Froo Froo Dog

Facebook Drama!!

/ Emma-Jane Austen-Jones / 7 Comments

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Babeses, a shocking thing has occurred. The week before last I posted a few gorgeous photos of myself on my awesome Facebook page, and one of my “likers” made some unkind, and frankly totes untrue, comments about my physique. So I hastily took steps to remedy the situation and expelled the commentator from my awesome page. I did this in my quest for justice, not at all out of desires for revenge. I’m a lot like Ghandi in that respect. An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, and stuff. The intention behind my endeavours is always benevolent and giving, with no expectation of getting anything back. My aim is to generously share my fabulous life, and offer v wise advice from my expert expat perspective. I have never asked for anything in return for what is effectively voluntary service to the Expaterati of Singapore and beyond.

So. Imagine my horror when the expelled commentator (let’s call her Beyoncé – not her real name, but she obv thinks she’s Queen Bee) took it upon herself to set up her own Facebook page, and recruited my haters in retaliation for her expulsion. Yes babeses, I have haters : D! You know you’ve made it when you have haters!!

Her page, “The Most Awesome Expat Page in Singapore”, has grown at an astounding rate, which just goes to show how much I’ve made it if I have that many haters! Go me!! I know this is thusly therefore the case because I have read Guy Kawasaki and Peg Fitzpatrick’s The Art of Social Media.

Now that’s all well and good, because I respect everyone’s right to have and express different/ wrong opinions, and I am not one to belittle the work of others. What I take issue with is the content of her ridic page. Beyoncé basically uses everything I post, and either copies it or shares it like it’s her own (she has blatantly stolen my Mannequin Shenanigans concept), OR, and this is the kicker, she screenshots my material to her page, and attempts to make fun of me!! Of me!!! Mega-LOLs. Or not… She has even started a blog that parodies mine, and every time I publish a new post, she writes her own post about my post!! What now, now?! Hashtag too much time on her hands!, am I right, dear readers??

I, au contraire, have v limited time because I am busy living my glamorous life rather than mocking the lives of others. That’s just not my modus operandi.

As a quick update on said glamorous life, it looks like we are repatting, but still dunno, and am totes not sure how I feel about this. Can life be as glamorous in London? I don’t recall…

Don is also v busy, travelling a lot, and returning home to the irritants like a hero from the battlefields, with gifts and promises of staying up late, and of trips to Universal Studios.

Max’s Minecraft addiction continues apace, and he now does pretty much nothing else. Which is fine because it means we don’t have to worry about keeping him occupied. I heard this fascinating radio prog about kids and Minecraft (apparently it’s a thing in the UK too! Who knew?!), and that’s basically what it concluded too, I think: that if you just give the irritants free-reign with the game, we parents no longer have to suffer the burdensome responsibility of entertaining our children. So that’s great.

Neither Max nor Mills are now kicking Froo Froo dog. It’s partly because of the amazebobs dog therapy she had, and partly because the Froofster and the Millster are currently engaged with their respective modeling careers. High self-esteem is running rampant in our house these days! Froo Froo is doing some fantastic work with Oh My Beagle and Milly decided she wanted to get her career started too, given that she is halfway to five years’ old, and I completely support that. If I had started earlier, I would no doubt have been a super model, and I would’ve saved the photo editors a ton of time because I don’t need a lot of Photoshopping to look hot (as even Beyoncé knows, if she’s honest).

Angel, my step-daughter house-guest, has also been approached to model, but she says she wants to get on in her “own way”. Something about having her own plans?? To do with a thing called YouNow..? #baffed again. Oh well, she seems happy enough, so I keep out of her way. Her mother, Chantelle, is not making much progress it would seem. She still can’t accept the fact that my father has replaced her with a nice old dear in the home, to whom he thinks he has been married for decades. The old dear is a way better match, but Miss Chantilly just doesn’t get it. She’s hanging desperately onto the past as if that would make it come back. Never happens, babeses, am I right? Move on!! That’s my excellent advice.

The helper is acting a bit strangely, and her underwear on the washing line is getting racier by the day. I keep out of that too though. It’s not like she’s my responsibility or anything.

And me, I’m just doing my Thang, having beautiful times, staying hot, being a caring mother and wife, brunching, lunching, dinnering and partying with my Expaterati gangs. Next week I have a modelling job (yes, me!!), and I’m going to the ANZA ball. It’s all go! I’m also super-excited about the elections. Hopefully those nice Conservatives will get in again. I just loved what they did with our income tax rate. Maybe they’ll lower it even more, once they’re in!! And after a few fab years with them, I reckon Boris is a dead cert to be PM in the not too distant. Cannot wait for that! He really is a man of the people. Well, my people anyway.

Only Alcoholics Shouldn’t Drink in the Morning

/ Emma-Jane Austen-Jones / 2 Comments

After my transformational parenting experience the other night, I bounded into Milly’s room on the morning of our trip to get her dressed, for the first time ever on a non-Sunday, and to help her finish packing. I wanted to reassure her that she is beautiful despite not having a thigh gap, so I was a bit disappointed to find her room empty, completely tidy, and her suitcase all packed.

“No mattery!”, I thought to myself, being the tremendously resilient person that I am, and off I cantered downstairs to make breakfast for my sweet children – another first for a non-Sunday, go me!! I was in such a good mood that I decided to make pancakes, of all things! I know!! Ambitious, but that’s me all over, as you know, dear readers.

I could see from the state of the kitchen (argh! So not Downton, babeses!! Cannot get the staff, lah) that the helper had already made pancakes; and there was apparently no one in the house other than Don, up in his office. I waved charmingly to him through the windows off the courtyard, but he didn’t see me as he was engrossed in the screens on his desk. He works so hard, bless him. Even on days that are technically holidays. Of course he’s being stalked by another bird. Who wouldn’t stalk a man like Don?

I rang the helper and discovered that she had taken both kids to the skate park off Orchard for a scoot. “Oh well, no mattery”, I thought again, “I can still… umm, I can still”… And that’s where I totes drew a blank. I had yet another weird, as yet unidentified feeling, and the strangest thing popped up in my pretty head: the empty space in our glamorous ensuite bathroom from a few weeks ago. That awful emptiness where, as it turned out, my designer loo brush had been (since then, happily replaced with even lovelier water closet ware). What now, now? Why would that vile thought invade my so sane brain?

To exorcise the unpleasant image, I walked from room to room for a while, looking for something useful I could do. Something motherly perhaps. Drawing a mega zero, I found myself by the wine fridge, and although I would never dream of drinking at 9.37 in the morning, I realised that it was a day of celebration. Chinese New Year! Gong Xi and all that!! So I opened a bottle of Veuve to toast all those gazillion nice Chinese people out there, particularly our Chinese hosts in lovely Singapore. Rude not to, and we weren’t leaving for Penang until the afternoon.

Sitting in our rooftop pool with my champers and my Facebook newsfeed for company, I stopped feeling all those ugh feelings. What’s the big dealio with morning celebrational beverages anyhoo? Nothing, right babeses? Anyone who thinks there’s a problem is ridic and crazybobs, and must have a drink prob themselves. It’s pure projection, which is v nasty stuff.

I must’ve dozed off on a lounger (due to my late night of being a great mother) because the next thing I knew, the helper was standing over me, saying, “Ma’am, Sir is looking for you. We are leaving now on the vacation”.

Argh!! I sprang into action (concealing the empty bottles in the ornamental pool towel cupboard – the helper can be so judgmental), threw the last few bikinis and lippies into my ludicrously expensive Rimowa suitcase, put on my gorgeous travelling outfit (it’s important to look one’s hottest when travelling, particularly as a celebrité blogger), and sloped elegantly to the front door, just as the limo cab was pulling up outside. I’m so good at travelling. I can do it like the back of my hand.

We really had a great time in Penang. This trip, unlike Chrimbo in Boracay, we took the help with us. I told Don that if he stuck to his “family holidays are for family” policy, Froo Froo Dog might well poop in his car. Accidentally, of course. That dog is so bold now, since her amazebobs therapy session : ).

We came back today on an early flight – early enough to attend a fab free-flow lunch date at the Westin with our Expaterati crew, and everyone was enthralled by my tales of our super lovely hol. I do totes heart Malaysia. I can see where they’re going with the whole “truly Asia” thing. I think it’s a little misleading though, because increasingly it’s more “truly Middle East”. Which is also awesome because I totes heart Dubai too.

 

Where we didn't stay in Penang. Anyone with a proven track record in marketing, PLEASE contact these chaps.

Where we didn’t stay in Penang.
Anyone with a proven track record in marketing, PLEASE contact these chaps.

 

 

My Little Froo Froo Is On The Mend

/ Emma-Jane Austen-Jones / 5 Comments

0001-54821555Froo Froo dog, bless her, started her therapy regime yesterday. To help her manage Milly’s aggression towards her, the doggie therapist suggested assertiveness training followed by massage to help her relax.

She made immediate progress with her assertivenessity. The therapist used a CBT technique called “swamping”. She showed the Froofster a picture of Mills, waved her hairbrush under her nose to get the scent, and then started kicking her. At first Froof did her usual cowering, wetting herself thing, but then the assistant whispered something in the dog’s ear and rang a bell. Froo looked again at the photo, and this time, she started to growl!! Amazo! I’ve never heard her growl before. The therapist gave her a treat, kicked her again, and Froo growled even louder, baring her teeth. Then she got hold of the picture of Mills in her mouth, and tore it apart.

Next she had her massage and OMG, she loved it!!:

Job done! $2,000 well spent, if you ask me. This therapy lark is awesomeness.

A Tale of Two Dogs?

/ Emma-Jane Austen-Jones / 5 Comments

I’ve had some requests recently from people who want to know more about the Froofster. I’m all about giving my adoring public what they want, babeses. People luv dog photos, right? Much hilariation.

So, here are a few pix of her.

This is her right before she peed on the chestnut Chesterfield:

This is her right after she peed on the chestnut Chesterfield:

This is her at the Tanjong Beach Club:

As you can see, she’s a lovely dog really. I have decided to send her on an assertiveness training course next year, so that she can find strategies for managing Milly’s behaviour towards her. Now that I have found a solution, I feel much more relaxed about the whole thing. Phewy : )

On another phewy note, you will recall, dear avid reader, that I ran into Will last Saturday in the lift at Marina Bay Sands. I just played it cool, taking group selfies of me and the hot mummies who came to Milly’s bday after-party. Once we got to the 57th floor, Will said, “EJ, could I speak to you for a second?”

So as not to look dodgy in front of the mummies, I replied loudly, “Yes, we do need to discuss your firm’s sponsorship of the next event for the Singapore International Women and Trailing Spouses’ Association”, and excused myself from the ladies.

We found a quietish table at Ku Dé Ta, and Will proceeded to tell me that he felt bad about blanking me the other night, and he hadn’t wanted to do that, but Michelle, his wifey, has turned a corner with her drinking and they’re working on their marriage. Sweet, I thought. That’s nice.

“So”, he said, standing up and holding out his hand to shake mine, “That’s it. Friends?”

I shook his hand, and gave him my pretty Kate Middleton smile, saying, “Oh abso totes! Friends!!”

Because of my high empathy quotient, I saw that it was really difficult for him to talk about our relationship. And anyway, nothing actually happened or ever would have. I was quite clear about that, right, dear readers? Yup.

So, I was a little taken abackski when, later that evening, I saw him deep in conversation with a woman I didn’t recognise. An Asian woman. Then I remembered that he has a much younger step-sister who is half Chinese, half American. She has probably come to stay with them for Christmas. It’s that time of year, right?

Mummy’s visit is going really well, despite her continued fraternisation with the help. I am looking forward to our trip to Boracay (Mummy’s coming too) because we are very much not bringing the helper – no need as the kids’ club at our hotel is world-renowned for never having to spend time with your kids – so that I can have some quality time with la Mammita.

What Happens When You Accidentally Search “Looking for some fun” on Craigslist

/ Emma-Jane Austen-Jones / 1 Comment

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Due to the Froofster’s incontinence, I have had to get rid of the upstairs chestnut Chesterfield. So, after my 1:1 Pilates session this morning, I went onto Craigslist to look for a replacement sofa. Have to tighten the belt a tad because we’re having a Four Seasons xmas. Wrap-around childcare for two weeks ain’t cheap, you know?! Also, Milly’s birthday is on the horizon and these parties cost a small fortune.

Instead of inputting “looking for a sofa” on the Craigslist search, autocorrect changed my search terms to “looking for some fun”. Argh!! Dear readers, you would not believe the stuff that came up.

Wife’s away tonight, anyone wanna play?

Couples, plus single women, 18-45), party this Saturday. Msg for deets.

Swingers! In Singapore?! And this is from within the Expaterati! Mega-shock, babeses!!

The weirdest thing was this one:

The hottest party on the Singapore expat swinging scene. Join Liz and Don for their notorious monthly warm wild time. Unmarried couples (not married to each other) and single women only please.

What a coincidence that there’s a filthy couple here with those names! I must tell Don. He’ll totes die of embarrassment when he hears about what his namesake is getting up to. ROFL!

In other news, Chantelle my “step-mother” (ugh) Whatsapped me to say my father turned up. For a minute I had no clue what she was on about! Ha, I had totes forgotten that late night call.

Chantelle told me that the police brought him home around lunchtime on Sunday. Apparently, he said he had gone out to meet his school friend from Guildford. A bit weird because he hasn’t been anywhere near Guildford in probably 30 years. The last time he was there was for an old boys thing, as far as I know. He is up to his little tricks again, no doubto. Bloody stupid alibi, if you ask me. He must be losing his lothario touch.

One of the things that is so awkz and challenging about being an expat is the distance from one’s family. It is extremo annoyando to get these calls and messages from the folks back home, when clearly we’re not interested. Why oh why must they insist on interrupting our fun lives when we are thousands of miles away?? Hello! Why do you think we moved thousands of miles away in the first place?!

On a happier note, the bougainvillea is really looking fabulous today. Such a shame that it’s not visible from the street. I truly have the finest bush on Emerald Hill Road. Well done me! : ) xx

Ugh! Helper’s Menstrual Calendar Has Synced With Mine

/ Emma-Jane Austen-Jones / Leave a comment

Please don’t ask me how I know this, but the helper’s menstrual calendar has synced with mine. That whole syncing thing women do is, frankly, disgustingly primitive, and I would prefer to have no part in it. IMHO, it harks back to a time when men had their harems, and raced around simultaneously impregnating every woman in the vicinity. I am thankful that today we women have found ways of curbing this sort of revolting behaviour, using threats of financial ruin and custody battles over the children. In the current economic climate, men just don’t have the resources to call bluff on those threats. Except maybe in the Middle East and Utah.

The thing about men is that they just cannot help themselves. I know it’s a cliché, but clichés are true. That’s why they’re called clichés. As wives, we have a responsibility to protect them from their baser instincts. That said, if they’re too base to be saved, we must not bend over backwards or sacrifice our self-respect to stop them messing around.

If they’re surrounded by bitches in heat though, it’s not really their fault. There’s only so much we can do. Ultimately, Ladies, if you married a scumbag, then I’m afraid that is what you signed up for. Sorreeee!! Reality munches.

What with my whole menstrualness I can’t get my writing juices flowing today, so I think that’s all for now. I spose even Tina Fey and Sheryl Sandberg have their downer days.

Actually, one more effluvia-related topic. Froo Froo Dog’s anxiety about Milly asserting herself (kicking Froo Froo Dog) has now gone beyond muttering, to incontinence. Ugh. She has completely ruined the upstairs chestnut Chesterfield : ( That was a wedding present, you foul hound!

(Still no response from Will… Well, we’ll see what he has to say for himself at dinner on Friday.)

I <3 Feminism

/ Emma-Jane Austen-Jones / 5 Comments

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You may or may not be aware that I am a feminist. I have long been an active supporter of women’s causes across the globe, as well as a member of the Fawcett Society, on a rolling annual direct debit. That means I am definitely a feminist, fyi, should there be any unlikely doubt.

I think it’s awful that feminists are so often viewed as moustachioed man-haters, as this is not at all the case. I know some v beautiful feminists, many of whom opt for Brazilian waxing, and that’s ok, right? Of course it is! No one likes being hirsute down below.

I fully support a woman’s right not to have children (god knows, some days I wish I hadn’t!), as well as to choose when the best moment is, or is not. Let’s face it, there are far too many dangerous and stupid people born on this planet every day, and if it is women who ultimately control that, then we must do what we can to take a stand.

I also think that we sistas must not rely on men to take care of us. We must not let them steal our autonomy, and leave us for younger fools when we become post-menopausal angry old prunes. No!

The only reason I am not currently working is that I have to make sure the helper is looking after the children properly, while maintaining my figure and my spirit (for me) via a rigorous and time-consuming schedule of physical training, chanting, meditation, and socialising. Also, with Don’s job and the whole glass ceiling thing, he earns more than 99.99% of women in a similar role, and certainly more than I have ever made. So, you know, what’s the point??

Because of not currently working, I am hoping to join an amazing organisation here called AWARE. A friend of mine (who went to Harvard! Clever girl, you!! And gorgeous too, grrrrrrrr! So unfair!) says they do some v awesome work with women, and that there’s tons of interesting volunteer stuff going on with them (ok, I’m paraphrasing, but she went on and on about how great it is while I was trying to think of fun things to post on Twitter; I really need to raise my profile there).

The only prob is that I am SO busy, as I’ve already said. And a big part of that is educating Milly in feminist principles, so maybe I am already doing my bit for The Cause. Does charity start at home? I dunno, maybe. I am teaching her to stand up to Max and Don, like I do. Perhaps kicking Froo Froo Dog is a form of positive self-assertion practice. Mills certainly is v assertive, on that front.

The Froofster is still mumbling to herself in dark corners, but if it’s all for the good of developing Milly’s sense of autonomy, then the dog’s sanity is, I suppose, a small price to pay. I do feel sorry for her though. I just love that dog. Hard choices! This life is full of them : (

Argh, that feels like a bit of a disempowered downer note to end on, and that’s just not me. So, I want to add a new thought I have had before saying ciao-ciao (is it still cool to speak Italian?).

Alora:
Having discovered that I missed the deadline for Mrs Expat Singapore, I realised that I am entirely against this kind of grotesque objectification of women. I will not have it, dear reader. So, with The Cause firmly in heart and mind, I am planning a demonstration to protest against it. The time slot clashes with lovely Vikram’s yoga class at the Hyatt, but I will just have to make that sacrifice.

¡Hasta la semana proxima, Vikram! It’s always cool to speak Spanish : )

A Tale of Two Husbands

/ Emma-Jane Austen-Jones / 5 Comments

Another stressful couple of days, dear reader(s).

One of the yoga places I go to that I really rate (and my rating should not be under-estimated in its value, given that I am an accomplished lifelong yogi, and can do the crow pose) is on Orchard, not far from my house. It’s one of those very earnest and spiritual, but warehousey-cool places (so cool they don’t provide any means of drying your hands after using the loo – I love that nonconformity!), where the atmosphere is befittingly sombre and dignified. I can’t stand it when people don’t take their practice seriously.

I really needed to go this evening because it has been a serio stresso couple of days. As it turned out though, even the yoga was mega-stresso! There was a girl there, late twenties/ early thirties, all skinny and dressed up in her Lulu Lemon, like she has even the faintest idea of what yoga is really about. It’s not about the clothes, honey!!

When we were doing the tree pose she kept peering at me, like, can you hold this as long as I can? I held it AND I closed my eyes, which is a very difficult thing to do, as any experienced yogi would know. I flickered them open occasionally to check out how she was doing. Haha, lo and behold she was trying to close her eyes too, but kept losing her balance. Oh you silly girl! It takes a lot of serenity, loving karma, and oneness with the universe to achieve the closed-eye tree pose, sweetheart. Stupid b****.

So anyway, yes, serio stressoso time right now.

Don got back yesterday. The children greeted him like he was some kind of hero, returning victorious from battle. Come on, I’m the one who has spent the last week in battle! With those little ingrates.

Froo Froo dog is, I suspect, developing dog borderline personality disorder. That’s the most difficult disorder to work with in humans, Clara says. So, in dogs, I dread to think what we are going to do. I would welcome any suggestions. (And, don’t forget, you can follow me on twitter @expatej)

After the children were in bed, Don passed out. Great, sweetie. So good to have you home.

Having run out of floss, I went into his washbag (Don is a passionate flosser) to find his. I found something else though…

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And it was half-empty!! What fresh hell is this???

I mailed Don immediately to address the situation. I’m not one to let these things fester. It’s not good for my chi.

He rang me to say that it has always in his washbag, and I must have forgotten we used to use it, it has been so long. Excuse me, what now, now??? OK, that does ring a bell when I think about it, but taking it on a work trip? Hmmmmmmm.

Then something quite shocking happened, dear reader:

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I didn’t respond, but I can imagine that Michelle – much as I adore her ridic-amundo – is a nightmare wife, so I do feel for Bill. He seems like a nice guy, despite everything. I used to think Michelle was just a really fun lady. Now I’m starting to wonder what it must be like to be live with her 24/7. Flo told me she starts drinking in the morning! Argh!! No wonder she needs so much botox.

Oh dear, what a messed up day. I’m so glad I have a massage booked first thing tomorrow. FYI, the massage is at the Hyatt, of which I am now an Official Member. Having so arduously struggled with deciding which club to join, I realised that I needed to prioritise Me in this difficult process of remaining sane under duress. So, I joined the Hyatt rather than bothering with all the other clubby nonsense. So far, so good. It could do with a refurb, but I’m not one to make a scene.

Smart Move, Singapore!

/ Emma-Jane Austen-Jones / 1 Comment

In the same way that the early Americans built their towns and cities on a sensible grid system to counter the problems inherent in the more naturally evolved infrastructure of old England, Singapore has created an extremely wise solution to avoid the ills which arose from cheap labour in the Americas: do not allow these people to breed.

This interesting fact was explained to me by a taxi driver yesterday. I went to a fabulous spa on Sentosa for a facial, massage, mud wrap, and reflexology – really lovely! I like to have cheaper, more local treatments on Orchard Road at least once a week, but as Don is away, I deserved a spesh treat. I’ve been getting really quite stressed since he left (yesterday morning), what with the ongoing worry about Max’s Minecraft obsession (over which I have abso zero control, and now he has started watching YouTube clips about it, which probably signals the inevitable terminus of his six-year childhood); and Milly’s dysfunctional relationship with Froo Froo dog.

I’m v concerned about Froo Froo too because she has taken a turn for the worse, and seems to be muttering to herself in dark corners of the house. At this rate, the poor thing will need psychological support that I am simply not equipped to deliver. That’ll be expensive here, no doubt : ( Maybe I can find a Skype dog psychologist.

Sometimes I wish we lived in the States. Things like dog therapy are much cheaper there. Moving for the dog’s sanity, though, would probably not hold much sway with Don. He didn’t even want to bring the Froofster. When it came to the crunch, I had to say (bluffing, of course) that it was me and the dog, or neither of us. He did think about it for quite a while, looking back.

Anyway, so I spent the cab journey to Sentosa catching up on the news on Facebook. I like to keep abreast of the goings-on on the Singapore Expat Wives’ group. It’s very much you-snooze-you-lose with that group because there are so many interesting posts constantly emerging.

On the return journey though, I was all zen and relaxed, so I settled back into the seat, and listened to the driver’s sweet chitchat. So, that was when he told me about this clever way of discouraging the lower working people from breeding.

He explained that, as the vast majority of domestic workers (female, of course) are Filipinas, the imported manual laborers and such males are deliberately not from the Philippines. Genius!

Instead, they are Bangladeshi or Chinese, and because they often don’t speak English, and certainly not Tagalog, fraternising simply does not occur; thus no little baby working people are born on Singaporean soil. Pretty clever, eh? That, plus the required six-monthly pregnancy tests for domestics, pretty much sews up the problem : ) It covers all bases, as those hilariously metaphorical yanks would say.

By the time I got to Dempsey to meet my new friend Liz for lunch (Liz knows Deb, whom I know from our last country, from the country they were in before that; I think it was Zambia, or Namibia or somewhere; def one of the African “ia”s), I felt v curious and inspired by the circumstances of the lower workers in Singapore. I am considering writing a book, if I can find the time, either about Filipina domestics, or perhaps a collection of taxi driver tales. Both would be so fascinating, I can’t decide! (I still haven’t decided about my pool towel and club dilemnas! Argh!!)

Thankfully, I have at least made up my mind about which Gucci bag to have flown in to Dubai airport. Quel relief!

I think Liz, particularly as a newcomer, was v interested in my potential sociological studies because she kept nodding, smiling, and saying, “Ah, yes” and “Oh really?”. In her previous (pre-expat wife) life, she was an editor on a highbrow British paper, so she knows a good story when she sees one. Lay off my ideas, Liz!! LOLs.

A Downer Day

/ Emma-Jane Austen-Jones / 2 Comments

I just haven’t been feeling like my usual fun-loving, sparky, gorgeous self lately, which is why I haven’t felt like writing. Sorry, dear readers. Well, sorry Mummy and your aqua aerobics group, that is. I’ve asked her to tell her online Scrabble cronies about my blog (ha, crones more like, lol, jk Mummy!!), but she said it’s not the kind of thing they’d read. Hmmmmm. Not v well-read, these Scrabble people, then.

Actually, my lack of readers is part of why I’m feeling less than great. I’ve been blogging for over a week now, but I still haven’t gone viral : (

The more mis and emosh I start to feel about my non-viral state, the more obsessively I check my viewing statistics. Yesterday I must have checked over a hundred times, including throughout my lunch with Dull Kelly, and I just think it’s so tacky to be constantly fingering one’s phone when in company or at a restaurant. It’s so unlike me.

I’m also feeling down because I had a hard night with Milly. She was up twice, saying she’s worried about spiders in her room (honestly! I’ve seen more spiders in the UK than in Singapore), and she also had a nightmare that our dog had grown into a giant dog and kept kicking her. Then when we went downstairs this morning, Milly immediately laid into the dog to get her own back. Poor little Froo-Froo. I told Milly quite firmly that it’s just not on.

While all that was happening, Max was glued to his iPad, playing Minecraft, and although that’s partly nice because he’s less annoying when he’s occupied, it made me worry that he might be developing addictive tendencies. Parents are just powerless when it comes to new technologies.

Then I opened the dishwasher to look for my favourite mug (the “Best Mummy in the Universe” one that Max gave me for Mother’s Day), and lo and behold… There were plastics in the lower section!! I have told the helper about this at least a billion times, and she absolutely persists in continuing this insulting behaviour. I really think she does it to annoy me.

It all was so upsetting that I went back to bed for an hour, until Max left on the schoolbus, and the helper took Milly to daycare. So that meant I couldn’t go to meditation for the second week in a row, and I really needed to go today because of how I’m feeling at the mo.

I had better go for a massage and a facial instead, to nip this mood in the bud. I don’t want to feel like this while Don is in Dubai, and I’m on my own with two small children.

It’s times like this when I think that married men just have it so easy. They can just swan about (or fanny about, as my South London friend says lolol; it’s ruder in British English, but still funny-ish in American English), do whatever they want, go off to play squash or golf whenever, have interesting work nights out, and take trips all over the place. Then they pop home, like the big provider, and expect everyone to fall at their feet. Max and Milly think the sun shines out of Don, and they don’t understand that, as a mother, that’s extremely hurtful for me. I’ve tried to explain it to them, even crying occasionally to really emphasise my distress, but they still don’t get it.

Are Expat Kids Lucky?

/ Emma-Jane Austen-Jones / Leave a comment

Because of my interest, and growing expertise, in psychology, I have decided to start a new page, to discuss issues faced by expat children. From what I hear, some expat children and young people struggle with the transitions, so I want to explore that. Not my kids, of course. They’re totally well-adjusted and we’ve never had any trouble from them. They don’t even mind long haul flights; they just sleep, especially if I give them that anti-allergy stuff.

Saying that, since we got back from the UK in the summer, Milly has started kicking the dog, which is unlike her. She’s quite big (not fat, you understand, just bigger than other kids her age, probably because she was exclusively breastfed), and the dog is quite small.

So I’m not sure what that’s about. I hope she stops soon. The dog hopes so too LOL : )

Anyway, because I don’t have any readers’ questions, I thought I would start this page by asking Clara what she thinks is an important issue for expat kids, and then discuss that. She mailed me yesterday, and we had our first Skype session, hence… (drum roll please lol!)….. On the Skype Couch with Emma-Jane. My first topic is whether expat kids are lucky, and you can read it here.