4th of July

I was 17 when I spent my first American Independence Day out of the country. I was deliriously happy to be where I was and too distracted to feel sentimental about being away from home. That is, until that night. I joined a big group of Americans at the Hard Rock Cafe Paris and somewhere between the crusty french fries and blasting ‘Paradise City’ I felt it. I missed home. I missed feeling understood. I missed my Grandma’s broccoli bacon salad. I missed watching the fireworks over the Columbia River. And I missed my country. It didn’t stop me. The next day I was still insanely happy to be there but the dull ache stayed with me until the landing gear hit the tarmac on the right side of the Atlantic.

This year was another Independence Day out of the country. Again we joined a big group of Americans. We rode the MRT out to a friend’s for a BBQ. The boys made their own American flags along the way. When they were finished they both started waving their flags yelling “U.S.A.! U.S.A.!” They had lots of practice cheering after watching the U.S. play in the World Cup. But since we were on a train full of Singaporeans we tried to get them to save the excitement for the party.

After the BBQ we headed to the American Naval Base where the American Association of Singapore was throwing an real American celebration. Live bands, balloons for the kids, fried chicken, hot dogs, burgers, even yummy burritos (which are hard to come by around here). We didn’t stay long because of the rain. Broken flip flops sloshing through mud doesn’t help either.

But we did see the fireworks. Big, loud and beautiful. And I felt it again. I missed home. I missed my family. I missed feeling understood. I missed Costco. And I missed my country. But the ache was different this time.

This time it was expected. Even a little required. And can I say refined?

We boarded a plane for the U.S. a couple days later. Geared up and excited to see our family and to just. be. there. And just like everyone says, it did feel really good when the customs guy at the airport handed me back my passport and said “Welcome home.”

a BIG kid

Have you noticed what has happened? Gage is not little anymore. He's a big boy and he'll tell you so.

He sleeps in a big bed. No stroller please and he's been wearing big boy underwear for over a month now.

A mama couldn't be more proud.

City kids

Noah wears his bus pass around his neck. Gage carries mine for me. They both wait for the doors to open, step up, scan the pass, and find a seat. They are professionals. Its the same on the MRT (subway). Noah reads the map and counts how many stops until ours. Gage is usually busy charming his neighbor. And to catch a taxi? They both know to stand on the curb, look for one with a green light and then stick your arm out. They're also really good at elevators. I have the feeling they could do all this without me.

On this day we were taking the bus home from church. The route drives past Little India so the bus always smells faintly of samosas and lightly jingles with jewelry.

We're heading to the U.S. next week. I'm excited to let these city kids play in the dirt and romp in the mountains. Catch a cousin and sit on Grandma's lap.

We'll see what they think about car seats.

Lost in translation

My kids love this game right outside the post office. Especially Gage. He giggles and giggles every time Minnie mouse jumps up out of the holes. And who doesn't love to hit stuff with a big rubber mallet? We never even put coins in it and the boys could be there all afternoon.

And I get a kick out of the fine Engrish. The instructions say:

Game is explained: Throw into once basic game beginning, small looable eight mice in reasonis in snccession slow hide in naughty pinck compliging with out in the hole. game person is prompt to hit the reaction abilitg ciming to jndge you rates a bit since the general mouse returning to a hde.

All misspellings are real. We see this a lot on tshirts, greeting cards, menus, signs, etc. Maybe I could make some money proofreading...

Bukit Timah Nature Reserve

If you go on a walk with my mom, especially near the botany pond on 800N in Provo, she'll start naming things in latin. Trees, plants, shrubs, anything green, she keeps going and going. Or bring up the desert vegetation of New Mexico and she's got things to say. Don't even get her started on South American roses.

If you go on a walk with me in the rainforest I can name one tree, but not even in latin. The rain tree. They're everywhere in Singapore and by the end of this hike through Bukit Timah last Saturday I'm sure we saw a million of them.

The boys chose our trail on the map and up the steep hill we went.

15 minutes in it starts to pour. And I mean pour, like any decent rainforest should. We ducked for shelter and shared a canopy with two skinny Spaniards and a benchful of Singaporeans. You can never really tell if it will let up so after the worst was over, we hiked on.

Up and around and then back to the bottom where we found the best slides at the children's playground. Next time we'll go up to the summit and we definitely want to try out their mountain biking trail.

That is if the macaque monkeys don't mind.

Noah David

Noah and I have a little secret.

We hold hands as we walk to school in the morning. I squeeze his hand three times and he knows what I mean. He looks at me, smiles and squeezes back three times.

He loves it. Because that's the kind of kid he is:

lovey

sweet

excited

happy

He had a birthday last weekend. Now he is five. Five. Years. Old. Can you believe it?

Cool Pool Party

Super swimming pool + friends + snacks + squirt gun games + cupcakes = Happy Birthday to Noah!!

I love the look on his face while we're singing Happy Birthday.

Thanks to everyone who came. The kids had a blast!! And sweet Noah was so so happy when he collapsed into bed that night.