The Who-Has-the-Most-Starbucks-Country-Mugs Competition

Since getting back from Boracay, I’ve had a bonkers busy week, what with the kids off school, and trying to find reasons not to spend time with them. The helper has taken them to a few things, so I should stop beating myself up about it. Us mummies! We can be so unkind to ourselves!!

Yesterday I went to meet up with some of the mums from Max’s class PTA, which I wouldn’t normally do (tons of emails to delete about all this parent involvement stuff argh!). It’s a new year though, so I’m all about opening my heart chakra to people I don’t really want to hang out with. It won’t last.

I was a little bit late because I got chatting with our pool guy about his incredibly tedious life. I think it’s important to maintain a positive rapport with the staff, as consistently demonstrated in my favourite TV show, Downton Abbey. I’ve said it before, but it’s worth repeating: it would really have suited me to live back then. Way more my scene.

The PTA meeting was at a Starbucks near the school, and serioso, what unfolded was worse than I could possibly have imagined. Apparently, everyone else reads the emails! When I arrived, I got only the slightest nod of an acknowledgment, and no thank you whatsoever for bothering to show up! They just kept on talking about the emails.

I felt like such an outcast!! In that moment, I took on the feelings that every politically marginalised and oppressed person must experience. I felt like Nelson Mandela. I felt like Aung San Suu Kyi.

I was still reeling from my oppression when a conversation started about who had the most Starbucks mugs from different countries.

Boracay mug

I have 28, which I thought was amazebobs, but some of the other ladies had so many more!! Argh! One woman had 115, but the winner by miles was the chick who had a mug from the Forbidden City. Wow, mega-mundo impressed!! She got that in like the five minutes before the po-lice shut it down. (Yes. The po-lice shut it down, I believe.)

I cannot stand competitive expat wives. It’s just embarrassing. I’m totes not jealous though. That’s not my modus operandi. I’m not a big douche, am I, dear readers? Nope.

So it was a complete accident when I stood up to do some spontaneous flash mob yoga, and my knee knocked Forbidden-City-Mug-Woman’s hot skinny latte into her not so skinny lap. Oooopsy! That’s my tree pose for you!! I always get a perfect angle on it, consequences be damned. I just can’t help myself.

Perfect Angle

I should probably be a yoga teacher, but the thing is that it would be a lot like Starbucks because I would put all the other teachers out of business. Because of my awesomeness. So I mustn’t go there. Don’t worry, lovely Singapore Yogis, I’ll leave you to it! I know how hard you’re trying : )

Advertisements

The Help

The main problem with my helper is that she has absolutely no idea how normal people live. It makes me feel so sorry for these people, when I think how they must live at home.

I am a late-comer to Downton Abbey, and it has been a real eye-opener watching it this past year, now that we have full-time help. It has made me realize that I would have been a lot happier if I had lived in those times, when you could get an army of local domestic staff who spoke your language, and really knew what they were doing. Our helper didn’t know how to polish silver when she started : ( Training her was such an exhausting task that I decided to send her on a course. They have some excellent helper courses here, thankfully. What is really nice is that they run them on Sundays, which is her day off, so we don’t have to manage without her during the rest of the week.

I have to say though, she is a true gem when it comes to the kids. I hardly have to spend any time with them at all now. I’m more in a supervisory role really, and that’s what I am mostly good at because I have read a lot of books about child development, I did a six-week certificated training in counseling children, and I keep up to date on what products I need to buy to best support Max and Milly through these vitally important early years. I dread to think how other, less well-informed expat parents deal with the challenges of raising nomadic children. Perhaps I should set up a course on that. I do have a certificate, after all.