected. Along the way we watched a Chinese dragon performance, where two men, dressed as the dancing dragon, jumped on poles to a sustained drumbeat, and we stopped for a Chinese seafood lunch with views of the tour boats puttering by. Most mornings we walk the quays in the other direction. Because Sam is up so early and is too stir-crazy to stay confined, we are out when there is still a breeze and just a few joggers.

I've had two days on my own with the boys. Monday I took Sam to the open-play hour at a kids gym, similar to My Gym at home, on the same floor as the Cold Storage across the street. About half a dozen other moms, all Australian with husbands in the same company, were in attendance with their multiple charges. It was playground mommy dating all over again, except with an international bent (how long have you been here, what serviced apartment are you staying at, how long are you here for), and, of course, they weren't really interested in flirting with me given they're already in established mom relationships.

We stayed close to home again today since I'm battling another cold. At the Fraser Place outdoor play area (equipped with one of those Little Tykes cars that captivated Sam at Ringgold and the Clarendon playgrounds) I met a couple more moms with interesting backgrounds (a Thai woman married to a half-Norse, half-Italian, and a Singaporean who just moved back here from San Francisco).  I've also had a few trials with the washer-cum-dryer--yes, one of those clothes washers that doubles as a dryer. Utterly worthless. Like giving your clothes a two-hour steam bath. My underwear now has a smoother complexion than my forehead--that is, until I had to hang it up to finish drying. Now it's like cardboard.

One nice feature at Fraser Place is the elevator. Not because there's anything special about it, but because, speaking as a five-year resident of a fourth-floor walk-up, it is an elevator. In fact, there are three elevators, and we play the elevator race game. Sam, who now lives for elevator rides, points to one, Pat claims another, and I'm left with the third. (When it's just me and the boys, I get to choose second and Finn is left with the remainder.) Given that Sam tends to switch his vote, I believe he has the winning tally. An elevator aside: I must feel quite at home here, because the other day I wore my slippers (yes, I wear slippers, even in hot climates--they're cushiony) right down the hall and onto the mirrored box. 

Another nice feature here is all the restaurants. Because of the clientele, there is a wide variety including many western, more than I had expected. High quality take-out is very easy to do here. Our room has a booklet of delivery options, which we assumed featured the restaus at Robertson Walk. On Saturday we ordered dinner and, in order to give him an outing, Pat took Sam downstairs to pick it up, only to realize he had no idea where the restaurant was. He bought something downstairs, and let's just hope we didn't garner too much bad karma leaving an unclaimed order at the mystery location.